#i’ll get a refund and they say i can order it again

[yourslarry]

:/

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 6, In Which You Try To Look Away (It's Harder Than You Thought)

AO3

by the way, I saw today an art on twitter which is extremely Raul-coded

I am not a murderer, you thought as you ordered the ATM to give you another two hundred euros.

Even if I am, that guy deserved it, you thought as you re-inserted the card to give you two hundred more (damn those limits per withdrawal).

Even if he didn’t (and he did), nobody is going to miss him, and his fiancee will move on to the next lawyer in Oliver Peoples glasses soon enough, and besides, people die in freak accidents all the time. 

Even if they don’t, well, if every death wish resulted in an actual death, humanity would be long extinct and that wouldn't be your fault, would it now?

With that comforting thought, you pocketed the last of your ten thousand euro goal, tired from having to repeat the same task for almost an entire hour. Anything can happen, Raphael could cut off access to his account on a whim, but cold hard cash was something you could hold onto even if you fell from his grace.

"Ms. Berger," came a voice on your phone with a strong French accent the moment you picked up. It was Raphael’s banker, Francois-something, who gave you the PIN in the first place. “Would it be easier if we delivered cash directly to you? Your withdrawals keep triggering our petty theft alerts."

"Oh no, thank you," you replied, trying your best not to sound like a petty thief. "I have enough for now... I think."

“As you wish,” came his slow reply.

"But uh... could you help me make two bank transfers?" You asked after a pause. "One to my mother, Franziska Berger… (how much how much how much?) ten thousand euro, I’ll send you the details… and one for the stray cats shelter... (how much how much how much?)… five thousand euro?"

Too much? How do you quantify the cost of accidentally-on-purpose getting some useless yuppie run over by a bus in terms of absolving your sins? 

Five thousand felt somewhat stingy.

“The stray cats?” The banker repeated back at you as though questioning whether this was some sort of coded drug deal.

“Yes,” You replied firmly. “They do incredible work. Ah! The kids cancer foundation, too. Five thousand. No, ten".

That seemed about right for the guy’s life.

"Ah, you meant charity. Of course," Francois replied, relief and amusement in his tone. "Lovely, great for the ESG rating. Make sure to get an invoice for the tax refund."

It didn’t quite sit well with you to use stray cats and kids for tax refunds, but you still said yes and stashed the money deep down the rucksack. You got a bit of cash for now (soon you will go for more, because who knows), but it’s still not an income source. 

What could be? Should you ask Raphael to buy an apartment in your name, or two? You could rent it. Or a company? Tenebris, for instance. Just imagine their gobsmacked faces - especially after they gave you the boot without even a severance package.

That was a delicious thought.

You let it simmer as you sat down in an tourist-trappy Italian restaurant in the city centre, just about to order an Aperol Spritz when your phone began to ring again. You are in high demand these days.

"Anya!" Your mum gasped on the other end of the line. “I saw you on TV!"

Sure, the accident was all over the news channels. Some blurred out the dead body better than others did. You would bet your last cent that the unedited version got more views.

"Yeah, gruesome," you grimaced.

"Gruesome? Why? Ah, you mean the guy. Well, that happens all the time; they really give driving licences to anyone these days. I do hope the driver rots in prison for what he did to this poor young man. Anyway, no. I called to say, I saw you and Raul on the news”.

She managed to infuse an uncanny amount of innuendo into the last sentence.

“Raul is such a handsome man, Anya”, she sighed wistfully. “Quite the catch you got there, huh?”

There we go again. 

“What, way out of my league?”, you joked dryly. “I’ve been told that”.

“Oh, no, what nonsense! You are such a pretty girl!” Your mother protested. “More importantly, a good-hearted girl raised right; I am glad there still are decent men who still appreciate that. Did you meet Raul for a lunch?”

“Oh no,” You replied nonchalantly. "We actually… ah, we actually went to a church. He introduced me to his pastor."

Your mother sucked in an audible gasp like she'd won some kind of maternal lottery.

“His pastor, already? I am so happy for you, sweetie.”, she finally managed to say. “This is like a fairy tale come true”.

Yeah, a Grimm one.

“Sort of”, you chuckled. '“By the way, you will receive a bank transfer soon, ten thousand euro, don’t be afraid. It’s… well, take care of your health, okay? Get a decent dentist this time, a private one”.

“Where do you have the money from? Is it his?”, your mum suddenly sobered up. “Anya, what on earth is he paying you money for? I hope you are not doing anything… anything…”

"No," you cut her off and licked your lips, recalling the last thing that passed between them. “Mom, please! It's not his money, it's my company’s – long story.”

One that you haven't come up with yet.

Besides, if Raphael was giving you ten thousand dollars (thirty-five thousand in total with your other expenses for the day) for one blowjob, then you definitely had a successful career, just not in the field you had planned on.

“Okay,” your mum replied. “But still...you don’t need to...why don’t you buy some nice dresses instead? What on earth was that t-shirt you were wearing to a church?"

“I am hanging up”, You threatened half-heartedly.

You didn’t. You listened in the background to the story of how your mum’s school friend called her to say she saw “her Anya” with a very handsome man on the TV, nonplussed by the fact there was a scattered corpse in the background. 

In the meanwhile, you opened Google on your phone. 

You didn’t fancy doing that before - annoyed by that fake persona Raphael had created. But since he obviously put that much effort in it, it’s worth looking up what he had been up to and for how long.

Nothing good, for sure.

"…Raul D'Avergni, managing partner of an international law firm, inherited the private equity conglomerate, Avernus Capital. This transition was precipitated by the unexpected and tragic passing of his father..."

"…By December 2024, D'Avergni's high-profile liaison with Isabelle Arnaud, actress and socialite, had unceremoniously ended..."

No. Who? No. You didn’t need any ex-girlfriends.

"…Ms. Arnaud levied abuse accusations against Mr. D'Avergni…”

Oh, no…

“…she retracted her claims within a mere twenty hours and ensued a public apology for any harm inflicted upon D’Avergni’s reputation..."

Hmm.

"…her psychiatrist intervened on her behalf. Evidently, Arnaud was grappling with severe mental health issues that led her to make unfounded allegations..."

Raul likes them crazy, they said? Or makes them crazy?

"…Ms. Arnaud now resides in a high-end medical institution in Monaco, focusing on her mental health issues..."

What did Isabelle look like, you wondered, as your mum finished her talk and wished you a good day. You typed her name into the search bar, holding your breath in anticipation as you half-expected to see Hope's face staring back at you.

The woman clinging to Raphael's arm at some fancy film premiere bore no resemblance.

Your stomach sank as if it had plunged into the depths of hell.

She was exactly the type of woman Raphael should have on his elbow; a timeless beauty, but something more Renaissance like, the kind of faces humankind seemed to have stopped producing. She was in her mid-twenties, as well, but… hell, you could not hold a candle to that. Few could. 

Not even the Tavs. She resembled her namesake, Isabelle Adjani, in her youth, maybe even better.

The pictures showed her laughing and looking deeply in love while gazing up at Raphael, while he offered only a very formal smile to the camera. So not Hope then. Nothing like their story. She was in love, he wasn’t. 

Good.

Later snaps by paparazzi painted a different picture: a gaunt woman hidden behind oversized sunglasses and swallowed up by her hoodie, clutching to her coffee cup. 

With a swift click, you banished Isabelle from your screen and plunged further into Raphael's (Raul’s) life story.

You found a photo of Raphael in his twenties (yes, just like the Tumblr post you hated, and no, you wouldn't have fucked him at that age), caught up in a minor scandal in Sankt Moritz (apparently his fraternity brother had pissed on the Swiss flag), more gossip, his philanthropic affairs for local theatres and art galleries, numerous articles praising his professional achievements, and interviews with Lawyer and WSJ and the like. There was mention of a brief marriage and divorce in his early thirties, but when you tried to Google the woman's name, nothing came up.

The whole thing left a sour taste in your mouth. This was someone's real life story, not a fictional character. Raphael wasn't just some wealthy corporate jerk; he was a half-devil from Avernus, which was infinitely better and more sympathetic.

You were well aware that Raphael wasn't exactly a good guy. But he had his rules; he had to have his rules. As for the whole thing with Hope though... What exactly was she? An idea? A person? The fandom barely discussed her, and what little they did, you didn't like; all horrible takes, every single one.

The whole plot felt half-baked.

Anyway, what seeing Isabelle did motivate you to do was to take a real stroll down the city's most expensive boutique street.

Now, the first thing you bought was not because you wanted or needed anything, but because Raphael expected you to. You were not much of a materialist anyway; you were ideologically opposed to consumerism. These things were overpriced, generally not worth it and, on a larger scale, represented everything that was wrong with society.

You decided to enter a Valentino store out of curiosity, as you had never been inside one before. The saleswoman's disdainful look at your T-shirt motivates you to buy a black dress with a white collar, not necessarily because you liked it, but because you want to prove that you can afford it, despite the price tag of two thousand euros. 

Well, you liked it a little. The wool and silk blend was great to touch.

The details of the rest of the shopping trip became a bit hazy. You had your reasons; the consort of an Archdevil Supreme had to look really nice. If you couldn't be as pretty as Isabelle, you could at least dress as well as she did. So you started with some nice blouses and trousers, and a (just one) jacket. With that, you needed shoes. With shoes, of course, you needed a bag. Now that you had a bag (you closed your eyes as the price flashed at the till), you needed some jewellery (you needed to see what all the fuss about Tiffany's was about). And, of course, you needed make-up. 

At each shop, the sales assistants smiled wider and wider as you piled more and more bags onto your arms. By the seventh stop, it felt like their smiles were entering uncanny valley territory. 

Eventually, the banker would call you, right? But when exactly would that be? You tried to find out, but failed. It had to be over forty thousand.

The thought made you dizzy. In one day you had spent your entire year's salary. Now all you could do was hope that Raphael wouldn't make you work off the debt somehow. Unless it was the kind of work your mother suspected you were already doing for him.

You came out of the last shop with five bags and the feeling that you were a very shitty socialist. Since you couldn't carry any more, the shopping concierge (apparently it's a real job) offered to store the bags until your driver picked you up, and just as you were about to say which bloody driver, whom do you take me for, you remembered that you actually had one.

"Mrs Berger," the receptionist said cheerfully the moment she saw you in the door. "Nice to see you again! How can I help you? Oh, yes. The driver, of course. Yes, of course, let me put you through to Mr D'Avergni's personal assistant".

Oh, it's Mrs Berger and my pleasure? They were wondering if the rumours about you wanting the guy to be run over by a bus were already out there. The personal assistant's name was Camilla, her voice was the embodiment of professionalism, and she was the one who could take you to the driver, who was there in no time.

His name was Yuri and he was more talkative than you would have liked. Gruff, huge, way too big for the car he was driving (any vehicle known to man would be too small for him), with a deep booming voice and the face of someone who had spent half his life behind bars.

"Have you seen that poor bastard? All over the main road," he remarked as he passed the street cleaners. "Probably too busy fiddling with his phone to keep an eye out."

"Mghgm," you offered. 

"So, are we stopping by your place first, Miss Berger? Boss said you wanted to get some things first. Are you moving in?"

"Am I?" You ask, surprised by the news yourself, and then think to yourself: "Why not?”

Why the hell not.

****

You didn't waste any time. With a tidy suitcase in tow, you were out the door of your apartment before Yuri could get too bored. You packed the essentials - toothbrush, laptop, documents - and a few other things that suddenly felt crucial to your life.

Out the car window you watched the cityscape change from urban jungle to manicured suburbia and finally to a small gated community. The driver talked politics (he had exactly the kind of convictions you'd expect), then about how amazing Raul was (and how extremely open-minded he was to give an ex-con a job), before returning to politics. 

You didn't ask what crime Yuri did his time for. 

You knew it was Raphael's house the moment you saw it through the car window. Who else would live in such a place? Not a house, that's too boring a term; a villa, all intricate stonework, marble and terracotta, such a flamboyant display of wealth that it should have been taxed just to exist. 

Only a devil or a mafia don would call such grandeur home. So much, too much, theatrical to the point of grotesqueness; no real person could possibly live like this. You couldn't help but wonder if Raphael had been influenced by the films he had seen - perhaps he had developed a taste for modern cinema.

He must have liked The Godfather.

This place. The fountains, the statues (classical, Roman, as if sculpted by the ghost of Michelangelo), the gardens. You wondered how many souls it took to keep this whole thing running.

The gates opened and the car drove you into an underground car park that was already very busy and very Italian: Ferraris, Maseratis, Lamborghinis. You counted; eight. Who needed eight cars? Not even one for each day of the week. 

The lift took you up; Yuri left your shopping bags and suitcase in the foyer and said goodbye.

You'd never set foot in such a house before; the closest you'd ever come was drooling over Sotheby's property listings.

Why would anyone need all this space? For just one person? It was at least six hundred square metres; and the guest and service house looked like another two hundred. The kitchen and dining area was three times the size of your apartment.

You could play golf here.

For what it's worth, the villa didn't remind you of the House of Hope. Firstly, it was completely empty; the servants, if they were in there, managed to make themselves invisible. Second, it lacked the baroque, replaced by the dolce vita and flair of a Lake Como residence. Thirdly, there were no self-portraits, not even pictures, nothing to suggest that the man who lived here had a face, a history, let alone a family.

The first floor was devoted to entertaining guests: the kitchen, the dining room, the library, the ballroom (you guessed this kind of rooms used to be called ballrooms, he even had a piano in it). The second floor was half-locked, except for the master bedroom (the bed easily could accommodate two orthons and a cambion sandwiched between them) and the dressing room. 

There was also a basement - the entrance blocked by a number lock. You considered trying the PIN combination, but decided you didn't want to snoop down there... well, you wanted to snoop very badly, but you didn't want to face the possible consequences. Unless they resembled those in his private club.

So you roamed both floors twice before staking claim to your new sleeping quarters in the master bedroom by putting your suitcase down there. You checked everything else in the room: Raphael's bedside glasses, his choice of books (predictably, Machiavelli, but not The Prince, another book you had never heard of called Mandragola), even his dark silk pyjamas, which lay on the chaise awaiting their owner's return. You open his drawer: hand lotion, velvet sleeping mask, lubricant, two opera tickets (Götterdammerung) from about a month ago... 

Then curiosity led you to look under his bed, where he indeed had something stored: a large black storage box.

Oh, you just had to have a look. 

Just to get an idea of what’s on the evening programme.

Handcuffs, the real kind, the police kind, metal ones. The thought of all the women (and men) who might have been bound with them, as jealous as it made you feel, was titillating. A whip and a crop. Yes, that works for you. And what's this? Butt plugs? Only if they were still sealed in their original packaging (you were not into that kind of hand-me-downs) and way smaller. A chastity belt? Well, that's... intriguing, but probably not in your first month together. A hook? That can stay where it is.

