#her name's anjali

[trueka]

old thing i never posted but magical girl who turns into bo peep

[spiderb00]

netflix and (not) chill

Lara Raj x reader 

“It was a good idea to watch a movie with your girlfriend, until you complimented one of the characters” 

Genre – Fluff   Warnings – None  (request)

Now playing – The boy is mine, By Ariana Grande 

"Okay, I think we've got it all here!" You said, walking up to your girlfriend, Lara, who was sitting on the couch in your apartment.   

Lara loved to go to your loft, it was cozy and away from the noise of the Kats. Not that she didn't love those girls, but whenever you two needed some alone time, this was the perfect place. Today, you and your girlfriend were in deep relaxation mode, and all you wanted was to watch a good movie and snuggle up together on the couch. 

The smell of the homemade pizza you two made was all over the air, and the bottle of wine you'd opened was already ready to be poured into the fancy glasses you'd bought for dates like this. It was Lara's turn to choose the movie, so after a long conversation she decided that you would see "Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham", an Indian movie, which according to Lara was "One of the best movies I've ever seen!", so you gladly accepted, excited to know more about your girlfriend's movie tastes and culture. 

"Then come join me, baby." Lara said as she patted the seat next to her on the couch.   

With excitement, you sat down quickly on the couch, snuggling next to Lara as you handed her a glass of wine, which you had poured.   

"All right, we can start." You say, before you press play, Lara turned her head in your direction.   

"Okay, listen to me, cutie. Whatever you're thinking of doing, save it for after the movie, I really want to watch it until the end." Lara said, knowing your history of almost never watching the movies until the end when the two of you are alone.   

"I promise, I wasn't even thinking about it, pretty girl." You say, showing your pinky, hoping that Lara would intertwine hers with yours. 

With a snort and a laugh of amusement, Lara intertwined her pinky with yours, pulling you lightly towards her and giving a small kiss on your lips.   

"See, you're the one who always starts-"   

"Shii, the movie is going to start." Lara said, smiling at the red-haired girl's antics, you started watching the movie, taking sips of wine and eating your slices of pizza.   

The movie was fantastic, you couldn't remember the last time you were so involved in such a long movie. You loved the filmography, the character development, the story, everything was simply artistic and very well thought out. Lara would make some comments about the movie occasionally, just talking about how she loved some scene and how she remembered watching the movie with her parents and sister.   

You really understood why she spoke so highly of the film, it was really captivating. You laughed when one of your favorite characters appeared on the scene, playing her role beautifully and making everything look funny and professional at the same time. You learned that the actress's name was Kajol (courtesy of Lara), and she played Anjali Raichand, married to Rahul, one of the main characters. 

"She's so funny." You said, a harmless compliment. "It's kind of charming, she's very beautiful." Another innocent compliment, at least for you.    

Lara, who was very focused on the film, had her attention diverted for the first time. Had you just said that a woman was beautiful in front of her? I mean, she knows she's an actress, and she's a lot older than you, and that you're probably never going to see each other in your life, but so what? Had you just said that a woman was beautiful in front of your girlfriend?  

You continued with your attention focused on the movie, not even noticing the enraged look your girlfriend was giving you right now. You know Lara is jealous from birth, but you didn't mean it badly, you just innocently let it out.   

Stretching your arm to place it on Lara's shoulder, you quickly felt the Indian girl shrug her shoulders, a silent motion to get you off her. Looking at her, you saw her arms crossed over her chest, the girl's eyebrows were furrowed, and for a moment you wondered if you had done something wrong.   

"Baby, what's wrong?" You asked, puppy eyes looking at the girl who seemed indifferent to your doubts.   

"Nothing, I'm just too hot here to be hugged." Lara said, shrugging once again, the girl's eyes glued to the TV. Oh, something was very wrong.   

When the movie was finally over, you stood up, putting the dirty dishes and glasses in the sink and coming back to tell Lara that you would go upstairs to the room in a minute, only to no longer find the fire-haired girl on the couch. Confused, you went back to the kitchen, washing everything very quickly and going up even faster.   

When you entered the room, you saw your girlfriend already in her pajamas, one of your shirts - which were too big on her - and only a black panty. Getting closer, you crawled until you were on top of the distracted girl on her phone, starting to distribute kisses down the back covered by the fabric of her (your) shirt. 

"You look so pretty in my clothes, baby" You said, startled as your girlfriend quickly turned on the bed, knocking you off her.   

"I thought I wasn't pretty enough for you." Lara says, getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom, starting to smear some skin care products on her face.    

Dazed on the bed, you stood up, still trying to process why she would have said that. 

"Baby, I don't understand. What does that mean?" You asked, scratching the back of your neck, leaning against the bathroom door frame.   

"Ask Anjali." That was all the Indian girl had to say to make you know why she was acting like that.  

"Baby, no. Please, let's not do that." You said, throwing your head back before approaching the girl who was looking at herself in the mirror of your bathroom, putting your arms around her waist.   

"Do what? I thought you thought she was pretty. Why don't you ask her what you were going to ask for me?!" Lara says, turning around in your arms and arching an eyebrow as she looks at you.  

Deciding to mess with the girl, you shrug, taking your hands from her waist and turning around to leave the bathroom.   

"Alright, do you know if she has Instagram? Maybe I'll DM her..." 

You barely finished speaking when you felt a tug on your shirt, pulling you back into the bathroom and pinning you against the sink.   

"YOU WHAT?" Lara said, a smile starting to escape you. "Yn, I swear if you laugh I'll snatch that little smile off your face!" Lara said, pointing at you with the sharp nails she wore.   

"Wow, calm down Freddy Krueger, I was just kidding." You said laughing and taking Lara's hand in yours.   

"What did you just call me?" Cutting off the red-haired girl's speech, you kissed Lara in surprise. 

Lara gave a small punch on your shoulder before giving herself completely to the kiss. You knew she wasn't really mad, she just wanted a little reminder that she was the woman of your life, and that you would always be with her.   

"Are you calmer?" You said, hugging the Indian girl and kissing the top of her head. "Look, there might be a thousand beautiful girls all over the world, they got nothin’ on you, baby." You said, rocking your body along with hers in your arms.   

"Did you just recite Bruno Mars?" Lara said, looking up to meet your eyes. A smile on your face, making the shortest girl mirror your action. 

"Of course, he gets the message across." You said, winking at her. But letting out a little "Auch" when the girl slaps you again, this time on your biceps.    

 "If a thousand beautiful girls were around you, you'd be wearing a blindfold."  

Oh, how you loved this woman. 

Hey guys, I love this request! It sure is Crazy Girl!Lara and Yn coded.

Speaking of movies, have you seen the Golden Globes? What did you think? I was particularly happy for Fernanda Torres and Demi Moore. I was hoping that Mikey Madison would win something from Anora, bc everyone was saying she looked fantastic in the movie, but maybe next time.

stay safe, I just learned about fires in LA, and I'm sending all the positive energy to the people who were affected by this.

xoxo, spider.

[makoodles]

ミdaddy issues

part one | part two

🍓pairing: recom!miles quaritch x human fem reader

🍓tags: nsfw, interspecies relationship, temporarily one-sided attraction, second-hand embarrassment, vaginal sex, oral sex, (v brief) anal fingering, dirty talk (it's quaritch, come on)

🍓word count: 14k (there's literally nothing i could say to excuse this)

masterlist

Miles Quaritch is the kind of man whose reputation precedes him.

Everyone has heard of him. His ruthlessness and his skill are legendary, his authority absolute. The army guys talk about him like he’s the stuff of myth, the scientists talk about him like he’s the biggest bastard to ever walk the earth. Even before he had returned to life as a recombinant, he was positively infamous. Now though, his return has raised his reputation to near mythological status.

But it’s not just his name and reputation that is known around Bridgehead City. Recently, your crush on him has become equally as infamous.

It’s not your fault. It's not like you’re trying to make it obvious. The man is just so damn fine, blue or not. In the beginning, all you do is appreciate his form from a distance. It’s not like you see him all that often, anyway, so your admiration is mostly contained to quick glances in corridors and across the mess hall, whenever you spot him talking with his squad or walking with any of the higher ups.

 It’s perfectly innocent! There’s nothing wrong with having a little crush on someone that will never notice you, after all.

The problem is that your crush, while innocuous, isn’t exactly subtle.

“Quaritch, huh?” It’s Anjali that asks, an older, pretty microbiologist with a sometimes off-puttingly blunt manner.

You pause, but don’t look up from the microscope you’ve been peering into. For a moment, you consider denying it. But what’s the point? If she’s asking, that means that she’s already noticed your shy, flustered glances in the colonel’s direction.

“Yeah,” You sigh, a little defeated. “I guess.”

Because you’re so focused on the plant specimen you’re studying, you don’t notice the way all the others in the lab start looking over, clearly eavesdropping. If you had, you might have backtracked – maybe you would have downplayed your embarrassing little crush.

“He’s just...” You fiddle with the glass slide beneath the lens, still fighting not to make eye-contact with Anjali. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

Anjali snorts. She’s an older lady, with her grey-streaked hair scraped back into a severe bun, accentuating her harsh appearance. She’s working on her own report one desk over from you, but you can still see the way that she’s peering over her glasses at you.

“Is he?” She asks archly. “I wouldn’t know. I can’t see around his enormous sense of entitlement.”

You laugh a little awkwardly, and duck your head back down. God, you don’t know how else you expected that conversation to go. Everyone knows that Quaritch’s overzealous attempts to exert control over Pandora was what caused the whole war and resulted in the human population being forced off-planet all those years ago. Damn, you know that too! 

But it’s not as though you like him as a person or anything! He’s not even really the same man as the one that did all that. Your fascination with him is really just… aesthetic appreciation.

“I just think he’s attractive, you know?” You mumble, embarrassed. “I don’t know what he was like as a human, but… I don’t know. There’s something about the- the height, and the muscles-”

“Oh, spare me.” Anjali mumbles sourly.

“You asked!” You snap, mortified. “I’m just saying-!”

That’s when another voice cuts in.

“He could break you in half with his pinkie finger.” Dr. Geiszler points out from a desk behind you. He’s not even trying to pretend that he’s not listening in, leaning right over his workspace as he eavesdrops.

Your eyes widen a little, and for the first time you realise that nearly everyone else in the laboratory has been listening in the whole time. Your face grows hot with humiliation, and you shrink a little in your stool. Oh fuck, why did they all look so interested? 

Geiszler watches your reaction, and then his face slackens in an expression of realisation. “Oh shit, you’re into that.”

You genuinely can’t think of anything more humiliating right now. They’re all looking at you as though you’ve just grown an additional head.

“Oh, fuck off!” You say reflexively, scowling at them all. “You can’t pretend like you haven’t ever thought that the Na’vi are sexy!”

Anjali looks as though she’s just sucked on a lemon, but several other scientists start shiftily avoiding eye contact.

Geiszler just snorts. “That’s different. We’re not talking about just any Na’vi here, we’re talking about Quaritch!”

“He’s old enough to be your father.” Anjali points out, clearly disapproving. “Maybe even your grandfather.”

“So?” You say without thinking, before realising that this isn’t really an argument that you want to get into. “I mean- Not in his current body! No, fuck, I don’t mean- fuck. Look, can we just forget about this? Pretend I never said anything!”

Mercifully, they go silent at that, though you can still hear the faint sound of someone snickering in the back of the lab. They may not say anything more, but you’re all too aware that they’re still looking at each other and smirking. Laughing at you. 

You hunch your shoulders and keep doing your work. You wouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty over something as stupid as a harmless little crush that you can’t control. You wouldn’t.

Bridgehead really isn’t all that big, so you see the colonel semi-regularly. It’s always from a distance, but it’s still enough to give you a good look at those long legs, those big muscles, and that lithe, narrow waist. If you’re truthful with yourself, you go out of your way to organise your paths crossing.

You’re not even a fully-qualified scientist just yet. You don’t actually have an official title – you’re more like an intern. You work under the highly decorated scholars in xenobotany, running tasks and projects for them as part of your doctorate degree. You had been allowed out here to Pandora as part of your degree, in order to get the experience you needed to qualify, and it has treated you well so far. The whole internship position means that you have a little bit more freedom with regards your schedule, which works just perfectly for you.

So, yeah. What started out as innocent admiration has turned a little… stalkery. You’re willing to admit that. But it’s harmless! 

So what if you know Colonel Quaritch’s schedule off by heart? So what if you linger around the areas that you know he frequents at opportune moments, like just after his workouts or drills? It doesn’t really matter if your eyes linger around his big biceps and his sculpted chest, especially when his deep blue skin is all heat-flushed and sweaty, right? And it surely doesn’t matter if you wander past the Recombinant areas of the base far more frequently than you need to, right? It’s not as if anyone is going to notice.

It doesn’t really matter how much you stare, because the colonel is utterly oblivious to your attention. He never notices you, not even once. And that’s fine too, you tell yourself. It makes it easier, in fact! You can admire him all you want if he never looks at you, after all.

It gets a little bit more challenging to hide where your attention is straying when other people start to figure it out.

It’s like your little crush is an inside joke in the science department. The scientists on base tend to be pretty good at minding their own business (mostly because they’re usually so damn focused on their own work and little projects), but in this case you’ve become an endless source of amusement for them.

You can see the way the entire xenobiology department giggle together when you perk up at dinnertime as soon as the Recombinant soldiers enter the mess hall, and you know that they’re nudging each other when your attention strays to the Colonel as he eats. He’s got such sharp teeth, and your eyes fixate on him as he licks the sorry excuse for food he’s been served off his canines.

When you start dressing up a little bit more, the science guys start sharing smirks. It’s a little bit humiliating, but honestly you think you’re starting to lose your sense of shame. You start wearing tight little pencil skirts and thin blouses, under the guise of professionalism, and you start to do your makeup a little bit heavier too. Quaritch never so much as bats an eyelid in your direction.

“Not that I’m complaining, per se,” Geiszler drawls one afternoon, leaning lazily against the worktop as you painstakingly organise tissue samples. “But aren’t you trying a little too hard?”

“Shut up.” You grumble, chewing on your stick lip-glossed lower lip. “It’s just a skirt.”

“Right.” He drawls, eyes trailing down over the length of your body as you shift on your uncomfortable little stool. “And the makeup?”

“It’s not breaking any uniform protocols.” You say simply, scratching just under your eye. 

Geiszler sniffs, amused. “Is it true you’ve been following around the xenobiologists when they go to check on the recoms?”

You peer very closely at the tissue sample in your hands, a little more closely than entirely necessary. “Maybe.”

“Jesus.” He lets out a short, disbelieving sort of laugh. “Fuck. Why? D’you get off on being ignored or something?”

That’s a little crass, and you raise your head to scowl at him. He really doesn’t need to rub it in like that – it’s pretty damn obvious that your crush is unrequited. It’s cruel to point it out like that. 

“It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t notice,” You mutter, aggravated. “I’m just- I just like looking, that’s all.”

Geiszler snorts again, but he appears to be somewhat sympathetic now. “Right. Just looking.”

Finally, you tear your attention away from the samples so you can scowl at him. “What do you want, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I want to put you out of your misery.” He replies simply, leaving his elbows against the worktop and smirking at you. “Recoms are being sent out tomorrow. Just a small run – Ardmore wants to put those new bodies to the test before she sends them out after Sully.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask as though you’re not hanging onto every damn word.

“They’re heading to the lowlands, at the base of the mountains,” Geiszler levels you with a significant look. “You know what that means, right?”

You perk up instantly at that, your eyes growing wide.

“Panopyra.” You breathe.

Your entire damn doctoral dissertation is centred around the unusual, jellyfish-like plants that grow on other Pandoran plants. It hovers somewhere between plant, animal, and fungi, having evolved a primitive sort of nervous system. It grows a cuplike body that collects water from dew and fog and condenses it down into a thick, syrupy sort of liquid. That liquid is then collected by the native Na’vi for use in their healing drinks. It is that medicinal property that fascinates you so much.

“Yeah, I thought that might get your attention.” Geiszler grins. “You’ve run out of the samples you’ve been using, right? You’re not gonna be able to write any more of your thesis without more specimens.”

“Yes,” You breathe, your brain already scrambling to think of all the things you need to do. “I need- oh, I need some cuttings of the sensory tissue, and I need a lot more samples of the internal liquid. The stems, too-”

“Right, right,” Geiszler interrupts, nodding. “The problem is, it’s just the Recoms being sent out. They’re not bringing any of the science team.”

Your shoulders sag a little at that. How are you meant to get a proper sample if there’s no one qualified to take samples going on their reconnaissance trip?

As if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, Geiszler’s smile turns a little sly. “If you want those samples, you’re gonna have to ask the big man in charge of the mission to bring some back for you. And you’re gonna have to ask real nicely.”

Colonel Quaritch’s office is empty when you call at it, and so you’re forced to go searching for him.

You find the recoms in the little recreation room just off the hangar designated for soldier use – Na’vi-sized beanbags had been thrown into it as an afterthought for the recom soldiers, and it’s almost comical to walk in and find so many of them sprawled across the squishy chairs. Some of them have instead decided to squeeze them into the regular armchairs, with one Na’vi-sized body occupying an entire sofa. They’re playing poker of all things; they’ve been provided with a set of over-sized playing cards and everything.

They’re a rowdy bunch, shouting and roaring with laughter, and so they don’t immediately spot you when you edge your way into the room. For a moment, you think that the colonel isn’t here. But then you take another look, and you spot him. 

Quaritch is standing to the side, his spine taut and his shoulders back and straight. It’s a very formal position just for watching his squad relax, but there’s a certain softness to his expression as he watches them that you’ve never seen from him before. Your heart skips a beat; this is the most unguarded that you’ve ever seen him, and your eyes fixate on his face eagerly as you try to drink in all the details.

It’s Fike that notices you first.

“Aw, man,” He groans, tilting his head back dramatically before gesturing at you with his cards. “Not another checkup. We told the other doc, if something feels wrong we’ll tell you-”

“Ah, no.” You’re beginning to get flustered. Fike’s exclamation has drawn the attention of the other recoms, and all of a sudden you feel as though you’ve been placed under a spotlight. “I’m- I’m not actually a doctor!”

There’s a very brief pause, and then one of the female soldiers sits up from her beanbag to squint at you. You think this one is Walker.

“Why are you here all the time, then?” She asks. “Weren’t you here for our checkup yesterday?”

Oh. They had noticed. Embarrassed heat is beginning to build in your cheeks, and you can’t help but dart a quick look over at where Quaritch is still leaning against the wall. For the first time ever, he’s looking right at you. The realisation sends little jolts of electricity racing up your spine. His expression is entirely neutral, almost bored, but that doesn’t matter. He’s seeing you.

“I was just, um, shadowing the xenobiologists,” You say quickly, “For my internship.”

One of the other recoms turns to another and mouths 'internship’, and they both start to snicker. You pretend not to notice.

“And what does the intern want with us?” Fike asks, already having turned back to his cards.

It’s terribly embarrassing having to stand here and have these 9-foot-tall soldiers basically look you up and down before disregarding your entire existence. But you’re here now, and you have to push through.

“I’d..” You begin, before your throat goes dry and you have to clear your throat before trying again. “Could I please speak to the colonel?”

All the snickering and whispering dies down for a moment as the recoms look at you before swinging their heads around to look at their superior officer. There’s a moment of silence, but then the subtle sniggers start right back up again.

“So polite,” one of them whispers, and you feel yourself burn with embarrassment. But it doesn’t matter how many of them are sharing smirks or whispers, because Colonel Quaritch has pushed himself off the wall and is beginning to step towards you.

Oh god, he’s so big. You have to actually tilt your head back just to look at his face as he comes to a stop in front of you, and you begin to fidget nervously with your fingers. Up close, he seems so much bigger. Every movement has the skin around his muscles flexing, and you have to work hard not to stare like an absolute moron. 

He doesn’t crouch or bend down to make it easier for you to talk to him. Instead he just raises a brow, clearly waiting for you to speak.

“I, um- hello,” You start off clumsily, growing flustered under the weight of his intense, golden gaze. God, does he even realise how intimidating that is? “I was wondering if- I mean, I heard that you’re being sent out into the Pandoran lowlands tomorrow, and I was wondering if you might be able to bring me back something-”

God, you sound like such an idiot. There’s no way he doesn’t notice the way your voice trembles, or how you can’t quite meet his eyes, or how you keep stumbling over your words, but he just watches you evenly with no expression on his handsome face.

