#if you have such GOOD and SOPHISTICATED taste then why are you saying things that make it obvious you dont read 'real books' !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[florenceisfalling]

the results of that fanfic poll like "will you click off a fic for being written in present tense?" makes me SO MAD because the only reason i STARTED writing in present tense after YEARS of past tense was bc everyone else in my fandoms was doing it so i thought it WAS the hip and normal thing to do!!!!!! and GUESS WHAT it makes more sense bc u can describe past scenarios in their lives without making it confusing in the flow of the story! when you interrupt present tense to speak in past tense, you get to linger over backstories and then return to the sequence of events without problem!!! and anyone who is like "well you cant use a pretty descriptive style in present tense 🥺" WHY NOT!!! literally WHAT are you talking about!!!!!!! "only fanfics ever write in the present tense so it feels cheesy" YOU ARE LITERALLY JUST WRONG READ MORE BOOKS THERE ARE SO MANY PUBLISHED WORKS IN PRESENT TENSE!!!!! "i like feeling like im hearing something old, i dont wanna be IN the story" HAS NO ONE EVER EXCITEDLY TOLD YOU A STORY THAT HAPPENED TO THEM WHILE SITTING AT A CAMPFIRE AND TRIED TO SET THE SCENE AS IT UNFOLDED IN THE PRESENT TO IMMERSE YOU??? YEAH past tense was the default for me too but im so mad to find out JUST NOW that so many people dislike present when i only ever started because it seemed to be MORE popular and liked!!!!

[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Dutch Courage

Summary: When Max Verstappen invites Lando to celebrate King’s Day with him, he can hardly refuse. Especially when it’s a great opportunity to spend time with the Dutch man’s sister.

Lando Norris x Verstappen!Reader

WC: 2.9K

Warnings: Alcohol (over)consumption, curse words

Masterlist

The first time Lando really came in contact with the Dutch culture was during his first Dutch Grand Prix. The atmosphere of the race, the enthusiasm of the people, and the taste of stroopwafels immediately made him like the Netherlands. When Max introduced him to more Dutch traditions and told him about the extreme celebrations of the King’s birthday, he couldn’t believe it. His experiences with the Queen’s birthday were completely different, much more sophisticated and ceremonial than the Dutch celebrations. You could say he was gobsmacked when he saw the videos; people dressed all in orange, filling the streets and canals, drunkenly partying like it was a festival. When Max extended an invitation to join him next April, Lando accepted straight away, eager to experience the unique tradition.

And so, next April 27th, Lando found himself in Amsterdam. He was passing tons of people stalling out their stuff on blankets, sitting on folding chairs by their improvised shops. They were all dressed in orange, of course. Lando, himself, had also adhered to the dress code. Sporting his orange hoodie, he’s ready to party all day long.

Lando made his way through the city, Google maps opened on his phone as he navigated the streets of Amsterdam. Luckily, Max’s apartment building was easy to find. Lando rang the doorbell, grinning when he spotted his Dutch friend. Lando could already hear the noise coming from the apartment while he greeted Max, the sound of music and singing passing through the walls.

“Hey man, what’s up?” He asked.

“Nothing much. What about you?” Max responded while welcoming Lando into his second home, leading him into the hallway.

Lando was about to answer his question, but the unexpected sight in the living room disrupted his train of thought. A confused frown etched itself onto his face, and he asked, “Why are there so many girls in your house? Don’t you have a girlfriend already?”

Max laughed at the question, “Oh yeah, they're my sister’s friends,” he responded nonchalantly as if they weren’t appropriating his apartment.

“You sister’s friends? Why are they taking over your place?”

“They’re getting ready to go out in a bit. Since I live closer to the centre than Y/N, they’re leaving from here. I told them to stay the night too, I don’t want Y/N and her friends to travel home in the middle of the night when they’re all drunk.”

Lando nodded as he observed the herd of girls getting ready. It was a mess – even compared to how his sisters got ready. They were doing lots of things at the same time: passing the phone around to pick music, singing along to whatever Dutch song was playing, taking pictures, talking, doing their makeup, fixing their hair, picking out accessories and putting flags on their faces; it was complete chaos, but they didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll get you some water, mate,” Max said before walking to the kitchen, leaving Lando alone with the women. 

It took a while for Y/N to spot Lando, but when she did, she came over right away. “Lando! How are you? I haven’t seen you in such a long time!” She said excitedly as she pulled him in for a hug.

“I’m good. It’s your fault we haven’t seen each other in so long, you never come to races anymore,” 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Life’s been busy. So, I hear today’s your first King’s Day, are you excited?”

Lando chuckled, “Ah, yes it is. Of course, I’m excited. I’ve been told it’s quite the experience!”

“It certainly is. I would’ve expected you to wear more orange though, isn’t it your team’s colour?” She questioned him teasingly.

“Is my hoodie not enough?” He asked, looking down at his outfit.

“Oh Lando, you know it’s not! Didn’t Max show you the videos? Come, I’ll put some flags on your face,” she said as she pulled him into the group of girls. 

They all greeted him enthusiastically as Y/N searched through the pile of orange and red-white-and-blue-coloured accessories, looking for something that would fit Lando. She pulled out a ribbon of the Dutch flag and grinned widely. Lando stood still as Y/N wrapped the ribbon around his head like a headband and tied it with a bow. “Very coquette, I’m sure your lady fans will love it,” she murmured and grabbed his jaw to turn his face to the side. A look of focus overtook her features as she gently applied the face paint to Lando’s cheeks. 

Lando was caught off guard at the situation he found himself in. He had barely stepped foot in the apartment and he was already being pulled in all kinds of directions as the whirlwind of women fussed over him, dressing him up for their sacred holiday. He caught Max’s eyes over Y/N’s shoulder, silently pleading for rescue, but Max merely laughed at the situation in which Lando had trapped himself, not offering any assistance. Instead, he stood by and watched with amusement as Y/N picked out things for Lando to wear and offered him an orange poncho for the rain that would probably come later today. Lando had no choice but to go along with it, accepting everything as it came. It was only a small effort for him, and it seemed to make her happy.

Y/N only let Lando go once she was satisfied with his outfit. He quickly rushed to Max, who offered him a glass of water with a big grin on his face, “She got you, eh?”

“Apparently, my orange hoodie was not enough,” he responded.

Max pat him on the back, “Don’t worry, I was a victim earlier,” he replied, pointing to his cheeks covered with face paint.

Not much later, the girls finally settled down. They were nearly ready to leave, the only thing they needed before heading off was a decent meal. If they were going to get wasted, they should at least have a good base. Y/N and her friends had organised a feast that could feed everyone and then some, with food left to spare. After the generous lunch was consumed, the women had some drinks to get a headstart before they packed their purses, making sure they had all the essentials covered. They divided the tiny bottles of alcohol they had bought in advance, and Lando watched in shock and disbelief as every girl shoved at least two tiny bottles down their bra. Meanwhile, Max seemed entirely unimpressed – as neutral as one could be.

Y/N and her friends had gotten tickets to Kingsland and the alcohol there was way too expensive to get drunk. If they needed to sneak in some alcohol to get properly pissed, that was a problem easily solved. The girls said goodbye and headed out the door, leaving silence in their wake.

The men didn’t leave that much later and headed over to the boat where they would meet Martijn, aka, Martin Garrix, with whom Max and Lando were both good friends. They would spend their time partying on the boat, getting just as drunk as Y/N and her friends before joining Martijn for his performance at Kingsland, where they’d meet up with the girls.

It was hours, and a shit ton of drinks, later when Max called Y/N to let her know they arrived at the festival grounds. In the meantime, a lot had happened: Y/N’s group of friends had gained at least three more people, Lando had cut his nose open on a glass bottle, and Max, somehow, managed to fall off the boat.

Y/N was dancing with her group of friends, going crazy for the songs the DJ was playing when she suddenly felt hands on her shoulders. She turned around immediately, surprised at the presence of a new person and ready to defend herself against whoever decided to touch her. That is, until she noticed the person behind her was Lando. As soon as she recognised the man, she, very drunkenly, jumped onto him. Y/N claimed she hadn’t seen him in so long as she put her entire body weight on the man who, unsuspecting of the move and unstable from the amount of alcohol he had consumed, nearly fell over. Y/N giggled innocently at the interaction, holding Lando’s arms tightly to prevent their fall. She looked up at his face while she did so, noticing the bandage on his nose.

“What did you do?” She slurred, frowning concernedly while running a hand along his face. That wasn’t a good choice; she lost her balance as soon as her hand left Lando’s arm. Lando, his own state not much better, grabbed her waist, trying to stop her wobbling.

“Got hit in the face with a broken beer bottle,” he replied with a grin and Y/N giggled at the image forming in her mind. 

“That’s so stupid. Did it hurt?” she asked.

Lando laughed loudly, “No, I’m too drunk to feel anything.”