At least nothing too extreme like needles or enemas or any of the other disgusting things you sometimes saw on weird porn sites.

Underneath all that, toys and accessories, lay another plain black box. Oh, a box in a box. Something was written on it.. 

GOOD EVENING CURIOUS LITTLE MOUSE

"Good evening," you said as you opened the lid.

Then promptly closed it again.

"No," you said. "No, no, no. It was just a fic I read and liked, I was very horny, but it's not really my thing. No, thank you. Just because I didn't have a father doesn't mean I have daddy issues. I don't care about the guy, he never cared about me, end of story".

You took a deep breath before opening the box again, hoping that the items inside had disappeared. 

But to your dismay, they were still there: a velvet collar adorned with "Daddy's Little Mouse" in shimmering gold thread, a headband with mouse ears, red lace cobweb-thin lingerie and a tail-butt plug (thankfully still in its original packaging and on the smaller side). The tail was furry and tipped with white, so you must have been a dormouse.

All of the toys were top quality, handmade, and incredibly vulgar. Well, no surprise, having seen what Haarlep was wearing in his house.

You closed the box shut again.

"I'd rather cook us something to eat," you suggested, getting up. "Some pasta. I bet you like pasta?"

You definitely liked pasta and hoped that Raul (Raphael, Raphael) would not have you hanged on the hooks and tortured for your very non-Italian interpretation. You hoped in vain, because he chimed in and tried to stop you from committing a crime:

"Working late. Don't bother with dinner. Take some time to relax and enjoy yourself. R".

As you descended the stairs, ignoring his text, you wondered - did he ever cook? Or was his kitchen just for show, with the real work done in the servants' quarters (do they still call them quarters?).

You forgot that question the moment you saw what was lying on the marble kitchen counter.

The same box you had left upstairs, still with 

GOOD EVENING DISOBEDIENT LITTLE MOUSE 

on it. 

You blinked and took two large steps back. 

The box seemed to crawl forward in response.

You shrieked; this was a bit too much. Raphael's presence, the supernaturality of it, had been subtle before; now it was becoming a bit performative.

"I got your hint," you said, your voice a shaky laugh. "Don't scare me, please. Please."

The box stayed where it was, but it radiated an energy of impatience, as if it might jump at you if you neglected it any longer.

“Fine,” you conceded, coming a bit closer. “A little romance would’ve been nice but…”

"Setting romantic atmosphere," a cheerful female voice said.

who the fuck who the fuck who the fuck

Alexa. 

Fucking smart home systems. The lights dimmed to a soft orange glow, the heavy curtains closed with a soft whoosh and a familiar tune echoed off the walls, the ballroom piano playing in the distance:

I put a spell on you

Because you're mine

The melody was familiar and so was the voice behind it - smooth, silky and oh so captivating (the adjectives you would use to describe it could fill many romance novels). A deep, rich baritone. You chuckled - had Raphael discovered blues? It suited him. 

You know I cannot stand it

You running around

You loved his interpretation of the song. It felt so intimate, him singing to you, so... very, very special. Your fear vanished in an instant; you poured yourself a glass of wine and took a luxurious sip.

"I'll put these on for you," you laughed, putting all the flirt you ever had in this laugh. "But don't expect me to call you 'Daddy'."

There was no protest; Raphael was too busy singing, pouring his entire soul into it. You made yourself busy too; stripping. You weren't very skilled (any skilled), but the thrill of being watched by him awakened something in you. You caught your reflection in the mirror and damn, you were hot. 

Shrugging off your shirt and sliding down your plain black briefs, you swayed your hips at your reflection as the wine worked its magic on your mind. For once in your life, you felt genuinely attractive; he made you feel genuinely attractive. The sexiest you'd ever been. 

Slipping into the silky red lace lingerie he had chosen for you (splurged on, because it was a La Perla) - you fastened the collar around your neck. A long golden chain dangled from it, wrapped twice around the hook and cascaded down your back. Then you put the mouse ears - not cartoonish, not Minnie Mouse ones, but real fur and incredibly lifelike - on your head like a headband. 

You looked like...well, precisely what your mother suspected you were doing to pay the bills. But at least high-end. Very high-end. The only thing worse than being an escort is being a cheap one.

But there was one more item left in the box.

"Ehh," you said at the sight of the mouse tail, especially the part that was meant to be inserted. "I'm going to need... I'm going to the bedroom."

It had been ages since your last foray into such play; back when you were with that boyfriend who constantly pestered you about anal and found it somehow arousing to "accidentally" (sure, mate) poke you and mumble an insincere "oops, wrong hole". 

You didn't stick around much longer after that.

Stretched out on Raphael's sumptuous bed, you slicked up everything - the plug, your pussy, your arse - with copious amounts of lube. First, some warming. So you began to rub yourself, two fingers finding their familiar way to your clit. You couldn't shake the crawling feeling of being watched, every inch of your body scrutinised by unseen eyes.

"Raphael," you called out into the empty room, desperate for some form of interaction or response. "I would love it if you would join me... or say something pleasant”.

Now would be the perfect time to call me a good girl.

But there was no response, just an eerie silence in the room. Feeling too naked and too slutty, you pulled the blanket over you, a makeshift barrier between you and his eyes. Under the fortification, tucking the tail in seemed less daunting.

Before you could get down to business, there was a jerk at the blanket, which fell to the cold floor, leaving you bare again. Then another tug on the chain attached to your collar, pulling you closer to the bedpost.

"I'm sorry," you gasped breathlessly, both hands instinctively reaching for your collar. "I won't hide."

The chain didn’t let go, making a point out of a slight pressure around your neck. Taking a deep breath, you focused on the task at hand, stroking your clit as you guided the plug inside you. 

You told yourself to relax and take it slow; just imagine it's Haarlep. How many times had you dreamed of being squeezed and stretched between the two of them? It was always Haarlep who took you from behind; it just seemed more their style.

The plug slid in deeper. It didn't hurt, and the little discomfort it caused added to the excitement. 

Damn, this is so dirty. 

"It's in," you said as the plug settled inside you. "All the way in. What's next?"

The words were barely out of your mouth when the golden chain, suddenly a snake-like lasso, wrapped tightly around your wrists.

Pulled them towards the bedpost, stretched out and bound tightly to either side. Fear gripped you and you clenched around the plug, pulling your knees tight together.

Tightly. Very tight. A little too tight. You tried to wriggle, the metal biting your skin; you could move your hips a little, but no more. 

You couldn't get out yourself, which was not good news when you were alone (well, almost) in a very big house. Your mind immediately thought of that girl in Gerald's Game.

"Raphael?" you asked. “It’s not that kind of game, is it? It’s a nice game? Can we play a nice game?”

He did not answer, but you heard footsteps. Footsteps coming down the long corridor. Confident, quick and very purposeful.

Stay calm, stay calm, it's him, it's him, who else could it be? Haarlep? The orthon? The driver? 

The door swung open.

It was Raphael, and he was visibly surprised to see you in this state, which was absolute bullshit considering he was responsible for tying you to this very bed. 

"Well, I'll be damned," he said, covering the distance to the bed in two strides. "What a welcome home surprise, piccola." 

Raphael gave you a lecherous, wet-lipped smile and knelt on the bed between your legs. There was something boyish about it, an expression you'd never seen in the game, as if he'd just found his first bike under the Christmas tree.

You searched for “piccola” earlier today: “baby” or “little girl” in Italian. 

"I'm not going to call you Daddy," you repeated, and Raphael shook his head and laughed, not seeming at all horrified at the thought (and he should be).

"I have some compelling evidence to the contrary, Daddy's little mouse," he teased, his fingers playing with your collar. 

"Anything but Daddy," you pleaded. "That's just... demeaning."

Weirdly incestual, too. You haven’t even seen the guy, not a photo, not a… (don’t think of him why the fuck would you think of the old bastard now).

“This is the whole appeal of it, is it not?”, he said. “How would you prefer to address me then?"

Raphael? Something told you that telling him that would make him very angry, and you weren't exactly in a position to want an angry man on top of you. Raul? No, that name just felt completely wrong and made you feel like you were in a Spanish soap opera. 

Raphael began to unbutton his shirt one button at a time, revealing a white undershirt, which he then took off. 

His physique was impressive for a man of his age; not those bodybuilder abs from bg3 but a well-toned body shaped by workouts and diets, which seemed to be very much at odds with his indulgent ways. Rough brown hair spread across his chest and lower abdomen against honey-tanned skin. Every inch of him seemed so put together, so perfectly groomed.

"Master," you finally decided (there was this one fanfic…) as you spread your legs wider in an invitation. 

"Master?" Raphael seemed amused, his fingers tracing the lace of your bra, teasing your hardened nipples through the fabric. "Such flattery. So this makes you my slave girl? Tied up and ready for me to use as I please?"

Reading Raphael say such things was one thing, but hearing him actually say them in real life made you feel embarrassed. It was a bit, ugh... 

“You get flustered easily for someone who waited for me dressed like this, little mouse,” Raphael raised an eyebrow at your see-through lace. “Topolina." 

He wrinkled his nose and laughed, as if the word was funnier in Italian, and poked the tips of your mouse ears. You wanted him so badly that your lips caught his as he came closer and you pushed your tongue into his mouth. He kissed your back, his hands moving up and down your body. 

"How the hell did you manage..." he mused aloud as he studied your bound wrists.

His fingers ventured between your legs, and the moment he stumbled upon your tail, his whole body twitched with excitement, his breath catching in his throat as he traced the soft fur to reach the base of the plug. 

The playful gleam in his eyes was replaced by an intense, wild desire.

"Merda," he breathed out. "Look at that. Aren't you a dirty little girl?"

You cringed at how pornographic the line sounded (his suddenly much thicker Italian accent didn't help), but Raphael seemed to find it excruciatingly erotic.

In one swift motion, he lunged forward and forced your legs apart, his hands pulling your knees towards your chest, folding you in until your muscles screamed in protest at the stretch. 

Without warning, he thrust deep inside of you. You gasped in surprise; no preliminaries, no foreplay, no taking it slowly, just raging, explosive lust.

Fortunately, your own fingers had done their job earlier, so despite the brutal force of his first thrust, pleasure surged through you, along with a sharp twinge of friction as his cock rubbed against the toy lodged inside you.

He seemed to relish the sensation and so did you. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as your body arched beneath him; stretched and pinned by his weight, trapped, surrendering to the relentless pounding that followed - raw and invasive and yet so fulfilling.

You were so looking forward to coming again from his penetration alone. The mere thought made you pull harder on your restraints, craving the delicious pain of being bound. The furry tail must have tickled his balls because he tucked it under you so that it would tease you instead. 

"Cross your ankles behind my back," Raphael rasped into your shoulder as he grazed it with his stubbled chin. "Yes, just like that... now tilt your hips."

You responded with your most submissive “yes, master”, making his cock twitch inside you, and then sifted your hips to better accommodate his pleasure. Wrapped your legs tightly around him, pulling him in deeper, pain-pleasure soaring through you. You sniffed his hair. 

His cologne (worn leather, cherry liqueur, bitter almonds) smelled so good oh so good.

He slid his arms underneath your arse, lifting you towards him at every thrust. 

Raphael said few words after that, grunting and thrusting and thrusting. Something about him was different this time - something very human - from how his sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead to his expressions of sheer lust that bordered on comical at times. 

One thing remained the same - the pleasure his pounding brought you, the familiar hooks of approaching orgasm - not any orgasm, the orgasm of being with him, his sharp talons - sinking inches deep into your flesh again. 

fuck does he feel good

rough or tender it just feels so good

his cock his tongue his breath on your neck

You screamed "fuck me", then once again, louder, not caring how obscene you sounded, and bit his shoulder without a second thought. 

The scream that escaped you was higher pitched than you had intended.

do whatever whatever you want whatever you want with me

Raphael's face creased with annoyance as his strong finger pressed into your cheek. "Easy…easy… piccola... I appreciate…. a good performance… not …overacting," he scolded as he went at you harder, pushing you to the point of pain.

hurt me

fuck me fuck me harder

You would have protested at the implication that you were pretending, but you were too busy coming under him, his hand clamped over your mouth before your temporal insanity could drive you to actually call him ‘daddy’.

If he wanted you to why wouldn’t you he is so sweet to you oh so sweet to you

The scream was swallowed by his palm as an orgasm, brutal in its intensity and lightning-fast, ripped through you, whip-snaked it. You greeted your release with a wail, biting into his hand. Raphael paused mid-thrust, apprehensive of how your pussy convulsed around him and your leg spasmed uncontrollably - if this was a performance, you deserved an award.

"You weren't pretending," he panted, awe-struck. "My apologies. You were not".

The realisation frenzied him; he spilled within a minute after, rutting into you with intensity belying his age. Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of you, his breath, cherries and tobacco, warming your throat as his cock softened within you.

"I may have gotten a little carried away," he said, sounding embarrassed and slightly apologetic as he lay down beside you. "But it seems you're more than content."

You eagerly and quickly nodded.

"Are you that... passionate with every man?" He asked as he helped you free your wrists - jealousy creeping into his voice at the mention of that mysterious 'every man'.

You couldn't help but laugh at the question. "No," you replied. "Far from it. You are not just any man. You are anything but."

Raphael let out a sigh of relief and kissed you, making no effort to hide how much your compliment pleased him. 

When you parted, you hopped awkwardly off the bed - the odd gait one adopts when they have a plug in them (no way were you going to remove it in his presence, no way) and cum was trickling down your thighs. 

Shit, the condom. Now you forgot to ask him to wear it.

Would he have?..

Ah, screw it. Google says Plan B is effective for up to 72 hours after unprotected sex, so you'll take it tomorrow - for tonight and last night. You'd never been this careless before, but hell, you'd never murdered people with a mere thought or slept with an Archdevil of Hell.

Raphael was still lying there, basking in the afterglow, when you returned.

"I have to admit, Anya... I'm seriously thinking of proposing," he murmured with such tenderness as you snuggled against him that you wondered if Raphael really was incapable of love.

"That would be quick," you replied, but made it sound like you wouldn't mind at all.

"Quick?" he scoffed. "A man knows what he wants in a woman the moment he sets eyes on her. Unfortunately, there are very few left in your generation."

You smiled, already dreaming of being the Archduchess of Hell, and half-dreaming in general from sheer exhaustion and satisfaction. 

"They lied about you being bad in bed," you murmured as sleep began to take over. "I knew it was all bullshit."

"They?" He asked, his face contorting into a scowl at your sentence. "Who are they? Anya, for God's sake, stop reading those trashy tabloids."