You fumble for the datapad that you brought with you, tapping clumsily at the screen before holding it up for him. His eyes dart to the photograph that’s being displayed, but he still doesn’t speak.

“This is panopyra.” You say, and your voice grows a little stronger. This, at least, is something you feel comfortable talking about. “It’s a plant that’s displaying characteristics of a new line of evolution toward a primitive nervous system. My entire dissertation is focused around my research into this plant, and I really need some samples. The body of it is hollow, and it collects a liquid inside-”

Finally, Quaritch speaks. 

“We ain’t bein’ sent out to do gardening.” His voice is deep and rumbly, edged with that Southern drawl. It has a hint of danger, even when he’s not actually threatening anything.

“I know!” You say hastily. “I know that. I just thought- I thought that maybe if you happened to see one, you might be able to take a sample of the liquid inside of it and, um… and bring it back.”

You end up trailing off a little pathetically, feeling overpowered by his intense stare. God, he looks so unimpressed with you right now. You bite your glossy lip and try not to shrink into yourself entirely.

At last, Quaritch sighs and holds out his hand. “Give me that thing.”

You hand over the datapad at once, your eyes growing wide at the possibility of him actually accepting. Asking for this favour had served the dual purpose of fulfilling your work needs and getting to talk to him, but you hadn’t actually expected him to agree.

He squints at the photograph on the screen, and swipes lazily through the mass amounts of text accompanying. “I ain’t reading all that shit. Give me the run-down on it.”

You had actually written ‘all that shit’, but no matter.

“It grows similar to a fungus, so you’ll likely find it attached to trees or other plants,” You rush to explain, excitement beginning to bubble up into your chest. “You won’t be able to take an actual sample of the tissue without damaging it, so forget about that. What I really would like is a sample of the fluid that collects inside the cup on top, see?”

His eyes follow you as you reach up on your toes to point out what you’re referring to in the photograph, and his ears flick back in acknowledgement.

“It poisonous?”

You hesitate a moment. “...No.”

Quaritch shoots you a look of obvious disbelief. “You wanna try that again?”

“It’s not poisonous.” You say, a little bit more convincingly this time. “But it does have a sort of defence system. Just… don’t touch the little tendrils.”

Quaritch’s face is set in stern disapproval, but he isn’t saying no. 

“I’ll provide you with the instruments you need,” You continue, starting to bounce a little on your toes at the prospect of him agreeing. You really need these samples. “Oh, I’d be so grateful!”

There’s a muffled sound from somewhere over your shoulder, where the rest of the recoms are no doubt watching and listening with great interest, but you don’t turn. Quaritch’s gaze flickers only momentarily towards them, and they silence instantly. God, he’s so effortlessly commanding.

When he looks back to you, he just sighs through his nose and hands you back the datapad. “Fine. Send me the details.”

For a moment, you just stare at him. It takes a beat to register that he’s just agreed, and then a wide, beaming grin begins to grow across your face.

“Thank you-!” You start to squeal, but he cuts you off with a quick wave of his hand.

“Cut that out,” He grumbles, already beginning to scowl as he steps back. “Never let it be said by Ardmore that I was unco-operative with the goddamned science department, yeah?”

You’re not willing to press your luck any further than you already have. You just nod, a little frantic, before sending him one last smile and scurrying your way out of the room. The laughter from the rec room follows you all the way up the corridor, but you don’t care – you’re getting your samples and you just had your first conversation with Quaritch. He looked at you, he spoke to you. He knows you exist!

You’re smiling to yourself the entire way back to the lab, flushed with the pleasure of your success.

For the next couple of days, you’re waiting on tenterhooks for the recoms return. 

You still work away on your projects and your research, but you’re hyper-attuned to everyone that comes and goes from the lab. It’s not as though you’re really expecting the recoms to come into the lab, but you’re listening desperately for any news of their return.

The day before they’re due to arrive back to base, Geiszler comes to irritate you at your desk.

“Go away.” You grumble before he can say a word.

“Oh, come on!” He laughs. “I come bearing gifts!”

That catches your attention, and you raise your head from your work to squint at him. He’s standing there with a stupid sort of grin on his face, the kind that makes you uneasy, and his hands are tucked behind his back.

“What?” You ask suspiciously.

With a flourish, Geiszler pulls his arms out from behind his back. When you see what’s in his hands, you nearly scream.

“Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with you-!” You hiss, whirling around to look frantically over your shoulders.

Mercifully, there’s no one around to witness the enormous blue dildo in his hands as he offers it up to you.

Geiszler is laughing, as though this is just the funniest shit he could have imagined. “Oh, the look on your face-!”

“Get that away from me!” You hiss, scandalised. “Oh my god, you do realise that I could report you for workplace sexual harassment-”

“But you won’t, because we made this specially for you-”

“We?” You hiss in disbelief. “Who the fuck is we?”

Geiszler waves that away as though it’s unimportant. “Me and some of the other guys in xeno. Look, it gets boring in the lab. We thought this was funny. It’s a Na’vi dildo, to scale. You’re welcome.”

“You are such an asshole.” You snap, mortified. “God, what is wrong with you!”

Geiszler just snorts, and places the big dildo on your desk, right in the middle of your papers. It’s almost comically large, made with bright blue silicone and featuring a prominent, squishy head. It’s even ribbed down the underside, with bumps that admittedly look rather attractive. Your face burns at the sight of it.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to get that 3D-printed-” 

“Take it back!” You pick it up and try to push it at him, but he’s already backing away with his hands up in the air. The stupid prick is laughing at you. 

“Nu-uh! It’s all yours!” He’s already backing away, all sniggers. “You can imagine the colonel-”

“Oh, you freak! That is so invasive-!” You nearly drop the dildo entirely, both horrified and mortified. 

Oh my god, it was to scale. This was the size of what the colonel was packing? It feels as though the silicone is burning in your hand, and you feel horribly hot and prickly. Oh, this was such an invasion of the colonel’s privacy. Whether it was the standard size of a Na’vi cock or not, the idea of using it while imagining Quaritch over you has you flushed and embarrassed.

Geiszler is still laughing when he ducks out of the lab, leaving you alone and absolutely humiliated.

After that, you avoid the lab. You know that the scientists all think that your crush on Quaritch is just one big joke, and you really don’t want to see them all smirking and sniggering when they see you, and you really don’t want to have to field any sly comments about the stupid dildo. 

You’ve been too mortified to even look at it too closely, so you take it and hide it away under a load of papers in a separate work area that’s usually used as storage. You’ve been hiding away in this separate little work room for days now; you can’t do any important experiments here, but it’s as good a place as any to work on your dissertation and at least you can be alone here.

You’re in this little work area, typing furiously, when the door slides open behind you with a hiss.

“Geiszler, if you’re here just to harass me again, I will fuck you up.” You bite out without turning, your shoulders turning tense as you glare at your monitor.

There’s a moment of silence, and you hope that he’s taken the hint to go away and leave you alone.

“I’m not sure I appreciate that tone, girl.”

You turn so quickly that you nearly overbalance right off your chair, eyes wide and horrified. The workroom that you’ve practically claimed for yourself is small, with low ceilings designed for human use – that means that Quaritch has had to duck down to fit through the door, and remains standing hunched and visibly irritated, with one hand lifted against the ceiling so he doesn’t hit his head.

“Oh-!” You scramble to get off your chair and fix your skirt, tugging it down straight as you hope and pray that your hair looks alright. “Sir, I- I didn’t realise that you were back!”

Quaritch just grunts. He does not look particularly happy, but he sets a large sample container on one of the empty desk spaces. Inside, it’s filled with a clear liquid that could easily be mistaken for water, but you know better.

“Oh!” You gasp, jolting forward to take a better look. “Oh, such a big sample! This is amazing, thank you!”

Quaritch says nothing, his big alien face impossible to read.

“It better be worth it.” Another voice cuts in, and you jolt in surprise at the realisation that there’s another big blue figure ducking in through the door after Quaritch.

You pause, uncertain in the face of this newcomer and already nervous from Quaritch’s overbearing presence. Oh, god. He’s brought company. Why has he brought company? Another blue head appears over the shoulder of the first soldier, and your eyes dart between them. You’ve spent enough time watching the Colonel to recognise them as Corporal Wainfleet and Private Fike, though you don’t have so much as a passing acquaintance with them.

“I thought you said they were harmless.” Fike grumbles, before raising his hands up to show you rather brutal looking purple bruises along the backs of his hands. “Fucking look at this.”

“Oh.” You breathe, wincing. “No, I said they weren’t poisonous. I did tell you to watch out for the tendrils. The defence system is really quite amazing-”

“Oh yeah, it felt fucking amazing when it was stinging the ever-loving shit out of me.” Fike interrupts, though he appears to have lost interest in speaking to you in favour of peering curiously around the work room.

You can imagine that the place looks fairly dismal; you hadn’t been expecting visitors, so your research is scattered everywhere. Coloured sketches and photographs of cross-sections of the panopyra plant are stuck up on the walls all over, not just around your own desk. You’ve taken advantage of the desks that are never in use, piling your notes and research high all over the place. Writing your dissertation is exhausting work, after all – there is just so much to learn from these plants, so much potential.

“Well, I think that it is worth it.” You say, stepping towards the counter that Quaritch had placed your sample on and reaching eagerly for the beaker. “It’s difficult to get samples like this – there are so few excursions into the jungle these days. But one this size might actually be enough to fuel my research for the next two months at least! I might actually be able to finish my dissertation at last-”

No one is listening to you, you’re quite certain, but you don’t let that deter you as you babble away, raising the beaker to your eye level so that you can examine it. The liquid inside is pure and uncontaminated – the perfect specimen.

“Whoa,” Wainfleet is peering at the sketches on the wall. “You’re really into these weird little plants, huh?”

“They’re the whole reason I’m here on Pandora.” You say matter-of-factly, placing the beaker back down on the desk. “Everything I’m doing here, all my research, is all centred around them.”

It’s the most you’ve ever said in the presence of the recoms, and you find yourself mentally patting yourself on the back. You really are intelligent and driven, though you’re sure that the recoms would never have guessed it based on how moronically you act around Colonel Quaritch. They seem quite surprised to discover that you have actual interests other than their beefy commanding officer.

Fike and Wainfleet both poke around the work room curiously, snickering with each other as they peer blindly into microscopes and push around enormous reference books like big kids.

“Hey, careful with that!” You say reproachfully, though they pay you no mind.

Quaritch himself is still standing silently, taking in the room with alert but judgemental eyes. He doesn’t seem all that impressed by your work, but then again it’s almost impossible to read him. He makes no effort to chide his underlings at all, and they continue messing about unchecked.

“Took us a while to find you.” Quaritch speaks suddenly, and your attention is drawn to him immediately, a swoop of excitement juddering through you at the fact that he’s speaking to you. “You’re not in the lab with the rest of the science pukes.”

Your silly excitement at being on the receiving end of his attention dims a little at that. Science pukes? Seriously? You’ve worked damn hard for this degree! 

“That’s not nice.” You say, then mentally curse yourself. It’s not quite the scathing reproach you had intended – it comes out a little wobbly and uncertain. God, why do you have to come across as such a sad little wet blanket whenever you’re in front of him?

“Not nice?” Quaritch repeats, sounding partially amused and partially disbelieving. “And when have I ever been known for bein’ nice, sweetheart?”

Good lord, he’s terrifying. You don’t normally have a difficult time standing up for yourself, but something about being on the receiving end of that bright yellow stare makes your stomach twist. You don’t know if it's fear or arousal, and you also don't know which would be worse.

“I just mean-” You start, trying hard to keep your voice strong and confident. “That calling people names isn’t nice.”

Calling people names isn’t nice. Fucking hell, you sound like a goddamn five-year-old. What is even happening to you? You swear you’re not normally like this. Has your brain just rotted thanks to all the stupid ogling of his big biceps you’ve been doing? You’re mortified.

“Jesus Christ.” Wainfleet’s voice calls out from somewhere behind you. “What the fuck is this?”

For a moment, you’re desperately relieved that they’ve called attention away from you. Quaritch is looking at you with scathing disbelief for that calling people names comment, and you’re quite sure that whatever he was going to say in response to that would be so biting that you’d wish you were dead.

But then you turn to look at Wainfleet, and you actually do wish that you were dead.

Because in his hand, looking almost regular sized against his much larger body, is that stupid, evil giant blue Na’vi dildo that Geiszler had given you last week. You had stuffed it behind a whole load of old papers on an unused desk and forgotten about it – it was just your fucking luck that these gormless blue bastards would unearth it accidentally as they poked around.

Mortification erupts through your body, so overwhelming that it roots you to the spot. No way. No way. No way.

“Holy fuck!” Fike bursts out laughing, and holds his hands up. “Give that here!”

Nothing can describe the sheer humiliation that sears through you when Wainfleet tosses the dildo to Fike. You just stand there frozen, watching the two enormous Na’vi soldiers throw a huge silicone dick between them in the middle of your workspace.

“Damn, the little intern’s a freak!” Fike says in mock approval, his voice dripping in amusement. 

He makes a show of holding the dildo up to the light and peering at it, faux-admiring the bumps and ridges along the shaft.

“No, that’s not-” You start, and your voice cracks. “That’s not mine-”

You go entirely ignored as the two soldiers roar boisterously.

“Damn, you think of the Colonel when you use this?” Wainfleet asks, cackling as Fike throws it back to him. “Is this why you follow him around everywhere? You want the real thing?”

The humiliation is so intense that it’s actually difficult to breathe around it, stifling and choking. You glance at Quaritch, hoping that by some miracle he’s gone temporarily blind and deaf and has missed this entire exchange so far. The idea of him knowing that you’ve been following him around is shocking, and you feel yourself shrinking.

Quaritch has just pressed his lips together. As you watch, he gives a deep sigh through his nose. 

Your stomach quivers with mortification. Oh my god. He knew already – how long has he been aware of your crush?

“No,” You choke out, your skin burning hot. “No, I don’t- I don’t use that, it was given to me as a joke-”

Quaritch is still so difficult to read, but even still he looks as though he would rather be literally anywhere else right now. His gaze flickers briefly over your face, which is all contorted in mortification as you just barely bite back tears, and he rolls his eyes with a sigh.

“Alright, that’s enough-” Quaritch starts, but it’s too late.

Wainfleet has just reached out and smacked Fike around the head with the dildo, laughing as he did so, and Fike stumbles back with a playful roar as he tries to escape the silicone cock. He throws his arms out to catch his balance, but his big hands splay across one of the work tables and knock some of your reference books to the floor.

But it’s not just the books he knocks into. His hand smacks into that precious beaker full of panopyra liquid, and you let out a startled shout as the force of the blow of his hand breaks the glass container, the liquid inside showering all over the desk with all your papers.

Everyone goes silent, as though the sound of breaking glass signals some kind of change in the atmosphere. 

You let out a sound that’s positively wounded, jerking forward to the destroyed sample. You needed this specimen so badly – it was supposed to inform the research that you needed to finish your dissertation. How long would you have to wait for another sample like this one? You’ve been working on this research for years, and you were so damn close to the end. So damn close to being qualified, to stepping up the ladder and being taken seriously by your peers rather than just being seen as an intern.

“Shit.” One of the recoms mutter; you don’t bother looking up to see if it’s Wainfleet or Fike. “Didn’t mean to-”

Your eyes trace over the mess of broken glass, but then you realise what the sample has broken on and you feel your stomach drop to your feet.

“No!” You shriek, launching yourself forward. 

The recoms all jerk in surprise at your shout, but you pay them no mind. It’s like they’re invisible to you now. All you can see is the way that your papers, your precious research, is being soaked through and destroyed by the liquid that has spilled all over the desk.

“No, no, no, no.” You breathe to yourself, biting hard at the inside of your cheek to keep from crying as you struggle to pick up your research, shaking it out in an attempt to get the worst of the wetness off.

It’s too late. Your research, all your painstakingly-taken hand-written notes, tears like wet tissue-paper in your hands.

You raise your head to look at the three recoms in your workspace, still clutching your destroyed research to your chest. You must look crazed, breathing heavily with wide and wild eyes, because Wainfleet and Fike share a wincing look with each other.

Awkwardly, Wainfleet reaches out and places the large dildo on the counter next to the ruins of your work. Everyone in the room struggles not to look at it.

Quaritch’s jaw is clenched hard, his ears pinned back against the sides of his head. He appears to be holding himself back from shouting, though you’re not sure at who. Slowly, he turns his head to look at his two subordinates, who are now standing with their heads ducked as they try not to make eye contact.

With trembling hands, you drop your ruined research back down on the counter. Your mortification is swiftly being overtaken by pure rage. 

How fucking dare they? It would be one thing for them to mock you about your crush (that apparently Quaritch was already fucking aware of) but it’s entirely another for them to humiliate you by parading around with that stupid fucking dildo that you’ve never even properly touched. And then to go and destroy your sample, the one that you’ve waited so long for and that you needed so desperately for your dissertation? And to destroy a chunk of your existing research too?

“Get out.” You whisper, your fingers shaking as you pluck at the ruins of your papers.

Quaritch sighs through his nose. “Look, we’ll get you another sample of the damn thing. There’s no need to-”

“Get out!” You raise your voice for real, whipping your head up to shout at them. “God, you assholes! Get out!”

Fike laughs nervously, glancing towards Quaritch. That only sets you off even more. They have the audacity to follow their commanding officer into your workspace and mess around, ruining things, and now they’re not going to listen to you after destroying your work? God, they look down on you so much it’s sickening. They’re not even listening to you after humiliating you so soundly, choosing instead to look towards Quaritch as if his opinion matters so much more than yours.

Your rage is only fuelled by your earlier embarrassment, your face flushed with heat as you glare at them. Oh, you’re furious. You can’t remember ever being so humiliated and livid in your life.

“I want you fucking out!” You roar, and when they don’t move you reach for a reference book on the table beside you and launch it at them. “You’ve fucking ruined it-”

Wainfleet ducks to avoid the book that soars over his head, but you’re already reaching for another one. He throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender, but you’re so blinded by rage that you barely even see it.

“Oi!” Quaritch lets out a shout and steps forward with his hands outstretched as if to physically stop you. “Enough! You’ll be written up for assault if you keep this up-”

You let out an inarticulate noise of fury as you throw a second book, this one bouncing harmlessly off Fike’s shoulder. “I’ll be written up for murder if you don’t get the fuck out of here-”

Wainfleet lets out a sound that sounds like a nervous giggle that’s been choked back. You can imagine that it’s a little bit of a shock for them to see you go from shy and mild-mannered to absolutely fucking insane, but your crush on Quaritch really had made you act like a total idiot around them. You feel so stupid about it now – you had become so enamoured with someone who totally ignored your existence, shrinking into yourself like a goddamn wallflower because you were so shy around him.

But Quaritch is looking at you, for possibly one of the first times ever. Not just looking at you, but seeing you. 

When you grab at a microscope to throw, heavy and metal and definitely capable of doing some damage, Quaritch lets out a sharp hiss and steps forward with a single hand outstretched towards you as though to physically restrain you.

“Get out.” He says without looking at his soldiers.

Wainfleet and Fike share a look with each other before practically scrambling to leave. They can’t seem to leave fast enough, though you have no doubt that they’re snickering together as they go. 

“You too.” You grit out, fists clenched around the microscope as though it’s a weapon. “I want you gone too.”

Despite your obvious anger, Quaritch makes no move to leave. His big honey-coloured eyes trace over the broken glass on your desk, your ruined research, your big teary eyes. You probably look like a mess; you’re practically sweating from all the embarrassment, your hair is in disarray, your eyes are all swollen from the angry tears that are threatening to spill over.

“You need to calm down, darlin’.” He says, his voice low and a little bit rumbly. Ordinarily that might make you melt, but as it is you just feel as though he’s being condescending. “It’s just some goddamn plant water. You’ll get more on the next run.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You snap without thinking, your chest still heaving with poorly stifled emotion. “It’s not just about the sample and you know it.”

Quaritch’s golden eyes cut towards the big dildo on the counter, and you feel your temper flare all over again.

“It’s not about that either!” You snap, embarrassed and defensive. “This research is my life! Without it, there’s no point to me even being here on Pandora. Your fucking knuckleheads have just destroyed months worth of work. Do you have any idea how much harder I have to work than the fucking men out there?”

You gesture towards the door to the main laboratory, where you’re sure they’ve walked past all the overwhelmingly male scientists working away. No doubt they can hear the shouting, but no one has been brave enough to come looking to see what’s wrong. 