Even though the comment wasn't that funny, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along, nearly toppling over.

The group, now including Max and Lando, stood in the crowd, dancing to the music playing as it became busier in anticipation of Martin Garrix’s performance. The field they were standing in became more crowded by the second, pressing them closer to each other. There was barely any space left to move, packed like sardines in a can. When there were people who tried to pass, Y/N’s back was pressed tightly against Lando. So tightly that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body and his breath hitting her neck; so tightly that it made Max send Lando a warning glare. But it didn’t matter when everyone was drunk and there were too many people between them for Max to do anything other than stare angrily.

When Martijn began his set everyone cheered and moved along to the music. In Y/N’s current position, she was nearly grinding against Lando, but he didn’t seem to mind, holding her close with one hand while the other held his drink in the air. Nevertheless, she turned around, wanting to avoid conflict between her brother and Lando, and any pictures and rumours that would most likely arise when people spotted the world-famous Formula 1 drivers. That didn’t mean she’d avoid his touch, though; throwing her arms over his shoulders while he held her waist, they kept dancing together.

Martijn’s set ended way sooner than they would’ve liked it to, and it was only a while longer before the group left Kingsland for his penthouse. After all, when you’re invited to Martin Garrix’s after-party by the man himself, you cannot refuse. 

Somehow, they managed to get to his penthouse safely, where they kept the party going until at least midnight. Most of the people Martijn invited left after the fireworks, leaving a smaller group of people occupying the rooftop. After standing, dancing and jumping all day and night, the group finally found somewhere to sit for a while – just to let their legs rest. But, as luck would have it, there weren’t enough seats, because when are there ever? Before Y/N could even suggest she’d stand, Lando, in his drunken stupor, had already pulled her down to sit on his lap.

He smiled triumphantly as she sat, “You looked tired,” is all he said to justify it.

Despite her surprise, Y/N welcomed the closeness and leaned into Lando, resting her body against his while she sipped her Aperol and joined the ongoing discussion. It was the perfect way to end her night – surrounded by her friends, joking around and enjoying her drink. She enjoyed the drunken conversation, giggling whenever Lando would whisper a funny remark in her ear about whatever stupid comment someone just uttered. His commentary was so distracting that she didn’t even notice when he put his hand on her thigh and tightened his hold on her waist, pulling her closer.

Max, however, did notice. He had been keeping an eye on Lando since their interaction at Kingsland when Y/N was basically grinding on Lando. Knowing a warning glare didn’t do much last time, Max was ready to do just about anything to make his objections clear if Lando decided to take things too far in his presence. Especially when he saw Lando’s hand moving higher up Y/N’s leg while she solely giggled in his arms. It’s an understatement to say the alcohol made Lando bolder – he felt fucking fearless as he kept his gaze locked on Y/N, not removing his eyes for even a second, not until a loud voice interrupts the conversation, at least.

“Hey, mate, let’s keep it PG, yeah?” The tone of Max’s voice made the words sound a lot less casual and jovial than they usually would and Y/N’s cheeks flared up when she noticed he was referring to her and Lando. Lando’s hands shot up, as if Y/N’s warm skin burned his hands, lifting them in a gesture of surrender.

“Sorry man, didn’t even notice it,” he replied.

Max glowered at him, showing he was not messing around before returning to his conversation.

When Max’s attention shifted away from them, Lando tentatively placed his hand back. The alcohol running through his veins made him ballsy and fearless as he continued to make comments in Y/N’s ear. This time, she noticed his moving hand, a blush rising to her cheeks in anticipation of Max’s reaction. But he wasn’t paying attention to the two of them, not until he heard his sister laughing boisterously. Startled at the sound, his eyes darted over to the pair, widening in disbelief when he spotted Lando’s wandering hand edging closer to the hem of your skirt once again. Max’s instincts immediately kicked in at the sight – the audacity of this man.

“That’s enough, Norris. Hands off,” he commanded, his tone firm.

Lando’s confidence faltered under Max’s scrutinising gaze, and he removed his hand immediately. “Sorry, man,” he said, blushing at the attention. Max, too, had been drinking all day, and Lando didn’t want to risk another injury; the cut on his nose was enough for today.

Lando’s sudden change in behaviour was obvious to Y/N; his uncertainty and reluctance to touch her were palpable. In an attempt to reassure him, she leaned her head against his shoulder, cuddling into him while she kept the conversation going. She made eye contact with her brother, whose unrelenting glare softened at her comfort. All he wanted to do was to protect Y/N, but it now felt unnecessary as she seemed entirely at ease with Lando.

At some point during the night, Y/N took the initiative and grabbed Lando’s hand, placing it on her thigh. Lando was apprehensive at the gesture, looking over at Max to see his reaction, but he was focused on his sister. He watched her play with Lando’s hand, fiddling with his fingers and giggling into the crook of his neck. Max shifted his eyes to Lando, nodding at him before returning to his conversation – a sign of approval. If his sister was okay with it, initiating and encouraging it even, then he would accept it.

They stayed in the same position until people started to leave. When Y/N’s friends mentioned heading home, Max suggested everyone should go back, not wanting the girls to walk home alone while they were wasted. It took little convincing to get everyone into the elevator and out to the street to start the short journey (although much longer when drunk) back to his apartment. 

Lando and Y/N were walking next to each other, rounding up the group while Max was busy herding Y/N’s friends through the city. They were leaning on each other as they stumbled through the streets, laughing at Max who was frantically chasing the girls to make sure they took the right turns.

When they finally got back to Max’s apartment, the chaos of the night followed them inside as Max helped everyone to their beds. He had basically adopted Y/N’s friends as his sisters by now, fussing over them throughout the night. Occupied with the girls, Max doesn’t notice Lando following his sister into her bedroom. He sprawled himself out on the bed, barely kicking off his shoes, while Y/N got herself ready to sleep. 

She stumbled over to the bed while Lando watched her, both of them giggling as she nearly tripped over the shoes scattered around the floor. She curled up next to him on the bed, her body fitting perfectly against his. As they drifted to sleep, their whispers slowly faded into silence until the only sounds that remained were the soft snores from the cuddled-up couple, and the quiet stomps of Max trying to catch Y/N's giggling friends.

[darkbluekies]

In the hands of a madman 2024 ver

Doctor!yandere oc x reader

Summary: a doctor is very peculiar about his favorite patient, and senses a threat once they disobey him.

Warnings: yandere, poison, murder, cuff restraints

Word count: 2.4k

You gag.

“Yes, yes, I know”, he coos, grimacing and removes the wooden stick out of your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

You're left with a bitter taste in your mouth. Why does he always stick that thing as far down your throat as humanly possible? You thank heavens that it’s not one of the needles extracting blood from your arm, although you’re sure that’s what’s waiting tomorrow.

“Still nothing?” you ask cautiously. 

He meets your eyes and you know immediately. You sigh heavily. Your heart sinks to your stomach. 

Every three months, he’s doing all sorts of tests to see if you’re getting better — or what’s what he’s saying. Every three months, Dr Kry has to check every vital sign on you to make sure that his sickness isn’t getting out of his control. But you don’t like them. They hurt. Badly.

“Will I ever get to go home? I want to.” 

Dr Kry sighs and sits down on his rolling stool, coming over to your bed.

“I know you do, but you that’s not possible”, he says apologetically. “You know that too.”

“Yeah, because you keep reminding me”, you mutter. 

“That’s better than giving you false hope, isn’t it? Wouldn’t that drive you insane?”

It would, but you don’t say it out loud. Doesn’t need to.

“I want to go home!” you say again, louder this time. 

“Saying it louder won’t make you better or me change my mind”, Dr Kry says. 

You sigh and press your palms to your eyes, trying to press the tears back into your eyes before they escape. You’ve been here for too long by now. You’ve been isolated for so incredibly long. ALl you want is to go home. You know no one, talk to no one beside him. The proper, sophisticated man who’s stiffer than a stick. Dr Kry sighs and moves closer. 

“I know that you’re disappointed”, he says and puts his large hand on your shoulder. “But this is for the best. “I don’t want you to get worse.”

“I hate these fucking tests! They hurt.”

“I know.”

He glances towards the white air purifier on the shelf beside the bed. The poisoned air purifier. He’s always making sure it’s not too much, not too little. Just the exact amount to keep you where he wants you — weak and vulnerable, dependent on him. 

“I know it’s hard”, he says encouragingly. “I know that you’re in pain, but you’re doing so good. You can always call for me if you need me, okay? I’m available all day and night for you.”

You press forward a smile, but can’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash over you. Why did this happen to you? Where did you go wrong to end up here? How could a sore throat get you bed bound in a hospital room? If only you knew. 

“Let’s get you tucked in again”, Dr Kry says and helps you lie down in bed. “You shouldn’t be putting to much pressure on your body.”