You closed your eyes for a moment. When you half-opened them, you saw him on the balcony outside, in a black silk robe, AirPods in his ears and a cigarette in his mouth. Behind him you could see the smoke and fire of the Avernus mountain ridge, the fireballs cascading down from the sky. Beautiful. 

Raphael gestured with his free hand, aggressively, and you listened a little closer; fortunately he was more than loud.

"...we will bleed them dry if they dare to break our agreement..."

"...they knowingly and willingly accepted our terms, they will choke on the consequences..."

"...all must pay their dues, sooner or later..."

"...an army? We have our own army..."

A yawn escaped your lips as you snuggled deeper into the plush pillows of the massive bed. Everything, except the AirPods, fit perfectly into the image of Archdevil Supreme.

You felt so chosen, so alive, so gloriously alive, and your life had just begun.

"Are you coming soon?" you called out as you tried to think of an appropriate nickname for him - something intimate, but not too cheesy. Darling? Baby? Sweetheart? Love? My favourite devil?

But he beat you to it before you could decide.

"Soon, my love. Rest," he blew you a kiss. With a loud click, he shut the glass door and cut you off from hearing the rest of their conversation. You let out a contented sigh and rolled over onto your side, drifting into a peaceful slumber.

"My love," you said in your sleep. "Raphael called me his love”.

****

The urgent need to go to pee woke you. The time was a mystery, but it must have been late enough for Raphael to have gone to bed too.

He was pressed close to you, his hand cupping your breast. You looked over your shoulder; asleep, peaceful, in buttoned pyjamas, and it was the one moment when he did not look threatening at all; vulnerable, if anything. You kissed him on the cheek and he smiled in his sleep and held you close. 

When you came back from your short (not really, a good thirty metres to the toilet) trip to the bathroom, you snuggled closer to him, preparing to doze off again, and then you heard something.

You listened closer, thinking you had dreamed it first.

Soft, gentle whimpers. You recognised the voice. You didn't know how, but you did. Something childishly cheerful and slightly mad about it.

Oh, no. No. You were happy, spooning with Raphael, and you didn't need this shit right now, especially when things were finally going so well.

Hope, please, you begged.

You got all your happy endings, so many of them, wonderful endings where Raphael was killed by the player and you got to live and your revenge and whatnot. Can I have one too, please? Without you whining and making me feel guilty for something I didn't even do?

"My love," you asked Raphael softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his side. "Can you let her go?"

"Mmm," Raphael murmured in his sleep, "Sure, piccola. Whatever you wish for."

You waited for him to act, but he only tightened his grip on the blanket and shifted slightly.

"You have all the hells and the crown and everything (and me). You don't need her anymore," you tried again. 

"Anya, let me sleep," Raphael mumbled into his pillow, away from your voice. You tried to hide from her voice under your pillow as well, but you could still hear the soft, painful moans. 

Ugh. 

They were very, very far away, but still there.

"She's still wailing," you complained, taking him by the shoulder and shaking him a little. "Raphael? Raphael?"

 "Who is wailing?” he groaned in pure frustration, and then made a half-hearted attempt at listening. “Ah, merda, not that bloody bitch again! I swear, I will plug that hole myself!"

You tried to make sense of that sentence and couldn't, but what you did get was that it promised Hope nothing good and sounded vaguely vulgar, which was even worse. 

"Don't hurt Hope," you begged, appalled by his threat. "She doesn't deserve it!"

"I don't deserve it either," Raphael retorted before turning away from you. "Please be quiet."

He should direct this request to his prisoner. 

What had really happened between them? You didn't think his obsession with Hope was sexual because, well, because, for example, he fucked you and you both enjoyed it, so he was definitely into consent, and Hope was more like a metaphor, a concept, a point to be made, and some shitty fucking rushed Act 3 writing.

"You... you didn't hurt her like that, did you? There was some talk... With that boudoir line... It was misinterpreted... right?"

Right. He may be evil, but he is lawful evil. He believed in consent and seduction, not violence. 

"I haven't hurt anyone, what in damnation are you talking about?" he growled through gritted teeth, and you let out a small sigh of relief.  "But if I don't get some rest, I might."

He hadn't hurt Hope. He wouldn't lie. He cannot; devils can deceive, but not outright lie. You read it somewhere.

Okay, he's not going to let her go and he's not going to help you and Hope was certainly not going to shut up. You have to go to her. And say what? Say what? Sorry for your predicament and the centuries of torture, Hope, but could you please be a bit quieter, me and Raphael just had sex and are trying to sleep? 

Let her go? And lose his favour, his credit card and the place next to him in his bed?

Yes, come on. It would be the right thing to do and you would do it. 

Where was she anyway, you wondered as you walked down the stairs. In the cellar? Hanging from the ceiling? You still don't have the key to the cellar. When you reached the ground floor, the kitchen, you realised that the noises were not coming from the cellar - they were coming from outside.

Outside? Did he hang her on a tree on this cold April night? 

You put on his trench coat and slipped into your sneakers. This was so unnecessarily evil, you thought, suddenly feeling much less happy about everything, especially as the pained whimpering got closer. Hardly human, you thought, more like a creature trapped and desperately trying to free itself. 

Yes, definitely more of a creature.

In fact, it reminded you of a dog. You searched the darkness of the night, determined to find it, and there it was: a dachshund wedged between the ground and a large, weathered fence, whimpering into the still night. 

The poor thing must have thought it was quite the burglar, trying to burrow under a hole in the fence to pull through. But it only managed to get itself stuck.

"Oh, poor baby," you said as you approached the dog. "Let's see if we can get you out."

You pulled on the fence to widen the opening and the cub was free.

It licked your hand in gratitude. Dogs love you. All animals do, and it's quite mutual. You had a harder time with people.

There were distant, panicked cries for Steffie somewhere in the distance; the owner was out on a rescue mission. You took the dachshund in your lap and went to meet her.

The woman was in her sixties, dark brown hair, a very aged beauty, and she looked a bit funny in her fur coat and slippers. She had tears in her eyes. Steffie ran to her as soon as she saw her.

"You silly little girl," she scolded the whining, complaining dog in her arms. She had a thick American drawl. "Why do you keep going back to his house? What's so special about him? I told you he was bad news!"

"Is he?" You asked the question when you knew the answer.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered, forcing a smile to her lips. "I didn't mean it like that. You're Raul's new girl, aren't you? Samantha. I live down the road. Sorry about Steffie, she's very... adventurous."

There were exactly three houses on the street, a mile apart each.

"You meant it like that," you said. "If it's about Isabelle, she's apologised and withdrawn her accusations".

There was a pause, and Samantha's perfectly friendly smile cracked a little.

"Well, in that case," she said, before adding with forced cheerfulness, "thank you for looking after Steffie, sweetheart! You take care now."

She tried to walk away, but turned back; she was as curious as her little dog.

"I was walking Steffie when that French girl ran out of his house," she said, unable to resist the urge to gossip. "She was naked and babbling like a lunatic. She had blood on her, too".

"Did she scream something about the devil?" you asked after a pause.

"Devil? No. Not that I speak French," said the woman, making a last attempt to walk away, but failing. "Listen, I have a daughter about your age. And if some guy - ANY guy - tried to put that kind of crap around her neck, I would chop his arms off".

What did she mean? 

The collar. 

She meant the "Daddy's little mouse" collar you still have around your neck. 

Oh, don't kink shame me, you were going to say, but that kind of talk sounds ridiculous in real life. She managed to shame you very badly, so you hid the collar under your trench coat and mumbled, "I put it on myself".

That actually made her look at you again. Steffie looked at you with the same expression. 

Everybody's out to guilt trip you - Hope, the dog (the dog you saved!), the neighbour, the guy who got thrown under the bus, and you've done nothing but enjoy some devil sex.

The woman finally decided it was time to go, muttering "You need Jesus, sweetheart" before she left.

That's your God who kept women in collars and on leashes for centuries, not the Devil, you thought bitterly, and unlike the Devil, he didn't even fuck them. 

Well, only once.

***

You were back in the en-suite bathroom, washing your face in the marble sink.

Who the fuck was this man, really? What the fuck was happening? 

Your hand shot out, yanking open a cabinet door. An array of men's grooming products stared back at you - cologne, razor, facial moisturiser and scrub, deodorant, shaving gel, sleek, expensive bottles. A man took care of his looks.

Another cabinet creaked open under your touch. 

Your eyes darted to the label on the bottle - Risperidon. You had no idea what it was, but you memorised it for a future Google search, repeating it under your breath like a mantra. 

"Are you rummaging through my belongings, nosy little mouse?”

He was dead asleep last time you checked!

You jerked, closing the cupboard and stumbling back to the bathroom sink, gasping for breath. "No," you stammered, turning to find him standing in the doorway. "I mean... yes. I can't sleep. I thought you might have some pills."

His eyes were canny; he didn't swallow your lie and made no pretence of doing so. He bridged the gap and hugged you from behind - frighteningly strong and wanting every ounce of that power to seep into your bones. His strength made you realise just how much of a level 1 human NPC you were.

"You don't have to violate my privacy when I'm not around, Anya," he whispered against your skin as he began to trail soft kisses down your neck. "If there's anything that's bothering you, just ask me directly. I want us to be honest with each other."

What was in the cellar? What kind of work does he do for you? Did he rape Hope? Or was it Haarlep? Where is Haarlep, by the way? Why does Raphael want to play Raul? 

"What happened to Isabelle?" you asked. 

"Ah, I see. Is that why you asked me if I had hurt anyone?" he said. "Is that what the tabloids told you?"

You nodded.

"Isabelle had an addiction," he admitted, the crow’s feet showing themselves. "It spiralled out of control. She had… a bout of psychosis, a mental breakdown. Made false accusations to the press. She's now getting the help she needs, poor girl”.

"Why was she covered in blood?" you pressed, looking at his reflection in the mirror as an infernal light danced in his orange eyes.

For all the fire in them, they seemed icy, impossibly cold for a man who had called you my love less than an hour ago. "How did you come by this information? You seem to know more than one would expect of you, Anya. There are things about you that make me... wonder. I have been giving you the benefit of the doubt, perhaps foolishly."

Your breath caught in your throat. “The neighbour”, you said. “Your neighbour told me”.

The truth you’d spilled slaked him, but only a little. He looked at you, jaw hardened.

"Samantha? I’ll have a word with her. Very well, we were making love when Isabelle had a psychotic episode."

Making love? Really? He did not make love to you.

"She lashed out at me," he continued. "It was my blood, Anya. I would never hurt her or any other woman. Without their consent, that is."

But that couldn't be true, because there was Hope - and many others who owed him, and Raphael might have been many things, but not a liar, and yet here he was, lying right to your face.

He did hurt people. Whether they deserved it, whether they brought onto themselves, that was a different matter, but he did hurt them.

"If you need proof, you can take a look at the psychiatrist's report," he offered coldly. "The authorities got involved... unfortunately."

"I believe you," came your shaky reply. 

You desperately wanted to. 

Raphael’s eyes flickered.

"Trust goes both ways, Anya," he whispered in your ear, running a finger along your collar. "If you do not trust me, then I will be forced to ask some very unpleasant questions myself. Do we understand each other?"

Which questions? He knows everything there is to know about you. He knows your browser history.

“We do”, you said, still looking in the mirror. “Of course we do, my love”.

"Is that so?” he smiled. "I suggest we go to our bed and put that theory to the test."

[dark-moonlust]

「 ✦ Patreon and Commissions ✦ 」

Hello everyone! My name's Kate. I am an aspiring writer, usually sleepless, typing away on my keyboard and dreaming of fantasy worlds and sexy creatures.

I wanted to share more about my Patreon page. You can find free and exclusive content and get to support my creative writing journey. For those looking to take things further, this is what I offer:

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[random0lover]

I can’t stand having to go into stores or food places. It literally makes my heart sink down into my chest, I’m so socially awkward/anxious. It’s not that I can’t handle having to talk to the employees or anything it’s the fact that I’m always over analyzing everything around me and over thinking everything I’m going to have to say so I come in feeling like I would rather just have to go home instead of dealing with the situation.

Venting below

Probably will delete later

For example this morning my brothers wanted a strawberry shake each so I did a mobile order for a place near by cause I know they usually have the machine going and all that by that time so it should be fine. Well the morning shift there at the beginning of the week have always been kinda weird towards me but this morning I come in (after it let me order said shakes) and I come up to the counter and everyone is just ignoring me and I’m kinda just standing there waiting (which I didn’t mind) until a guy walks by and looks at me and when he stops I tell him I have a mobile order.