Quaritch’s expression doesn’t so much as twitch as he watches you rage, and he doesn’t interrupt.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is just to claw my way up to equal standing with them? They laugh at me enough already, that’s why they gave me that stupid thing-” You wave at the dildo without looking at it. “Just because they knew that I liked you. They laugh at me for having a stupid crush on you, and I… I’m so sick of people looking at me like I’m just pathetic, because I work so hard! And now you’re here, and you’ve just ruined my work-”

Quaritch lets you rant until you run yourself dry. You’re breathing heavily, exhausted and furious and so fucking sick of the sight of him.

“Look, kid.” He says at last, when you pause for breath. “You’re sweet. Pretty. Smart, clearly. But I ain’t looking for anything like that. I need to focus on this mission-”

“Oh, what the fuck.” You breathe, staring at him in total disbelief. “Is that the only part you fucking heard? I have a crush on you, that’s it! All I wanted was for you to look my way, and it took a giant fucking dildo for you to actually acknowledge that you knew about how I felt? You’re such a dick-”

“Hey,” He barks, stepping forward. He’s so huge, his bulk alone throwing you into shadow as he looms over you. “Watch your mouth-”

“No!” You snap, although your voice is a little thin. He really is an intimidating bastard. “No, you don’t get to tell me what to do! God, I am so sick of men thinking they can tell me what to do-”

Quaritch’s chest erupts in a little rumbling snarl, and you have to fight not to flinch away from him. He’s like a beast, lip all curled up over his fangs as he growls at you for your attitude.

“So what, your solution is to hide away in this miserable little room?” He demands, stepping forward just so he can look down his nose at you. “Some of those dickless little science guys were mean to you, so you’re gonna lock yourself away like this?”

“It’s not-”

“What’s the point in dressing up all pretty in those little skirts with all that makeup if you’re hiding away in here, huh?” He continues, insistent as he keeps pushing forward until you start to back up. “Maybe that’s why they don’t take you seriously. You need to stand up for-”

“That’s for you!” You shout, temper flaring up all over again. “I do that for you, because I thought you might look at me!”

Quaritch pauses at that, blinking as though you’ve just taken him by surprise. It infuriates you; how could he be so stupid, especially when he has known about your crush all this time. It’s not like it was subtle.

Suddenly, you feel absolutely exhausted. It’s like every ounce of your energy has been leached out of you, and you turn your head and sigh. The amount of emotions that have washed through you in such a short space of time has left you feeling drained and drawn, and you just want to be left alone now.

“I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You say tiredly, turning away from him and burying your face in your hands. “Just get out. Go away.”

There’s a long pause, but mercifully Quaritch doesn’t try to argue any further. You’re still turned away and facing the wall, so you hardly hear his quiet footsteps as he turns on his heel and marches out of the room. The door whooshes closed behind him, leaving you alone and hunched in the middle of the room.

In hindsight, you may have overreacted with the recoms a little bit. 

You had been careful to back up some of the most important points of your research to your hard drive, so you hadn’t truly lost as much information as you had initially feared. It’s more of an inconvenience than a tragedy, really. The loss of the sample does sting quite a bit, but you’ll get more. It just might take another couple of months – the wait is frustrating, but there’s nothing you can do about that.

All you can do is try to recoup some of the notes that you’ve lost, and struggle to write more based on the samples that you’ve already studied. It’s very difficult to come up with any new material when you don’t actually have anything to work with, but all you can do is your best, as usual.

Geiszler creeps into the small workroom a few days later. 

For several days after the incident with the recoms, none of your colleagues have dared to say a word to you. You’re sure they had heard the shouting, the glass shattering, the sound of you throwing books. If they had somehow missed all that, then they surely would have noticed the recoms that had stalked from the workroom, all agitated and pent up from the argument. Yet none of them have even asked you if you were okay.

“Still avoiding us, huh?” Geiszler asks, his question accompanied with a nervous laugh.

“Fuck off.” You bite out without looking away from your computer screen.

“Ouch.” Geiszler mutters. “I suppose I might deserve that.”

You can hear him approaching, but you still refuse to turn around. You just keep stubbornly working away, acting as though you’re too busy to spare him any attention. Unfortunately, Geiszler doesn’t let your inattention sway him; he just settles in a stool nearby, fidgeting with his fingers.

“I, uh… heard about that little blow up you had with the Colonel.” He says, clearly a little awkward. “I wanted to apologise. Upon reflection, the, uh… the dildo thing might have been a little inappropriate.”

You fight the urge to sigh. God, what did you do to deserve being surrounded with morons like this?

“Yeah, no shit.” You mutter, finally looking up to glare at him. “Why are you here? All I want is to be left alone.”

Geiszler, to your gratification, looks positively shame-faced. He’s looking down at his hands as he twiddles his thumbs, sighing.

“Wanted to apologise, I guess.” He mutters, shrugging.

“Yeah, well, whatever.” You mutter, finally abandoning your attempts to appear busy as you turn to him. “Plenty more Na’vi on Pandora, right?”

A nervous giggle bubbles out of his chest, as though he’s not certain if he’s allowed to laugh or not.

“Yeah, yeah, right.” He says, starting to grin. “And, uh… are you.. Are you strictly Na’vi-sexual, or are you-”

You burst out laughing, turning to look at him in disbelief. “Na’vi-sexual? There’s no way you just fucking asked me that.”

There’s a bizarre sort of blush on his face, but he laughs along with you anyway. “Right, right. Well, you can’t blame me for wondering, right? With your crush, I mean.”

Your smile fades, and you look back down at your work scattered all over the desk. 

“I don’t want to talk about that, actually.” You murmur, “I think I’ve made enough of a fool of myself as is.”

Geiszler nods awkwardly, looking distinctly guilty.

“Yeah. You, um,” He breaks off, scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “You look nice.”

You just raise a sardonic eyebrow at him. You’ve gone without makeup today, and you know that going bare-faced makes you look younger, but who were you kidding with all that makeup, anyway? You’ve abandoned the sleek pencil skirts and pretty blouses, too. Under your lab coat you wear a simple sort of sundress, one that stops just below the knees. No heels, either, just sneakers.

“Yeah, well.” You shrug a shoulder lazily. “No one to impress.”

Geiszler’s smile twists as he nods again. “Sure, sure. Um… look, I was wondering-”

You never do get to know what it is that Geiszler is wondering. The sound of the door to the workroom hissing open cuts him off, and he falls silent as the two of you look to see who has just encroached into your space.

The sight of Quaritch’s big blue form ducking in and then straightening up has the two of you stiffening, staring at him in disbelief. 

You’re absolutely rooted to the spot at the sight of him, but when he turns to look at you, you whirl around and immediately feign being busy. You grab blindly at papers and datapads, and peer unseeingly at your computer screen as you try to look preoccupied. What is he doing here?

Geiszler, meanwhile, doesn’t even try to pretend that he’s not gawking stupidly. 

Quaritch glances his way, and his expression drops into a sneer. “What’re you looking at? Get outta here.”

Irritatingly, Geiszler scrambles to do just that. He sends one last glance towards you before practically fleeing from the room, nervously ducking around Quaritch’s imposingly large figure.

Your eyes bulge a little now that you’re left alone with him, and your eyes dart around frantically around the room in search of something to do. Why is he here? Why the fuck has he come back? It’s been days since your embarrassing breakdown in front of him, and you’ve been blissfully unaware of him since. You’ve basically just locked yourself up in this room, working on your research. You’ve even taken meals here – it’s a much more productive use of your time than wandering around the base after Quaritch in the hopes of catching a good glimpse of his ass in his camo.

Fighting to resist the urge to look his way, you tap urgently at the datapad in your hand.

“Do you need something, Colonel?” You ask icily, your attention focused down on your pad. “I’m very busy.”

There’s a momentary silence, but you’re not willing to look up to see his expression.

“Was that one of the cockless little deadbeats that’s been giving you a hard time?”

Giving you a hard time. God, it sounds as though you’re a bullied little kid. How embarrassing.

“He’s the one that gave me the dildo.” You say simply, tapping on the datapad screen. “But he’s not so bad, I guess. Just a bit of an idiot. That doesn’t answer my question.”

The next pause is much longer.

“Haven’t seen you around.” Quaritch drawls, his voice slow and even. “Couldn’t get away from you, before.”

Oh my god, this man is just determined to humiliate you. 

Pursing your lips, you turn and march towards the specimen fridge in the corner of the room. It’s really just a mini fridge; a low, hip-high box that contains various biological specimens, and you kneel down and stick your head inside in an attempt to look busy.

“Not like there was any need to come see you.” You call out simply, your voice slightly muffled from inside the fridge. “You made yourself pretty clear, before.”

“Oh?” His voice is closer, though his steps are so light that you can’t hear him approach. “About what?”

“About me.” You snap, though you keep your head firmly buried in the fridge. It’s so much easier to talk to him when you can’t see his face. “Just go back to ignoring me, please.”

There’s another long pause, and you keep staring blankly at the bright white wall of the mini fridge. But then a touch comes to your hip, and you jolt in surprise. 

Quaritch’s hand is big and hot, the heat of it searing through the fabric of your labcoat and your sundress. It engulfs your whole damn hip, curving around towards your lower stomach.

“What’s with the change in clothes, sweetheart?” His voice has dropped an octave, rumbling into you as you feel him shuffle closer. “I thought all those little skirts were for me.”

Your fingers clench around the door of the fridge. What the fuck is he doing? All that time you had spent dressed up, made up, simpering like a damn idiot at him, he had barely even given you a sideways glance. But now, after screaming and crying at him like a lunatic, he’s making a pass at you while you’re wearing a simple dress with no makeup. What the fuck?

“I’m not trying to impress you.” You say simply – you feel braver inside the fridge.

“No?” His thumb strokes over your thigh, and you feel the hem of your dress hitch higher. “Well, I like this little number. Better than the others, maybe.”

You swallow thickly, staring blankly at one of the little labeled test tubes beside your face. You don’t answer, but you don’t protest either. Quaritch seems to take your lack of response as encouragement, because his whole hand drifts from your hip to just under your dress. You jerk as you feel the skirt being flipped up over your ass – but you still don’t pull away.

“Hey, kid,” He murmurs, his voice soft and a little condescending. “I gotta question for you.”

His hands are moving slowly, as though waiting to see if you’re going to kick out or try to stop him any way. You know you probably should (where is your goddamn self-respect), but for some reason you allow the touch to travel all the way up your thighs.

Your belly tightens, heat flooding between your legs. Oh god, why aren’t you stopping this? You’re already embarrassed enough about the show of yourself you’ve made in front of him – this is surely going to make it worse by making you seem like a total slut. But then again, you’ve been desperate for him since you first locked eyes on him. Maybe you are a slut.

“What?” You breathe, your voice trembling a little as his big fingers leave red-hot trails over the bare skin on the back of your legs. A large palm strokes over the inside of your thigh, the soft calluses tickling your sensitive skin.

“That dildo. You ever use it?”

The question startles you enough that you jolt, the top of your head smacking into the top of the fridge. 

“What?”

He chuckles, and then you feel those big fingers curl around your cotton panties. “You coming outta there?”

“No,” You blurt, grabbing at the sides of the mini fridge. “No, I’m very busy.”

There’s a sharp tug to your underwear, and you gasp as you feel him pull the back of your panties up so that they’re wedged right up between your ass cheeks, the fabric stretched taut and tight over your cunt. You’re admittedly wetter than you’d like to be, and you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of him noticing.

And yet, you still don’t pull away. If anything, you’re holding your breath, waiting to see what the fuck he’s going to do next.

When you feel warm breath on your exposed ass cheek, you nearly choke. Oh my god, how closely is he looking at you right now? Is his face pressed right up between your legs? It sure fucking feels like it.

“Answer the question.”

You swallow thickly. “I, um.. I don’t-”

His hand twists, and you gasp as your panties are pulled up further. The message is clear – tell the truth.

“Once,” You choke out, mortified. “Just once! I just- I threw it out after, I didn’t-”

You don’t even have time to fully process the fact that you’ve just admitted that. It had been a moment of total weakness, your decision to smuggle that stupid dildo back to your room. Or maybe it had been morbid curiosity – you just wanted to know if you would be able to take it. You had binned it straight after, mortified by your own weakness. 

There’s a sharp pain on the soft pudge of your ass, as though he’s just nipped at you there. Your thighs twitch together, horrified by the little electric zap of arousal that jolts between your legs.

“Could you take it?” He wonders, and you can hear a grin in his voice.

Holy shit, is this happening? Are you dead? Hallucinating? Have you just lost your goddamn mind?

Emboldened by the fact that he can’t see your face where you’ve stuffed your head and shoulders into the fridge, you mumble, “Pervert.”

Two hands grip at your hips, and you let out a wheezing, startled gasp when you feel a wide, rough tongue lick a stripe across your pussy through your panties. His spit soaks through the delicate fabric, making it cling to your already sticky cunt. 

“Whatcha say?” He mumbles, his muffled words vibrating against your clit. He sounds smug, the bastard.

Your thighs clench around his face, but he just reaches up and pushes them back open again with no effort.

“What are you doing?” You gasp out, dropping your forehead down onto the tray of the fridge and making the sample test tubes clink together dangerously.

He huffs a short laugh and pulls his head back to nip right at the juncture of your ass and thigh, making you jolt away from his mouth. “What, you don’t like it? Want me to stop?”

“No!” You blurt, reaching back to try and grab at his head to keep him in place.

He knocks your hand aside, but you can feel him laughing. “Get your head out of that goddamn fridge then, before I drag you out.”

You feel like staying inside the mini-fridge just on principle, but you can’t bear the thought of him pulling his mouth away from you. Not when he’s finally started to touch you, after so long of you yearning for it.

Slowly, you pull your head out. No sooner have you started to move then Quaritch uses his grip on your hips to pull you out. You let out a startled sound as his big hands grab at you and flip you, throwing you on your back in front of him. The display of casual strength is unexpected and very, very attractive, and your legs spread eagerly before he even moves to open them himself.

When you actually get a look at him, it nearly bowls you right over. His pupils are so blown that they’re swallowing his irises, leaving just a thin ring of gold around the edge. His ears are held high and alert, and his mouth is quirked in that infuriatingly cocky little grin right now. 

Fuck, he’s just as horny as you are. The realisation is shocking.

“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” He asks, hooking his fingers into your panties and tugging them right off with no effort.

You don’t put up a single ounce of fight, arching your back with an excited gasp as you’re left exposed in front of him with your dress all hiked up around your waist.

He lets out a soft groan as he reaches a finger out and drags it through the folds of your cunt, clearly marvelling at the wetness that has collected there. That same finger slips inside of you and you moan, wanting more, wanting to roll up into it, wanting the ache inside of you filled to the brim.

“Look at you, kid, all sexed up like this.” He says, pulling that finger out and admiring the glistening slick on his hand.

“You’re just a-” You gasp, heaving for breath as you struggle to regain yourself. “A dirty old man!”

That makes him laugh, a low groan of a sound that makes your eye twitch. Holy fuck, does he like being called names?

“Oh yeah?” He rumbles, sounding delighted. He doesn’t wait for you to answer before he’s licking at you again.

He flattens his tongue and guides it up, sliding across your slit before enveloping your clit in his mouth and sucking. You’re arching into his mouth, breathlessly stuttering his name as your hips twitch. His hands on your hips are so big and so strong, holding you so firmly in place as his mouth devours you. 

The flat of his tongue is rough and textured like a cat’s, and you let out a low gasping sound as it catches against your clit. Two of his fingers push into you as his tongue works over your clit, as thick and meaty as a well-hung cock. He must feel the flutter of your cunt around his fingers, because he growls low, his powerful form all but vibrating with tension. 

Oh god, he’s so big. You had known that, of course, but it’s so different having him all up in your space like this, your legs thrown over the bulge of his biceps as his big head worms its way between your legs, licking insistently at you. The bulk of him is enormous, simmering sexuality about to boil over - it’s insanely arousing to you, the sheer energy of him sending your head spinning. 

The onslaught of sensation from the wet heat of his mouth has your head dropping back to the floor, staring up at the ceiling as your eyes go wide. You’ve never felt anything like this before, and as much as you don’t want to give Quaritch the satisfaction of knowing that he affects you like this, you can't help the way your back bows as he licks and sucks at you. 

He grins against you when he feels you shiver against his mouth. When your thighs clench closed around his head he groans softly against you. Embarrassed, your legs spring back apart, but Quaritch reaches up and grabs at your thighs to prevent them from spreading too wide.

“Squeeze if you want to.” He grunts, before devoting all his attention to licking and sucking at you once more. He tugs encouragingly at your thighs, and when you wrap them tentatively around his head he gives an appreciative little hum.

You shiver, chest heaving. When he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, his textured tongue rasping over the bead of nerves, a strong white current washes over you and you arch into his mouth as you come.

You can’t speak, can’t think. The feeling is too overwhelming, too all-consuming before the come down eventually starts and words are coming out, your body shaking. 

“Oh fuck, god – oh my god,” you sob, slapping your hand over your mouth, biting down at your palm. “Quaritch– please, shit.”

You jerk your hips up, partially in an attempt to escape from the relentless stroking of his rough tongue over your oversensitive clit, but Quaritch moves with them. He’s basically on his knees following your cunt like a dog as you try to twitch away, using his huge hands on your ass to keep you pulled tight against his mouth.

He goes on licking at your clit and the swollen puffiness of your cunt, and when the rough texture catching against your most sensitive spot gets too much for you, you have to push at his head. He pulls back just slightly, but then continues to lick at the insides of your thighs, as if to lap up every last glimmer of your slickness.

Your head rolls on your neck, all boneless and loose as you wheeze for breath. Jesus Christ, you’ve just come so hard you can’t feel your toes. Colonel Quaritch has just eaten your pussy so goddamn good that you nearly blacked out. What the fuck?

Your cunt is still pulsing with the aftershocks of your orgasm when you feel Quaritch’s big fingers pressing inside of you, testing the stretch and slickness.

“You never answered me,” He murmurs, his tone almost conversational despite the huskiness of his voice. “And I hate repeating myself. So tell me; could you take that dildo?”

“Yes,” You sob, twisting your body around as his thumb rolls over your too-sensitive clit. “Yes, I could take it.”

“Yeah?” He says and it comes out on a purr, the vibrations rumbling in between your legs. “Think you could take me?”

You hardly have any idea how you’ve gotten into this position, but you’ve been imagining this for months now. You’re not stupid enough to throw away this chance.

“Why don’t you come and see?” You breathe, leaning back and arching your back boldly. You can hardly believe your own bravery, but maybe your own horniness is just making you stupid.

But Quaritch laughs, as though he finds you stupidly amusing, and his hands drop to his belt. You watch with wide, eager eyes as he flicks open his cargos and pushes them down and oh! There it is.

You push yourself up to get a better look, mouth falling open a little bit as you get a look at his cock. It’s big and blue and ridged, just like the dildo, but you hardly think it’s fair to compare the two. Quaritch’s cock is real, and looks velvety soft to the touch with a prominent, purplish head. Opalescent precum is beading at the tip, tinged slightly blue and glowing a little bit, what the fuck? He’s so hard that it looks a little painful as it strains against his stomach, though he’s still grinning so slyly that you would never guess.

You want to touch, but you don’t get the chance. His big paws for hands close around your hips and flip you again so that you’re on your hands and knees once more – he seems to like you in this position, because his hands grope insistently at the soft flesh of your ass as he grinds his hips into yours, the thick hardness of his cock rutting against the inside of your thighs.

He’s rough with you by human standards, but never enough to hurt. Just enough to send a little thrill up your spine when he pulls your hips into his, the thick ridge of his cockhead beginning to prod at the entrance of your cunt. It’s hot and large, but your mind feels like liquid, too drunk on all the pleasure he’s given you so far to deny more. 

You choke weakly, but you don’t try to wriggle away. You can do this, you can take him. He’s prepared you well, you’re relaxed and so wet, and you had managed to take that dildo inside you, if only for a brief time. You try to stop tensing and relax yourself as you take shaky breaths.

Quaritch pushes his cock in a little further, almost unbearably slow. You feel yourself being stretched open, small stings of pain shooting through you as you drop your forehead to the ground and grunt. One of his big thumbs strokes over the small of your back, the motion soothing and unexpectedly sweet as he slips another inch inside. 

“Oh, fuck.” You squeak, eyes wide. 

You can feel little bumps and ridges squeezing their way inside as he penetrates you, your lungs seizing up. Quiet cries and gasps fall out of your mouth as you adjust to the feeling of his cock filling you up. No human had ever given you this overwhelming sensation before, the feeling of being impossibly stretched open beyond belief. Not even that stupid goddamn dildo had come close to this.