He pushes up your pillows, having you lie in a 45-degree angle. It helps you breathe at night. He always tucks the blanket close to your body, as if you were a butterfly in a cocoon. He gives you a small smile before standing up. 

“Please don’t go”, you whisper. “I don’t want to be left here.”

The man looks at you, studies you carefully before nodding and sitting back down. He wipes your lonely tear with his finger. He looks at his wet finger, thinking. 

“I feel helpless”, you admit. “I don’t think I’ll ever get well again.”

Little do you know that’s exactly what he wants. 

“It’s okay, Y/N”, he says. “I will take care of you. I will stay with you until you’re well again.”

He has to force back a smile. 

“I don’t want to do these anymore”, you say monotonously. 

“I know you don’t, but you have to”, Dr Kry says apologetically and moves closer to the bed on his rolling stool. “They’re important.”

“They hurt …”

“I know, but you’re doing so good, okay? I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a small, painful smile. 

“I’ll sit here until you fall asleep, don’t worry”, he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes slowly. He fades out. 

He takes blood tests the following day. Needles, pain.

“Now, you need to take a nap”, he says and tucks you in. 

The daily afternoon nap. You hate it, but he insists. While you sleep, he’s out taking care of other patients that are not you. He hates it, hates wasting his time and skill on people that aren’t you. Those patients are one time patients that are there for surgeries, consultations or checkups. No long term patients that have to stay in the hospital. Everyone gets to leave after he meets them. Everyone but you. You stay. 

You keep your eyes closed until Dr Kry leaves the room. Quickly, you sit up and get out of bed. After all these fucking tests, you’re deserving of something else than the tasteless cardboard Dr Kry gets you. Just one brownie. Something that has sugar. And maybe some coffee for caffeine too. 

Quietly, you sneak out into the corridor. There’s something about these sterile passageways that makes the hair on your back stand on its end. Is it the dehumanized area or the fact that you’re never allowed here? Is it nerves or excitement? Whatever it is, you decide to speed up your steps and hurry towards the elevators before anyone sees you. They’ll tell him. Just as the doors are about to close, someone stops the doors. A boy dressed in a similar hospital gown as yourself forces his way into the elevator. He gives you a rushed, apologetic smile. 

“Sorry”, he says sheepishly. “I am in a hurry.”

“What happened to you?” you ask and smile halfly. 

“I escaped from the therapist. A real pain in my ass.”

You can’t help but giggle. The young man licks his lips and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Have you met her?” he asks. “The therapist?”

“No”, you say. 

You haven’t met anyone but your stiff and proper doctor. 

“Don’t”, the young man advices you and leans his back against the wall. “She’s mental. I honestly think she should be the one getting interrogated — not me.” He looks at you, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Do you meet others?” you ask. 

“In the lounge. Have you been there?”

You shake your head and lower your eyes. 

“Did you just arrive?” the man asks. 

You shake your head again. 

“How long have you been here?”

“A while.”

The elevator stops and the doors open at your floor. 

“Are you going to the cafeteria?” the man asks. 

“Yes”, you reply. 

“I’m coming with you. Maybe you can help me blend in.”

“Okay.”

The boy seems frantic, but happy. Running on adrenaline and excitement. Together, you walk through the hospital to the cafeteria and realize that you don’t have any money. Your shoulders fall. Did you come here for nothing? 

“Aren’t you going to order something?” the young man asks. 

“I don’t know”, you reply quietly. 

Before you have the time to come up with a lie why you can’t order anything, you recognise something in the corner of your eye. A blonde man dressed in a white robe. You feel your blood run cold. 

“What do we have here?” Dr Kry asks and you have a hard time reading his tone or facial expressions. “What do you think you are doing out of bed?”

He walks over to you and grabs your shoulder. You flinch. His grip is … tight. Painful. 

“You’re supposed to rest”, Dr Kry says shortly.

He looks at the young man. His eyes seem to go right through him. 

“Where are you supposed to be?” he asks. 

He doesn’t answer. Dr Kry gives him a cold gaze before grabbing your upper arm in a tight grip. He doesn’t say anything as he starts to pull you with him. His steps are quick, steady. Angry. 

“Doctor …”, you try.

He doesn’t answer. Dr Kry pushes you into the elevator and presses the button. He doesn't let go of your arm.

“Doctor, I’m sorry”, you say. 

He still doesn’t answer. You barely dare to look at him. There’s something about his face that scares you. It's stoic, unreadable. But he oozes anger. Like a dark cloud.

The elevator stops, the doors open. His tight grip remains as he drags you back into your room.

“Lay down”, he instructs shortly.

You do, too scared to disobey. Dr Kry walks past you, to the drawers by your bed. He rips out two leather bands that look like belts for dolls. Before you're aware of what he's doing, he's strapped one of your wrists to the bed railing.

“Wait, doctor-”, you blurt out.

“Be quiet.”

He locks your other wrist to the other railing. You tug at the restraints, and find them secure.

“Are they too tight?” Dr Kry asks, still with that short tone that sends icy needles down your spine.

“Doctor, what are you-?”

“Answer the question. Do they hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He turns to his desk, ignoring you.

“Doctor, I'm sorry”, you say.

“You broke my trust”, he says without giving you any attention. “It's important, for your healing, that you do not deceive me. I need to be able to trust that you do as I say. How many times have you done this?”

“Only this time, I promise.”

He doesn't answer. You feel how your eyes fill with tears. Your body is in such a vulnerable state that your body betrays you. You didn't want to upset him, didn't want to put your own health at risk by doing this. 

“I'm sorry, doctor”, you sniffle. “I didn't mean to break your trust.”

He sighs and turns his head to look at you. His blue eyes soften and he rises from his chair, coming over to your bed. He can't stay mad at you, not when you're clearly dumb. You don't understand, he can't be mad at you for not understanding. He should — and is — mad at himself for not foreseeing these situations and making sure you don't do it.

“You know that I only want what's best for you, don't you?” he asks and wipes your tears with his hand.

“Yes”, you reply.

“In that case, I want you to never repeat this mistake. Mistakes are forgivable, but they should be minimized, do you understand that?”

“Yes. Do you forgive me?”

He has to force back a smile. You're so unbelievably cute.

“Yes, I do forgive you”, he says. 

“Can you take off the restraints?”

“No. I might forgive you, but I need you to know what happens once mistakes occur. This is the consequences that follow. If I can't trust you to be where I want you to be, I need to take precautions to make sure you are.”

You lower your gaze.

“Who was that, by the way?” he asks. “That young … man. Why did you speak to him?”

“I don't know, he took the same elevator as me.”

“I don't want you to speak with him again. If he's the one they're looking for, I don't want you getting influenced by his reckless ideas.”

“I don't get to speak to anyone, anyways.”

“And that's how it should be. We don't know why you're sick, and you shouldn't contaminate someone else.”

“What about you, then? You can get sick too.”

“I'm ready to take that risk.”

He's too nice, you think. All he wants is to take care of you and you put his selfless risks to hell when you decide to disobey him. How horrible of you.

“Now, you need to take that nap for real”, he says. “I will sit by my desk. If you need something you can just let me know.”

He walks back to his desk and sits down, starting to file some paperwork. You tug at the restraints. You're not going anywhere.

When you’ve fallen asleep, Dr Kry makes his way through the hospital. They’ve captured that young man and put him back into his room … and Dr Kry wants a talk with him. He opens the door quietly. The young lays in bed, sleeping. Dr Kry circles around him, taking a good look at him. Did you find him cute? Hot? Did you like talking to him? Did you think that he was better than him? Did you enjoy those ten minutes with him more than these months with Kry? Do you want to meet with him again? He glares at the sleeping man. Dr Kry walks over to the supply closet, an identical to the one in your room, and takes out one of the spare pillows. Silently, he walks over to the bed, lifts the pillow and presses it over the young man’s face. He widen his eyes, pulled out of his slumber. He screams against the pillow, his voice getting muffled in the fabric. 

“Normally, I’d make this easy for you”, Dr Kry grunts as the man starts to fight against him. “Out of pity, but you don’t deserve that mercy.”

He screams in confusion, fear. Dr Kry can make out words. What. No. Help. Stop.

“Just give in and give yourself that mercy”, Dr Kry continues. “If you continue to fight against me, you’ll be in more pain.”

The man cries. Dr Kry breaks out into a smile. 

“You’re going to die either way, you can choose to end it quicker.”

The young man doesn’t seem to get the memo. He continues to fight, cry, plead. He drinks it all in. The horror, the helplessness. The dear in headlight. He has seen the light in people’s eyes disappear multiple times during his job as a doctor. To see the moment someone becomes just a piece of flesh. He has never enjoyed it as much as now. The man stops moving. Dr Kry removes the pillow and takes a step back, looking at the lifeless body. He breathes out. Finally, he can calm down. 

And now, all he needs to do is to make sure he can not be traced back. 