And he kinda just laughs at me? And says “yeah we can’t make that right now *cue another laugh* the machines down” and this is the point where I’m trying to decide what I’m going to do so I look down at my phone and then back up and he’s squinting his eyes at me with his head slightly tilted? Like he’s looking at me like I’m weird or something? Anyways I ask him how could I go about getting a refund and then he laughs at me again and says “what?” And I repeat myself and he just shrugs and says you’ll have to ask her (there was a lady behind him who I’m assuming is his manager or the shift lead) and laughs again when he turns away to tell her. At this point istg I’m crazy cause I’m like did I do something wrong or am I being weird 🤦🏻‍♀️

But the lady turns around and says “what” so I tell her the same thing about the order and I make sure to tell her that I’m not upset and that I know it’s not her fault but that I’m just wanting to get a refund which I’ve had to do there before because they didn’t have an item I mobile ordered before and they gave me a refund just fine. And I kid you not this woman looks at me and tell me that it’s not her fault with major attitude which is when I once again tell her that I’m not upset or angry and that I just want a refund and she says that she can’t do that and that I’ll have to call the number on their app or they can give me something else (mind you the app says you have to contact the store you ordered the items from for a refund 💀). So I leave because my nerves were up really bad and I knew she wasn’t going to help me. I called them when I got home though and they said I could come back in two hours when they turn the machine on even though I was told the machine is broken not just turned off 😭 I just don’t know how to feel about all of that y’know? I’ve been in there plenty of times and I’m always polite so I don’t know what I did…

I’m just wondering if I went about something wrong? I thought I waited patiently and made it clear I wasn’t upset about the shakes, I didn’t raise my voice or anything. What makes it even worse though is the guy was attractive and I understand to some people that doesn’t matter but when you’re getting laughed at it sucks but getting laughed at by an attractive person? That makes me want to crawl into a hole and die

[alphagodith]

DO NOT SHOP WITH TGG ONLINE

do not order from ‘the gaming goat’ online store. there was a chain of physical stores that broke off from them and those are probably fine, but i have had the most HORRENDOUS experience with the online/vegas part of tgg compared to literally every other business i have EVER dealt with.

tldr; i preordered an item and not only did i never get it, but the company didn’t even look into why until an entire two weeks after it released, despite people constantly asking for updates, only to discover there was some kind of error months ago and they never actually ordered any of the limited-print item. full story under cut.

i preordered the beelzemon advanced deck (st-14) from them in january. it released on march 23rd. now this part is partly my fault for not reading the fine print before i placed my order, but their policy on preorders is really sketchy to begin with- no refunds, only store credit if you cancel, and more importantly, NO ETAS. no etas means they can just keep saying ‘it’ll get there eventually’ and you never actually get your purchase at all.

when launch day came around, i checked my order status and saw no updates on it, and the only means of getting one manually was discord (never a good sign- any professional business will either have on-site communication, email, or both). i was not the only one asking about it, and the only answer we received was that they hadn’t received their shipment of decks yet. they claimed that their special way of ordering that got them lower prices than other stores made things take longer. at the time, i was like okay, that makes sense i guess, and continued waiting patiently.

a few days later, all the local stores in my area have the decks in stock. people all over the country are opening decks online and having a blast, and i’m sitting here wondering why my preorder still hasn’t even been sent out from the place i bought it from yet. cuz y’know, typically the entire point of a preoder is ensuring you get the item on launch day, or asap, without having to wait in line or risk stores not having any in stock. so again, i politely ask for an order update. they say they don’t know, and remind us that they can’t give etas because of their special ordering method. now i’m starting to get suspicious. what kind of commercial shipping doesn’t come with tracking of any kind? they should be able to tell us the shipment is in transit or delayed or stuck in customs or SOMETHING, but they are always very vague and just say ‘not in yet’. and again, this is a highly coveted preorder item, any respectable business would be EXTRA on top of something like this. at this point i’m like okay i’ll just cancel my preorder and buy a deck from the stores that actually have them, and discover that is not an option. my funds are totally tied up with tgg while the item i ordered is selling out from everywhere else. as an additional fun note about this, digimon pre-built decks don’t get reprinted. when the stores run out of these, the only way i’ll be able to get one is buying second-hand at a considerable mark-up. very very not good.

so i can’t do anything other than wait and hope that the order comes in. i’m fortunate enough to have the funds to buy some decks from local stores despite tgg still having my money, and at this point i figure if/when the preordered decks arrive, i can sell them to make my money back. i have what i wanted so i’m placated for a bit over a week.

then it’s two whole weeks after launch. many stores are now sold out of the decks. people keep asking tgg what’s going on and are either ignored entirely (while tgg answers OTHER people’s questions, so it’s not that they didn’t see them/were too busy) or given the usual weirdly vague non-answers. so now i’m getting PISSED. the no refund/no eta policy coupled with the dodgy responses to inquiries are forcing me to come up with theories on what is actually going on with my order on my own. i even ask them straight up if they actually ordered the decks or not, and guess what? sudden silence in response. a simple yes or no question and they won’t answer. so at this point i conclude they never ordered the decks at all, and the real reason there is no eta is that their ‘preorder’ is actually a ‘kickstarter’, in that they don’t order the decks until enough people have ordered them to make it worth it for them to get a large quantity at once. that’s already incredibly scummy to do without clearly labeling the item in their store as such, but now that launch day has passed, the chances of anyone preordering an item that is already out is basically zero, meaning if tgg haven’t reached their goal of preorder numbers now, they literally never will, and those of us who already payed will NEVER get what we payed for. so i’m furious. i have given the company every chance to give me SOME kind of explanation for the unreasonable delay and have just been brushed off every time. i post my theory on what’s going on in their discord for other customers to see and then, knowing it likely won’t work cuz of the posted policy on the tgg website, issue a dispute claim with my bank to try and get my money back, since it’s looking like i’ll never get what they agreed to sell me.

then, mysteriously, a few hours later, an announcement is posted in the discord. two whole weeks after the decks were already supposed to have arrived, of customers begging for updates, tgg contacted their distributor and found out that someone on the distributor’s end supposedly made an error and typed the order in wrong, telling the system to send 0 decks instead of whatever number (tgg loves not specifying) they supposedly asked for. after the utter lack of professionalism and transparency, can you really blame me for not trusting tgg that this is somehow not their fault? and even if i did believe them, that is still no excuse. they could have checked up on the order literally any time, such as all the times people asked them to after launch, and any SENSIBLE business would have checked WELL BEFORE launch day to ensure they had the product on the way so they would be READY for launch day. so NOW they give a brief, insincere apology and offer either refunds or to sell the decks for their base manufacturer price instead of traditional retailer price... when the decks get reprinted. which doesn’t happen with digimon. also their explanation of the discount was so horrible that another customer had to explain it for everyone. to my ears, it sounded like they were saying they would charge MORE than we had already payed if we agreed to wait. another important note about all this- this announcement was only on their discord, in a regular channel, pinging everyone like it always does. super easy to miss. nothing to specifically let folks who actually ordered it know something was up, and i did not get any kind of notification about my order being screwed up in my email, despite having checked that option. so who the fuck KNOWS how many people are just never going to get what they payed for cuz the company that fucked them over in so many ways isn’t even going to bother telling them! so of course i slam the refund button as hard as i can. then, half as a joke to try and make light of this whole shitshow, i ask ‘any eta on the processing of that refund?’ and you know what the guy tells me? ‘i clicked the button five minutes ago, idk’. and this person supposedly runs a business?!?! you can literally google refund etas and find out it takes 2-5 days for a debit charge. and these assholes have the audacity to say they ‘just want to help’ and get defensive when people are rightfully enraged at the situation.

so yeah, i’m not canceling my dispute until i see the money i wasted back in my bank. and i am never, EVER dealing with tgg again, nor preordering. always check the refund/cancelation policies of any store the first time you shop there, folks. and don’t do preorders.

[6ad6ro]

so i've recently been using aliexpress. like testing them out to see if i could trust alibaba like ebay or amazon etc etc etc. ali prices are v cheap but it’s flooded with bootlegs and “fake products” that make even ebay look legit. tho if that’s what you’re going for, it seems awesome. it isn’t. you can’t actually trust em. they have their “money back guarantee” policy plastered all over the site, but it’s actually shit. it’s a lie, really. all they do is “step in” to try and create an understanding between you and the seller. but they won’t do shit in the end. i recently had a seller ship me a bootleg figure with “we guarantee it will not arrive broken” and “if DOES show up broken, don’t fear because just send us a photo and we will refund” multiple times in different ways plastered all over their page. it showed up broken and disfigured with paint marks and discoloration all over. so i did as they said, and they were like “we will refund. we can offer you $3″. lol yeah because “refund” on a $25 order somehow means $3? it’s a scam. they worded it that way to make buyers trust them. when i created a dispute, back when i was still foolish enough to think ali’s buyer back guarantee meant something, the seller asked for a return instead. i said no unless they paid shipping (shipping is soooo crazy to china rn it’d be more than what i originally paid”. they said “ok we’ll pay shipping” and i was like “fine” because i figured all my bases were covered and clicked “accept resolution”. then a few minutes later it hit me... what if their return shipping policy is fucked up? bc on their page it says they send you a return label. but they wouldn’t with me. they were like “ok send it through whoever you want and send us tracking when you’re done and we’ll request the buyer sends you a refund. you have three days”. whattt the fuck. so you really expect me to take even MORE risk? seller is a proven liar. you want me to throw more good money at bad? then i’ll be out the item (it’s broken but still), the money, AND the return shipping. but ali support was happily like “don’t worry if they screw you we’ll give you store credit for the return shipping!!!” all happily like it wasn’t the stupidest thing they’d ever said. i was like “yeah no that doesn’t work for me” and they were like “ok we’ll find a solution. please be patient and we’ll get back to you usually within 24 hours”. i was patient. no email. their 3 day limit lapsed and their system said “refund cancelled seller didnt ship item”. so i contacted support again. same response. bot-like language and fake smiles and just horseshit. promised an email within 24 hours. no email. i tried to write a bad review to warn people about the seller. lol funny thing, i get an “error” no matter what browser i use etc. so after trying to redo the review in dif ways, i finally tried leaving bad review with good stars and WOW SUDDENLY IT WORKS. like lol seriously DO NOT use aliexpress or alibaba etc if you can avoid it. a bunch of scam artist shitheads. btw seller is ANIME JUMPING TOY Store ( https://www.aliexpress.com/store/1101664122?spm=a2g0o.order_list.order_list_main.2.21ef18022EABPw ).

[frenchyberry]

‼️To anyone who’s considered trying #Temu but has never actually followed through‼️

The link I’m sharing will give you a coupon bundle worth $100 PLUS 30% off. 💰 Just for downloading the app and creating an account.

Here’s the thing; I know we all think it’s too good to be true. Usually things like this are. I’m sure we all remember Wish. Cheap products that took weeks or months to receive and most of the stuff was just that; CHEAP. 🤮 It was see through, broken, tarnished, whatever. It just wasn’t worth your time, money, or aggravation. I thought Temu was just a remake of of the old Wish app. 🙄 Can’t even deny that’s what I thought it was.

But it’s not.

It’s got all the discounts and more but the stuff isn’t cheap and you don’t wait forever and a day to get your orders. On top of that, if you are unhappy with an item or there is something wrong with it - ANYTHING AT ALL (and that includes not being of the quality you expected), they’ll refund you. They’ll pay for you to return the item (if they even want it returned) and give you a full refund! There’s no hoops to jump through and no hassle. I say this because I’ve dealt with it!

Yeah, I’ve gotten a dress that did NOT look like it appeared in the pictures. Got a full refund and got to keep the dress. 👌🏻 I’ve got a damaged item - again, full refund and kept the item. Your package, for whatever reason, doesn’t come in? Lost in the mail or even stolen, EVERYTHING

GETS REFUNDED. 🙌🏻💯 Like that’s customer service‼️

But enough about what’s been wrong; let me tell you what’s RIGHT and WHY it’s worth giving a try. 😃

The stuff is excellent quality. It’s literally the SAME PRODUCTS you’d buy on Amazon or at Walmart but it’s a quarter of the cost. For literally the same thing you’re paying triple the cost for at another store. I’ve sat here and compared products and reviews and price tags. I’ve bought stuff and WON stuff. Straight up got HUNDREDS of dollars worth of stuff for FREE or at HUGE discounts.

For reference (and I’ll only speak on stuff that I, personally, have gotten);

Power tools? 💯 Got em! (And they work great!)

Car parts? 💯 Those too!

Shoes? 💯 I’ve gotten some of the MOST COMFORTABLE shoes here! No joke! 🙅🏼‍♀️

Upgrading your kitchen set up? 💯 YES!

Need storage cabinets? 💯 on that too!

Appliances? 💯 Yep!

New wardrobe? 💯 What are you waiting for⁉️🤯

Phone accessories? 💯 Can’t go wrong!

I could go on and on. You want pictures of the stuff? Videos? ASK ME FOR THEM! I GOT YOU. 🙌🏻

There’s literally no reason not to give this place a try. There’s no spam, your info isn’t sent off to god knows where so you get random phone calls or emails, and if you’re unhappy, you can delete your account, uninstall the app, and that’s it! 👍🏻 Done!

But I don’t think you’ll wanna do that, honestly. I wish I had gotten on this bandwagon sooner myself because it’s worth it. The discounts, ways to earn credit to go towards purchases, ways to win and earn products, it’s all legit. There’s no BS to it and frankly, that’s why I love it.

So the only one keeping themselves from saving money and even having fun doing it, is you. Give it a try! Because really, who doesn’t love discounts, coupons, and saving money on the things you need and want? 🤷🏼‍♀️🤔 Saving money rocks!! 😆

I’ll even give you another bonus that I found! 😃 After you’ve downloaded the app via the link, gotten your $100 in coupons and 30% off, type in this code in the search bar: USY2950 - it’ll give you a $40 credit to use for WHATEVER YOU WANT on the app! ♥️

So you got nothing to lose and everything to gain here. Enjoy! 😁♥️

[toehwa6]

You wanna know some fucking bullshit.

Listen to this dumb fucking shit.

So to the puzzle gang out there you know that og plastic 2x2’s are literally the craziest puzzles you can get like crazy collectors shit

I currently have two a stickerless and a white one. I need a fucking black one to complete the collection.

I’ve been looking for these stupid fucking things for years.

Well low and fucking behold some rando fuck shows up on Reddit going

oG pLaStIc 2x2’s for sale I got a bunch I’m ready to get rid of them blah blah blah

So I hit this dumb motherfucker up and I’m like

Hello please let me purchase your one black og plastic Dayan 2x2

He’s super cool shows me the puzzle blah blah blah

I pay him and he says he’s sending it out tomorrow

Doesn’t hit me up

I go, hey buddy! Did you send it?

He goes

Oh yeah, sorry I don’t check Reddit much! Yes I sent it out

I ask, when’s it gonna be here, tracking, how’d you send it blah blah blah

Doesn’t hit me up

I go, boi you fucking there?

He goes

Oh yeah, sorry I don’t check Reddit much!

This stupid motherfucker made a post on Reddit the day after I sent a message so he’s fucking ducking me

He goes. They said it’ll be there on the 18th

And then he fucking ghosts me again when I ask for tracking

At this point I’m losing my fucking mind

Eventually he gets back to me and calls me a fucking weirdo, saying he’s never had someone yell at him like this before

Like listen dumb fuck, you’re shipping one of the rarest fucking puzzles there are and you don’t give a fuck

That’s fucking weird

You literally don’t reply AT ALL, let alone with any tracking or a “hey I sent your package out”

He literally goes

Idk it sounds like YOURE the scammer trying to get a free puzzle from me!

Bro! You’re fucking r-ed!

I already paid you and I’m screaming for tracking to make sure you actually fucking sent it.

I’m losing my mind at this point.

This stupid motherfucker hits me with a “you’re*” joke

I want to fucking kms

He then makes some dumb fuck comment about how I didn’t pay him PayPal did

Like, are you actually r-ed?

You’re so fucking stupid Jesus fucking Christ

Anyway. I argue with this dumb motherfucker for a bit until he’s like alright jeez I’ll get you tracking jeez leave me alone

He gets me tracking, we say sorry. I wait for this stupid fucking puzzle to get here.

IT GETS HERE OMG

guess what

It’s not a fucking 50mm puzzle

You know, like the actual rare one? The one people actually use? The one people make a big deal out of?

Btw, forgot to mention

I call this guy out for not giving a fuck and he goes

Gosh it’s just a puzzle, “it’s not a million dollars”

No shit you fucking idiot

But you know what the fuck it is

The minute I hit this motherfucker with

Hey! I didn’t even know 46mm was a thing! I don’t want this! Give me a refund!