Every time you think the length of his textured cock has finally ended, he’ll push a little more of himself in. You keep your eyes tightly closed as you continue panting heavily. He’s going incredibly slow too, careful and deliberate in his movements. You had stupidly thought that you would adjust quickly, but it feels as though you’re just barely hanging in there. 

Then, finally, Quaritch pauses. It’s a mercy, because your breaths are coming in wheezing pants now as you clench up around his cock, tightening up around the intrusion in flutters. You must be tight to the point of causing pain, but he just lets out a rumbly sort of groan against your back. His hands tense around your middle, impossibly long fingers holding you in place.

Right as you begin to accept the size of him, he uses that grip on your waist to pull you away from his cock and then back down onto him again. It knocks the wind right out of you. You gulp wildly for air, soundlessly. You can’t even cry out, you’re so stunned.

“Fuck,” Quaritch moans. “Like wet velvet, honey. Well done.”

Before you can process or even think, Quaritch pulls out and then pushes back into you, again and again. Every bump drags against your walls and snags on every sensitive part of you. It feels like you had never been fucked before this, the sweet, dull pain and overwhelming sensations of Quaritch looming over your body ruining you. 

He huffs and growls as he begins to thrust up into you, no longer slow and careful. Each time he pistons his hips, it’s powerful and keeps you from taking deep breaths. The way his body presses into yours, the way every part of you touches his burning skin, is intoxicating.

His need, his hunger borders on bestial. His wet breath condenses against your skin as he ruts into you fervently, destroying your thoughts. You’re totally at his mercy, whimpering pathetically and whining. 

It’s all too much, his size, his pace, his sharp teeth nipping the back of your neck and shoulders. He’s like a wild animal, his hard cock burying itself inside you over and over again. It’s the first time that you really begin to appreciate that Quaritch isn’t human anymore – it extends far beyond his looks and into his behaviour and instincts as well. There’s no reprieve; you can only accept his intense pace.

Unbelievably, your abdomen is tensing again, reeling up tighter and tighter. You’re on the brink of coming again, but it feels like it’s impossible. You’ve never been so pleased by a partner before, hardly ever able to come at the hands of someone else, and you’ve never come so quickly twice in succession before. You feel like you’ll die if you come again, it was too much. Everything was too much.

“Come on, mama, let me see that back arch.” Quaritch mutters to you, his voice thick and growling as his big hand settles across your shoulderblades and pushes you down.

All you can do is obey, shivering as his big hand keeps your upper body pinned to the floor, his other hand using its grip on your waist to pull your ass up higher so that he can pound into you at a better angle.

“I’m going to-” You gasp, your thighs trembling as you sob against the floor. “Oh, god, oh fuck, oh shit, I’m going to-”

“Gonna cream on me?” Quaritch grunts, his pace taking the air out of you. “Go ahead, kid. Go on. This is what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it?”

His hips slam into your ass with every thrust, every drag of his cock working those ridges against the sensitive nerves inside of you. You can feel him twitch inside of you, a sure sign that he’s approaching his own release. The thought makes you moan as the strength behind his hips sends you skidding forward on every thrust before getting yanked back by his hands.

Your lashes are all clumped together from tears, your mouth hanging open stupidly – not only are his thrusts knocking the air from you, it feels as though they’re knocking the thoughts from you too. It feels as though he’s giving fucked stupid an entirely new meaning. Your entire world has narrowed down to the sensation of his cock rutting between your legs, his balls grinding against your clit. Your release is winding up in your belly, and you feel your eyes roll and toes curl as it approaches.

“You been watching me, wanting this. If I’d known what a little spitfire you were, maybe I would have given it to you sooner-”

He rocks into you, his pace now rough and deliberate as he claims you in short, fast strokes. Your little workroom is filled with the unmistakable sound of slapping flesh, his hips snapping against your ass with every feral grunt. He has you pinned so firmly beneath him, every thrust feeling as though it’s punching right up into your chest. It aches, and that ache spreads throughout your pelvis, your belly. It’s warm and sweet as syrup. It feels like he's going to break you in half. You think you might want him to break you in half.

“Look at you go.” Quaritch mumbles, seemingly to himself, and then you feel the broad expanse of his hand slap against the soft flesh of your ass. It seems like he just wants to watch it jiggle as he ruts you like an animal. 

He leans forward, his sharp teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he murmurs to you.“This is what that limp-dicked bitch from earlier wanted with you, you know. Bet he imagined you just like this, all stretched out and wanting on that dildo he gave you. Little pervert. He wouldn’t know what to do with you. Think he’s outside listening? I bet all those cockless motherfuckers are listening right now, trying to imagine what you look like. Let them hear you, honey. Go on.”

It’s too much for you. Your elbows give out, your face smushing against the floor as Quaritch uses his grip on your hips to pull your ass back against him, his huge torso plastering itself against your back. His cock is spearing into you so deep that you feel as though you’re going to feel him inside you like this forever, feel the ghost of his cock plowing into you long after he’s gone. You feel every ridge, every vein, every throb.

“Oh god, oh fuck, shit, please!” You wheeze, shuddering as he fucks you into the floor. “I need to come, I need to come-”

You’re cut off from your babbling when one of Quaritch’s big, thick thumbs hooks into your mouth and presses down on your tongue. You moan, closing your eyes and sucking desperately at his stupid blue finger.

“Fuck, you’re hungry for it, ain’tcha.” Quaritch snickers, but he sounds breathless and a little disbelieving. “And here I was thinkin’ you were such a shy little thing.”

Just as suddenly as his finger had pushed its way into your mouth it’s removed, and you almost whine at the loss of it. But then, to your shock, you feel the spit-slick pad of his thumb stroking over the exposed rim of your asshole. He presses inside, the blunt thickness of his fat thumb wiggling inside as your whole body clenches around the intrusion hard.

With an overwhelmed scream, your entire body pulses like a heartbeat and your vision goes white. Your orgasm rocks through you like fire, as relentless and merciless as Quaritch’s rocking hips as he continues to fuck you through the quivers of your release.

“There you go,” He coos at you like you’re a goddamn animal. “Oh fuck, you needed this, didn’t you?”

Choked moans and hitched breaths bubble out of your mouth uncontrollably. It’s like he’s just been waiting for you to come, because now he loses that edge of controlled restraint that he’d managed to maintain. His thrusting is sloppy, uneven – he’s unmistakably nearing his own finish.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, darlin’.” He snarls. “Look at you gushin’ all over my cock.”

You yelp as he buries himself deep inside of you one last time, a rumbling snarl tearing its way out of his throat. You can feel the ridge of his pubic bone against your ass, his muscular thighs bracketing your own. He is rooted to the hilt, burrowing as far as possible, and you choke at the sensation of impossible fullness.

Quaritch hisses like an animal when he comes, and you squeal at the feeling of his hot come splashing inside of you then overflowing. It’s so hot that it feels as though it’s burning, but Quaritch just keeps going, the squelching shamefully loud in the quiet of the room.

Soon you’re forced to reach back and slap at his hip, gasping for breath and whimpering under the onslaught of his spent cock rubbing so insistently at your hypersensitive sex.

“Enough, fuck! Enough!” You wheeze, your forehead dropping down against the floor in surrender.

There’s a pause, and then Quaritch stops moving, his slowly softening cock buried deep inside and staying there. The heavy weight of him feels good, and you go lax on the floor as his big hands hold you up so lazily. Your chest is still heaving as you try to regulate your breathing, and Quaritch makes a couple of condescending cooing sounds to keep you quiet as he rolls you over beneath him. 

“Ow, fuck.” You breathe when he pulls out of you, leaving you awfully empty and clenching around nothing as you feel the wet dribble of his come spill out of you.

He pauses, glances down at your cunt. You can imagine you look nothing short of ruined right now, but Quaritch seems to be immensely satisfied at whatever he sees. He chortles a soft laugh, and reaches down to stroke his fingers through the sticky mess he’s left between your legs.

Your head lolls on your shoulders as you swat at him, grumbling at the electric shiver that the oversensitivity sends through you. He just snickers at your weak attempt to smack his hands away, unphased, and closes his hands around your waist before bodily picking you up to hold you against his chest.

You groan, unhappy to be moved. “Jesus Christ, gimme a minute.”

He ignores you, snorting another quiet laugh before standing with you, unbothered by the way you hang limp in his arms as he carries you towards one of the desks. His breathing is slightly laboured, and he practically drops you on the surface of the desk as he reaches for the respirator that he seemed to have abandoned when he first came in. His determination to fuck you through atmosphere that he struggles to breathe in is admirable; the Na’vi may be able to breathe oxygenated air for up to an hour, but it can be a challenge and that’s without strenuous physical activity.

Still, you can’t help but snicker yourself.

“What's wrong, old man?” You crow at him, grinning as you lay splayed out and exhausted on the desk below him. “Out of breath?”

Quaritch takes deep breaths from the respirator, clearly trying to regulate his body again after so long without proper air, but he still manages to choke a faintly disbelieving laugh.

“You used to be so sweet.” He mutters, slapping lightly at your thigh. It’s not a harsh smack, just enough to have you jolting a little under him. “What the hell happened, huh?”

“You didn’t look twice at me when I was sweet.” You grumble, reaching down to push the skirt of your dress back down self-consciously. “So don’t go acting like you’re disappointed.”

Quaritch snorts. Respirator abandoned, he leans down and nips at your shoulder, grinning against your bared skin as you jerk and cry out ow, fuck.

“Mm, I like a bit of fire.” He mutters, allowing the respirator to hang down around his neck as he licks over the little bite mark he’s left. “But you’re wrong about me looking. I can’t say I didn’t like those little skirts.”

“Oh.” You breathe, starting to smile. “Okay.” A little flustered now, you start to push yourself up into a sitting position, embarrassed about your spread legs. “Um… where’s my underwear?”

Quaritch grunts as though he doesn’t care for the question in the least. “D’you need them?”

“Yes!”

That big, stupid smug grin again. You’d dearly love to smack it off his face, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still send butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He doesn’t make any effort to seek out your lost panties, but you can’t be too irritated with him when he keeps nipping so insistently at the base of your neck, leaving hot twinges of pain-pleasure in the wake of his mouth.

“Asshole.” You say, though without any heat. Your eyes slide closed, enjoying his rough tongue against your collarbones. “Hey. You never told me why you came looking for me, anyway. Was it just to laugh at me?”

Finally, Quaritch raises his head. This close, you allow your eyes to trace over his face; his features are so alien, big and bold and more expressive than he intends. His ears twitch, and you fight back a smile at the sight. Sweet.

“Brought you more of that damned plant water.” He grunts. “It’s on your desk.”

Your eyes widen, and you immediately try to sit up, pushing roughly at his chest. “What?”

Quaritch allows you to push him away, though it’s not without an irritated sort of groan. Still though, he doesn’t look annoyed as he steps back to allow you to scramble off the counter he’s had you propped up on. If anything, his swishing tail reveals his sense of satisfaction.

Your knees nearly buckle when you hop down on the floor, but Quaritch’s enormous hand wraps around your elbow and keeps you upright. You don’t pause to try and regain your balance – you’re too busy trying to stagger over to your own messy workspace, your eyes wide and fixated on the sight of a sample beaker perched atop your desk.

“No way. No fucking way-!” You crow, your face splitting into an irrepressible grin. “Holy fuck!”

If possible, this sample is even bigger than the one that Wainfleet and Fike had smashed all over your notes. You take it in with disbelief, your hands reaching for it eagerly.

“A sample this size will let me do all the tests I need for my dissertation and more,” You breathe, awed. “I can- oh, wow. I’m going to finish my whole thesis. I’m going to get my motherfucking PhD.”

Quaritch’s mouth quirks, clearly amused by your foul mouth. He leans back against one of the spare desks just so he can watch you fuss over the sample he’s brought. 

“Do I get something in return?” He asks, and you can feel his big golden eyes dropping down over the length of your legs. His gaze feels even more heated now, as though knowing exactly what’s under your dress has lit some sort of fire in him.

You snort, stepping over to the sample fridge with the beaker clasped very carefully in your hands. 

“You certainly do not.” You say archly, hoping to maintain an aura of aloofness as you tug the fridge door open and place your precious sample carefully inside. “As far as I’m concerned, this sample can be considered reparations. If you bring me a sample of panopyra sensory tissue, however… then we can talk about rewards.”

You half wonder if maybe that was too bold, but Quaritch’s next chuckle holds an edge of heated delight. It seems like he wasn’t lying about liking a little fire. You’re so distracted by the careful tucking away of your sample that you jolt when you feel huge blue hands coming to land at your waist, tightening over your hipbones.

When he leans in to murmur in your ear, you shudder helplessly at the rumble of his chest. 

“Sounds good to me, sweetheart,” He mumbles, a hand reaching to stroke boldly over the curve of your ass. “And maybe next time we can get going without you wearing this damn fridge as a hat.”

[trivia-yandere]

fuck it a look into "survival" with jin; apart of my valentine's day masterlist - dont judge ik it's only november :3

you apply to a dating-show in hopes of winning enough money so you and your sister can live comfortably. what you didn’t know that you would be competing to death for the heart of one man while those on the dark web watched.

“Let’s get something straight, ladies.”

Your eyes turn towards who is speaking. The woman is tall, her skin almond and seemingly shining beneath the golden lights of the mansion. Her hair is neatly slicked into a bun, not an out of place hair in sight. Her eyes are dark as they roam around the room at each one of the contestants. She raises a manicured hand, crimson nails going around to point at each of you - six women in total.

“This is a competition.” the woman says, lowering her hand. “You all are not friends.”

You don’t respond, opting to listen instead as the other women chatter amongst themselves. One thing for certain, you didn’t have to be told at all.

“For the past week, you along with hundreds of other women had fought diligently to be where you are standing now. This is your final challenge. Look to your left and your right, as you are now competing against your direct rivals.”

--

“Ladies.” the host says, nodding to you all. “Place your plates right here onto the table.” she says, motioning to the large, glass table behind her. There’s cards that sit about six inches from one another that have each of your names labeled onto them.

“Now, Kim Seokjin-ssi will test them all.” she proceeds to say as each of you gather back into a line.

Kim Seokjin.

Your eyes begin to widen as a man, tall and slender, begins to strut from up the staircase to where you all stood. Your eyes are fixed onto him - as are the other women. Your mouth parts a bit as he bows before all of you, a mop of dark hair bouncing.

“Hello to you all.” the man says, a familiar voice dancing through your ears. The same exact voice of earlier.

Kim Seokjin was not an older man, no. He was young; and maybe you should’ve guessed by his voice. However, he didn’t look a day over 25. His skin was clear of any blemishes and porcelain similar to a doll. His eyes are beady as he looks between the six of you. His lips, plump and pink, form a low smile.

Jin is sporting a solid, black dress shirt that he proceeds to cuff toward his elbows. His dress pants are baggy and brown, however not a wrinkle in sight. You ponder just how much his outfit is, as you were told that wealth such as him doesn’t talk, but whispers.

“Now, let’s see.” Jin says, clapping his hands as he turns away.

Jin eyes the array of food on the table, humming to himself softly. 

It takes 10 minutes for Jin to try it all. Ten long minutes of you all waiting in silence as he eats, nodding his head a few times and then whispering to the host, who would either snicker or respond.

“Siobhan.” Jin speaks, his back not turning to face either of you. The host does, stepping away from Jin. “Come closer, please.”

Siobhan does, her long locks bouncing onto her shoulders as she comes face to face with Jin. He’s a beauty of a man and instantly, your heart jolts. Jealousy, sure, yet you weren’t here for true love. This wasn’t the bachelor. You were here for money and that only.

“Chan-Mi…Luisa…you two, as well.”

Your blood runs cold, your palms beginning to sweat. You’re unsure what Jin is doing - if you’re about to be eliminated or not. Your eyes glance at the other two women left, Zarish and Anjali. You suck in a breath, turning your eyes back to Jin. It would be humiliating to be sent home so early.

“Your food is…”

You swallow as the man slowly turns, his arms now behind his back. The smile on his lips he sported 10 minutes prior had disappeared.

“Lackluster.” Jin murmurs, and instantly his right arm jerks, a dagger held tight into the palm of his hand. He slices Siohban’s throat as quickly as yall all seen it, the woman gasping and clenching onto her neck.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 117 (A Genius Idea)

Ash and Pearl arrived downstairs to find their parents. "Mommy, the lights went out and the TV, too!" he cried.

Heather nodded. "Pearl's mom checked the electrical box out back and it's totally fried."

Dylan, an electrical engineer, spoke with Heather and Anjali. "I can't keep trying to patch around the same problem. That box is done, but the city says they won't be able to get someone out to replace it until tomorrow morning."

Anjali frowned. "That doesn't help us get tonight's meal on the table."

"I have an idea, but I need some beakers and some bubble gum," Ash said. The adults looked confused. "We can make a heating system with candles and metal trays!"

"What's the bubble gum for, buddy?" wondered Conrad.

"To hold them together! Bubble gum won't burn if we use it to secure the trays on the outside, and I can make it harden faster if there's a science table here!"

The adults were all impressed by his idea, and they set to work prepping a makeshift heating station to continue cooking the food. It would take longer this way, but at least everyone would eat a hot meal tonight.

Ash worked away at a rickety old science station donated by the local middle school, while Pearl glanced around the cavernous, dark shelter. "Hurry, Ash, it's getting dark outside!"

"It's only nighttime. It's not that scary."

"My mom says nights in the Spice District can be dangerous."

Ash tried to work a little faster. "It's okay, Pearl. Our parents won't let anything happen to us. Why did you take your coat off? It's cold in here."

"I run hot! My dad says it's genetic."

Once the food was in the makeshift ovens, everyone took a break outside, purchasing coffee and pastries from the cafe to enjoy in The Soup Kitchen's eclectic courtyard.

Chatting together at a long table, Heather's mouth dropped open when she spotted a face she hadn't seen in years. "Marcus Flex! Is it really you?"

Heather's first vet tech turned at the sound of her voice, breaking into a wide smile when he recognized her. "Doc Nesbitt! No way! What are you doing in the city?"

"Volunteering here with my fiance and my son."

"Man oh man, Ash must be so big now."

"I am!" he said, speaking up across the table. "Who are you?"

"I used to work for your mother, but I've lived here since I left town."

Heather nodded. "Are you and Thomasine doing well?"

"Things with us couldn't be better. I know I was a bit non-committal and flighty back when I lived in the Bay, but Thomasine changed me. I can't imagine spending my days with anyone else but her."

Heather smiled. "That's great Marcus. Are you working? I've been worried about you since you both left town."

He nodded proudly. "I'm in marketing now and she's a mental health nurse. We lived in a real dump of a place for a while, but then one day this woman knocked on our door and offered us a bigger suite in the building for the same rent. She just wanted to trade for a smaller place, and we thought she might be out of her mind, but she showed us her ID and she's never missed paying the landlord the rest of our rent."

"No offense, but that sounds a little suspicious," said Conrad. "Paying your rent and hers to live in a crappier apartment. Only a criminal would do that."

"Rafaella keeps to herself. If she's into anything, it's never affected us."

"What did you say her name was?" Heather said.

"Rafaella Santos, according to her ID."

Heather and Conrad exchanged tense looks. "What's the address of your old apartment?"

"910 Medina Studios. Back in the Arts Quarter. Thomasine works in the Spice District on weekends and I like to stop by to give her an afternoon coffee. I'm usually there by now, but she'll totally understand when I tell her I ran into you, Doc! I really am sorry I just took off all those years ago."

Heather shook her head, trying to keep her sudden mix of emotions from showing in front of Ash and Pearl. That was Conrad's old apartment, and this Rafaella Santos was probably using an assumed name. She noticed Conrad down the table - the same wild thoughts were running through his mind.

"It's alright, Marcus. It sounds like everything worked out for the best. And if you can let me know how to get the money to you, I can finally send your share of the proceeds from the VetConnect extension you helped me come up with."

"That's kind of you, Doc, especially after I left without a word. It's been great catching up with you. Thomasine's just about ready to speak to her father again - she thinks - so we might be back in Brindleton Bay for a visit sooner than later."

"It would be great to see you, Marcus."

They got up then to head back to work, but before Marcus had left with his cafe order to go, Conrad approached him. "This Rafaella Santos - can you tell me what she looks like?"