He finds you sleeping soundly as he comes back to your room, wrists still locked to the sides of the bed. You make his heart ache. He sits down beside you, brushing his fingertips over your cheek. 

I control your life, my little one. You’re going to say with me and I’ll take every repercussion to make sure you don’t disappear. 

[thewebcomicsreview]

so what's your take on the recent "stonetoss is a much better comic than haus of decline because it has fewer words" over on twitter?

I really wanted to reply with a snarky dismissive one-liner. I had one written and everything, but then I wanted to make sure I understood the context and looked into this and ugh. Now I have to explain Twitter drama, this sucks.

Okay. Christ.

Haus of Decline makes this comic

The comic pops up again, and a person named Basil sees it and has a take that it has too many words.

As arguably the most prominent Webcomic Critic out there (which is the say, the only one still doing it), I kind of prefer the wordless version as well, but it's a matter of taste, more than an "objectively correct" take.

Basil then follows up on that take with a rather spicier one

It's worth noting here that Basil is saying Hans Kristian Graebener is "better" in the sense that they believe it's more effective propaganda, not in their own personal opinion of quality. And that's....arguable? For one, Haus of Decline isn't really trying to be left-wing propaganda, it's just shitposting, and for two I think Hans Kristian Graebener's effectiveness is way more complicated and sophisticated than just "brevity". And for three, saying Hans Kristian Graebener is "better comics" is really ill-advised, especially given some context I'll reveal shortly.

Haus sees this, calls Basil a moron, and it turns into a dumb stupid internet argument where both people look bad. And being, again, the top Webcomic Critic, I can confirm that sometimes when you call a webcomic bad the creator will get mad at you over it and that's just something you have to expect and live with and try not to beclown yourself in response to. I don't think Basil responded well here, and "just learn to take criticism" is a pretty common and loaded phrase in Webcomics Discourse. Still, whatever. A questionable take led to a short slap fight. That would be the end of it.

Except. The context.

Seven or eight months ago, Basil made this tweet.

Which is a far better tweet, and is now a meme used by liberals in intra-left twitter discord fights to dunk on the anti-voting Trump-curious twitter left. This tweet also came around the time Will Stancil was whipping a lot of normie liberals to push back against the anti-Biden narrative and obviously the election itself has led a notable shift in the vibes where you're seeing a lot more "Biden's not that bad" takes and even a bit of "Actually, Biden is good and I'm tired of pretending he's not" in leftist spaces. And if you follow my personal account you'll know that my vibes have also shifted in that direction a lot. Basil obviously didn't cause the shift, even Stancil didn't, it was the election, but it's their name on the top of the tweet that's used as an anti-anti-voting meme that the left still doesn't has a great response to, so a lot of leftists fucking hate Basil. The kind of passionate hatred you only feel when you're getting clowned on by Matthew fucking Yglesias. So there's a huge hate mob against Basil in the way that hate mobs tend to occur.

This all attracts the attention of Hans Kristian Graebener, who pops out a comic taking a shot at Haus over this. Which is, honestly, a much better example of why Hans Kristian Graebener is effective propaganda than the brevity thing, because god damn did that pour gasoline on the fire, and....well....tldr:

My take is that this whole fight is incredibly stupid, no one involved looks good, and the only one benefiting from it is the literal fucking Nazi.

[yoon-kooks]

paw prints & presents | jjk

⛓️pairing: hotnerd!jungkook x popular!reader

⛓️genre: smut, fluff, college!au

⛓️summary: You and Jungkook never discussed Valentine’s Day plans, but that doesn’t mean the night won’t include corny Valentine’s cards and you getting down on your hands and knees in pretty pink lingerie for him.

⛓️word count: 2.1k

⛓️warnings: catdilf!jk, dom!jk, sub!reader, daddy/kitten undertones, praise kink, dirty talk, oc is a horny lil brat, dry humping, sex on the couch, handjob, blowjob, face fucking, cumshot, she swallows, oc makes another ignorant comment about earl grey tea lol

⛓️p&p masterlist⛓️

a/n: here's a lil smutty drabble i wrote up for valentine's day! (you don't have to read the other p&p fics before reading this one)💖

You’ve been acting a little weird lately. Ever since February came around, you’ve been asking Jungkook about random shit like his favorite flower (lavender), his favorite romcom (none), his favorite day of the year (nonexistent), and his go-to boba order (you called him grandaddy for saying earl grey again). The most recent question was about his taste in lingerie (doesn’t matter because you’re hot regardless). 

But whenever he asks why you need to know these things, you just shrug your shoulders and pretend like you’re too busy playing with the cat to answer him. The way you always shush the kitten as soon as he enters the room leads him to believe the two of you are up to no good. 

It’s driving him mad.

At one point, he thought you might be sweetening him up for when you go behind his back and adopt another cat because “Lucy needs a friend” and “there’s a cute cow cat at the local shelter.” But something tells him you’ll save the cow cat shenanigans for another time. 

The thing is, he’s not completely clueless here. As much as he doesn’t want to think about it, he’s well aware that Valentine’s Day is around the corner. It’s not a day he typically celebrates, but he also doesn’t know how you feel about it yet. If it’s a big deal to you, he’d want to do something thoughtful to live up to whatever the fuck you’re secretly plotting. At the same time, the two of you still haven’t made it official, so perhaps you aren’t scheming anything related to the most romantic day of the year. Perhaps he’s just overthinking it…

…Or not.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, Jungkook comes home from class early and sees something he shouldn’t have seen. Your laptop is out in the open on his bed, but you’re nowhere to be seen—probably in the bathroom or something. He’s always been the kind of guy to respectfully look away from what’s on other people’s computers or phone screens. But it’s kind of hard to ignore the pink lingerie set you apparently just ordered. The lingerie you normally wear is a sexy black or a sophisticated neutral. But this baby pink one, with the tiny red hearts and bows, is way cuter than what he’s used to seeing you in. It’s giving submissive vibes, for sure.

The thought of you wearing that tiny thing on Valentine’s Day would automatically make February 14th Jeon Jungkook’s new favorite day of the year. And that alone is something to celebrate.

But how exactly is he supposed to celebrate? It seems you have your mind made up on surprising him with pretty pink lingerie, but what can he provide in return without being too cheesy? He’s terrible at shit like this. In fact, one of his exes broke up with him specifically because he wasn’t romantic enough. She wasn’t wrong, but it’s not like he’s going to rewire his entire brain to be romantic enough for someone else’s liking. Maybe that’s fucked up of him. Maybe a good partner would make sacrifices and force themself to change for the sake of the relationship if they truly cared. 

You’re different, though. With you, nothing feels forced. Rather, he gets an urge to do something nice for you, even if it goes against his natural tendencies. And right now, he wants to also surprise you with a little something on Valentine’s Day.

On the big day, he waits for you to leave for your afternoon class. That’ll give him plenty of time to put together the surprise. All he needs is some pink cardstock, markers, paint, ribbon, and a kitten.

As much as he hates cheesy Valentine’s cards, Jungkook finds himself pondering over what to write on the cardstock. Knowing you, it’s safe to go with something silly and funny. Thankfully, you’re an easy one when it comes to humor.

“Have a paw-esome Valentine’s Day, Mommy,” he writes in bold marker. You’ve been hesitant to call yourself the kitten’s mother despite raising her right alongside Jungkook. But it’s clear that you’re doing a good job. “Love, Lucy.”

He picks up the sleepy kitten, dips her paw pads into safe non-toxic paint, and adds her paw print to the bottom of the card like a signature. As the paint dries, he gives the kitty her first bath, blowdries her fur, and ties a pink little ribbon to her collar.

When the sun goes down, Jungkook rolls up the note and attaches it to the kitty’s ribbon like she’s some messenger pigeon. And then the two of them wait on the couch together, kitten loafing in the boy’s lap, for the door to open.

Five long minutes later, your keys jingle around as you unlock the front door.

“Go hide,” he whispers to the kitten who runs off into his room with a frisky tail in the air. She probably thinks he’s playing hide and seek with her like they normally do. Poor thing.

Jungkook makes himself comfortable on the couch again and pulls out his phone to look natural. Totally normal.

“Hi?” you say as soon as you open the door and see him sitting in the dark living room, his floating face illuminated by his phone screen. You hit the light switch as you kick your shoes off and look around for possible booby traps or jumpscares. It seems you’re very aware that the potential for a surprise is at an all-time high today. Then your eyes fall back on him. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” He scratches the back of his head.

“Like this.” You do the awkward pose thing people do when they’re very clearly failing to act natural. How do you manage to make even the most awkward poses look cute? Maybe your little black dress has something to do with it. You weren’t wearing that earlier when you left for class.

“What do you mean? I’m just here, sitting on the couch with my phone.” Damn, is it really that obvious?

“Ah, so you were here waiting for me to get back from class like a dog?” you tease as you climb into his lap and set his phone aside. Your new perfume is a sensual lavender (no wonder you asked him about his favorite flower). And your dress is so short all he can feel is skin when he grabs hold of your ass. “Don’t worry, I missed you too.”