He goes

Oh, yeah, sorry forgot to mention the size

It’s still the og plastic and the same mechanism

I shit you not

“Still very sought after”

Like no it’s fucking not you fucking ape

And boom

That when he stops messaging me

Actually

He fucking blocked me

I find this out by(after the reason I’m furious which I’m going to explain) going on a fucking alt because Reddit said his account was gone

Nope!

Just fucking blocked me!

I write up this long as fucking chargeback on PayPal and absolute goddamn motherfucker the fucking page fucking takes me back to the fucking log in screen after I hit submit and everything I typed up for 30 fucking minutes is fucking GONE

I’m losing my mind and can no longer fucking REWRITE anything because I’m just FUCKED

I’m FUCKED

So I go to message this stupid fucker and say

Hey bud, refund me before I smack you with this chargeback

Btw I’m saying that you purposefully left out important info in order to mislead people

That’s when it hit me

His account is gone

And he blocked me on PayPal cause I can’t fucking message him there??

So I go on one of my many fucking alts

And look this motherfucker up

And write on one of his stupid fucking comments

Hey guy, message me back on my main before I smack you with this chargeback tomorrow. Thanks bye.

FUCK. YOU.

And that’s where the fuck I’m at now.

Bitching on a stupid fucking TUMBLR POST BECAUSE IM FUCKING MAD AT FUCKING NOTHING

I WANT TO FUCKING DIE

I JUST WANT TO FUCKING KILL MYSELF

IM MISERABLE

MY LIFE CANT GET ANY WORSE

But holy fuck

I’m going to get my fucking money back before I blow my fucking brains out

Fuck this mother fucker

Fuck these stupid puzzles

Fuck Reddit

Fuck everyone online

Fuck the puzzle community

Fuck talking to people

I fucking hate myself

I fucking hate being alive

I hope I fucking die soon

I don’t fucking care anymore

FUCK

If you’re reading this fuck you too

Fuck me??

Fuck you!!

FUCK YOU

FUCKING. DIE.

Can’t wait til I charge back this motherfucker and keep his motherfucking puzzle

I’m literally going to spit on garbage and mail that to him

FUCK. YOU.

I WANT TO FUCKING DIE I CANT GET OUT

I CANT GET OUT

I CANT GET OUT

FUCKING HELP ME PLEASE

HELP

FUCK

I fucking hate this shit

Don’t fucking read this too late go fuck yourself cya

[cjoat-boost]

A rant from Seth:

In addition to Sam being mass tagged, despite explicitly saying to not do that.

…We get to starve today. Why? Lemme tell ya.

I’m Seth, Sam’s Protector and persecutor headmate in the AngelCrop System. Sam’s our host body.

To explain…Sam’s grandma is a piece of work, for sure. How she going to feel disrespected by Sam saying “Fuck” in front of her. Sam’s grandma trying to order Panera for Sam and her and Sam’s grandma’s paying for it, she’s the only one making ordering ahead difficult. So when Sam, understandably, cusses in frustration, Sam’s grandma demands an apology for cussing in front of her. I’ll sooner shove my boot up her ass. So Sam lets me confront, and I said, “I don’t owe you a got dang thing.” Which Sam doesn’t. We don’t either. “Fuck” Is a word.

Now Sam has to starve cuz Sam’s grandma up in her feelings about wanting an apology she won’t get or need. Sam deserves better. Why we all gotta walk on eggshells just for that nag to treat Sam any kinda way. I think the Fuck not. Sam’s grandma’s not going to make Sam lunch. anyway. Fine whatever. But she gone treat Sam how she wants to because she doing something nice for them??? Fuck that Shit!

Sam’s grandma is withholding food, knowing Sam blacks out when they don’t eat after a certain time periods. Knowing Sam is disabled (but don’t believe they Are), and knowingly manipulates Sam to guilt them into doing things that they can’t or barely can do depending on how they feel that day.

…But oh, Sam owes their Grandma an apology for saying “Fuck” In front of her.

…Sam had no way our money to get food, so they’re risking Blacking out due to not eating because grandma wanna withhold food and good deeds from them. This goes without saying, to prevent Sam from having a health emergency with frequent blackouts…send some cash so Sam can have something to eat in case this situation happens again.

An update on the situation from Cynthia:

To update, Sam got a refund from @iconografi (we love their jewelry I implore y’all to check them out, please), and was able to get a pizza that will last today, tomorrow, and maybe part of Saturday.

But Sam’s grandmother bought Sam Chinese food after withholding food from them as a temporary guilt thing, “There’s Chinese food if you want it.” We declined and ate pizza instead, and went into a d&d session, where Sam had fun. But the problem now is, our monthly check of $609, is gone. We have food for 2.5 days. Then we have nothing. We still are trying to move, Shipping costs are increasing. Sand Sam’s 24th birthday is coming up soon on the 10th…

It would mean so much if anyone bought from their shops, or if not, Donated to their cashapp or Venmo. Thank you so much.

https://www.mercari.com/u/315423945/?sv=lg

Some examples of what they sell…

I really need help..

TW: Vent

CW: plea for help

https://www.mercari.com/u/315423945?sv=0

I just really need the help right now…desperately.

Any reblogs are appreciated…

Thank you…

[dc418writes]

•|All I Need is You|•

Pairing: trucker!Ari Levinsonxblack!reader

Summary: Your plans for Ari’s birthday just keep falling apart

⚠️: First and foremost: Ari (the girls that get it, get it✨), pretty much all fluff, negative self talk by reader

*Disclaimer: although collage was made by me, I DO NOT claim ownership of the pictures used as they were all found on Pinterest

“What do you mean it’s gone?”

“I-I’m sorry ma’am, but there was a glitch with our system,” the young receptionist nervously explains pushing her black frames further up the bridge of her nose. “The room you ordered appeared to be available when it really wasn’t.”

Yet another mishap to what was supposed to be the perfect weekend.

The first being you taking much longer than you wanted to pack since you couldn’t find the extra special gift you bought for Ari. You searched your bag - twice -, the closet, under the bed. Ari tried to help you look, but you refused not wanting anything to be spoiled.

Finally tired of looking, you figured maybe you could find it when you returned and didn’t feel rushed. That was until your boyfriend opened the trunk to see a small, glossy black shopping bag resting in the corner.

“What’s this?,” he asked peaking in before you could stop him. At least you could tell he liked what was inside from the blush creeping along his cheeks and ears.

“It was your surprise,” you sigh instantly making him feel guilty for looking. “I forgot I left it in there since you were home and I couldn’t sneak it by.”

Taking your hands in his, he can tell you’re kicking yourself from the slight frown on your lips. He ducks down to be at your eye level flashing that adorable smile that always had one appearing on your face as well. “Well I’m definitely surprised if it makes you feel better gorgeous. And even more excited for this weekend.”

“I would set you up with another room, but unfortunately we’re all booked due to the game and the other events this weekend.”

The same game you were surprising Ari tickets with and built his birthday weekend around.

“Do you know if there’s any other hotel available?,” Ari asks.

“Preferably in this same area or like a 15 mile radius, please?”

“I’ll try to contact the hotels nearby, but I have a feeling they may be booked too. If you’d like to use our computers to look at some others, you’re more than welcome.”

Nodding your head along with a quick thanks from Ari, he follows behind sitting in the black, leather desk chair beside yours as you type away. The way your knee bounces and you sigh when the page doesn’t load fast enough Ari can tell you’re getting more frustrated as the time passes.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” he softly smiles placing his larger hand on your thigh. Your eyes stay glued to the screen though moving on to the third hotel on the list of those somewhat close by.

“Um Ms. Y/L/N?,” the receptionist calls. Her heels clacking against the polished tile as she gets closer to the computer area. “I looked and I’m sorry to say that there’s no rooms available in those I mentioned earlier.”

You’re not surprised, but still disappointed nonetheless feeling what little hope you had drain away. “It’s okay. Thanks for looking.”

“Of course. And for the trouble, I can set your names aside so the next time you’re in town we’ll set you up in our best room! All amenities included and at a discount.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Ari states. “Thanks for everything.”

“I’m sorry again for the inconvenience. Your full refund should be in your account within three business days. I hope you two still have a nice weekend amid everything, a-and feel free to use the computer as long as you need.” Her heels clack once again as she walks back to the front desk cheerily greeting the family waiting for their keys.

Maybe even to the room you and Ari were supposed to have.

Another sigh slips past your lips checking the last hotel in close proximity to find it completely booked. You probably could find a room farther out, but then that would mess up everything time wise. You’d have to leave earlier than you planned due to traffic, then worry about parking since you wouldn’t be in walking distance anymore-

“Hey I was thinking, my family’s cabin is only a couple hours out from here. Why don’t we go there and then we don’t have to worry about a hotel?”

And potentially miss out on the game having to really be careful with your time now.

“If you don’t wanna go that’s fine too. I was just trying to make things easier.”

Honestly, it didn’t. Well not completely that is. But Ari loved that cabin. He’d told you countless stories of his vacations there as a kid and how he would have trips with his dad as part of their “man’s weekend” when he hit his teenage years. How could you say no to such a big part of his childhood? Especially after he’d mentioned wanting to take you there so you could experience this magical cabin for yourself.

“Sure,” you softly smile. Ari notices it doesn’t quite meet your eyes though. “That’s fine.”

“You sure? If you’d rather the hotel then-,”

“No no it’s okay. Plus it’s your birthday weekend and if that’s what you want then let’s do it bubbas.”

Following behind, you both wave a final goodbye to the kind receptionist - still appearing sympathetic for the system’s mistake - before Ari’s sliding in the driver’s seat of your Toyota. The ride seeming a bit quieter this time as you mostly gazed out the window.

With Ari’s hand on your thigh, he tried getting you to smile or laugh with his goofy antics and saying how excited he was finally being able to spend the weekend together, but your smiles and conversation didn’t last long. Eventually you were back to the window or briefly scrolling on your phone.

And your fiancée was left worried about what was going on in your head.

-

“Hey I’ll meet you on the snack aisle. I just need to grab something first,” Ari states handing you the nearest shopping cart.

“Oh um okay. You don’t need it?”

“No you go ahead. I’ll be fine.” Leaning in, he sweetly pecks your cheek before moving to your full lips, “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Watching you journey towards the chips and your other favorites, Ari removes his phone from his pocket as he turns for the opposite end of the store. His sneakers squeaking along the linoleum of the older looking supermarket while he hopes for someone to answer the phone.

“Hey honey, how’s everything? Did you guys make it to the hotel? Is it as luxurious as it looks online?!,” his mom excitedly asks. He can practically hear her bouncing in place on the other side of the phone.

“Well actually we’re on our way to the cabin. There was a glitch that caused us not to have a room,” he explains searching along the shelves of various wines and other alcoholic drinks.

“Oh no. Good thing you have that spare key then.”

“Yea,” he half heartedly chuckles finally settling on a Merlot and Moscato before moving onto the cold fridge of brightly colored bouquets.

“What’s wrong? You don’t seem excited this go round?”

“I am it’s just..I don’t think Y/N’s too excited to go. Really she’s seemed bummed since everything with the hotel.”

“Well, I know she’s been planning this trip for a while now and is probably just disappointed things didn’t pan out how she expected. Nothing personal against cabby.” He only hums in response quickly scanning his items in the self checkout while occasionally twisting his head to make sure you weren’t anywhere in sight.

“Have you tried talking with her?”

“No, not really. I’ve just been trying to get her mind off everything, but it’s not really working. I still got a few more tricks up my sleeve though so fingers crossed.”

His mom lightly giggles, “While I’m sure your tricks are well effective, talk with her too. Make sure she knows you’re still enjoying every moment even though there was a slight bump. I don’t have to be there to know she wants everything perfect for you.”

She was right. You were a perfectionist putting so much pressure on yourself since a young age to make things right for others and appear put together yourself. There were a few times over the span of your relationship that Ari would comfort you after a rough day at work where you made the smallest mistake but expected to be fired the next day. His body holding you close - nearly suffocating you - as he tried to help rid those negative thoughts from your mind with praises from his soothing voice and sweet kisses.

Even if everything fell apart this weekend he’d still love you though. By now he hoped you knew nothing could ever change that.

Sneaking out the store, he jogs to the car carefully placing his items in the trunk before returning back to the store searching down the aisles. Sure enough you were still with the snacks deep in thought as you held a box of Cheez-itz and a bag of Doritos.

“I’ll talk to her. I gotta go but I’ll text when we get there. Let you know how everything looks.”

“Okay, love you and drive safe! Tell Y/N I said hi.”

“Alright love you too. Bye.”

“Your mom?,” you ask.

“Yea just letting her know we’re headed to the cabin. Whatcha got?”

“There’s cookies; chocolate chip, Oreo, and sugar. Lays original and now I’m stuck between these two,” you answer holding out both. Ari looks like he’s in thought for a moment, taking both in his own hands as his eyes switch from the red box to the blue bag before he easily dumps both in the cart with a wide smile making you giggle.

“Or that works too.”

-

Ari couldn’t help the smile on his face as soon as he stepped out the car. The cabin was just as he remembered with its dark wood a bit worn from battling with the elements over the years. It’s grass and bushes a bit overgrown from the lack of visitors, but nothing he couldn’t handle before they left.

It’s inside only sparked more nostalgia as he remembered running across the wooden floor as a child with a blanket around his neck pretending he was a superhero. The floor littered with toys his mom repeatedly told him to pick up and take to his room before someone got hurt.

Eventually that someone was his dad having slipped and fell on one of his Hot Wheelz.

“Larissa begged and begged until she got that hanging chair,” Ari shares gesturing to the woven rope seat gently swinging on the front porch. He chuckles to himself remembering how exhausted their parents looked hearing his sister go on - yet again - about this super cool chair that she had to have because her favorite singer had one on the cover of some magazine.

“I think that’s the closest they ever came to locking her in the closet.”

You haven’t heard a word he’s said busy removing the contents of your purse before frantically moving on to the few shopping bags left on the counter. Each one aggressively rustling as you mumble to yourself.

“Um you okay?”

“M-My ring. I can’t find my engagement ring,” you nearly cry patting the pockets of your jeans.

“Hey, it’s fine sweetheart. We’ll just retrace your steps.” Ari tries to soothingly rub your back, but you move just out of his grasp now beginning to pace the small kitchen.

“It’s not fine Ari! That was your grandmother’s ring that I lost because I’m dumb and can’t do anything right-,”

“Y/N look at me,” he sternly orders immediately making you still as tears rolled down your heated cheeks. The confusion and concern in his blue eyes stepping closer towards you only causes more to flow while your chest heaves with soft hiccups. “Where’s all this coming from huh?”