"She changed her hair colour recently, but she was blonde before. You could tell it was straight from a bottle, though. You really think she's a criminal?"

"I think she might be a drug smuggler. I don't suppose I could convince you to wear a wire?"

"She doesn't say much. I've tried to be friendly."

"If it's who I think it is, she's not friendly."

"Thomasine wouldn't want me getting involved if she's dangerous. I'd love to help you and the doc, but we've been talking about maybe trying for a kid."

Conrad nodded. "I get it. You've given us enough to take it from here. There might be some officers scoping out the building over the next little while, until we know it's her, so if you're serious about taking a trip to Brindleton Bay to see your wife's family, maybe now's a good time. Just stay out of 'Rafaella's' way. Don't let her think someone might be on to her, and don't tell her you saw us. Oh, and, be prepared to take over the full rent in the larger apartment soon. If we get her, those contracts will void."

"I'll talk to Thomasine, but I'm glad I could help. Thanks for the heads up, Lieutenant Gordon."

As Marcus turned to leave, Conrad's heart started racing. If his instincts were correct, Ximena had been hiding out in the last place he'd lived in San Myshuno all along.

Now Conrad felt just days away from finally catching her. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Pay no mind to Ash's reindeer hat in the "genius idea" pop up. I sent them on the rabbit hole family volunteering event immediately after staging their Christmas Day photos. Didn't even think about changing their clothes since it was a rabbit hole. But then this pop up ended up dictating storyline so that's why he's wearing it in the inset but not at the lot.

Also the goal was empathy, but with Ash's genius trait and the pop up we got, he had the choice to solve the problem himself or call for help. Since his phone's been confiscated due to creepy pranks, there was really only one choice. His empathy bar didn't budge but his responsibility and mental increased. So his empathy is in low green territory at the moment (better than red!) and I'm hopeful he won't roll a douche trait. Since he's still got a ways to go until teenhood, I've got more time to play around!

NOTE 2: Second-save Marcus and Heather instantly became the best of friends while they reconnected, which is clearly because they're finally certain Ximena's within reach, all thanks to him!

[the-californicationist]

A Thief in the Night

a Guile & Guilt story…

It had been the longest night. He had started his journey in the dark, and forty hours later, he was still cloaked in darkness. As he climbed off of the train and into his old Jeep, he tossed his bags in the back, staring hard at the velcro label that had MacTavish stitched across it, the white threads steadfast despite the wear and tear that had befallen them over the past six months. Those bags contained his whole life. Everything from his toothbrush to his diary lived inside those canvas casings, and they’d been burned, stolen, stabbed, soaked, and sand-covered as much as he had. He wished, for a moment, that he were made of canvas. He wished he were interwoven, thick and impenetrable, unfeeling, unsensing… just a container. He wouldn’t need to breathe, to fight, to sweat, or to bleed. He would just need to hold and be held. But, he was not canvas. He was made of soft skin and bruised bone. Johnny MacTavish was but a man. The only salve he had to soothe that wound was that he was coming home.

Home meant rest, which was much-needed, but it also meant Pigeon, his fiery sister. He needed a bit of that warmth right now, even if she annoyed the fuck out of him most days. She was always running her mouth about what he should be doing with his life, but he knew she only did it because she cared. So, he took his lashings with a smile.

Her fiance had been the one to call him back. It must be an engagement. Nothing less would be deemed worthy of pulling him from the field. They knew how important his work was with the SAS, but life didn’t stop back home just because he was away. It was good timing, after all. Their recent tour had yielded decent intel, and he was free to take a few days to ruminate on their findings.

The Jeep’s engine cranked over with some complaint. Hamish, the fiance, had been driving it around for him, but he’d parked it about a week ago in anticipation of Johnny’s arrival, and it had definitely gone cold. He pumped the gas, praying that it didn’t flood, and sent up a prayer when it finally roared to life.

Leaving the lights of Glasgow behind was a comfort. He wanted his little cottage and his soft bed. Johnny wondered, fleetingly, if Pidge had been having the girls over lately. Sometimes, when he came home, there’d be a shirt missing from his collection, and his sheets would smell like lavender. That’s how he knew that she had been there.

He’d ruled out the usual suspects. Bekah was never one to sleep over, and Anjali smelled of rum cakes and soap. He thought it might be Cherise, but she’d never be caught dead in one of his shirts. So, it had to be the American. Pidge was over-protective of that one. She wouldn’t even tell him her name, but he knew she liked his old football tees, so she must have good taste. He’d never even seen a picture of the shirt thief, but he slept like a rock when his sheets smelled of lavender, and he needed that tonight.

Johnny took all the corners too fast, rushing to his destination, and when he finally got into the drive, the house was dark. He’d missed supper, so he aimed for the kitchen to steal Pidge’s leftovers. When he rounded the corner, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

There she was: that thief! She was in his blue Rangers’ tee, the one with McCoist’s name on the shoulders, his favorite one. It hung off of her body like a short dress, but as she went to reach for a mug from the top shelf, teetering on those bare toes, it rode up her body, revealing her thick thighs like a peep show. He could see the heart-shaped divot of her arse cheeks, but only barely. If she reached much further, he’d see it all.

So, he had to stop her. He didn’t want her to be ashamed. Letting out a low whistle, he conveyed his approval.

She was startled, and he watched the fear flood into her eyes like tears. It made them gleam in the low light of the kitchen, but she didn’t scream. The American was pretty, but that was to be expected. She was exactly his type as well, which was a damn shame. Pidge would be furious, but he didn’t care. He’d row with Pidge for the rest of his life to have a girl like that looking at him with those big eyes, framed with those wet lashes.

He wanted to get closer to her, so he did. He took a step into the kitchen, walking slowly, careful not to spook her like a wounded deer.

Johnny knew he must have looked like a goddamn terror. He’d brought in all of his personal gear, preferring to make one big trip from the car. He probably still had eye-black on his face. More than anything, he’d wished he’d had a shower.

He glared at her, trying to snap himself out of his daze, and he confronted her about his shirt,

“You’re a pretty little thief, you are. Better gimme back my favorite shirt, hen, if you know what’s good for you.”

A little bit of a threat would make her laugh, he thought. But, he realized quickly that she really didn’t know who he was, so he softened his features and smiled a bit, trying to retrace his steps.

“Johnny?” She said it like she was making a wish, and her voice made his blood run hot.

It was good to hear his name again. He was exhausted being Soap all the time. He’d earned the nickname, and it was fine when he had a gun strapped to him in the field; it reminded him that he was tough enough to be there. But here, in his own kitchen, from a bonnie lass wearing his own shirt? It was nice to be Johnny again.

“Yeah… who are you, lass?” He asked her, hearing her name and tucking it away for later.

“Ah, Pidge won’t shut up about you,” he explained, letting her know that he’d heard of her at least, “What’re you doin’ here a’ this hour? I just got in from my tour. Got a note from Hammie that it was urgent.”

Johnny dropped his bags and ventured a little closer to join her in the kitchen. The soft light from the stove cast delicate shadows over her body, highlighting her curves where the shirt swayed over her gorgeous breasts. She looked like a dream.

All he wanted to do was touch her. She couldn’t be real. She was too perfect. It was as if he was Adam and God had stolen his rib and made her stand in his kitchen.

That kettle behind her was about to scream, so Johnny reached toward her to take it off the heat, but she flinched as if he were going to touch her. He let a low, sarcastic chuckle rumble around in his chest,

“Easy. Just keepin’ the kettle from keenin’.”

He studied her reaction like he studied the schematics of a bomb, and he was desperate to know what made her tick. As he moved the kettle, Johnny was treated to a smile, which was as sweet as could be, and a quip.

“Good to finally meet you, Johnny. I’ve heard… so much about you.”

He grimaced a bit when he heard her comment. Of course they’d been spewing all sorts of shite about him while he was away. Pidge was terrible about spreading his reputation around, and almost none of it was true. If only she knew.

But, despite all the lies about his character, she stuck her hand out for him to shake. He took it in his and shook it once, dropping it and grabbing his own tea bag from the cabinet, plopping hers and his in their respective cups. She was watching him like a hawk, and he could almost hear her thoughts she was thinking them so loudly. He’d have to do some damage control, so he grinned and said,

“It’s all lies. So, what’s the craic? What was so urgent?”

“Hamish proposed,” she said, and even though he’d figured as much, it still shocked him to hear.

“You’re takin’ the piss.”

“No, it’s true. Look,” she pulled out her phone and showed him the video.

With a bubbling, roiling joy in his chest Johnny watched his sister agree to Hamish’s proposal, and he’d never felt happier.

Johnny leaned in closer to see his sister’s reactions, and although he didn’t realize it, he was now standing right over his tee shirt thief’s shoulder. He could smell her. It was lavender, to be sure, but there was something else.

If sunlight was a smell, she had it. It was like every spring day he’d ever had as a boy, rolling around in the heather, being wild, loving the earth and all of its mischief. She smelled just like that. Like something wholly natural. It made him want to put her back there, in the tall flowers, right where she belonged… in the heather… with him.

His mind went back to his sister, and he asked about her,

“Tha’s fuckin’ brilliant. She’s asleep?”

He didn’t wait for her answer. Johnny needed to back off of the wee thief before he stole her away. Treading off down the hall, he knocked on his sister’s door. As she opened it, the wood creaked and popped from age and weight. He made a mental note to oil it tomorrow morning.

Then, there she was. Bridgette had always been pretty, but she looked like she had a glow tonight. He basked in her joy.

“Johnny-boy? Is that you, you fuckin’ numpty!? Brother,” he grabbed her as quick as he could, and as she was crushed to his wide chest, she confessed, “I’m getting married.”

“Let’s see it, then, Pidge.”

She showed him the ring, and he admired it. But, he wasn’t one for diamonds, not when there was something more valuable to be had. He cocked an eyebrow at Pidge and asked,

“You put a fit lassie in my shirt as a part of the occasion, or… what?”

She slapped him across the chest, hard, and then gave him a dark warning,

“You. Will. Not -“

“I dinnae ken what you’re abusin’ me for, Pigeon! I’m a saint!”

He loved giving her a hard time. She rolled her eyes, and fastened them into her signature glare,

“Johnathan Fergus Euan MacTavish, she’s off-limits! You’ll not lay a hand on that girl’s pretty wee head, or I swear on Mother Mary and all the actual fuckin’ saints…”

He couldn’t have that. She was already his in his mind. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life, and his sister was overreacting again. Johnny pointed a finger at her, threatening,

“No promises, Pidge. If she wasn’t such a smoke show, you might have had a dog in the fight, but a gorgeous wee hen making tea in my kitchen wearing my fuckin’ shirt; it’s enough to make a lad start sinnin’.”

“Start! Tell me when you stopped. Is she out there? Oh, fuckin’ hell, you arsehole.”

Pidge pushed around him and stalked off to the kitchen. The thief was still making tea, and he watched his sister try to run interference, but she was too late.

There’d been enough war for him to last him three lifetimes. Johnny was pretty sure there was still terrorist blood stuck under his nails. Enough was enough. He was good at his job, but he had to admit, he was lonely.

Every tour brought the same darkness to his doorstep. He’d leave Pidge with Hamish, and they’d have each other. They didn’t miss him, not in any real sense. No one did. No one kept him in their mind, missing him and his scent and his voice and his touch. There was no one longing for him to return.

But the thief might.

There was something in her eyes that told him she might. And now, he had to know if he was right. Besides, no one would ever look that good in his shirts. She was his new mission, and he was damn good at running missions.

“Babe! You met Johnny?” Pidge looked red in the face, and Johnny sighed, embarrassed about his sister’s meddling.

“Yeah, just came home. Showed him the video,” you shrugged.

Good. She was covering for him already. She didn’t complain about his bullying, nor did she mention his fearsome choice of dress. She was brushing Pidge off, keeping it casual. Johnny didn’t get lucky often, but he felt like it tonight.

“Great, this is just great,” Pidge forced a smile onto her face, but Johnny didn’t care. This was great, and he wasn’t going to let this chance pass him by.

xxxxxxx

@sadsackssss @lovelythingsinternal @kariggi @cherryofdeath @madstronaut @glitterypirateduck @vampirekilmerfic @sofseee @gemmahale @ofdivinity01

[phuljari]

social media au! part 2

summary : khushi is a model and influencer; arnav just seems to stumble upon her profile one day— not so much by accident. (or what if khushi fell in love at first sight?)

warnings : just some hindi/hinglish, cussing in both languages. deliberate typos. online stalker!shyam. flirting with the boss

a/n : i am...trying something new (by using the word prompts) #IPK 13th Anniversary Fiesta @arshifiesta

hellohibyebye

liked by aakash_r, amanmathur, gulabo_devyani, anjaliiiii.r, mahendrarudrapratapsinghraizada, hari_prakash and 137 others

hellohibyebye haaye! ekdum vaijanthimaala laagat hai hum😍🥰

⚫kaala tika najar na lage e ke khatir⚫

view comments

aakash_r Maa group pe daalne ko bola tha, Instagram pe nahi 🤦

gulabo_devyani Manorama! Ye Hear. hum aapko diye naahi the... Toh kaisan aap pehen liye?

anjaliiiii.r Mamiji 👌😍

mahendrarudrapratapsinghraizada Thoda vakht nikal ke humare saath bhi ek-do photu khichwaye leti!

⤷hellohibyebye aap photo me bilkul handsome.... nahi laagat hai 😒

hari_prakash B//J...K>';edxnnnnddd

iMessage "Raizada Group"

Aakash Maa aapne instagram pe post kar diya 🤦

Manorama toh ka hui gawa? hainn

Mahendra Bohot sundar laagat hai tumhari amma 😊

Akash liked a message

Manorama liked a message

Devyani Humra. Haar. Dena mat bhulna. Onmanorama.

Anjali Arre Aakash, karne do yaar, umar hai inki 😌

HP Ji Naniji, hum abhi wapas rakhwa dete hain

HP hhhhhhhh?/?????

Aakash HP yaar tune firse phone bandh kiye bina pocket me rakh diya... buttdial nahi, yaha toh butt-typo hote hain😶

Anjali 😂😂🤣🤣🤣

Arnav seen

Anjali Chotte yahan bolna mana nahi hai!

Arnav: Di, I'm in a meeting right now. Ttyl

Anjali: Arre, chotte 🤦‍♀️

Manorama added NK to Raizada Group

NK: Hello bhaiyyon aur bhabhiyon

Anjali: Bhabhiyon nahi NK bhai, beheno!

NK: Haan wahi Di! You understand me so well!!

Aakash: 😂😂

Arnav left Raizada Group

NK: Oh no Nannav! Tum kyu chale gaye

Aakash: You know that he can't see the messages now right?

NK: Oh, Whoops! Wait

NK added Arnav to Raizada Group

NK: Nannav mere bhai!! How are you??

Arnav: Isn't it like 3 AM in Sydney?

NK: Nannav, naughty naughty, tumne time check kiya mere liye! So cutee! I'm at your home doofus 😂

Arnav: gtg

Arnav left Raizada Group

iMessage

Anjali: Ye har baat pe chotte group kyu leave kar dete ho?

Arnav: Di! WTF ye NK kya kar raha hai Shantivan me?

Anjali:😶‍🌫️

iMessage

Aman: Sir, we have officially signed Ms. Khushi Kumari Gupta!

Arnav: Good

Arnav: Kumari?

Aman: That's her middle name boss

Arnav: Oh, okay

iMessage

Aakash: Bhai, you signed THE KHUSHI GUPTA??

Arnav: Yes

Arnav: And she's not that popular c'mon

Aakash: Bhai do you even use instagram? 😭

Arnav: Of Course!

Arnav: Btw I have more followers than her 😒 So much for "influencer"

Aakash: That's her personal profile Bhai! You have to see @/thekhushigupta

seen

thekhushigupta

liked by divalavanya, payaliyaa, guptagarima, aakash_r, shyamjha, versace, arnavsinghraizada, saritaraman and 396,981 others

thekhushigupta @/versace thank you for sponsoring my cannes debut

view comments

saritaraman You dancing on hawa hawaii at cannes was the only thing left for me to see😭

⤷thekhushigupta all thanks to you babe <3

payaliyaa My babie sisterrrr 😍

⤷thekhushigupta jijiiiiii 😊

guptagarima Ae Khushi isko chalu kaise karte hai

versace It was our honour! 😍

aakash_r Amazing performance👌

shyamjha khushiji aapka koi boyfriend hai kya? 😭

divalavanya Bestie 💖

⤷thekhushigupta right back at ya! 💖

user1 i love the dressss

user2 just one chance khushi pls pls

user3 it was so cheap idk why ppl idolize u

⤷user1 get tf outta here

shyamjha hosh rubaa😍

nandiii khushi jiiiiii 💘

⤷thekhushigupta nanhe jiiiiii

nandiii

tagged: @/emirates @/anjaliiiii.r @/aakash_r

liked by aakash_r, anjaliiiii.r, gulabo_devyani, mahendrarudrapratapsinghraizada, hari_prakash, hellohibyebye, thekhushigupta and 806 others

nandiii So excited to meet you guys!😭

view comments

anjaliiiii.r Pooja ki thaal tayyar hai NK Bhai

⤷gulabo_devyani Aapan. Ka. hi intezaar hai Bitwa.

mahendrarudrapratapsinghraizada Return flight book karke nikle ho ki naahi?

⤷nandiii Now why would I do that Mausa Ji? 😊

thekhushigupta nanhe ji! iss baar aap mile bina nahi jaa sakte 😌

⤷nandiii Aapse hi toh milne aa rahe hai Khushi ji! It was fun to hangout with you while shooting in Portugal last year! 😊

hellohibyebye humre khaatir oo gucci peck kiye ki naahi?

⤷nandiii Maasi ji aapke liye toh chanel, gucci, versace sab haazir!

hari_prakash Ccooffee lenge?

Notifications (arnavsinghraizada)

thekhushigupta followed you

titaliya_k followed you

payaliyaa followed you

Notifications (thekhushigupta)

arnavsinghraizada followed you back

shyamjha unread 1475 messages

shyamjha commented on your post: hosh rubaa 😍

shyamjha commented on your post: khushiji aapka koi boyfriend hai kya? 😭

usershyam hume aap bohot pasand hai khushiji

iMessage

Khushi: he followed me back omgomgomg

Lavanya: ???

Khushi: ajgar

Khushi: arnav*

Lavanya: 😂😂

Lavanya: You didn't stop talking about him last night oh god

Khushi: i know ur friends were so pissed😭

Lavanya: Nooo, why would you thibk that

Lavanya: And look at you crushing so hard on ASR!

Khushi: you've met?

Lavanya: Briefly

Khushi: 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Khushi: I'm gonna slide into his dms wish me luck

Lavanya: Khushi wtf

Lavanya: Khushi come back you son of a bitch

Lavanya: Istg Khushi pls don't make a fool of yourself in front of your new boss😭

Lavanya: Khushiii??????

seen

(1) message from thekhushigupta

thekhushigupta: hey

arnavsinghraizada: Hi?

thekhushigupta: we met the other day

arnavsinghraizada: Yeah, you bumped into me, how can I forget?

thekhushigupta: omg i'm really sorry for that😩

thekhushigupta: can i take you out for an apologetic dinner?

thekhushigupta: tonight?

arnavsinghraizada: Are you...

thekhushigupta: asking you out? yes

arnavsinghraizada liked a message

TBC

<previous> | <next>

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Hi,JWB.

I want to know what do you think about Anjali not defending Shyam when Arnav slapped him & threw him out of the house? Why didn't she try to leave the house with Shyam while she left the house on Raksha Bandhan clearly knowing how it would effect Arnav? She tried to kill her child just because no one respects shyam, then how come she stayed in Shantivan, where no one respects her husband ? She was upset to see Arnav celebrate Khushi's birthday, that too in their own room, where she had gone without knocking. Does she expect Arnav to leave khushi just because she doesn't like khushi anymore Like the way she is away from Shyam because Arnav doesn't like Shyam anymore?

She was upset that Arnav-khushi lied to her about Buaji's health, but she herself went behind Arnav to meet Shyam without any regret. She never asked Arnav why he destroyed his life by marrying khushi just to protect her married life. She doesn't say anything to Shyam during the second revelation about Arnav's kidnapping while, all the time saying Arnav is like her first child. Then she slapped shyam because he killed her rajkumari, whom she herself wanted to kill & had no regret about. A lot of her actions indicates that she wants Arnav to be happy as long as she is happy in her own life. If something inconvenience happens in her life, then he expects Arnav to be there for her, leaving all his other responsibilities. Does that not imply she is selfish ?