You snake your hands around the back of his neck and devour his lips, his tongue, his taste. He’ll never get over the moans you make just from kissing him like he’s the finest dessert you’ve ever tasted. Or the way your tongue just laps him up like a kitten—

“Wait,” he says after forcing himself to pull back from your lips. The urge to put his lips right back where they belong is incredible.

“No, Jungkook, I don’t have any homework that needs to get done before we…” Your words trail off as you kiss him some more and roll your hips against his crotch. You’ll never let it go that he’s “the biggest nerd in the world” for always making you finish your homework before sex. Thank god you don’t have any tonight. Because his hard cock is already past the point of no return.

The secret Valentine’s card still needs to be delivered, though. And the poor kitten is still waiting for her daddy to come find her.

“No seriously, wait a sec,” he chuckles, lifting you off of him before walking into his room to scoop up the kitten hiding behind the clothes hanging in his closet. When he rejoins you on the couch, he passes the fluffball to you.

“Ooh, did daddy give you a bath? You look so cute,” You sniff her orange fur and find the rolled-up note tied to her pink ribbon.

Your face quickly goes from curious to smiley as you unroll the note and read the silly message. Jungkook reads it right alongside you as if he wasn’t the one who wrote it.

“Congratulations, it seems Lucy has accepted you as her mother figure,” he says in the straightest face ever.

“Paw-esome?? Mommy??” you giggle, turning to the boy whilst cupping his chin. “Is that what you think of me?”

“It wasn’t me, it was Lucy,” he shrugs. “Right, Lucy?” She meows in agreement.

Then he pins you down against the couch cushions and leans in to whisper, “You’re my baby girl, remember?”

Your face is flushed with color as you nod up at him. You grab a handful of his t-shirt and pull him in. He finds your neck and leaves a trail of little marks as your body heats up beneath him.

“I love the card, by the way,” you manage to get out between breaths. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t from me.” His gives you a few more kisses while running his hands along your dress. As hot as you are in that dress, he’d love to get his hands on everything hiding beneath it. “I didn’t even know today was Valentine’s Day.”

“Liar. You suck, you know that.” You pout for half a second before your horny eyes are showing again. “Guess you don’t want to see the surprise I have for you.”

“What is it?” he asks a little too quickly. He must sound like such a simp.

You sit up, leaning your tits against his chest, and say, “Undress me.”

Jungkook lifts the dress up and over your head to reveal the same lingerie set he saw on your computer screen the other day. Except now it’s on your body. And boy does it look good on you. It doesn’t matter that he already had a sneak peek at it and plenty of time to mentally prepare himself for this. He still can’t take his eyes off of his baby girl looking all pretty in pink. And he forgets to speak.

“What do you think?” You drop to your knees on the carpet and situate yourself between his legs.

“Hot,” is all he can say before you unzip him and get your hands on his hard cock.

“Good.” You wet your lips with a sly tongue. Your hands start stroking his length up and down as you eye his tip. “It was an impulse buy the other day when I was feeling so horny for your cock.”

“Do you need my cock that badly?” he asks, his breath getting rougher. 

You nod, licking your lips again. He’d normally make you wait a little longer before letting you give head, but fuck it. It’s Valentine’s Day, and his cock is his gift to you. You’re always begging to suck it anyway.

With a firm hand, he angles your chin up until his erection is staring you in the face. You wrap your lips around him and take him in until he hits the back of your throat. Your cute little gag doesn’t stop you from going right back in, bobbing your head back and forth, up and down his length. He decides to help by thrusting in and out of your throat.

When you stop to catch your breath, his glaze runs down your mouth. You make sure he’s watching when you lick it up and swallow before sucking him more. One of your hands grips his cock while the other travels down into your thong. He watches the way you rub between your legs and rock your body back and forth to pleasure yourself and him at the same time. 

You savor each and every drop of him as if it’s the last. Your lips glisten and swell with pleasure as you’re hard at work with his cock. There’s no way anyone else can look this good while doing what you do to him.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans, fucking your face faster. You moan something that sounds like his name, although it’s kind of hard to understand with a fat cock in your mouth.

At his breaking point, he pulls out and strokes his length until (most of) his cum sprays right into your mouth. You swallow it up while shooting him an awfully innocent smile. After catching his breath, he wipes up the bit of lust on your cheek and lets you suck it off his fingers. You’re such a good girl for him.

“You were so good, baby,” he praises you. You definitely need to be rewarded. “Should we watch one of those romcoms?”

“I thought you said you didn’t like romcoms.” You tilt your head. “We can find something else that we can watch togeth—”

“Pick your favorite romcom.” He shakes your suggestion off and lays you down on the couch so that you’re facing the TV. He hooks a finger on the strap of your thong and tears it off. With his lips just a kiss away from your wet pussy, he says, “I won’t be watching anyway.”

[cece693]

Monster in the Making (Will Graham x Male! Lecter)

Hey :) I know I haven't uploaded much, but life has gotten in the way. So, to jump back into writing, I've decided to write something about my favorite murder husband, Will. What was meant to be something short turned into (possibly) my longest post yet.

Summary: The Lecter siblings were obsessed with Will Graham but for entirely different reasons. While Hannibal wanted to deconstruct the puzzle that was the detective, M/N wanted Will to be his.

tags: jealousy, possessiveness, m/n being a little shit, Will indulges him, why can't they just talk it out like normal adults, oh yeah 'cause one's a murderer in the making and the other is related to Hannibal :)

M/N Lecter was a mirror image of his elder brother, Hannibal: with sophisticated tastes and an appetite for human meat, it was their façades that set them apart. While both inherited a charisma unlike any other, it was M/N Lecter whose mask never slipped off. Unlike Hannibal who instilled an unconscious fear in people with his dominating and blunt persona, M/N preferred to play the role of the unsuspecting innocent.

He derived pleasure from allowing others to spin their own webs of deceit, all the while believing they had any significance in his life. Whether they be lovers, friends, or colleagues, no one was immune to his subtle influence. His manipulations were veiled behind gentle words and tender gestures, a feigned desire to enrich their lives until they found themselves isolated and reliant solely on M/N. This artful deception ensnared all whom M/N cast his gaze upon, until the arrival of Will Graham.

A detective with a peculiar gift that Hannibal simply dubbed ‘pure empathy’, Will immediately knew something was wrong with the Lecter siblings. His dark, almost onyx eyes perceived the monsters both Hannibal and M/N were, yet (he hated himself for saying this) there was a complexity to their darkness that intrigued him. So, despite the warning bells ringing in his mind, Will couldn’t help but be drawn to the siblings. Hannibal wanted to bring out Will’s own dark side, seeing a capable partner in the man who cloaked himself with a ruse of normality. But for M/N, he simply desired the man.

He couldn’t explain what about Will attracted him, but for the first time, M/N felt drawn to another being. He wanted to own the detective—his mind, heart, body. It was a puzzling revelation that M/N could even feel these things for another being. 

"I assume you're pleased with my surprise," Hannibal whispered to M/N as the familiar sight of the detective's car pulled into their driveway. The siblings had decided to host another dinner party, though with M/N's hectic schedule, the majority of the preparations fell upon Hannibal. This entailed cooking, setting the table, and sending out invitations—invitations M/N was not permitted to see.

M/N should have anticipated that Hannibal was scheming something, but he never imagined this. Developing feelings for the detective was one thing, but inviting Will into their home—a place that would undoubtedly unsettle the detective—angered him.

M/N couldn't pinpoint when his desire to possess Will shifted into protectiveness, but it was too late now. Hannibal had retreated to the kitchen, likely to evade M/N's impending wrath, leaving him alone to greet their newest guest. Slipping into character, M/N forced a smile as the detective's figure hesitated at the open door. "Mr. Graham." M/N greeted, his voice warm and friendly. "It's good to see you. Please, come in."

Will's gaze flickered from M/N to the grand interior of the Lecter residence, taking in the opulent furnishings and the faint aroma of culinary mastery wafting from the kitchen. Despite his reservations, there was a reluctant curiosity in his expression. "Thank you." Will replied, his tone guarded yet polite as he crossed the threshold. "I must admit, I didn't expect an invitation." And why would the Lecters invite him? Will was hardly good company, always managing to unsettle people with his personality.

Catching the subtle self-deprecation in Will’s words, M/N frowned. “Why wouldn’t we invite you, Mr. Graham? I find your company quite pleasant.” 

Internally, M/N couldn't help but smirk at the reaction of his detective—the rosy hue that enveloped the tips of Will's ears, and the subtle shift in his demeanor as he lowered his head, avoiding M/N's gaze. M/N couldn't quite discern if Will was simply oblivious to his flirting or intentionally ignoring it, but either way, it stirred something inside him to see the effect he had on the guarded detective. 