Your stressed eyes close in a moment of peace feeling his warm palms on your cheeks and thumbs removing as much liquid from your skin as they could before another set is joining its predecessors. “Because it’s true,” you whisper.

“It’s not. Far from it.”

“If I would’ve checked on things beforehand, then I would’ve known about the room and gotten another one so we could go to the game-,”

“Game? What are you talking about?”

Taking a breath you try to shift your gaze down to the floor beneath you, but Ari’s grip purposefully makes that hard to do. You’re stuck meeting his eyes and his eyes only. “It was the other part of your surprise. I got tickets to the playoff game and at the hotel I was planning on getting us couples massages since you’ve never had one. Then go check out some new restaurants and do anything else you wanted, but all that’s ruined now because I didn’t check first.”

“C’mere,” Ari coos pulling you into his chest as he slowly rocks you back and forth. His lips staying attached to your temple while his hand rubs up and down your back. “Nothing’s ruined. We can still do all of that.”

“The spa’s only for guests. We can’t go anymore.”

“Well, guess we’ll just have to give each other massages then huh?,” he grins. Hearing your short, muffled giggle has his heart warming leaning back to wipe the remaining tears from your eyes.

“I just wanted everything to be perfect for you.”

“This is perfect! We’re seeing my favorite team in a sold out game, staying here in one of my favorite places. And not to mention I got my fiancé here with me for it all,” he smiles pecking your forehead. “As far as I’m concerned, this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“Better than the surprise party last year?,” you ask playfully quirking your brow.

“Yep, because I get you all to myself now.” His strong arms suddenly lift your feet from the floor as he races towards the bedroom with a trail of your squeals and laughs in his wake - the sweetest music to ever touch his ears. Soon you’re both hitting the bare mattress and Ari’s lips shower your face with unlimited kisses as he comfortably smothers your body with his bulkier form. “And if I wanna steal you away, I can.”

“You could’ve that day too.”

“Pretty sure I tried, but someone was very busy being hostess.” His head slightly tilts upward in the direction of the gleam that hits his eye, causing a short huff of a laugh to escape his lungs.

“What?,” you ask as he gently lifts on his hands to retrieve the small diamond ring from the beside table.

Specifically, your engagement ring.

“I think you were looking for this.”

“That’s right, I took it off back here when we sat our bags down because I was afraid it’d get caught on something. S-Sorry for freaking out earlier.” Sliding the cool metal on your finger, his lips meet your knuckles before he’s shifting to lie on his side with a comfortable sigh, and hand caresses the side of your neck. His thumb grazing against your jaw leaves a tickled sensation along your skin.

“Sweetheart I want you to really hear me when I say you don’t have to ever worry about being or doing anything perfect around me.”

“I know I know, I’m already perfect to you.”

“And I mean it. Hopefully you truly believe me when I say that.”

“…I-I know that’s how you feel, and I really appreciate it, but it’s hard sometimes to see in myself what you do,” you shyly admit leaning more into his touch. “Like we’re looking at two different people.”

“I assure you it’s the same person gorgeous. And I have no problem reminding you how wonderful you are until you finally realize it.”

A soft smile forms on your lips placing your hand over his to sweetly peck his palm. “You’re the one supposed to be getting all the compliments and nice words birthday boy.”

He shrugs. “My day, and I say different,” Ari smirks leaning down towards your waiting mouth. “Which reminds me..”

Carefully rolling out of bed, he jogs out the room to the kitchen where you hear a cabinet opening and closing before he’s jogging back with a giddy smile and hands behind his back.

“What are you up to?”

Rather than speak, he brings his hands in front of him to show the bouquet of pink lilies and a bottle of your favorite wine. God this man really was too good to you.

“After the hotel I could see how bummed you were so I thought I’d surprise you too,” he explains handing you the flowers then placing the bottle on the bedside table to join you on the bed. His lips find your cheek as you take in the sweet scent of each bud.

“They’re beautiful! When’d you get them?”

“While you were getting snacks. Then I snuck them out to the car.”

“Thank you for loving me like you do,” you whisper leaving a kiss on his shoulder before resting your head on the exact spot.

“Only showing exactly what you show me everyday gorgeous.”

Taglist: @celestianstars @stargirlfics @fumbling-fanfics @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @adoreyouusugar @lovebittenbyevans @royalwriteroftheuniverse @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @theartisticqueen @chrisevans-world @literaturelove @ivorylei @elrw24 @pono-pura-vida @justile @sunsetfreedom05 @jackiekae @luvingmyships @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @bekinds @maxcullen @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss

[godbirdart]

any tips/reassurance for when u have lots of owed art (comms, trades, etc)? i get stressed over making people wait too long sometimes with just a few things on my list. u manage to make SO MUCH stuff for patreon and personal work combined each year?? must be magic no other way /pos

let me start with saying:

people are [generally] more than okay waiting for art!

you are one person. you can get sick, have emergencies, and you also need personal time as well! you're not a company, and most clients are very understanding of that. there will always be the one odd client that's impatient, yes. it does happen. but as long as you are transparent, communicate, and [as a bonus] have a public queue - you really have no reason to fret.

i have commissioned artists that took three days to finish art. i have commissioned artists that took three months to finish art. there is no "standard" turnaround time when it comes to commissions. every artist works at different paces, not every artist is self-employed. some have school or jobs that take away time from their art, and that’s fine! it is okay to take a long time to finish your work! just be honest.

let me elaborate [i’m gonna say client a lot but these can also apply to trades]

be transparent: if you know it'll take you a while to finish the art, write that in your commission post and/or order form when you open. make that the very first thing the client knows before any payment is exchanged. i like to write it in my order form and in my first email back when i'm taking on a commission, as it covers my butt and keeps the client in the know.

public queue: set up a trello or make a post/journal somewhere [such as furaffinity or deviantart] where your clients can go and see the progress of their work. if they can go check where they’re at in the queue there, they won’t have to stress you out by having to send you an email every week for updates.

answer in a timely manner: i have an autoresponder set up for my email. it lets clients know that a) i got their message and b) i’ll respond to them within a couple business days [if there are no other delays / holidays]. it takes away the stress of having to drop everything and answer my client right then in there, as much as my adhd brain panics and wants to do that. it also reassures the client that their messages are getting through and that they aren’t getting ghosted if i don’t respond for a day or two.

if there’s going to be a delay, tell your client asap! if you have an emergency that’ll impact your work, tell your client as soon as possible. you do not have to go into personal details, just be honest and say “hey, there’s been an unexpected event that’ll cause a delay in updates. i will try and get an update to you as soon as i’m able. thank you for your patience!” and leave it at that. the majority of your clients will be understanding and grateful for the update.

be professional. a little professionalism goes a long way. you can be more lax with trades as usually you're doing that with friends, but if a client checks in to see the status of their commission maybe write "thanks for checking in! here's what i've got so far" and attach a WIP or "thank you for checking in! i don't have an update for you yet but will try and get one to you soon! thank you for your patience!". some artists merely say "i don't have an update sorry", and sure that does work, but it may come off dismissive to your client and they're not going to feel great about waiting. it's okay to not have an update yet when messaging people back! just be honest about it.

if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew: refund them. it's not bad business if you have to refund a client. if you find you've taken on more work than you can handle, or just cannot fulfill a client's commission - you absolutely have the option to simply refund them. be sincere, apologize for their time, thank them for considering you, and tell them you hope they'll consider commissioning you again in the future.

i hope this reassures you a bit! i 100000% understand the stress from making people wait in the queue for a long time. i’m the exact same way!! but rest assured they’re not going to get mad at you for having to wait. like i’ve already said multiple times; just communicate and be transparent and you’ll be fine!

[godshivered-archive]

deathtrap

it’s several sweaty half-conscious moments before he realizes exactly what’s been done to him.

he’s in a helpless state, unable to pry his heavy eyes open, body in an uninhibited slump against the couch — right thigh gone numb from the sharp side of her hipbone, where she’s draped over him like a knitted throw. he can barely drag his lids open, summons enough voice to speak.

“joyce.”

“hmm?” it’s a sleepy hum, completely passed out even now — muffled face-down in his shirt, cheek plastered against his collarbone. overheated and melty, the both of them.

he groans in the base of his throat. “you got me sleepin’ on this damn couch again.”

it’s too sweet — she’s not alert enough to even protest at his accusation. she turns her head and nuzzles into the collar of his shirt, body only shifting at inch intervals with no intention of vacating his lap.

“is- i’m sorry, honey,” she slurs through sleep, breaths heavy and slow. “you can go on up to bed; i’ll catch up.”

he’s not gonna do that, though, and they both know it. because she’s pulled the trick she always does — he finishes the dishes and she hands him a fresh towel, dries him off in a pointlessly affectionate way — pulls him by the caught hands, escorts him to the couch and eases him down to tell her about his day. she sits at a minor distance, at first — a record may be turning by then, but tonight it’s just the low rumble of the TV. then he’ll cross a leg over and start on about work, while she kneads the tension out of his hands — kisses the inside of his palm, until he’s dragging her into his arms, asking about her day. she’ll divulge some anecdotal evidence that her job is actually a nightmare, and he’ll hint that she ought to quit, and she’ll croon, “no, not this week…”

then it blurs a bit; because she somehow gets him lounged back on the sofa, without him realizing it. her body functions as a soft little anchor, pinning him to the sinking cushions, and her voice lullabyes him with lazy, winding tales of what inventory her supervisor forgot to order and how many open cans of tuna some woman tried to refund. the radiator heat of her face in the crook of his neck, her breath against his throat — and she makes it so easy to drift off while she fills the silence, just her swan lake voice and the trebly hints of commercial music on the TV. he’s helpless. his back is doomed to suffer through the coziest cuddle on the crummiest couch known to man.

“nah,” he mumbles now, managing to peek an eye down at her mussed hair. “‘m the only thing standing between you and this deathtrap.”

she yawns, lips grazing his chest. “we can’t afford a new couch.”

he sours, squeezes her tighter against him. “well, ‘en i’m gonna stop taking naps with you.”

“no, you’re not.”

“no, i’m not,” he admits defeat, kissing at her hair before burying his face in it. he inhales real deep, body gone heavier…

“i’m asking around,” she confesses back, and twists her hand up in his shirt. “i’m not… actively trying to break your back.”

“mm, you sure about that?”

“not usually, anyway.”

“you almost had me laid out,” he reminds, chuckling despite the very real pain he’d been in. “with that, uh, shower stunt.”

her tone shifts slightly. “well, i told you to- you were not listening, you do not listen-“

“-not a damn… tree, joyce — you can’t scale me.”

“stop laughing,” she scolds lightly, jabbing at his ribs. “i could’ve really hurt you.”

“well, i came,” he says flippantly, “so no harm, no foul, right?”

she actually pauses to lift her head, to look him dead in the eye. she’s only half-amused, but he tacks on a grin and that helps.

“you’re a problem,” she teases, and rests her head back. her hand catches his, plucks at one finger. “we’re getting a bench for that shower, first thing saturday. and a new sofa, when i find one.”

“hey, it’s all right…”

“no, i mean it; i’m tired of you hurting, so i’m gonna fix it.”

“joyce, just relax,” he croons, free hand reaching to glide over her eyes, brushing her lashes to a close. “close your eyes; there you go…”

“i mean it,” she repeats drowsily, drawing his hand to her cheek, a new place to rest her head. “it’s my job to take care of you.”

“no, it’s not.”

“yes, it is.”

“who said that?”

“i did,” she protests quietly but firmly, poking her finger to his chest. “i say so.”

he can’t argue with that — not when it comes so authoritative, and so damn adorable. not when she’s slipping him back into dreaming with the press of her chest, the curl of her legs around his, the burrowed nose against his neck. not when he’s somehow, finally convinced her that they need a new couch.

“okay,” so he decides, and lets her drop off into sleep again. he soothes a hand up and down her back, takes a big breath and sighs out the twinge in his spine. “if you say so.”

[michaelsdemon]

LoveBot Inc. [1/3]

Summary: (Robot!Valiant Thor x Female!Reader) During a drunken, lonely night, reader orders a sex robot, Valiant Thor. When he arrives, reader’s life takes a turn for the most pleasurable. 

Warnings: 18+, vibrating fingers, clit rubbing

So maybe getting drunk whilst feeling lonely and sad wasn’t the best idea, especially when it landed you with an almost empty bank account, and an email saying you’d purchased an actual sex robot. You looked through the email and saw you’d picked the ‘gentleman’ model, with a unique design. It came with, “vibrating cock and hands;” you almost choked at that. Shit. 

You tried calling customer service, but they told you, as it was made to order, and a unique design as well, that they couldn’t do anything. They didn’t accept cancellations. However, you could return the model upon arrival if you wanted to, and if it wasn’t to your satisfaction. With a sigh you thanked them and hung up, and within a few weeks the large, almost ominous parcel arrived.

Without even opening the box you decided it would have to go back, and made arrangements for a return. You set a time and a date, but nothing happened, no one came and picked it up. You called customer service again and informed them of the multiple occasions you’d tried to arrange a collection but no one came, and they told you it would be fixed within a week. 

A week passed, and nothing, except for a complete refund in your account appearing, much to your surprise, despite the parcel not being returned. With the refund, and the parcel not going anywhere anytime soon, you decided you would finally open it. 

You couldn’t lie and say having this robot in the box this whole time didn’t disturb you in some way. You sometimes thought you’d wake in the middle of the night and find it had turned on by itself and would appear at your bedside. However, it never happened and as you unbox it carefully, your eyes widen at the handsome face that’s before you. 

Oh, he’s very pretty, you think, tilting your head, admiring his neatly combed back hair, sharp jaw and nose, and his plump mouth, all creepily realistic. If you didn’t know this was some sort of machine then you’d think you had a real person tucked away in the box. You unpack him some more, and reveal his body, a nicely gently toned body, that was soft in places, thighs thick, and shoulders broad. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of some dirty thoughts, and grab the manual to figure out how to turn him on. Quickly you flick through and find the instructions, which tell you to use the thin key, similar to what iPhones have to put a sim card in, and press a small button behind his right ear. Slowly you move closer with the key, and gently push his ear out of the way, pressing the key into the tiny button you see and within seconds a voice leaves him, “Greetings, I am your new lovebot, here to please you. The name I have been given is Valiant Thor, however you may rename me as you see fit.” 

You jump a little as he suddenly moves and looks to you, his blue eyes shining a little, “Are you my owner?” He asks, “May I have your name, miss?”

You’re at loss for words, he’s realistic, too realistic, other than the slightly stilted voice, “Um, I-I guess I am, yes,” and you tell him your name, which he repeats. 

“I am programmed to please you as required, if there’s any questions, please ask me, or refer to the manual I come with, miss,” he tilts his head and smiles. 