Thanks.

Hi Anon,

No, Anjali is not selfish. Definitely not in this phase of her life.

Anjali does not leave because she has nowhere to go.

Her and Shyam's house is under renovation and none of the Raizadas would let her go.

She has no money in her own name, it's most likely Anjali's shares in AR or whatever Arnav has in her name. And Anjali would consider that money, in this circumstance, as Arnav's.

She did not leave the house in previous Rakshabandhan to make a point to Arnav - it's that Arnav literally told her that Shantivan is his house. Not hers. She felt she overstayed her welcome which is why she ran away, feeling lost.

The birthday thing was oddly shot and directed tbh. The thing is every single proof that Khushi had against Shyam was proven false.

Arnav's words against Shyam would not matter because ultimately it's a situation where both the siblings are supporting their respective spouses.

And remember, Anjali has been in an extremely happy relationship where if there's ever been any doubt, Shyam has cleared it.

Also, no one knows where Shyam is because he was not arrested/taken away by the police. Why? Because there's just no evidence of him having done anything at all.

So the best rationale for this situation is that this is a misunderstanding. Because nothing else makes sense. And Shyam is an expert manipulator. He knows everyone's pulse points.

Also Anjali's whole life shattered. It is not her responsibility to ask people for reasonings - rather it's Arnav, Khushi and the whole family's responsibility to give Anjali a full blown explanation of events to Anjali so she can understand how and why things went the way it did.

And only Shyam is the one talking to her, explaining things. Everyone else is just trying to feed her, give her meds or make her go to sleep.

Anjali was concerned for Khushi and her family, despite all the pain and trauma and misgivings, upon learning Buaji's ill health. And yet again she's proven a fool for believing in Khushi because Bua ji is in perfect health. So why did Khushi lie? There's literally no reason for Khushi to lie about Bua ji's health but she did.

And even Arnav had to have participated in this lie because that would explain why he's away.

Anjali wanted to attempt self harm - just so you know the way she was attempting to abort would've killed/gravely injured Anjali herself.

She was being suicidal which kinda deals more with fractured mental health. Anjali never asks Arnav to leave Khushi, but she doesn't understand why Arnav and his marriage is more right than Anjali and Shyam's.

Arnav has been married for a few months. They barely know Khushi for a year. It's funny they know they family for less than a year and both the sisters from poorer backgrounds immediately got married into the only two bachelors in the Raizada family. It's public knowledge that Arnav and Khushi do not share the best of a relationship.

Anjali and Shyam have been married for years. Shyam has shouldered many of the emotional responsibilities in the household. He has truly kept everyone happy - including Anjali.

Shyam has only ever had the warmest of the relationship with Anjali and has apparently not upgraded himself using her wealth - it's very clear that they're living on his means, not hers. Yes, Anjali's clothes and jewelry are a gift from the Raizadas or Anjali's own purchase but you compare Shyam's clothes with the Raizada bros, or even the fact that it's implied they have a humble home.

And what other responsibility does Arnav have if not caring for the only immediate family he has left? He has no parents, his wealth takes care of his extended family, AR is secure as a company and he doesn't have much of a marriage with Khushi (he takes NO responsibility as a husband, he's literally just learning how to be a partner right now).

I know we are guided to dislike Anjali more because she is the issue between Arnav and Khushi getting their happily ever after but again the real conflict here is Khushi hiding the truth and facing the disastrous after effects of her actions and Arnav's inability to hold relationships.

Arnav does not know how to manage a crisis. His relationship with people is far more executed by the people on the other end and his arguments/mistakes are dealt with a sincere sorry and he expects the forgiveness to be given to a certain extent. Literally all of his relationships exist because the other person puts in work. At the barest friction, he pulls back and gets angrier. So he does not know how to navigate crises and tension with the people he loves.

Khushi on the other hand, she believes pure intentions justify everything and hopes that that will mend bonds.

Like literally Shashi forgives her for Payal's marriage debacle because he understood her intentions. Arnav seeks sorry for the barsi thing because she has a similar trauma as well and did not realize she was comforting out of empathy. Nani forgives Khushi because she realizes Khushi meant to preserve the peace of the Raizadas by hiding Shyam's truth. Payal forgives Khushi because she realizes that regardless of the horrible timing, Khushi wanted Akash and Payal to mend their differences.

So you see.... Khushi actually doesn't ever try to rectify her mistake because she feels explaining things is enough. Which, tbh, it never is.

So in this situation, Anjali is entirely blameless.

We loved Khushi when she supported Arnav despite having DNA evidence that Aarav is his son right? We love other show heroines blindly supporting their heroes. Like all the women in Ishqbaaz?

The same applies to Anjali.

Except, this heroine is in love with the villain.

Best,

Jalebi

[prezs]

finished some actual drawings of my fem shep! her name is anjali shepard. she was a colony kid and a war hero - a shame she's a bit of a closed off "i owe my life to the alliance so work always comes first" paragon.

didn't take to dying and being resurrected too well and has a bit of a decline into the renegade side of things before loosening up and Getting Better in me3

[phinjeet]

yuri phinjeet is this anything

* itz EVERYTHING cupid . r theze dezignz anything

* (NOT Genderbendz tm i HATE genderbendz (az a tranz person) this iz tranzfem hc town now dont piss me offfffff/nmay)

* (little notez under the cut)

* baljeet -> anjali

* phineas -> penelope (or penny/pen)

* (ive been fascinated w penelope az girl phinz name ever since that 1 tweet abt how the pnf revival iz gonna b woke n theyre gonna b tranzgender n named penelope and fern okay . iconic tweet)

* it alwayz bugged me a bit that while phinz outfit haz orange , pale yellow AND blue , jeetz outfit iz all just bluez , so he doeznt hav that much Variety w colorz , but in som alt outfitz he doez wear green so woe . green upon ye . slightly more varied color palette 4 anjali , also her lil overall dress iz inspired by 1 i own irl :) skirt go spinny

* penny doeznt look that different (i already draw her w longer hair half the time anyway lololol) but she iz wearing shortz instead of the skirt i uzually draw phin in , cuz i thought thatd b a funny silly detail , also darker colorz on her shirt (red instead of orange , orange instead of yellow) , and fingerless glovez bc erm theyre cool (shez kind of serving butch realness a little bit)

* considered giving anjali glassez but it looked a bit 2 Different , i wanted them 2 still look like phinjeet while also having more of a twist than just Eyelashes And Longer Hair the way most genderbendz ive seen in my day r (HASHTAG NUMBER 1 HATER OF GENDERBENDZ) and um IDK IT WAZ A FUN LIL DEZIGN EXERCIZE . I HOPE U LIEK THEM🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

[remidyal]

So I'm going to start speculating a little about future D20 seasons, just because we're running out of JY and thinking about that makes me sad.

My guess is that we're getting another four side quests, plus the replays of the Time Quangle live shows, before whenever the next IH season is (probably jan or feb 2025). From Dropout's production schedule, most likely at least two, probably three, and maybe all four are either already filmed or filming presently. The strikes may have disrupted this somewhat, however.

We know the names of two from the 5th anniversary video; we also know from the JY FAQ for a fact that one of these two, called "Never Stop Blowing Up" is next.

In the last few years this has been the slot for a campaign not GMed by Brennan or Aabria; I'm going to actually guess that there's a decent chance Brennan also won't be a player though I'm not at all sure of the timing with paternity leave and all. What the season is from that title could be a lot of things, though social media stars or stuntpeople have been guesses I've enjoyed. I think this is going to be a new setting, rather than something set in a preexisting universe, but I could be wrong there and there's been speculation that it might be something Starstruck (in which case I WOULD expect Brennan at the table).

GM possibilities for this or any other season even just from among people who have played on D20 before are too widespread to even do a complete list; highlights who have played on but haven't GMed for D20 and who I understand have experience (and would be excited to see) include but certainly aren't limited to Jasper, Ify, and Anjali from various side quests. Among the IH, Siobhan has made it fairly clear that she's not interested in GMing. I don't know if Ally has experience or not but they would obviously run something wild and I'd be here for it. Lou I believe has DMed home games but not actual plays; I'm uncertain if he'd be interested in running for a show, but I'd certainly watch if he did. Emily and especially Murph have a ton of experience as well but I think NADDPOD is kind of too much for Murph at least to GM outside that. Zac is low-key the IH I think is the most likely to end up GMing a season; rotating heroes is a thing, of course, but I don't think the workload there is as high as NADDPOD's.

We also know a Dungeons and Drag Queens 2 is coming at some point. The most likely format for this is a straightforward sequel with Brennan GMing for either the same four players or four different Queens, but I would actually love to see one of the players from the prior run step into the GM seat if any of them have gotten deeply into the hobby in the meantime. If they swap Brennan out for another DM here, this would maybe be the one season where I'd be delighted for it to be Murph, simply for the makeup possibilities. (One possibility is simply that he wears Cody Walsh cosplay for the season.)

I also think (or maybe I'm just trying to speak into existence) that we will get another 10-episode Aabria-GMed season this year, probably as the lead-in right before the next IH season for the third time running. Burrow's End and ACoFaF are both out of this world, stellar seasons to me (MiMa is... complicated by how much I want the property it's mocking to fade from memory, but that isn't its fault or hers) and I want to see what she does next.

Last, probably between D&DQ2 and that 10-episode season if that happens, we'll probably have another 4-6 episode original. If Brennan DMs D&DQ2 and Never Stop Blowing Up, this will probably be someone else; otherwise, not much to go off of.

It's possible that the live shows end up filling in one of these slots and are treated as a season until themselves, but I think they're going to be released not all in a row but rather to fill weeks between seasons. This might just be a greedy hope on my part, though! I do hope Brennan sits out at least one season, and I'd love it if the person who GMs who isn't Aabria or Brennan is someone who's done less prominent projects. (I'm actually talking myself into really rooting for a Zac-GMed season, though Ify's been my main hope for a long while.)

One thing that does seem to have shifted lately, specifically in Dropout's marketing - in the past, they were always extremely secretive about seasons past the currently airing one until it was complete, with the names not even known until the release of the season trailers. This changed a little when they teased Matt Mercer gming a season (which turned out to be RavWar) during Never After's airing; it's changed much more in the last two seasons, with a teaser for Junior Year coming out before Burrow's End had even started airing and with the names of multiple seasons being given in advance. It wouldn't surprise me if we continue getting little seeds for future seasons as we move forward.

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 16

Beneath The Surface

If I told you what I was

Would you turn your back on me?

And if I seem dangerous

Would you be scared?

- ( The song of this chapter is 'Monster' by Imagine Dragons)

18 years ago

Arnav was born in Chicago. He spent the first twelve years of his life there, surrounded by relatively normal people, living a relatively normal life, before stepping foot in this country two years ago. The transition was a jarring experience. Adapting to the food, language, and traditions felt like stepping into a whole new world. On top of that, the gruelling physical training imposed on him made it all the more challenging.

He had grown up blissfully unaware of his father's ties to the mafia. He wished her mother prepared him well enough before thrusting him into this completely new world.

Blindsided and unprepared.

They lived in this sprawling multistory mansion owned by Mr.Rathore, the ultimate boss, aka the Godfather of this dangerous empire. While others had separate apartments within the estate, they all lived, ate, and trained together as one extended family. The mansion had a central open space where everyone gathered for meals, and another vast area was dedicated to training.

But Arnav’s experience was different. Unlike the boys his age who trained in the common area, he was sent to a secluded hall to train under Master Z. His full name was 'Malik al Zalam', but he preferred to call himself 'Z'. They said Master Z made lethal weapons out of human beings. He was the top trainer of the "League of Shadows." It's an assassin organization managed by the Chicago-based mafia group, "The Outfit." Arnav didn’t fully understand why he needed such extreme training from someone like Master Z, but he didn’t have a choice.

His diet was strictly monitored, and his workouts were mercilessly scheduled. For an entire week, he trained blindfolded, enduring relentless blows that left his body aching. Then another week went by slapping water. The only good part was Mr.Raizada secretly bringing him chocolate cake when Master Z and Mr.Rathore weren’t looking.

Why Mr.Raizada and Mr.Rathore insisted on preparing him this way was a mystery to him. One thing was clear, though--he wasn’t allowed to call his father “Dad” here.

If he said that didn't hurt him, it would be a lie. But he would never acknowledge that to anybody. His dad was his favourite person. He always wanted to be like him, dress like him, talk like him. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Every day, he watched the light fade a little more from his mother’s eyes. She was still here--physically--but only as a fragile shell of the woman she used to be. Her every movement seemed mechanical, driven solely by her duty to him, Anjali, and the baby growing inside her.

It tore at him in ways he couldn’t describe. She was dying in this house, suffocating under the weight of everything she couldn’t say. He wished when his new sibling was born, some of that light would return to her eyes. But deep down, a small part of him feared it might already be too late.

It was his first off day in what felt like forever, and he had plans--simple ones. After all the chaos of the past few weeks, he just wanted to play online games with his online friends and go to bed early.

The recent drama surrounding a failed wedding was still fresh in everyone's minds, but he couldn’t care less. Aunt Vedika, Mr.Rathore's younger sister, was supposed to marry someone from the Jha family, but the groom had fled before the wedding. And out of despair, he guessed, Aunt Vedika hanged herself in her room.

Mr.Rathore’s fury over his sister’s death was volcanic. Rumours circulated that he had kidnapped the daughter of the Gupta family as retaliation. Arnav didn’t know how true the whispers were, nor did he care. That world of vendettas and punishment seemed endless, and he wanted no part of it.

So, when a knock came at his door, cutting into his rare evening of freedom, he groaned inwardly. Mr. Raizada, stepped in, cradling a tiny, sleeping human in his arms.

“Can you watch her for the evening?” Mr. Raizada asked casually, as though this was an everyday request.

Arnav frowned, his gaze flicking between Mr.Raizada and the little girl, not more than four or five. “Is that the Gupta girl everyone’s been talking about?”

“I need you to watch her for me...like a few hours,” Mr.Raizada said, deftly avoiding the question.

Of all the things Arnav wanted to do with his free evening, that ranked dead last. He wasn’t shy about expressing that. “Why can’t you leave her with Mom or Anjali?”

“They’re not home,” Mr.Raizada replied, ever patient. “They went to the hospital for your mother’s check-up.”

Arnav slumped back in his chair. “I’m not doing it.”

Mr.Raizada tilted his head, considering, then offered, “What about...I’ll buy you that bike you’ve been eyeing. How’s that for a deal?”

Arnav’s scowl deepened. “Mr.Rathore doesn’t want me to have that bike.”

“You know what? Fuck Mr.Rathore,” Mr.Raizada said with a wink, laying the little girl gently on the sofa beside Arnav’s computer desk before turning to leave.

"What's her name?" Arnav asked looking at the little girl in a pink dress. She was tiny, unusually tiny.

"Khushi." Mr.Raizada replied shutting the door behind him.

And just like that, Arnav’s evening plans were obliterated by the arrival of a tiny sleeping intruder.

The little girl looked like a delicate porcelain doll, her tiny face framed by a cascade of dark curls that framed her head like a halo. She looked very fragile with her rosy, chubby cheeks and a button-like nose. 

He noticed her shivering, the icy temperature of his room too harsh for someone so small. He sighed and grudgingly adjusted the thermostat before grabbing the throw blanket folded neatly at the edge of the sofa. His mother always insisted on keeping it there for aesthetics, a habit he found unnecessary--until now. Draping it gently over the girl, he realized how useful his mother's quirks could be in moments like these.

Satisfied that she was warm, he slipped on his headphones and lost himself in his game, the familiar world of strategy and fantasy pulling him in. Time passed unnoticed, his focus entirely on defeating opponents and levelling up.

When he finally glanced back at the sofa, he froze. The little girl was awake, her enormous eyes--disproportionately large for her tiny face--fixed on him. They reminded him of cartoon characters, wide and unblinking, filled with a mix of curiosity and drowsiness.

What if she started crying?

He had no idea what he would do if she burst into tears. But the girl didn’t cry. She simply sat there staring at him, her chubby little head tilted slightly, her confusion mirroring his own.

"Uh... hi?" he tried awkwardly, unsure if she could even understand him.

The girl blinked, her small hands clutching the edge of the throw blanket. She yawned, her expression still half-asleep, and continued watching him as if he were the most fascinating thing in the room. And then out of nowhere, she smiled.

A completely radiant smile.

A smile that turned her cartoonish eyes into twinkling half-moons.

It lit up her entire tiny face.

He felt his own lips twitch as well.

Another knock at his door and he exhaled a sigh of relief, hoping it was Mr.Raizada coming to take the girl off his hands. But it was Omprakash, one of Mr.Rathore's loyal staff.

“Arnav Baba, Vikrant Sir asked to take the girl to the basement,” Omprakash said flatly.

The basement!!

Nothing good ever happened in the basement. It wasn’t a place for a little girl like her, hell, it wasn’t a place for anyone, not even grown men.

Since moving here, he had spent most of his free time exploring the sprawling property that Mr.Rathore called home. His curiosity eventually led him to discover the basement’s grim purpose. It was a place of torture, where information was extracted, enemies were punished, and murders were carried out.

What did they plan for this little girl?

Were they going to hurt her as retaliation for Aunt Vedika's death?

Or worse, were they going to do something similar to what they’d done to Payal?

His heartbeat escalated.

She was so young for any of this.

And so defenceless.

And so so small.

Omprakash didn’t hesitate, scooping the girl into his arms and heading toward the basement. She clung to the throw blanket Arnav had wrapped her in, her tiny face peeking over Omprakash’s shoulder.

Arnav hesitated only for a moment before springing into action. He needed to know what they were planning. Discreetly, he followed Omprakash down the hall, his footsteps light and deliberate. And the whole way, the little girl kept looking at Arnav over Omprakash's shoulder.

With her huge cartoonish hazel eyes.

Present day

She still has those cartoonish eyes.

And he wants to see those eyes as the life drained out of them, those damning eyes that push him into hell.

Every fucking time.

Every fucking way.

He watches her from the shadows as her car moves past the gates of the Gupta mansion, just like he spent years watching her from afar. She is both a punishment and a compulsion. She is a living wound that festers in his soul, poisoning his every thought.

Hatred claws at his chest, sharp and unrelenting, but beneath it lies something darker, something he refuses to acknowledge. He hates her with a rage so consuming it burns through his veins like wildfire. His hatred has a pulse, a rhythm that quickens every time he sees her.

It infuriates him.

It fascinates him.

And one day, he will take what he owes, and maybe then he'll find some peace. Maybe then, his chest wouldn't feel so tight every fucking second of every single day. Every single day she lived, every single day he survived.

Every single fucking day.

He's been thinking about it for so long.

She is going to die at his hands.

The most beautiful death.

It will be a sight to behold.

The roar of the bike engine fills the night air as he races down the empty streets. The cold wind bites at his skin, but it does little to cool the fire of his thoughts. The images of her, are like ghosts riding alongside him.

Haunting and relentless.

Her eyes, her defiance, the way she looked at him with a mix of fear and something else he couldn't quite place. His grip tightens on the handlebars.

Her voice echoes in the distance of his mind, soft and light, as though it isn’t built on the ruins of his life. It mocks him and tempts him until he can’t look away. She shouldn’t have this...this liberty to torment him. She shouldn’t exist at all. And yet, his mind is a prison, every thought chained to her. He imagines her face when he isn’t trying to, her voice slipping into his ears unbidden. The curve of her lips, the way her hair falls against her cheek...it infuriates him how clearly he can picture it all.

And then there’s the way she moves, the way she smiles at people who don’t deserve it, at men who dare to stand too close. It sends a rush of fury through him, cold and bitter. She doesn’t see him watching, doesn’t know he lingers on the edges of her life, orchestrating and unravelling her world in equal measure.

Something darker, stranger and far more dangerous coils tightly around his hatred, suffocating and exhilarating. He despises himself as much as he despises her for letting his hatred be tainted, for letting his hatred cross a line. His hatred isn’t pure anymore. It’s stained with something way more sinister.

It’s an infection, a sickness, a madness that grows with every passing day. And yet, he cannot stop.

She is his punishment.

His fixation.

His downfall.

All his life, he thrives on control in every aspect. And he has achieved it. Every emotion, every instinct, is meticulously reined in...his anger, his hatred towards her, and the burning urge to track her down and end her life.

And she comes and wrecks it all.

He hates her more for it. But, he hates her most for the way he craves her...