Not wanting to further embarrass the man, M/N turned on his heel and began guiding Will further into the house, towards the dining room where the rest of their guests were gathered. Some were engaged in lively conversations, their voices mingling in the air, while others took in the opulent surroundings, their eyes roaming over the intricate decorations and paintings adorning the walls.

M/N felt a surge of pride at the sight of the meticulously arranged table, adorned with fine china and gleaming silverware. The aroma of Hannibal's culinary creations wafted through the air, tantalizing the senses and adding to the air of anticipation that hung over the room.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." M/N told Will with a reassuring smile. “Dinner will be served shortly." Leaving the detective was the last thing M/N wanted to do, but he knew he had to fulfill his duties as a co-host and mingle with their other guests. With a lingering glance at Will, M/N reluctantly excused himself, promising to return shortly. 

Watching M/N walk away, Will was taken aback by the unexpected pang of disappointment that washed over him. He knew M/N couldn’t stay by his side all night long, but a part of Will hoped he would. He and M/N had been playing a game as of late; one Will had been initially taken aback by but had quickly returned. Flirting—subtle, yet charged with an unspoken tension that seemed to crackle between them whenever they were together. 

M/N had a way of getting under his skin, of teasing out the darker, more dangerous parts of himself that Will hadn’t known he even possessed. In M/N's presence, Will felt alive in a way he hadn't in years, his senses heightened and his inhibitions loosened. M/N Lecter had become his downfall—hell, M/N was all Will thought about these days.

As he watched M/N mingle effortlessly with the other guests, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. Will knew he should stay away, that getting too close to M/N Lecter would only lead to trouble. And yet, the allure of the forbidden was too strong to ignore, drawing him inexorably closer to the flame.

As the evening wore on, Will found himself retreating into the shadows, avoiding interactions with the other guests. The lively chatter and laughter only served to amplify his own sense of isolation. He didn’t belong here; all he wanted was to return home and snuggle against the warm fur of his dogs. But just as Will debated the possibility of slipping away unnoticed, a sudden burst of laughter echoed from behind him, pulling him from his thoughts. 

As if summoned, Will’s gaze landed on M/N, who stood across the room, his charming smile directed towards a striking woman. She was elegant and poised, with cascading waves of chestnut hair that framed her delicate features. Her blue eyes sparkled with laughter and interest as she leaned closer to M/N, her hand resting upon his arm as they continued conversing.

The attraction between them was evident—the way the woman pressed herself against M/N, with the man doing nothing to stop such indecent action. Will couldn't tear his eyes away, a knot of jealousy tightening in his chest at the sight of M/N's easy rapport with the woman.

It was irrational, Will knew. He had no claim over M/N; no right to feel possessive or jealous. And yet, as he watched them, Will couldn't shake the resentment and betrayal that coiled within him, a bitter reminder of his insecurities and desires. For a brief moment, Will entertained the dangerous thought of intervening, of inserting himself into their conversation and reclaiming M/N's attention for himself. But he quickly dismissed the idea, knowing it would only make him appear foolish and desperate. 

But that’s exactly what M/N wanted. He craved to unravel the layers of Will Graham's complex psyche, delve into the darker corners of his mind, and explore the depths of his desires. M/N wanted to see this other, darker side of Will, to witness the raw passion and intensity that lay beneath his stoic exterior. So when their eyes met across the room, M/N couldn’t help but smirk as he turned back to the woman on his side.

Helen was beautiful, in a conventional sort of way, but something was lacking in her presence that failed to capture his interest. Her conversation was dull and predictable, devoid of the spark and intrigue that he craved. So even as his whole body wrenched when her hands settled on his forearm, M/N forced himself to maintain the facade of polite interest.

He couldn't help but contrast her with Will Graham, whose mere presence ignited a fire within him that he struggled to contain. Will was enigmatic and complex, a puzzle waiting to be solved, while Helen was little more than a passing distraction—a shallow attempt at filling the void that only Will could satisfy. And as he stole another glance across the room, M/N couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. Jealousy and anger were swimming in the detective’s eyes; he only needed one final push so they could both indulge in what they desired.

The tension between them crackled like electricity, a palpable force that hung heavy in the air. Will's gaze bore into M/N's, filled with a mix of longing and frustration that mirrored his own. It was as if they were locked in a silent battle of wills, each daring the other to make the first move. But M/N was done playing games. He wanted Will, and he wanted him now. With a sly grin, he leaned in closer to Helen, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he murmured something in her ear. The effect was immediate. As Will stormed towards them, his eyes ablaze with fury, M/N felt a surge of satisfaction. 

"Can we talk privately?” The detective hissed, not even sparing a glance at the woman. 

“Of course.” M/N's response was measured and composed, his outward demeanor belying the inner excitement that churned beneath the surface. Sensing an opportunity to push the boundaries further, he delicately extricated himself from Helen's grasp and softly pressed his lips to her cheek.

“Please excuse us, darling.” He murmured, his voice like velvet, eliciting a blush from the woman and a frustrated huff from Will. Gesturing for the detective to follow, this exchange wasn’t missed by Hannibal, who smoothly redirected the attention of the other guests, allowing M/N and Will to slip away unnoticed. 

The journey to M/N’s office was painful; in the sense that Will’s dark emotions only fueled M/N’s desire for the detective. With every step he took, M/N could feel Will’s presence like a blazing fire at his back, the heat of his breath sending shivers down his spine. Personal space seemed non-existent between them; with Will’s front nearly pressing against M/N’s back as they moved in lockstep. It took all of M/N's self-control to resist the urge to turn around and claim what he had long desired.

As they finally entered M/N's office, the weight of the locked door didn't escape Will's notice, but his focus was consumed by the fury pulsating through his veins. M/N's calm demeanor only served to stoke the flames of his anger further. 

"What is it that you wished to speak of, Mr. Graham?" M/N's voice remained cool and collected, a stark contrast to the seething rage burning in Will's gaze. Allowing himself to be cornered against his desk, M/N maintained unwavering eye contact with the detective. Yet, despite the intensity of the situation, the corners of his lips turned upwards ever so slightly, mischief glimmering in his eyes.

Will's jaw clenched as he struggled to find the words, his chest heaving with pent-up emotion. "I want to know what you were doing with that woman," he finally managed to spit out, his voice low and charged with accusation.

M/N arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "And why does that matter to you?" he countered, his tone teasing yet tinged with a hint of challenge. His eyes held a gleam of amusement as he awaited Will's response; he might be pinned to his desk, but M/N still held the power. He was the one dictating what their encounter would result. Will’s expression softened, his features momentarily reflecting his more reserved nature. But then, to M/N’s surprise, a smirk ghosted across his face. "You're mine." 

"Is that so?" M/N mused, "And what exactly does that entail, Detective Graham?" 

Spurred by an unspoken desire, the detective's patience wore thin. Surging forward, Will captured M/N in a searing kiss, his hands finding a place on the other's hips to draw him closer. The kiss was electric, a fusion of pent-up longing and unspoken passion. At that moment, words became unnecessary as they surrendered to the heat of their mutual desire, lost in the intoxicating embrace of each other's lips.

M/N gripped Will’s curls, finding pleasure in hearing the sweet, husky moans the detective emitted. However, the need for air soon became undeniable, and with a deep, reluctant sigh, M/N drew away from the kiss. His chest heaved with the effort to regain his breath as he gazed into the detective's eyes once more. But instead of finding regret, as he had anticipated, M/N was surprised to see a glimmer of giddiness dancing in the depths of Will's gaze. Perhaps now it would be easier for the Lecter siblings to sway Will Graham into joining their murder family

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yves (yandere oc)

Tw: stalking, infantilization, obsessive behavior, reader cheating on yves hypothetically, gore

enjouy

Yves is a man who knows how to take care of himself well. Adorning expensive scents, maintaining his hygiene, and diligently attending his regular self-pampering saloon, manicure, and facial treatments. His skin is porcelain, supple, and free of any imperfections. His hair is full, lush, shiny, pitch-dark; soft, and smooth.

He is a man who values the importance of physical fitness, strength, and the sculpting of the body, daily exercise in his modest yet sophisticated home gym is a must. Though he also understands the essence of moderation in training, he has a towering stature with a lean, muscular frame; no one in the right state of mind would ever call him frail or weak. But no one would accuse him of taking performance-enhancing drugs either.

His fashion and mannerisms exude class and elegance. His aesthetic and tastes are nothing to scoff at, very few could meet his standards. Even if they could, it would be close to improbability to keep up.

He presents his best image of himself to the world every day without missing a beat. There is no such thing as 'sloppy' in his vocabulary. All things are done with such precision and care, his rouge immaculately lining his sultry lips. A dusting of bronze eyeshadow accentuated his emerald irises and sensual yet steely, calculating gaze. Clad in quality clothes that usually cover him from the neck down, he moves fluidly with them with such grace; as if it was his second skin. Yves dislikes having anything loud and overwhelming on him, his palettes are of black, white, greys, and neutrals. He does not like to stand out. But he will; in a room filled with commoners. As he seems ethereal.