“T-thank you, I will remember that,” you clear your throat. 

Valiant nods, and he looks at you intensely before assessing the surroundings, which is when it hits you he’s stark naked. 

“Um, Valiant? You don’t come with clothes?” 

Valiant looks at you then, “I do not come with clothes, however I can wear them if it pleases you?” 

“It would please me, yes,” you say quickly, feeling your face heat up as your eyes drift to his very adequate length, that’s currently soft. 

“Of course, miss,” he pauses and looks around, and you realise you need to give them to him. 

“I’ll just get them!” You run out the room and grab some sweats and a shirt for him, bringing them back out, “Here you go.” 

He takes them carefully, and begins dressing, and once dressed he looks at you, “Does this please you?” 

You lick your lips, “It does, thank you,” you say quickly. 

Valiant smiles, happy at that, and he stands in the middle of the room, awaiting an order you assume. You quickly move him to sit down on the couch and he looks to you, almost eagerly, “How else can I please you? Would you like to know all the functions I come with?” 

“Um,” You can just imagine how lost for words you look, and Valiant interrupts you. 

“I come with 3 different personality modes, Submissive, Switch and Dominant, currently I am in Switch mode, but you can change that as you please. I also have special features and functions, including a vibrating tongue, fingers, and penis.” He says very matter of fact, and he smiles as he recites the data, “I am also able to ejaculate and produce saliva, however I cannot impregnate you.” 

“O-okay, good,” you weren’t looking to having a child anytime soon, and you hadn't even thought he’d be able to do that anyway, but they must have had customers think the opposite. 

Valiant nods at your response, “I have extensive memory and I will learn your likes and dislikes. The more time I spend with you, the more natural I will become. I cannot eat or drink, but I can “sleep” when ordered to do so. Is there any more information you require, miss?” 

You shake your head, “No, no I think that’s enough for now, thank you.” 

Valiant seems pleased and he smiles as he looks at you, “Would you like for me to touch you? I am here to please you. If you’d like for me to call you a pet name, I can also do that.” 

“Perhaps, we can just,” you hesitate, trying to think of something, “lay in bed? And you can just call me by my name.” 

He nods slowly, a little stiff, before standing, “I will follow you to your bed,” and he does so, his steps light behind you. 

Once you lay down you take a deep breath, and Valiant lays beside you, looking up at the ceiling, before turning his head towards you. You wonder if he can sense your gaze on him. 

“Would you like to try one of the features I told you about?” He reaches a large hand over and places it on your hip, and you’re quite surprised at his forwardness. 

You hesitate in your answer, contemplating the morality and ethics of the whole thing, as the very attractive man’s, sex robot’s, hand massages your hip. 

“Please? I wish to please you, and my data suggests you are tense.”

“Would it please you? To please me?” You ask him with a soft voice, and he nods eagerly. 

“It is what I was made for, to please you,” his expression is eager, like a little puppy, and you wonder how he’s picked up such human expressions so quickly. 

“O-okay, but, just your hand, no kissing,” you murmur. 

Valiant practically beams at you and he slides the hand that was on your hip into your panties and slowly explores your soft pussy. You take a shaky breath to calm your nerves as it’s been a long time since someone else has touched you. He lays on his side and watches your reactions closely you notice, and you wonder if he’s storing all this away as data for future reference. His touch is pleasant, and you open your legs a little wider to give him more access, which vastly improves his performance, a soft moan leaving you. 

Your face heats up and you wonder if this is too soon, but suddenly a soft vibration runs over your clit and you shiver, blurting out, “Oh fuck.” You look to Valiant who has a slightly smug smile on his face as he circles your clit and watches you squirm more and more. 

He increases the vibration of his own accord, and you find yourself grabbing onto the pillow behind you as you buck against his firm hand. 

“Is this pleasing you, dear?” Valiant murmurs, close to your ear, as he rubs your clit, and you make a pathetic whimpering noise in response, which he happily takes as an answer, “I’m glad.” 

Your eyes roll back and your moans grow louder, when suddenly the stirring in your lower stomach snaps, and soaring pleasure rises through your body, your sight and hearing gone for a split second as it overcomes you, and you release a long cry, your hips bucking up into Valiant’s hand. 

You notice he works you through it, the vibration off now, as he gently massages your swollen clit before coming to a stop and removing his hand. You watch in a daze as he assesses the wetness on his fingers and he licks them clean slowly, almost savouring it. 

“I think we should sleep now,” you pant softly, and Valiant nods, licking his lips. 

“I will be in sleep mode until you wake me, miss,” He lays on his back and closes his eyes and he doesn’t move anymore. Slowly you reach over and poke his cheek, but nothing happens, so you turn off the lamp and fall asleep quickly in your post orgasm state. 

[tobesolonely]

queen anne’s coffee

A/N: hello everyone! I am not D/deaf or Hard of Hearing. However, this was requested more than once I wanted to do my best to provide. In this story, Y/N is a part of the Deaf community. if I have misrepresented the Deaf community in any way or wrote something inaccurate or offensive, then please DO NOT hesitate to let me know (respectfully, of course!) i wanted to fulfill this person’s request and be as inclusive as i could, as i don’t typically see stories with a Deaf!reader. shes short and sweet but i hope you all enjoy anyway! as always, feedback is very much welcomed and appreciated! :)

Summary: Y/N visits Harry’s coffee shop every Tuesday and Thursday and always orders the same thing. Harry HAS to get to know her!!!

word count: ~1.7k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Every Tuesday and Thursday at exactly 3:50 PM, Y/N placed an online order that consisted of an iced chai tea latte with oat milk and a butter croissant from Harry’s coffee shop, Queen Anne’s Coffee.

Y/N never forgot to add, “warmed up pls! thank you :)” in the section for comments, and she always tipped. She would then come into Harry’s shop approximately ten minutes later, walk up to the ‘pickup’ counter, grab her items, smile at Harry, and promptly leave. Harry never even so much as said hello to her, but he was irrevocably captivated––even if she was a complete stranger.

Harry decided that when Y/N came in today for her usual, he’d finally talk to her.

Business had been unusually slow for a Thursday afternoon but Harry didn’t mind–when Y/N came in, he’d be able to have a proper chat with her without having to rush the conversation along to help other customers. His gaze kept floating up to the cat-shaped clock hanging above the door, anxiously awaiting 3:50 PM when Y/N’s order would come through on the iPad and he got to read the words, “warmed up pls! thank you :)”

Harry didn’t know why he was so nervous to speak to her. As the owner of his very own coffee shop (and it’s only employee), he got to know the people who came in regularly well, even developing genuine friendships with some. It bothered Harry that this beautiful person gave him business two days a week and the only thing he knew about her was her name, which is only because he can see it when she places her order online.

When the iPad Harry keeps plugged up atop the counter chimes, he doesn’t even have to glance at it to know it was Y/N but he does anyway, feelings of excitement bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He was finally going to talk to her! Harry contemplates scribbling his number on the side of her cup as he’s writing her name but decides against it, not wanting to be too forward before they even formally meet.

When Y/N comes in ten minutes later, Harry can immediately sense something is wrong. She hardly looks up once as she shuffles from the door to the counter, hoodie pulled up and drawn tight over her head.

“Are you okay?”

Y/N doesn’t look up or even acknowledge the fact that Harry spoke. Even though there’s only two other people in the shop besides them, Harry figures she might think he was talking to someone else and addresses her by name.

“Y/N?”

She still doesn’t address Harry as she gives him a small smile before hurriedly exiting the shop, the bell above the door signaling her exit.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

When Tuesday comes, Harry’s out of bed before his alarm jolts him from his dreams.

He thought about Y/N all weekend as he impatiently awaited Tuesday’s arrival, excited over the prospect of finally seeing her again. He hoped she was doing better today than she was last week, and he really hoped she was in the mood to chat with him today.

Harry’s grateful the shop is busy today. It helps to keep his mind off of Y/N, and his eyes off the clock. When the iPad chimes at 3:50 on the dot, Harry decides he’ll wait until she comes in to prepare her order. It didn’t take him over two minutes, anyway. He figures this will give him a bit more time to chat with her, at least say hello and see if she’s doing better.

Much to his pleasure, Y/N has a big smile on her face when she bursts through the door ten minutes later. She floats to the pickup counter, then furrows her eyebrows in confusion as she looks up at Harry.

“Sorry, I’m working on your order right now,” Harry grabs a purple marker off the counter, scribbling Y/N’s name on the cup used for iced drinks. “How’s your day so far?”

Harry watches as Y/N cocks her head to the side in confusion, then pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. She quickly types something before holding her phone out for Harry to take.

“I can’t hear you! I’m Deaf.”

A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he reads what she said. He now understood why Y/N didn’t answer him when he tried speaking to her last week, and he’s secretly relieved that she wasn’t ignoring him because she hated him or anything like that.

“I know a bit of sign!” Harry types before handing Y/N back her phone. He watches as her eyes skim his words and she looks up, a toothy grin plastered on her face.

“Great! This is much faster.” Her hands move quickly as she signs. “Did my order work or not? Wi-Fi is bad at home today.”

Harry realizes he doesn’t know as much sign language as he thought he did.

“OK. I am rusty.”

Y/N smiles at this and pulls her phone back out, typing what she just signed to him before passing it back to him. A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he learns she was just asking if her order came through alright, seeing as it was not yet ready. Too embarrassed to tell her he intentionally waited until she arrived to prepare her order, he just nods.

“I’ll have it ready in no more than two minutes… and refund you, too. I’m sorry for the wait.” Harry looks up at Y/N as he passes the phone to her, eyes not leaving her face as he tries to gauge her reaction.

“No!” Her head shakes as she signs. “Happy to pay. Thank you.”

Harry understands Y/N but refunds her, anyway.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“Why do you always come Tuesday and Thursday? Same time?”

“Exams every Tuesday and Thursday.” The look of obvious dissatisfaction on Y/N’s face makes Harry laugh. “Your chai and pastries cheer me up after.”

Harry’s face turns red at Y/N’s admittance, so he instead looks down, pretending he’s distracted by something on the iPad. He decides at that moment that he will no longer charge Y/N for her oat milk latte and croissant. She was a college student after all––if her financial situation was like Harry’s in any way when he was in college earning his business degree, it would probably be beneficial for her to save her money, anyhow.

Ever since Harry and Y/N’s first real interaction, Y/N had been coming into Queen Anne’s nearly every day, school supplies and laptop in tow. She always sat at the table closest to the front counter, directly in Harry’s line of vision so they could sign to each other.

Y/N provided Harry with some much needed (and enjoyed) company when business was slow, and she was helping him brush up on his sign language. Harry learned that Y/N is Deaf; her hearing is completely gone in her left ear and almost completely gone in the right. She’s the only person in her family who is Deaf. She also hated eggs, is lactose intolerant (hence the oat milk), has two older siblings, is a master’s student, and a plethora of other things that Harry had committed to memory.

“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoy.”  

“Who is A-N-N-E?”

Harry grins. “My mother. Back in London.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “London? Amazing! You must have an accent.”

It dawns on Harry that Y/N has never heard his voice before. “Yes. Are you from here?” Y/N nods in response.

“Whole life. Small town, but it’s home.” Her pinched hand moves quickly from her mouth up to her ear.

“Sorry. What?”

“H-O-M-E.”

A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he nods in response, signaling for Y/N to give him a moment as the bell above the entrance jingles. It seems as if the few people who walk through the door act as a catalyst for others to enter, and soon Queen Anne’s is at maximum occupancy and Harry is trying to make several drinks at once while taking orders. He locks eyes with Y/N a few times and she gives him a sympathetic look, not able to do much to help him out.

Harry decides that once business dies back down, he’ll find out if Y/N is interested in a part-time job.

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N was interested in a part-time job.

She was a fast learner and a hard worker. Harry was more than delighted to show her how to make every drink on the menu, and consume her failed attempts. It was nice having someone else behind the counter with him––he wished he’d gone about hiring someone to help him much sooner, but he was glad to now have Y/N by his side.

“So much chai! I thought only I drank this stuff.”

Harry’s gaze lingers on Y/N for a beat too long, causing her to shift slightly. Harry’s hand moves to scratch the back of his neck. “Yes. I like chai. With milk.” His hand forms a ‘C’ then closes to form an ‘S’ twice for the word “milk”.

“Regular?” One of Y/N’s eyebrows raises as she asks her question, setting a hot chai latte atop the “pickup” counter.

“S-O-Y.”

Y/N lets out a quiet snort of laughter as she shakes her head. It was the first time Harry ever made her laugh out loud. After hearing her laugh once, he never wanted to stop––it was music to his ears. “Not surprised!”

Harry’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Why?” His eyes remain on Y/N as she walks around the small area, cleaning up a small coffee spill she had earlier.

“You just are a S-O-Y boy, H. My S-O-Y boy!”

Harry’s cheeks immediately turn pink as they did the first time Y/N said something that flustered him, but he doesn’t look away.

“You’re my O-A-T girl.”

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Thank you everyone for reading!!! This is only the beginning of Y/N and Harry I think <33

[fadedseas]

inconsistent flowers: part i

Druig x Makkari

Part 1 of __: daffodils

Tags: Flower Shop AU, Modern AU, No Powers, Canon Divergence

Summary: Druig is a cantankerous flower shop owner trying to get through his day. Makkari just wanted flowers for her new apartment. Or the flower shop AU no one asked for. 

Chapter Summary: He turned, trying to compose himself back into his customer service smile (or in actuality, his mildly blank stare, which was the least offensive face he could really make according to Kingo) for the customer. And then for the first time in a long time, when his eyes met hers - his mind just went blank.

TW: cursing

Word count: 1222

Druig scowled at the delivery man in front of him. Goddamn it, this was going to fuck up his day so badly. 

“What do you mean you can’t take them back?” he gestured towards the seemingly endless buckets of yellow daffodils that crowded his store, mocking him with their cheery sway in the wind.

The delivery man glanced once again at the clipboard once again, “Nah mate. Look, your order said 500 stems of yellow daffodils. So I brought 500 stems - there ain’t anything I can really do about that now.” 

“I definitely put in 50! 50 stems! What the fuck am I supposed to do with 500?” Druig’s finger skimmed his temple in frustration, “You know why people get yellow daffodils? People get yellow daffodils to give to their nan in hospital!” He fanned his arms around him, “And from what I’ve seen, the NHS hasn’t fucked up that badly yet!” 

The delivery man shrugged and Druig could see that his attention had already begun to stray to his next delivery. “Put in a complaint with the company for the error then. You can probably get a refund for the extra stock. Sorry, nothing else I can really do.” With those parting words, he jumped quickly into his truck and sped away, leaving Druig with ten times as many ugly flowers than he ever wanted. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, running his hand through his hair. What was he going to do now? Kingo wasn’t scheduled for his shift until later that afternoon. Customers would be coming in soon - yearning lovers, congratulatory parents, hopeful engaged couples - people that were likely not looking for yellow daffodils. 