She is unbearable to look at.. intolerable even, not granting the mercy of looking away. Everything about her exudes a perilous beauty, like a rose unapologetically flaunting its thorns. She's alluring in the way deadly things often are.

Her beauty is..dangerously toxic.

It's venomous.

It's alarming.

It's unsettling.

He remembers how she looked earlier this evening. Every part of him burned the fire so fiercely it almost felt like his skin was being seared by her presence alone. His body stirred without his permission, a brutal, bone-meting wave of desire crashing through him, leaving him weak, exposed. He gritted his teeth fighting the rush, but it was futile, an insatiable hunger sank into his bones, making it impossible to think of anything else but her.

She was so close, yet a universe way. His hands twitched at his sides desperate to touch, to feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingers. Every inch of her called to him..her smile, her eyes, the curve of her neck, her bare back...

It's intoxicating.... lethally captivating.

It ripped through him, tearing apart his control, leaving nothing but an overwhelming need that clawed at his chest. His eyes raked over her, and the sight of her..so effortlessly enthralling, so unaware of the chaos she stirred....

He wanted to feel her beneath him, wanted to lose himself in the softness of her body, wanted to strip away every layer of resistance until there was nothing between them but skin, heat, and the sound of their breath.

His body reacted before his mind caught up, hard, aching, and wild with the need to claim her, to possess her completely. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he forced himself to look away, but it was no use. She's seared into his mind, every part of her haunting him, wrapping him tighter in the need to break her apart and piece her back together in his image.

He turns his bike sharply, the screech of tyres breaking the silence of the empty streets. Her name echoes in his head, both a mantra he can’t silence and a curse.

He hates her for what she does to him. But more than that, he hates how he can't control himself around her...And it sickens him. He wants to destroy her, wants to ruin her for anyone else because if he can't have her, no one can.

There's no reason left. No logic. Only the raw, primal urge to have her, to mark her as his, to remind her that she belongs to his rage, his grief, his chaos.

He made plans, damnit.

Meticulous plans, to end the cycle.

To end her.

All his revenge would be served, and he wouldn’t even have to pull the trigger himself. He could simply sit back and enjoy the show.

It feels like fate is mocking him. The last 18 years of his life were spent believing who she was not. She is not who the world thinks she is.

Yet, still, she was the catalyst of the chaos that consumed his life. All the deaths he endured and caused, all the blood staining his hands.

He bought her life at the cost of countless others.

It shouldn't change anything for him after knowing who she is. He should have let his plan work as it is. He should have let the Wolves end her tonight.

But he is here again.

Back to square one.

Protecting her from the monsters again.

One that he unleashed upon the world.

And one that is raging within him.

The city lights blur into streaks of colour as his bike speeds through the empty streets. A creature of night.

When it comes to monsters, there's always one bigger and more vicious than the rest, like the one he’s about to hunt tonight.

Sex trafficking and the red-light district trade are colossal enterprises within the Triad, encompassing casinos, clubs, and high-society escort services hidden behind the facade of luxury resorts and hotels like The Crown and many more like that. All three families reap the rewards, their coffers overflowing from this grim business.

To avoid internal wars and eliminate competition, the Triad formed a separate syndicate solely for this venture. Profits are divided into four parts: one for each family and one for the employees. This syndicate, known as the Triad Tribe, operates independently, answering only to a specific captain, a leader chosen annually by the three bosses. It is an important position, overseeing a fortune that flows through the darkest veins of society.

That reminds him, he has a meeting with the Triad Tribe captain, Dhruv Rao, early tomorrow morning. He plans to approach the Tribe defensively. If Dhruv Rao gives him what he wants, he might grant the man a few months of reprieve...maybe.

The business of the Tribe has been bleeding losses for the family ever since their international shipment of trafficked women was intercepted by the CBI five years ago, due to an anonymous tip. Since then, the Triad Tribe has halted human trafficking operations overseas, focusing instead on managing red-light areas, brothels, casinos, and clubs.

However, controlling internal trafficking and sexual coercion has proven trickier. Over the last few years, brothels and clubs have faced frequent police raids--again, sparked by anonymous tips. While these raids rarely shut the businesses down permanently, they freed many girls held there against their will.

And through this very process, he has quietly built a network of spies within the Triad Tribe. The rehabilitation centre he's funded anonymously became a refuge for these rescued women. Some of them, determined to save others, agree to act as his informants. Pretending to be sex workers, they infiltrate the operations, gathering intel for him.

It is through one of these spies that he's learned about a Wolves member, currently indulging himself in a hotel room above one of the triad tribe clubs--a man working in the family’s security detail. Not the head himself, Adam Hunt, an ex-American Navy SEAL, but someone linked to him. The same man whose subordinates accosted Miss Gupta tonight.

According to his spy within the Wolves family, they still don’t know anything about the killing of Preetika Nair. If that were true, then why is this man in the city?

Dressed in all black, he moves like a Ghost. A mask covers his face from the nose down, and the hood of his leather hoodie is pulled low, shrouding his features. The darkness is his ally, and he knows how to disappear within it.

Tonight, he carries no firearms--only his crossbow. The absence of a gun doesn’t bother him. If anything, it adds a thrill to the hunt. Looks like he’ll have to get creative with this motherfucker.

Holding the upper edges of the window, he leaps onto the pipe running along the side of the building. His muscles, guided by memory, move efficiently as he begins to climb, one foot pressing against the window frame, the other braces on the pipe.

Stopping at the window five stories above, he peers inside and spots Vishal Hegre sprawled on the bed, grinning as two girls service him.

Moving with feline stealth, his parkour and martial arts training taking over, he swings to hang from one hand, the other securing a firm grip on the windowsill. Ensuring the room's occupants remain engrossed, he eases the window open and slips inside, landing silently before ducking behind a large couch in the dimly lit room.

"Damn window," Vishal mutters irritably. "Go close it."

One of the girls gets up, shuts the window, and returns to the bed.

Straightening, he strides to the foot of the bed and retrieves the crossbow behind his back. Before anyone can react, he fires, embedding an arrow squarely into Vishal Hegre's palm and nailing it to the headboard. A bloodcurdling scream rips through the room as Hegre thrashes, his wide, frantic eyes darting until they land on the figure in the shadows. Terror overtakes him.

Arnav raises a gloved finger to his lips, a silent command for the girls to stay quiet.

His gaze shifts to a wallet lying on the floor near the bed. Picking it up, he pulls out the bulging bills inside and tosses them onto the bed between the trembling women.

"Get dressed," his distorted voice commands through the modulator. "Mr. Hegre no longer requires your services."

The girls scramble to comply, heads down, avoiding the sight of the man writhing on the bed. Just as they’re about to leave, his voice echoes in the dark again.

"And what will you say when you go outside?"

"Nothing, sir," they whisper in unison, their voices shaking.

The door clicks shut behind them, locking the door automatically, leaving Hegre alone with him.

"What do you want?" Hegre stammers, still struggling to free his hand from the headboard.

"They all ask the same questions," Arnav remarks. "What do you want? Who are you?"

Ignoring the man’s pleading, he moves to the table, inspecting a bottle of whiskey. It’s a good brand. Opening it, he begins pouring the amber liquid around the edges of the bed, emptying the bottle methodically. Then he fetches another bottle from the cabinet and returns, tipping some onto the writhing Hegre, soaking him in the sharp scent of alcohol.

"Are you the one killing the Triad associates?" Hegre babbles, his voice breaking. "No--please! I'll give you anything! Anything you want!"

Ah, fear. Good old fear. His old friend. They reunite again.

He has been methodically dismantling the Triad, one member, one associate at a time--silently, ruthlessly. Each death was a calculated move, a slow bleed that weakened the organization from within. He moves like a ghost. Guess, his reputation precedes him. They feel the fear before they even know he’s there.

Hegre reeks of desperation and fear, the stench mingling with alcohol and urine. Disgust flickers across Arnav’s face. It isn’t just the smell, it’s the sound of his voice--grating, unbearable.

It disgusts him even more when he starts craving her voice, soft yet commanding, the one he can still hear in his mind.

Fucking hell.

Grabbing Hegre’s hair in a firm, gloved grip, he yanks hard, eliciting another cry of pain.

"Drink," he orders.

Gulping and trembling, Hegre opens his mouth obediently. Arnav tips the bottle, pouring its raw contents down the man’s throat. Hegre chokes and coughs, sputtering as the fiery liquid burns its way down. When the bottle is nearly empty, Arnav steps back, watching as a fleeting look of relief crosses Hegre’s face.

He lets him cling to it.

For now.

He drags a chair in front of him and sits down, quietly watching him.

People always underestimate the power of silence, the way it makes people squirm, their thoughts racing for an answer, a reason. He lets the silence take over, never speaking a word, knowing full well it will force their imagination to run wild.

Will he kill them? How? A bullet to the head? A quick, painless death, or something far slower, more drawn out? Would he make them beg? Suffer? Twist their limbs, pull their skin? Or perhaps strip them of something deeper, something that would never heal?

He doesn't need to ask them anything. He knows that the longer he sits there unwavering, the more their minds will unravel, and they'd begin to question their own fate. And when they crack, when they show the first sign of weakness, then he will strike.

Quietly.

Efficiently.

"I'll tell you everything just get this thing out of my hand," Hegre says again sweating like a dog. It's pathetic, the snot, the tears as he blubbers like a baby. "P..please."

"Why are the Wolves in this area?" Arnav asks as he watches Hegre squirm.

"Umm....to..to kill the Gupta girl."

"Why?"

"Because...Shyam Jha's minion killed Mr.Naik's daughter."

"Hmm..You're an interesting person, Mr. Hegre. Your men are dead, lying by the side of the road, and you're getting your cock sucked?"

"They said they'd got it under control," Hegre mutters, his voice cracking, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

"Tsk, tsk, overconfidence is never good," Arnav clicks his tongue. "So you started the celebration early, huh? What will Mr. Hunt say about that?"

"I don't give a fuck what that American dog thinks," Hegde spits out. "I have worked for the wolves for so long...and when the head of security was to be determined, it went to that fucking bastard. I will show him I am better than him. I wanted to get the work done and surprise Mr. Naik."

"So...Mr.Hunt doesn't look know that you are here or what you were going to do?"

"No."

"Who else knows about the serpent involvement besides you?"

"No one."

"Your men?"

"Those who knew, I sent them to do that job."

A Police siren wails in the distance heightening Hegre's panic. "Let me go, man! I can't get caught here. I have a reputation."

"Mr.Hegre, do you know how hard it is to keep the Wolves from finding out who killed Miss Naik?"

Hegre's eyes widen. "You have killed the right hand man of that American dog, haven't you?"

"He was too close to find out....but you amazed me, you slipped under my radar...how did you find out?"

"The bomb...that killed Miss Naik..I knew who can make this bomb. I worked with him before..he is one of the Serpent."

"And you didn't share this information with Mr.Hunt?"

"No....You...are the one they call 'The Ghost', right?" Hegde's eyes are telling Arnav that he knows his time is up, that he knows what they say on the street that nobody sees 'The Ghost' unless he is going to die. "Listen, let me go, I'll join forces with you. I have a family, two daughters. I can't be caught here. I would die of shame."

Arnav watches him squirm some more, his voice calm but cutting. "Let me end your misery then."

He flickes a lighter which he retrieved earlier that day, directly from the boss himself. A snake is engraved in it, the sign of The Serpents. He tosses it onto the bed. Flames erupt immediately, licking up the soaked sheets and spreading quickly. Hegre's screams grow louder as the fire consumes him. So does the Police siren.

He jumps back from the window to the narrow alley behind the club, leaving behind a symbol of the serpent in the scene.

A warning, A massage.

For the Serpent, because this lighter will soon find Mr.Gupta. And he will know 'the Ghost' is coming after the serpent next. He is closer than they think.

The mafia war between the Serpent and the Wolves needs to start, but he has to make sure the little bird remains untouched.

She’s off-limits. No one dares lay a finger on her. He will burn the entire city down and raze it to the ground before letting anything happen to her.

Only he has the right to kill her.

No one else.

The morning light pours through the glass surrounding his high-rise office. The city below remains a blur of waking motion, but up here, he is alone, staring at the picture of a girl he hasn’t seen in sixteen years. It’s not her real photograph, just an AI-enhanced image, aged from her childhood picture to reflect what she might look like now. He hopes, almost desperately, that it matches the real person.

His jaw clenches. So many years of searching, of following false leads, of tracking shadows...and now, here she is again, in front of him, just out of reach.

He has been actively searching since he returned to this country; not once did he think to look into the Triad tribe. He should have. He doesn’t know why he overlooked it. Since when did Mr. Rathore ever keep his promises?

"Sir, Mr.Rao is here."

"Send him in."

Dhruv Rao enters the room, his easy grin at odds with the aura he carries. Once a street fighter, now one of the Triad tribe's most trusted soldiers. He started as an underground fighter and fought his way up the ranks. At such a young age, he’s become the captain of the Triad tribe, mainly due to his tenacity and his ability to command the soldiers in the streets.

"Hello, boss, what's up?" Despite his reputation in the underground arena as a fearless fighter, he is quite chirpy.

Arnav motions for him to take a seat.

"Let’s get to business first, Mr.Rao." Arnav wastes no time. "I want a favour."

"Anything, Boss."

He slides the picture across the table. "I want you to arrange this girl for me," Arnav says, gritting his teeth. He’s been searching for her everywhere. He never imagined Mr. Rathore would hide her in a place like that. But the recognition in Dhruv's eyes tells him that he has seen her before.

Damn it.

"No can do, boss," Rao responds quickly, shaking his head. "That one’s exclusive for Mr.Rathore. No one’s allowed near her room except him."

Arnav’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his composure. "And, where it is?...Her room?"

Rao hesitates, "Boss, I am really sorry. I can't give you her location. It's not permissible. Mr.Rathore passed even strict orders to inform him if anybody does look for her.....she lives like a princess in there."

He could have approached Rao in the shadows and instilled the fear of God in him until he spilled everything. But Arnav has no intention of ruffling the feathers of the Godfather of the families, not yet. Let them bask in their false sense of security a little longer.

Arnav’s eyes narrow, his voice quiet. "Mr. Rao, let’s not make this unpleasant...let not expose youself to the bosses for the minor hiccups you have over the year...they might not take them lightly. They could even start questioning your loyalty."

"I don't understand." But Rao's eyes say he knows and understands clearly.

"Hmm... let me reprase it so that you’ll understand. Why do your reports show fewer girls when I know you’re bringing in double? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to count......"

Rao gulps first, then shifts in his seat, his confidence wavering. Rao looks uneasy but doesn’t falter. "Mr.Raizada, when I was summoned, I knew I wouldn’t walk out alive. If I give you the information, I’m dead anyway. If I don’t, I die too. But man to man, I really hope you’ll give me a chance to fight for my life." He pauses, his voice dropping a little. "Next week, there’s a match. You win, I’ll tell you everything. I win, we forget this conversation ever happened. I’m a simple man, boss. I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire of these family matters."

Arnav studies him for a moment, then smirks. "A match, huh? Feeling pretty confident, Rao."

Rao straightens up, his smile returning. "They don’t call me Show Stopper for nothing."

Arnav lets the silence stretch for a moment, before he simply says, "Done."

As Dhruv Rao exits his office, Arnav dials a familiar number.

"I miss you too, bestie," comes through the line, after the first ring.

Mathur's annoyingly smug and sleepy tone made Arnav sigh. He summons every ounce of patience he can muster. At times, he isn’t sure if he wants to strangle the man or laugh at his absurdity. Somehow, though, the bastard is probably the only person on the planet who can get away with calling him bestie. Absolutely fucking ridiculous.

"Wake up, Asshole."

"Why, who died?" Mathur mumbles, the sound of a yawn escaping.

"You’re about to," Arnav snaps. "If you don’t show up in the office in the next 30 minutes."

"Okay Mr. Grumpy-pants, make it 45," Mathur replies lazily, then his tone turns serious. "How was the meeting?"

Arnav scoffs in the solitude of his office. The meeting hadn’t gone as he intended.

"Keep an eye on Dhruv Rao. Hack his phone. GPS, earphones, everything. I want to know where he goes, who he talks to."

Author’s Note:

Hello, everyone. I’m back and excited to share the chapter. I went to have some vitamin sea and it was a much needed escape from the hectic life.

Let me know how you are liking this dark version of ASR. Also I am open for suggestions. Leave a comment if there's any other way you want to see him.

Bye, bye.

<previous> | <next>

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @chutkiandchotte @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @9artsdragon @chaiandtakkar @msbhagirathi

[guilty-pleasures21]

Chapter 6 - the meeting

Warnings: none.

----------------------------------------------------------

     “I am so glad you were able to join me today,” the Queen began, setting her teacup back down on the table. “I have been meaning to invite you all to the palace after Miss X’s striking introduction to the ton.” 

     She shot X an expectant smile, waiting to hear of her success in the marriage mart, and X felt her stomach twist with nerves. They had received a letter from the Queen yesterday requesting their presence at the palace for tea that afternoon: she’d heard of Pavitr’s visit and wanted to learn more about the situation in India. Anjali had jumped for joy at the invitation, but X and her mother had viewed it with a little more wariness. 

     “Yes, Your Majesty. I have had many an admirable gentleman call on me most everyday since then,” X revealed. She bowed her head in thanks and the Queen sat back with a smug smile.

     “Yes, I expected so. I do hope we shall be celebrating some happy news by the end of this Season.” She gave X a knowing look, then leaned forward suddenly, her expression morphing into one of delight. “But, tell me, child, I have heard many a rumour about one gentleman in particular who has been most generous with his affections for you.” 

     X’s stomach dropped as she deciphered the meaning behind the Queen’s words. “O-Oh! I-I …”

     “Your Majesty must be referring to our neighbour, Lord Miguel!” Anjali interjected, noticing the blush creeping up her sister’s cheeks. “The two of them have been close ever since they were children.”

     The Queen narrowed her eyes knowingly as she reached for her teacup again. “Well, that is always how it starts, isn’t it? A childhood friend you begin viewing in a new light once you are both grown?” 

     And again, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about how much, exactly, her childhood friend had grown. The sharp lines of his muscles gently pressing against his shirt, the broad width of his chest that snapped into focus whenever he crossed his arms, the sheen of sweat that highlighted his tanned skin after he’d returned from a ride … She glanced around and realised that everyone’s attention had been fixed on her, waiting for her response. She snatched her teacup quickly and forced out an awkward chuckle as she tried to compose her thoughts. “You … You flatter me, Your Majesty. Miguel … Lord Miguel! That is … Has always been known for his … irresistible charm. Perhaps he was just looking for a new challenge this Season.”

     She avoided everyone’s gazes as she took a sip from her cup and her heart thudded desperately with the hope that they wouldn’t push the subject any further. She doubted the Queen would be so ecstatic at the prospect of their union if she knew the truth behind Miguel’s background; that his father - his stepfather - had left him nothing at all in his final will. However could she let her personally selected most eligible debutante of the Season marry a man with absolutely nothing to his name? But hopefully their ruse would be successful and that little boy she’d comforted in the stables so long ago would finally be able to cement his place in the world.

     The Queen fixed X with an unconvinced look. The girl was beautiful with a slightly clueless nature that only made her all the more endearing. It would have been a feat for any man to resist her charms. 

     “My dear Miss X,” she began, placing her teacup down on the table once again, “we women are made of a more … sturdier disposition than men. We may fall in love many times, because we know never to give our hearts completely to any man, but arrogant fools that they are, a man will give his heart entirely to the one with whom he falls in love. That is why a man’s first love is always his last. Anything in between does not matter as much to him.”

     X gulped as the Queen held her gaze, her stomach twisting and turning at Her Majesty’s implication that she was Miguel’s first love. But … But he’d always just seen her as an annoying little sister, right? Not someone … Not someone he would like to kiss. Whose lips he would like to know the taste of against his own. She raised her fingers to her lips and brushed them softly, losing herself in her thoughts, and the Queen turned to Lady Singh, satisfied. “Tell me, Lady Singh, how has your nephew been?” 

     Commissioner Stacy furrowed his brows as a knock sounded at his door. He looked up from his newspaper and squinted through his glasses to try to discern who it was. 

     “Is that them already? I didn’t expect them so early.” He checked his watch to confirm the time, then he removed his glasses and went over to the door. 