His money matches his spoiled lifestyle. It is unknown what he does for a living, but what he brings in a night, is more than what a normal, middle-class worker earns in a decade. Yves prefers not to discuss about his line of work, however, all you need to know is that he works remotely; and his hours are extremely flexible. There are times, rare, but possible, that he has to physically travel to someplace. He would be away for days and come back as pristine as ever. However, to the trained eye, he comes back exhausted, irritated, and freshly scarred. Perhaps that is why he loves to conceal. He does it so well.

He loves so obsessively, so consumingly; and he hides it well. Yves notices each and every minute detail about you. From the number of breaths you take when you're calm versus in an agitated state, to the fidgeting between your index finger and thumb behind your back. All of it means something, and goodness, does it help to accurately predict your next move.

Without a doubt, he knows you more than anyone. Even yourself. You don't come even close to the knowledge he gathered on you. He would know what you're feeling before you even realize it. The body works faster than the brain, and the mind gives up before the body, as they say. He observes and appreciates what no one sees or deems important. You are under his constant scrutiny with or without your awareness. Yves knows what you like, he knows what you hate. He knows what you will like; he knows what you will hate; and he is never wrong. Not ever.

Drives upon digital drives of data are stored within his office, graphical statistics, images, annotations, hypotheses, diagrams, conclusions, and many more, of one study subject: You. Not all of them were stored in hardware. Yves has a library, bookshelves upon bookshelves of research-level papers in monstrously thick paper binders with him the sole author. There is a section where his information vault is full of academic papers related to you and your behavior, where he could appropriately draw conclusions and compare his findings with others.

His collection spanned over years, decades, even. He studies you intensively and he enjoys it. He reviews the extensive hoard of dossiers on you to keep his mind sharp, and memory fresh. All while you go on living your life normally, without suspecting something is awry. Everything you do is data. Precious data.

Yves knows what you want at any given moment and your words or awareness aren't necessary.

He orchestrated the ideal meeting sequence. Whether that be a meet-cute at the local cafe, a charming first encounter by picking your fallen papers after you 'accidentally' crashed into him, a flirty exchange that escalated into something more at a lonely bar, having his attractive dating profile appear on your monitor screen, being paired up as a classmate or colleague for a project, being your saving grace from an abusive home or partner, being your "blind" date your friend set you up with, as the religious, alluring man that takes your attention away from the lord at churches, the man who offered his umbrella when you're stuck in the rain, maybe even just starting off with innocent small talk in the elevator that leads to months of brief chatter, but no progress; all of it has one common denominator: it is specially tailored for you and no one else.

And you will inevitably fall for him. Yves knows you but you don't know him. He knows what gets you excited, flustered, giddy, and hot under the collar. Most importantly: he is patient. Like a predator stalking its' prey, his patience knows no bounds. He will not slip up and make a silly mistake because he wants you so badly. He absolutely does, but he is a man of discipline. Yves achieved full control over himself, and that is what made him so menacing. No human has ever done so except him.

Perhaps, you might be suspicious of him. You're pleasantly surprised when he dims the lights that have been irritating you for a while without you saying anything. Then, it happens again; Yves hands you a refreshing bottle of your favorite drink as you're starting to feel thirsty and lethargic. And again; he politely dismissed your friends when you're silently starting to feel sick of socially interacting with others. And again; You're cranky because you received an itchy or painful rash, maybe you live near stagnant water, and mosquitos are common. Yves would almost instantly relieve that by wordlessly applying a special ointment on your skin. He knows what to do.

And again; You're craving seafood, maybe. Then, tonight's date is at an exquisite restaurant that serves only the finest salmon, crabs, lobsters, and whatever else you might want. Lucky guess? And again; he toggles the control panel for the air conditioning unit to cool the room further. You then just realized you're starting to feel a bit too warm for comfort, but you haven't even broken a sweat yet, how did he know? This cannot be a coincidence.

It's delightful, not needing to ask. Not needing to demand or beg someone to make your life easier for you. Having a second 'you' doing the things necessary to keep you comfortable and happy. Having someone to read your mind.

But, then again. Someone is reading your mind. It can make one feel naked and vulnerable. As if, you can't even have the privacy of your own thoughts anymore. All that is visible and invisible is broadcast for everyone to witness. If you're the type to overthink, this could induce some sort of paranoia.

Bold of you to assume that Yves hasn't accounted for that yet.

If his calm, no-nonsense demeanor, reassuring smile, and gentle gaze aren't enough to lull you into a false sense of security; maybe his quiet, baritone, seductive voice with a charismatic coupling of a posh European accent would do the trick? It is quite possible that still wouldn't be able to soothe your nerves. No matter what, Yves always has something under his sleeve to overcome every obstacle in his way.

His body language is outstandingly alluring. He utilizes his looks and his hair, you might catch him leaning forward and playfully twirling a lock of his hair around his slender fingers. He appears to be tremendously interested in you and enamored by you. If that is what you like. Otherwise, he would keep his composure. Have a faint smile on his lips as his eyes are trained on you. Nodding at appropriate times.

Yves has exemplary table manners and etiquette, and his posture is confident and tall. He prefers to listen; of course, he does, as he rests his hands on his knee; his legs are delicately crossed and still. Best be careful of what you say and when you say it; And how you say it. He always remembers.

Yves takes care of you much, much more than he takes care of himself. He is already a marvelous chef with indeterminate years of experience but for certain, more than a decade. Cooking healthy and delicious meals for you and himself. He actually prefers to cook instead of going out, he knows your portions and the nutrients your body truly needs to feel satiated. He knows how you like your eggs done or if you even like eggs at all. He is an expert in making dishes tasty and simultaneously fitting your dietary needs and, or restrictions.

It's only fitting that he lives in a richer neighborhood. However, he isn't swayed by flashy displays of wealth in the form of purchasing mansions, luxury cars, and yachts. Yves owns a modest two-story house with a modern finish. As modest as a billionaire could be. However, it is small enough for Yves to be successful in maintaining the cleanliness and the state of the building himself. He has no hired help, unlike his neighbors. He is responsible for scrubbing the entire house from top to bottom every week. He is responsible for keeping his lawn trimmed and even. All of that, he still has ample time to accompany you everywhere you want him to be, keep up with his self-grooming rituals, and conduct his extensive research. It's almost as if Yves has 72 hours a day instead of the regular 24.

His humble abode follows a modern gothic aesthetic. Dark yet soothing. Unfortunately, he has a very strict set of rules as to how his home should appear to him, you, and others. Fussy about the choice of curtains, floorings, flooring, bathroom towels, and even the cutlery available in the kitchen; he would politely express his displeasure if you were to tamper with anything without his approval. However, he will provide a large room for you to express yourself, Yves will be more than happy to provide whatever you require to make your designated room purely yours.

Although he finds delight in serving your (almost) every verbal or silent request, he isn't spineless. Disrespect and rudeness are unacceptable, he will not entertain you if you're treating him as subhuman. Yves made sure you understand that he is deserving of esteem and dignity as well. He does that by calmly but firmly explaining that he does indeed love you and would do anything to make you happy. But he will not accept unnecessary callousness from you. Hence, it is not at all advisable to take your frustrations out on him.

"I understand you're upset that this happened. I have your best interests at heart, I have been nothing but compassionate to you. Please, do not act cruel towards me." That is what he would have said in such events. His scolding glare, stern body language, and muted yet assertive tone are usually enough to snap anyone out of their anger, retract their hurtful words, and hang their head in shame as they mutter an apology.

Yves will relax, soften his gaze, and fully demonstrate his appreciation for your remorse. The reward for your desired behavior is dependent on your files. It could be as simple as a forehead kiss, or it could be a platter of intricately cut fruits. Regardless, his main priority will always be solving your problems and making you the happiest version of yourself.

Perhaps, to a select few, you're undeterred by him calling you out. Maybe you would amp up your mistreatment towards him. No matter, he knows what to do. He is the master of bending reality by meticulously carrying out his convoluted plans. He could orchestrate the perfect circumstance without you ever suspecting he has any involvement in it, and it will influence you to change your ways, to be kinder towards him. Rest assured, he will never mirror your actions, as he believes it's unnecessary and horrible to treat the love of his life that way.

You could have tried to beat him into a pulp out of the blue and he would have never thought of doing that back. Of course, he will appropriately defend himself and obviously, you will not listen to reason. So he stays eerily silent as he blocks all your hits or restrain your wrists enough to protect himself, but not enough to hurt you. Or he simply walks away. Again, depending on the situation and your personality. Are you going to cause yourself harm? Or will your tantrum stop when he pays no mind and it's all for show?