Druig bent down and began to drag a bucket towards the door that had Olympia Flowers scrawled on it in delicate white font. What was that disgustingly sentimental American saying Ajak always used? Make life out of lemons or something? Druig gave a cursory glance down at the bucket. They may not be lemons but they’re the same damn color. That must count for something at least.

*

Druig was still fiddling around with some yellow daffodils when he heard the bell to the door ring, trying to integrate them in as many arrangements as possible. Turns out that there weren’t a lot of complementary colours that went along with yellow. 

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” he shouted over his shoulder before giving up and shoving five stems in there with some purple hydrangeas. It was ugly as shite in his opinion, but hopefully some poor guy with a scorned lover would be desperate enough to pick it up. 

He turned, trying to compose himself back into his customer service smile (or in actuality, his mildly blank stare, which was the least offensive face he could really make according to Kingo) for the customer. And then for the first time in a long time, when his eyes met hers - his mind just went blank. 

She was tall and slight with her hair falling in a braid down her back, across the expanse of her red shirt. But it was her eyes that got him, warm and brown, and skimming over the length of his store, touching on the atrocious amount of yellow daffodils to land on him. Her lips spread into a smile and Druig cleared his throat before speaking. 

“Can I help you?” 

There was a moment as she furrowed her brow before pulling out her phone and beginning to type. Assuming that she was pulling up an order or texting someone for clarification on an arrangement, Druig waited patiently for her to finish, only to raise an eyebrow as she slid her phone across the counter towards him. 

Hi! I’m Makkari. I’m deaf and looking for some flowers for my apartment.

Druig nodded with her name bouncing around his head, Makkari. Makkari. Makkari. He gestured towards his lips questioningly and her responding smile and nod made his heart beat a little faster against his will. 

“Alright, did you have a particular flower in mind?”

Makkari pursed her lips, glancing around before fingering the stem of a yellow daffodil in a vase on the counter and raising her eyebrow quizzically. 

Druig sighed, “Unfortunate delivery mistake. Look I’ll give you a free bouquet of yellow daffodils with anything you buy today - I’ll give you one now actually - you’d be doing me a favor by taking them off my hands.” 

Her eyes brightened with amusement as she typed into her phone. Well I like to support my local businesses so how about peonies? My roommate loves them. 

Druig smirked, “Luckily for you, we have that in store.” He turned to pull some peonies from storage behind him. He returned, bending under the table to rip a sheet of brown paper to wrap them up in. “You know I assumed you were more of a calla lilly girl to be quite honest.” 

Oh yea? Why’s that? 

Druig finished wrapping up her peonies and yellow daffodils, tying their respective bouquets with a flourish of twine. He shrugged, “Most people like them - they’re pretty and usually die within a week so it’s not a long commitment.”

Makkari’s nose wrinkled. Too delicate for me. I’d probably kill them within a day. 

Druig’s lips twitched, “I feel completely good about handing these flowers over to you then.” 

Her chuckle could’ve brightened the room if it weren’t for those dastardly daffodils that already had that covered. Makkari leaned over to playfully snatch them from his hands, setting them down on the counter. Don’t underestimate me.

She looked up, glancing at his name-tag and moved her fingers accordingly. 

“That’s my name?” Druig asked, “Can you do that again?” 

Makkari smiled and repeated the actions slowly and Druig clumsily tried to repeat them in her wake. 

Pretty good for your first time! 

“And what about your name? How would you sign that?” 

She moved her fingers again, slowly going through each part of her name. Druig attempted to repeat it again, committing every move to memory. 

“Thank you, Makkari.” 

She nodded in response, and her eyes caught his. Druig swallowed hard; it was difficult pulling away from their warmth as she turned away. Then she swept out of the store and was gone, leaving only the memory of her smile and the vague scent of cinnamon in her wake. 

Druig stared at the door for a moment, noting the emptiness of the store. He pulled out his phone, searching up BSL tutorials. For educational purposes, of course. He couldn’t be derelict in his customer service after all. 

*

Makkari was always used to feeling so aware of her body, her limbs, her breathing. As a sprinter, it was an essential part of her training. But as she exited the store, she could never remember feeling so…weightless. 

She strode down the street, trying to not to crush the flowers against her chest and telling herself that the warmth in her cheeks was due to the brisk London air rather than the piercing eyes of the handsome flower shopkeeper. 

She and Sersi had been procrastinating on decorating the new apartment for a while now, but who knew what a random pit stop during a coffee break could bring?

Makkari knew that Dane would be starting his new job at the museum soon…perhaps she could surprise him with some flowers.

ii. daisies

__________________

A/N: I know I was supposed to work on what died didn’t stay dead this week but I watched Eternals and was hooked on these two. And then I noticed a tragically small amount of modern Drukkari fanfics and decided to write one myself! So let me know what you think!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Please R&R as always! Very much appreciate it!

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[tennessoui]

hello 👋 I was catching up on your tumblr like it's my weekly newspaper of choice and, um, if you ever fancied writing a snippet of obi wan getting the call after a concert about fire fighter anakin getting hurt it would be much appreciated 🥺

alright yes of course!!! i always try to give my asks whatever they want 🥺🥺🥺 here's a snippet of singer!obi-wan getting an 'anakin is hurt' call

(1.8k)

When Obi-Wan gets offstage, the first thing he does is check his phone. That’s what he’s been doing for months now, ever since he and Anakin started dating. It’s not like he can look at his phone onstage in front of all the people who paid to see Obi-Wan Kenobi, rock star. He has to wait, to not carry his phone with him at all up to the stage in order to triumph over the temptation of seeing what Anakin is doing right now, what silly thing he wants Obi-Wan to see.

It’s almost better like this. He gets offstage and he gets little presents from his boyfriend: horrifically cooked meals at the station, complaints about one of his coworkers’ new taste in music, awful jokes his sister has told him.

Tonight, there’s nothing.

He doesn’t think much about it though, not when he doesn’t have his boyfriend’s work schedule memorized. Sometimes the firefighters’ schedules shift on random days; someone calling out sick, someone available to cover a shift they weren’t assigned….It’s a big city, but a small firehouse. Obi-Wan isn’t worried.

Disappointed, maybe, that he doesn’t get to see Anakin’s twisted, disgusted face at Jesse’s attempt at dinner. Or his string of laughing text emojis to accompany a joke from Ahsoka. Disappointed, but not worried.

He chats with Kit and Quinlan the entire time back to his dressing room. The drummer thinks the opening song could use a little more rehearsal. The guitarist thinks it’s fine. Obi-Wan hadn’t heard anything definitively out of place, but he’s always alright with more rehearsal. He wants to give the best performance he can to the fans. It’s that simple.

He’s alone for a few minutes when he changes from his performance outfit into his normal clothes. It’s just after ten p.m.

He thinks about calling Anakin, as it’s only 8 in the evening in his city. Surely that’s too early to go to bed, even for a night off-shit. He thinks about it the entire time he’s changing into jeans and a t-shirt, the entire time he’s wiping off his stage make-up--nothing drastic of course, but just enough to be visible in the stage lights, just enough to look a little ghoulish in the warmer lights of the dressing room.

It doesn’t take much to break him, he’ll admit. He really, really likes Anakin. They’ve been dating for eight months now. He’s almost completely comfortable saying that he loves Anakin, but he doesn’t want to scare the other man off. Sometimes he thinks that everything he feels is too big and too dramatic for everyday life, that being in the spotlight from such a young age ruined him for anything private and selfish ever again.

But loving Anakin feels private, feels selfish. It feels right, amazing, like he’s a bandit robbing a small bank and just hopping on the train leaving town. It feels like he’s getting away with something he never should have even expected to have.

Anakin doesn’t pick up.

This too is excusable, as Obi-Wan hardly expects his boyfriend to wait by the phone, anticipating his call. Anakin’s messages during his concerts are gifts for a reason. They’re not mandatory, they’re unexpected.

Going into a serious relationship like this, they’d both understood the importance of their already established lives. Obi-Wan could no more give up a concert in favor of a call with Anakin as Anakin could go off shift and call Obi-Wan.

He packs the necessities he’d carried with him into the dressing room and looks around, if only to make sure he has everything and he’s not leaving too big of a mess.

Ahsoka calls him on his cell, when he’s halfway between his dressing room and the bus. He almost doesn’t pick up because he doesn’t have Ahsoka’s number saved into his contacts. But her city area code is the same as Anakin’s, and he picks up the call.

“Obi-Wan?” Ahsoka sounds like she’s half on the call and half not. “I couldn’t unlock Anakin’s phone, but I saw you were trying to call him.”

Obi-Wan pauses and leans against the wall. “Yes, I was,” he says slowly, his gut trembling with a bad feeling. “Why are you calling me, Ahsoka?” He hates sounding so abrupt, but he can’t help it. He needs to know. Perhaps Anakin is asleep, and Ahsoka is trying to ward off any further calls in order to let her brother sleep.

“Anakin’s in the hospital,” she says grimly and straightforwardly. Faintly, Obi-Wan thinks he can appreciate her no-nonsense attitude. She gets directly to the point, even though the point iis dangerously sharp.

“No,” Obi-Wan shakes his head, even as he slowly slides down the wall he’s against until he’s sitting on the floor. “No, he can’t be. I talked to him a few hours ago.”

“There was a call,” Ahsoka sounds so close to crying. No, Obi-Wan thinks. Impossible.

“But I just talked to him,” he says, clearing his throat. “I just….”

“There was a fire out on Temple Street,” she says thickly. “He’s in the hospital because a pillar fell on him. Trapped him in...in a burning house.”

Obi-Wan inhales sharply. If he hadn’t been sitting down already, he would have fallen to the ground. “But I--” I just talked to him, he thinks. As if it matters.

“He’s not critical anymore,” Ahsoka tells him. “But he’s still in surgery. Invasive, but. Not overly risky is what they told me.” She sniffles.

“I’m twenty hours away,” he says faintly.

“I know,” Ahsoka says into the phone. “I know. You’re almost on the other side of the country. But...they didn’t know to call you and I thought you needed to know.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Obi-Wan hears himself say. He needs to move. He needs to catch a plane. No matter expensive. He needs to get to the airport, get to Anakin.

Anakin’s hurt. Anakin needs surgery.

It’s Quinlan that finds him in the hallway, guitar slung over his back.

“Obi-Wan?” he asks, offering a hand out without explanation.

“Anakin’s in the hospital,” he says blankly, staring straight forward at the other wall. “He got hurt in a fire.”

“Then let’s get you there,” Quinlan replies instantly, pulling Obi-Wan up. “Come on. We’ll get you straight to the airport. I’ll tell the fans of the next concert.”

“We need to give them a refund,” Obi-Wan says distantly as he lets himself be led out to the tour bus. There are screams of fans, but it’s like he can’t even hear them. He’s underwater. Nothing matters as much. Nothing matters at all. Anakin needs surgery. Anakin’s in the hospital. Anakin’s hurt. He’s in the hospital. He needs surgery.

“We will,” Quinlan reassures him, leading him onto the bus. He tells the driver something harshly, quickly, and then not even a minute later, the wheels are in motion.

Anakin is in the hospital. Anakin had been hurt. He’d been in a building when it’d collapsed. How had Obi-Wan never even thought to worry about this? He worries about everything, but he’d never even thought of Anakin, of what Anakin’s career means. Sometimes he doesn’t get out. Sometimes Anakin doesn’t save the day. Who saves him?

Obi-Wan only realizes he’s making a weird noise with his throat when Quinlan clasps his hand. “We’re going to the airport,” he says with absolute surety. “We’ll get you to him, alright?”

Obi-Wan nods. What else is he supposed to do? He just talked to Anakin. He was fine then. How can someone go from fine to needing surgery in less than three hours?

He calls Ahsoka within the next fifteen minutes, as soon as it sinks in that this is happening. It doesn’t make sense, he can’t wrap his head around it, but it’s happening anyway. He’s ten minutes from the closest airport. Quinlan’s already got him a ticket. He’s coming. He’s almost there. He just...he needs to know Anakin is….that Anakin is……

“He’s still in surgery,” Ahsoka tells him softly. She sounds so small, so unsure. He’s only met her a handful of times, but he knows this tone does not belong anywhere close to her. “I don’t know, Obi-Wan. Please get here.”

Around the sixth hour after his concert ends, Obi-Wan cries. He leaves the official announcement to Quinlan, because he’s a coward. But he loves Anakin enough to type out a tweet anyway. It’s nothing too dramatic, nothing too honest either. There’s been an emergency. He’s sorry. He’s not sorry enough to not go, but he’s sorry enough to talk to fans. There’ll be a refund, maybe a rescheduling.

His entire life feels up in ends, but he talks about rescheduling. He doesn’t know what else to do. When the flight attendant tells him to turn his phone off, he puts it down until she’s passed by.

He looks out the window of the airplane and he can feel his tears soaking into his beard. Anakin is alright, he keeps telling himself. Anakin has to be okay. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Anakin isn’t okay.

It’s suddenly so amazingly clear to him that if Anakin were to--to not be alright--Obi-Wan’s life would never, ever be the same. Never. They’re intrinsically linked together. Why wasn’t he contacted when Anakin was first brought to the hospital? He needs to know this. He needs to know as soon as Anakin is hurt. He can’t stand the idea that Anakin had been injured halfway through his set, maybe at the end, maybe before it even started.

He needs to know as soon as it happens, if it ever happens again.

He never wants it to happen again. He never wants Anakin to be hurt, to be unresponsive, to be so far from him that Anakin’s sister has to let him know what’s going on.

He needs to be something different, something more. Something that makes everyone understand that he needs to be informed immediately when anything happens to Anakin, his Anakin. His….

Husband. Husband would work. If Anakin were to marry him, Obi-Wan would get preference to every medical incident experienced. Obi-Wan could be there. Yes. Husband

Husband.

Obi-Wan wipes the tears from his eyes slowly as he stares at the backside of the seat in front of him. Husband. If he were to be Anakin’s husband, he’d never be third in the information chain. He’d know immediately when something happens to his...to his husband.

Anakin could be his husband. Obi-Wan would ask him. It would make everything easier. It would mean Obi-Wan would know anything wrong as soon as it happened. He’d be the first in the chain of information.

He wants that, he decides as he cries into his airplane food napkin somewhere over the Great Plains. He wants to be the first. He wants to know. He wants to be there everytime Anakin wakes up from an injury. He wants to hold his hand.

Nothing else will ever make him feel any better. He needs it.