     Their roof had started leaking a few days ago, so Gwen’s father had called some labourers to fix the problem before it got any worse - he didn’t want to risk their roof collapsing on them in the middle of dinner. Gwen scarfed down the last few bites of her toast, wanting to finish it before her father returned with the group of young men: she knew he wouldn’t want her in the house whilst it was filled with working men. Perhaps she’d call on Anjali today, then. Ooh! Maybe her friend would have more news to share on X’s situation with Miguel! It was so exciting being so close to such a desirable young lady during her first Season! Gwen lifted her plate to place it in the sink, then she froze when her gaze fell on a very familiar young man. 

     Miles’s eyes widened when they landed on Gwen, but he pulled them away from her quickly, doing his best to ignore her. Shite! Hobie hadn’t said anything about the job being at her house! He slid his gaze over to his friend, his brows pulling together in a frown when their eyes met. Hobie shrugged him off, acting as if he didn’t know what he was talking about, but Miles didn’t miss the way the corner of his lips twitched with mischief. They started setting up their tools, laying down some sheeting on the floor to prevent it from getting damaged, and the Commissioner retreated to a corner of the room, keeping a discreet eye on them.

     “Relax, bruv,” Hobie whispered in Miles’s ear as he gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Nothing wrong with doing an honest day’s work! Just be sure to stay in the bird’s good books, eh?”

     Miles rolled his eyes as Hobie rolled up his sleeves and got to work. They worked quietly for about an hour or so, mixing the plaster and carefully applying it to the weak spots in the ceiling, but Miles could feel Gwen’s eyes trained on him the entire time. He took care to avoid any eye contact with her though, not wanting to give her any ideas on approaching him and - once again - attempting to befriend him. It just wouldn’t work: they came from two drastically different lifestyles, not just in terms of their class, but their culture and background as well. 

     “Papa,” Gwen began, going up to her father with her roundest, most innocent eyes, “it has been an hour. Do you think we should offer the men some tea?” 

     George smiled and ruffled his daughter’s hair. She was so much like her mother: kind, caring, considerate. It was a relief to see his beloved wife live on in their child like so. 

     “That sounds like a wonderful idea, sweetheart,” he agreed. “Hilda! Put the kettle on, will you?”

     George left to go find their housekeeper and Gwen seized the opportunity to try to catch Miles’s eye. He kept his head down, refusing to give in to her, but finally, Hobie nudged his arm and glared at him in warning. Miles swallowed down a sigh and turned to face Gwen. She gestured to the back of her house, then turned around and walked in the same direction, not even checking to see if he was following. Miles curled his fingers around the ladder, his insides tightening with nerves, but Hobie didn’t give up, shoving him in Gwen’s direction when he refused to follow. 

     “Go after her, mate!” he commanded. “You were lucky enough to get this chance - you’d better not lose it!” 

     Miles ground his teeth together, thinking back to the conversation he’d had with his uncle. 

     Aaron grinned when Hobie revealed the news of his nephew’s newfound friendship with the daughter of the Commissioner. He clapped Miles on the back, thrilled by the information. 

     ‘Good job, Miles!’ he’d congratulated him. ‘Glad to see you’ve finally embraced the movement!’

     Miles had shifted in position uncomfortably, his mind running through a list of all the ways he could murder Hobie once their meeting was over. He slid his gaze over to his friend, fixing him with a furious glare, but Hobie just shrugged, uninterested in his unease. 

     ‘This is the perfect opportunity for us to gain entry into the palace,’ Aaron continued, oblivious to his nephew’s discomfort. ‘Do you think your friend would be able to get you a job there?’

     His eyes were alight with excitement, his brain planning out their next strategy to get the Queen’s attention. 

     ‘Uh … I …’

     ‘Of course, Mr Davis!’ Hobie had answered on his behalf. Then he’d turned to Miles, a determined look on his face. ‘Anything for the charter, no surrender.’

     Miles had gulped nervously, completely aware that his friend really did mean it when he said ‘anything’. But he couldn’t turn his back on his family - especially not for some middle-class girl who would never know how it felt to suffer in the slums of London. ‘Anything for the charter, no surrender.’

     Miles set down his tools and reluctantly walked over to the back of the house. 

     “Miles!” Gwen exclaimed, the delighted look on her face causing his heart to flutter against his own will. “How- It is nice to see you again.” 

     She lowered her head, barely hiding her shy smile, but Miles didn’t notice anyway, too distracted by the lie he was about to tell her. “You as well, my la- Gwen.” 

     Her smile widened at his familiar address and she took a step closer to him. “I thought you meant to try for the carpenter’s apprenticeship, Miles? Whatever are you doing fixing ceilings?” 

     Miles cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back, gathering his courage. Anything for the charter, no surrender. “Ceilings … are a part of it. Carpentry is not just about doors and flooring; one must take into account the design of an entire building.” 

     He paused, trying to find a way to steer the conversation towards what he was meant to be asking. “Take the palace, for example: it is so majestic and beautifully crafted, but all its opulence would mean nothing without a strong foundation.” 

     Gwen nodded her head thoughtfully, impressed once again by the passion with which he spoke of his interests. He was such a hardworking young man, so driven and so motivated. It was such a shame that he would never have access to the same opportunities a man born of her station would have had. But perhaps she might be able to do something to help him with that … 

     “I know some of the people who work in the palace!” she exclaimed suddenly, her brain lighting up with an idea. “Would you be interested in meeting some of the men responsible for its upkeep? I know it is not structure and design, exactly, but-”

     “Yes! That would-” Miles stopped himself, tampering down his eagerness so he wouldn’t arouse Gwen’s suspicions. “That sounds amazing. I would be ever so grateful if you would be able to grant me such an opportunity. It might not be an apprenticeship, exactly, but-”

     “Oh, no!” Gwen interjected quickly, the happiness bubbling up inside of her at the new thought she had had. “I am sure we can arrange an apprenticeship! I will speak with whomever I know and then we might meet again? At the park by the palace?” 

     Miles swallowed hard, unsure whether to feel terrified or relieved. “All right. Will a week’s time be enough?” 

     Gwen nodded eagerly in agreement and the two of them slipped back into her house.

     Lord Riley looked up from his letter when he saw a shadow by his door. His features broke into a smile when he saw that it was daughter and he quickly gestured for her to join him. “My dear! How was the opera?”

     Annabelle returned his welcoming smile and took a seat in the chair across from him. 

     “It was wonderful, Papa!” She paused to let him finish writing his letter, then continued when he looked up at her again in approval. “I managed to catch the attention of our target.”

     Her chest bubbled with happiness at her success and she pressed her lips together to suppress the smile that tugged on them. 

     “And? Did you manage to find out any useful information?” he father pressed, his tone gentle despite his words. 

     “Nothing that we do not already know, as of yet,” Annabelle admitted cooly, “but the man rather seems to enjoy speaking of himself. I am sure it will not be long before he lets some incriminating piece of evidence slip.”

     Lord Riley nodded slowly as he sealed his finished letter with a stamp. 

     “Be careful, my dear,” he advised her. “I know you have quite the talent for manipulating your target, but this is a man with connections in high places. And the Crown would rather risk the life of an unassuming young woman than start a war with the rest of Europe.” 

     He looked up and fixed her with a warning look, causing her stomach to tighten with nerves. It was her first official mission out in the field, so there were a lot of expectations on her shoulders. It didn’t matter that her parents had worked for the government for years or that they’d been preparing her to follow in their footsteps even before she’d been born, there was absolutely no way she could risk making a single mistake. 

     “Yes, Papa. I understand.” She was the only difference now between a peaceful Europe and war across the entire continent, after all, and she refused to let her people down.

Next chapter

[lyrakanefanatic]

OMGGGG GUYS GUESS WHAT I FOUND ON APPLE BOOKS!!

so i was looking at the grandest game because im gonna have to buy it online or else ill have to read it a month late (bc ill be on vacation) which i physically can’t do, when i saw the audio book option. it doesn’t give you a sample, but it DOES show you the voice actors for the audio book!!! 🤭🤭

so, i searched up all their names and found bits from other books they’ve done to put together in a video and show you guys!

i believe that zachary webber is rohan, christine lakin is lyra kane, and anjali kunapaneni is gigi grayson, but you guys can listen and see if you think otherwise! (it was hard with two girls, but anjali’s voice is overall higher and more bubbly than christine’s, so i assumed that christine was lyra and anjali was gigi)

i did have to get anjali’s voice from an interview, so don’t mind the audio. zachary’s first, christine is second, and anjali’s third!

THEY ALL SOUND SO GOOD IM CRYINGGGG 😭😭😭🫢🫢🫢🫢 (esp lyra LIKE DAMN SHE SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE HOW I’D IMAGINE HER TO SOUND)

I CANNOT WAIT FOR THIS BOOK TO COME OUT. LIKE GENUINELY, I CANNOT. 🤭

[sittinginsunflowers]

okay, I’m going full red string over the last episode. mainly because if queen amangeaux (put some goddamn respect on her name) had a child with her husband, wouldn’t that have solved all her problems? Sure, it would make her a target but the bishop was already warning her to lay low at the festival, and at least this would’ve secured her place on the throne until her child came of age. Unless she knew she was pregnant and then she decided not to say anything in trying to follow the bishop’s advice? Or she didn’t know at the time and then everything popped off. But that makes the baby at least a year and 3/4 months (if we use human pregnancy as the timeline??) and the baby read more as a newborn to me? Also in the adventuring party when they discussed the bishop’s secret, Anjali pointed out that he could’ve been poisoning her or her husband with the tea leaves to stop her from producing an heir. which could be a red herring, or could mean that the baby belongs to someone other than her husband, hence why she’s hidden him away. which would make sense since the coloring is a little different. So either the baby isn’t hers biologically and is just in her care, she had an affair while her husband was still alive, the baby is the true heir, or she got pregnant in the two year time jump.

how the fuck am I losing my mind over a mango’s sex life how did I get here

[hand-picked-star]

The 13th Arshi Anniversary Fiesta

Moodboard : Historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 18

DISCLAIMER: The story is set in the early 20th century. While I have made efforts to capture the essence of the era, there may be inaccuracies as this is a work of fantasy. I do not own the characters Arnav and Khushi, and this story is purely fictional with no relation to any real individuals, living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

WARNING :18+, MATURE CONTENT

Chapter 18

The rain showed no sign of stopping as the night turned into daybreak. It continued to pour heavily outside, blanketing London in a relentless downpour. The persistent rain cast a dark shadow over the city, blurring the distinction between night and day. It was hard to tell if it was early morning or still night.

Inside, Khushi lay peacefully asleep, nestled comfortably in Arnav's arms, her breathing even and calm. Meanwhile, Arnav remained wide awake, his mind as clouded with troubling thoughts as the sky outside, though they burned each other's calories down after returning from the restaurant.

He looked at her sleeping form in the low night coming through the window. His wife- she was such an unbelievable creature. how could such a resilient and incredibly strong person think so little of herself?

Regarding her insecurities about Lavanya, Arnav regretted his role in exacerbating the issue. If only he had handled things more wisely back then. However, the past was unchangeable. What mattered now was that he could continually reassure her of his love and commitment.

Arnav’s restless mind jumped from one thought to another. Ultimately, it settled on Natalia.

It was an otherwise ordinary day at the office when Natalia arrived, searching for Arnav and introducing herself. Arnav’s shock was beyond measure—he never imagined life would force him to confront his past so directly. His world seemed to shatter once again as he stood before the woman who had torn his family apart a decade ago. Anger surged through him like nothing else, mingled with a deep-seated resentment. The memories of his mother’s tragic death, the anguish that followed, and the hollow years of coping with his father's betrayal came rushing back, like a violet torrent. Unprepared to face it, he avoided her as long as possible before he reluctantly read her letter.

The revelation of a child, born from the affair that had turned his world upside down felt like a cruel twist of fate, reopening old wounds. He found himself at a loss, uncertain about what was expected of him, as he couldn’t see a clear path for making a decision regarding her daughter, Amelia—that was her name.

Arnav had gone to meet the girl. The door opened to reveal a small, shy child with wide, curious eyes. As she looked up at him, Arnav was struck by how much she reminded him of Khushi as a child—the same innocent, hopeful expression and a quiet strength beyond her years. But her eyes—they unsettled him, stirring a deep sense of restlessness within.

She had eyes like her father's—eyes that haunted him whenever he looked in the mirror, eyes he despised. Arnav had always hated his resemblance to his father, especially those eyes, wishing instead for eyes like his mother’s, like Anjali’s.

How could he care for a child, especially one who reminded him so painfully of his own horrifying past?

To make matters worse, the love of his life had misinterpreted the situation into something else entirely. The turmoil between them stemmed from his reluctance to share his feelings and be open with her. Arnav knew that now very clearly.

He shouldn’t have dragged out the impending conversation. He kind of avoided her for a few days after their fight, despite her apology. He was just so hurt by what she had said. He couldn’t let go of the pain and look at her, who was the centre of his universe, the anchor of all his emotions—and also someone who believed he could engage in something he abhorred with his whole being, something that would make him no different from his father.

Arnav reflected on the numerous mistakes he had made in their relationship. It seemed nothing short of a miracle that, despite all the missteps, he still managed to have her by his side.

Arnav tightened his hold on Khushi’s sleeping form, her back pressed against his chest. He buried his face deeper in her hair, getting lost in the intoxicating fragrance.Arnav never thought he would be such a cuddler. He hadn’t been one as a child, but his wife had turned him into one. She was just so soft for her own good. Soft and warm everywhere, a perfect contrast to his hard planes. Her softness wasn’t just a sensory overload; it was also incredibly comforting.

Arnav laughed to himself. And he had thought he could let go of her, that he could live without her. Such a pretentious thought now.

Khushi had revealed a side of him he never knew existed—a raw, untamed, animalistic part. Sure, physical attraction was common for any man, but he had always been in control of himself until he had her. Nothing could prepare him for the depth of emotion tied to being physically with Khushi would be and how it intensified everything. Each time, she completely surrounded him with herself, his senses overwhelmed by her scent and the sounds she made, his name like a prayer on her lips. Her bottomless eyes seemed to consume him entirely, maintaining a connection that never wavered.

She was everywhere and she was everything.

She was his entire world.

Even if they lived hundreds of thousands of years together, he would never get enough of her. The urge to own her every single inch, to mark her, taste her, and have her was overwhelming. It reduced his world to basic instincts. The need for her was something both foreign and wonderful because he had never wanted to own anyone as much as he wanted to own her. And she drew him in slowly, inch by inch, and he willingly followed, eyes wide open. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to lose the control he had kept on a tight leash his whole life. And for the first time, he found peace in the chaos.

Her hair tickled his nose. He played with the ends for a few moments, wrapping them around his finger as he gazed at her. She stirred in her sleep and pressed herself even closer to him. He brushed her hair aside and pressed his nose into the soft skin of her neck. Home—that’s what she smelled like. She was his home under his fingertips.

After his mother’s death, he had never felt a sense of belonging anywhere. But now, he belonged to her. He never thought home would be under someone's gaze, in somebody's arms.

He found his home in her, whether in Delhi or London. As long as his arms, mind, and soul were wrapped around her, he was home. For so long, his mind, heart, and soul had been at war until she came into his life, busting down the walls he had built around himself.  For the first time in years, his mind, heart, and body were at peace with one another. She made him utterly and profoundly weak for her, and strangely, he found strength in that weakness.

He didn’t believe in destiny. But if he had one, it was her.

"Pagal," he chuckled softly as his wife kept pushing against him, nearly shoving him out of bed, while hogging the blanket.

"Khushi?"

"five more minutes". she mumbled in the pillow.

He rearranged them under the blanket, their bodies moulding perfectly together. Her back fit snugly against his chest, and his heart beat in sync with hers as if they were one. A deep need engulfed him as her soft curves aligned with his body. His skin tingled with desire. It was different from the usual desire her skin stirred in him; this was a need to be so close to her that where she started and he ended would blur. It was a longing to connect not only their bodies but their hearts as well.

He had one arm under her head, with his other arm he brought her lower body incredibly close to him. His hand wandered over her-tracing her thigh, hips, and the soft skin of her belly. The sight of his hand on her skin was always a pleasure to behold. It stirred an unusual sense of possessiveness within him. He hooked her leg across his hips and slid his hand between her legs. He felt her body respond to his touch as he began to kiss her neck. He whispered in her ear, "It would be very gracious of you, Mrs. Raizada, if you woke up."

"Hmm... Arnav?" Sleepily, she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, becoming aware of the havoc he was causing in her body. "It's an interesting way to wake someone up."

"Glad to please you, Your Highness," The rasp of his sleepy voice caressed the skin of her shoulder. He captured her lips in a sweet kiss. "I like you in the morning."

"Just in the morning?"

"I like you all the time, but especially in the morning. Sleepy, warm, soft—it's intoxicating." The words said against her skin sent ripples down her body.

As his touch hit a sensitive spot, her hand suddenly shot out to grip his thigh, her nails marking his skin. She hid her face in his arm under her head and bit the skin. A slight hiss escaped him, and she promptly released his skin and looked at him over her shoulder. "Sorry."

"It's okay... biwi ho tum meri... haq hai tumhara... mujh pe," he whispered in her neck as he entered her from behind. He adjusted her leg that was across his hip, bending it slightly and laying it flat on the bed as he began to thrust into her. His arm under her head hooked around her neck to hold one of her breasts, while his other hand rested on her tummy, palm flat on the surface. He held her still as he drove into her with deep, languid strokes.

Both of her hands held his wrists as she craned her neck, seeking his lips. He gave her earlobe a soft bite, soothing it with his tongue. Releasing her earlobe, he captured her waiting lips. Her breath hitched as his hand travelled to her throat, caressing the soft skin under his calloused fingers, before gripping her gently. He held her jaw fixed between his thumb and index finger as he deepened the kiss.

Khushi had never been with him like this before. He felt so different this way. His touch was driving her out of her senses as the rain pitter-pattered outside.

"I need to see your face."

All of a sudden, he flipped her over to face him and slid into her easily, making her gasp. He was always so consuming, filling up everything inside her, she lacked. he was everywhere all at once. His hips moved faster, out of rhythm, frantic almost.

Slicked with sweat they shifted and grinded against each other. Their panting and shudders blended into each other. Khushi felt herself getting closer to the edge. That high only he could bring her to. The sounds of his pleasure resonated inside her mind and urged her towards her own. He knew that she was almost there just like she knew he was almost there as well.

She bit her lip and moaned as her walls clamped down around him. He dropped his head to her neck, pressing hot, wet kisses as he groaned. Her legs wrapped around him tighter. His hands swept down her sides as she kissed away the sweat on his brow. He peppered kisses along her hairline while she regained her composure, her hands stroking his hair, scratching his scalp lightly with her nails.

He rested his head on her chest, feeling her heart flutter beneath his ear. The soothing caresses on his head almost lulled him to sleep. His weight was crushing her but it was comforting at the same time as well. He felt like a warm blanket. He felt her press a kiss on his head. "You didn’t sleep well last night," she murmured.

Khushi patiently waited for his response as she continued to play with his hair. "I don't know what to do." His voice sounded so lost and small, a stark contrast to the confident man she knew. She wanted to take the despair from his voice, to protect him from everything and make his pain go away. He rasped almost inaudibly, "How can I care for a child who came from so much pain? All she reminds me of is my mother’s lifeless body hanging from the ceiling."

Khushi blinked back tears as she felt wetness gather in her chest. "I know you want to do the right thing, but nobody will blame you if you don’t want to be actively involved in her life. You can enroll her in a boarding school or give her up for adoption, where she would be well taken care of." She paused, trying her best to steady her voice. "After all, she is innocent in all of this."

Arnav rolled over and flopped onto his side of the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes to collect himself. Khushi drew the covers over their bodies and turned to face him. Popping her head on her elbow, she waited for him to let her in again.

When he removed his arm from his eyes and looked at her, she simply met his gaze with a small smile. He returned her smile and gathered her into his arms as she tucked her head under his chin.

"That’s why I don’t want to fail her like my father failed my mother, giving her hope only to snatch it all away, just because I can’t move past my mother’s pain."

"You are not your father, Arnav." She raised her head to look at him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You will make the right decision when the time comes."

"How can I when I can't even decide what she needs the most, so I could at least provide her with that?"

"Maybe she just needs someone to look at her and realize that there's more to her than her father's infidelity."

This time, nobody hid their tears. He lay bare and raw at her fingertips as she carefully picked up his broken pieces, caressing them and keeping them safe to return to him. She tore apart his demons and flicked them away with her fingers. She kissed away the tears from the corner of his eye. "What about trying to be someone for her that you always wished you had in your life?"

<previous> | <next>

@featheredclover @arshifiesta @phuljari