Could it be that you're having a meltdown out of overwhelm instead? Quite unlikely, Yves would have swiftly eliminated all the factors that can cause a mental or physical overload before it happens. Nonetheless, Yves is not an omnipotent, omnipresent god (but he is close to being one) and you, as a human, are facing constant changes. That is why he has to update his database often for any new observations and review past records regularly.

On the topic of keeping records, his collection indeed includes your medical history. Even that unknown to the hospitals. The number of scrapes and cuts you have gotten, even paper cuts, the time and date you received that minor injury, and how long it takes to heal. Your genome sequence and many reports on your probability of developing certain diseases. Your dental records, your blood work archives, any and every radiological image taken of your being, your prescription details, vaccination history or lack thereof, and many more.

Yves could recite the values on a blood test you took a decade ago by heart. He would accurately and nonchalantly describe the figures on that sheet of paper. As if he was reciting the alphabet.

He will undeniably be the first person to notice that you're falling ill or close to catching a cold. You might think he has a 6th sense that detects your sickness before any symptoms start to arise. But his sharp eyes, nose, ears, and mind already picked up on all the signs that doctors will miss.

You could be his little prince or princess while you're unwell. He would be at your beck and call with no complaints. Yves would fix up a hearty meal, spoon-feed you, and stay up all night comforting you to sleep. He has no problem if you get any mucus, vomit, or other bodily fluids on him. He will settle your situation first, valuing your dignity and feelings of utmost importance before cleaning himself up.

Or, maybe you feel pathetic. Maybe you would very much prefer to continue working or studying and going about with your day. You don't like the feeling of being pitied or pampered just because you're sick. You don't like having your autonomy taken over just because you're temporarily weakened; or permanently disabled. Yves understands that.

Yves allows you to have your cake and eat it too. You may think that he's not watching or caring because he isn't around you. But he always is; and to a certain degree, you knew that. He made sure of it. Yves is always a couple seconds away from helping you. Though, you wouldn't know that a lot of the time, you're living a lie.

The thesis that you're slaving over for months despite your chronic illnesses, sacrificing a few years off your lifespan, you got an outstanding award for it. But your actual thesis is in Yves library; it was abysmal. You would have definitely failed if he hadn't intercepted the network and swapped the file with a wonderfully written one instead. Written by the man himself after he spent as much time studying about your course as you in secret.

It's a miracle you passed your final exams even though all you did in the past month was break down into a messy puddle of tears. Nothing a bit of hush money between your lecturer and your significant other couldn't fix.

The balance sheet that you're supposed to submit to your higher-ups. That would have landed you in jail at worst and fired at best. You did it while you were severely sleep deprived and the numbers were all wrong and there were many missing figures that Yves had to locate. If you pay attention, the red pens in his pencil holder are almost out of ink.

You would have poisoned your customers if he didn't buy the entire ruined batch of bread from your bakery. All this while, you thought Yves was an event manager who chose your business as catering.

You would have killed hundreds of passengers if he didn't sneak into the hangar and tightened that one bolt you missed. Either due to carelessness or otherwise.

He does a very convincing job impersonating a respected doctor at the hospital you work in. He forged the signature as an imposter, legally implying that "he" was the one who administered 100 times the appropriate dosage of insulin. You, as a nurse, mistook 1 unit of insulin for 1 ml. The doctor takes the fall and you get off scot-free. Maybe a bit shaken because you know the truth. At least you will be a lot more careful next time.

You're lucky he is also an expert in all things coding. Yves needs a glasses prescription change after staring at his computer monitor for so long to wipe out the bugs, faulty lines of code, and vulnerabilities. If you were to publish this for the massive corporation that you're working with, lawsuits would come flying right at you like darts.

Yves is constantly cleaning up after you without your awareness. Yet you still get all the praise and recognition for it. He is very content with that.

Yves rarely faces any ailments of his own. As reiterated over and over again, he takes care of himself better than most of the world takes care of their children; and his genes are almost invincible. However, as he is still human (even that may sometimes be debatable), he will succumb to an absurdly powerful virus and develop the flu. But you wouldn't know aside from his increased hand washing and his unusual choice to wear two surgical masks around you. He is still carrying himself with grace, fluidity, and with the energy of a healthy, young man.

If the illness is particularly contagious and he knows that it could put a severe toll on your body if you catch it, he will isolate himself and hire someone competent to take care of you from behind the scenes, out of your sight. He worries for you.

There are very few people whom he would trust. He has no family that you know of, he never speaks about his friends; only his associates. Even if you're the most insecure person in the world, only in Yves will you feel secure. He seems to devote all his time to you and more. He is a self-sufficient man who built everything he has from the ground up. It seems unfair that he knows you like he lived in your body twice, yet his last name is unknown to you. Yves said that he does not own a surname, it's a bit hard to believe him but what else could you do? You're not the one with the magnifying glass, he is.

He is a very private person. He does indulge you with information about himself from time to time. Like how he enjoys caviar on toast points, how he prefers buying high quality bags and clothes with discrete logos from obscure yet lavish designers and companies; he is fond of its' meticulous craftmanship and durability. He plays the grand piano and the harp, as evidenced by the presence of a grand piano and a harp in his designated music room; things that you would expect him to like or dislike based on the stereotypes of rich people.

You already made assumptions that he spoke English and French, based on his name and accent. Which was accurate. What came to you as a surprise is that he also spoken fluent Mandarin and Cantonese over the phone before. You were watching a cooking video one day on your smartphone, there was a voice over in Russian. Yves gently rubbed your shoulder to announce his presence before handing you your glass of water. It was a shock to know that he could translate the whole thing effortlessly to English. He even offered to make the food shown for you.

It puzzled you to no end when you caught him leisurely reading a set of papers printed in Hindi Devanagari. He was sipping on his steaming cup of black tea, not needing an ounce of effort to get through the jargon. He told you that he is reading a published journal article about Ayurvedic medicine.

You asked him what other languages he speaks. "الانتظار لمعرفة." He said with a playful wink, he pushes his reading glasses back up. Yves offered you to sit on his lap while he reads his article. You may or may not have accepted the offer, he is fine either way.

He is prone to touching you. Nothing malicious in nature, Yves would always have an arm around your waist, a hand on your shoulder, locking his large, warm and soft hands with yours, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, running your fingers through your locks if you have any, hooking his pinkie fingers with yours and many more. He knows your limits and backs off accordingly, he noted when is the best time and circumstance to give you physical affection if you're the type to like the surprise.

Otherwise, he would whisper if he could give you a kiss on the cheek, forehead and the lips, or a hug. Asking for permission not too frequently and at the appropriate time. You can feel his love is lingering and undying whenever he holds you close to his chest.

Yves doesn't believe in keeping you all to himself, locking you up in a glided cage and clipping your wings. Because your happiness and health is his main priority in life and he is intelligent enough to understand that you need others to fill in roles that he may not be able to fill. Yes, you're allowed to have friends. Yes, you should visit your family, he will come with. Yes, the ones that you love aside from him are welcome into his home. Within limits.

He is, in most aspects of his life: polite, but distant to your friends and family. Yves has a separate database for all of them them somewhere in his shelves for security reasons- to keep them in check and nip any threat at the bud, but they're plainly not as vast as yours. You better hope none of them annoy him, he has access to their private messages, call logs and emails. To his disgust, a lot of them has their own infidelities to hide.

If you have decent parents who were there for most of your life, you would be astonished to see Yves speaking to them so warmly. As if he cares about their existence. His eyes pupils will be dilated as he takes in as much information as possible. It's unnerving, even you had the vibe that this relationship between him and your parents is that of researchers and lab rats.

Yves recognizes that your parents or guardians are a treasure trove of information revolving around you. Now, he understands that their memories of you may not be the most reliable, but the data is still as precious. The knowledge that your friends have of you is useless, as Yves already possesses a more accurate and objective version of it. But information from the people who raised you or taught you (I.e., teachers), he may not have them in his logs yet.

What did you like as a child? What were you like as a child? Any strange fixations you had that could better explain some of your behaviors and preferences now? Any verbal tics? If so, when did it occur? What were your "bad behaviors" and were they a reaction to unpleasant stimuli? What did you tell them about your schooling life? How much did you tell them about your life? What were the values passed down from their generation to yours? When you were a toddler, did they notice what made you cry the most? Who made you cry the most? What media did you consume, cartoons? Live action? Specifically, which ones? How did you punish bad behavior, any lasting effect on your innate reflexes? Any repetitive habits? Where did you look when spoken to, straight into the eyes, away from the eyes, downcast, or past the speaker entirely? Did you prefer your nails long or cut? Did you fit in? Did you enjoy playing 'house' with the other children? Or did you prefer to play alone? The list is not exhaustive.

The barrage of questions was carefully worded and strategically sprinkled into the conversation. His social intellect is unmatched, he could easily obtain the necessary voice recordings in three meetings without your parents feeling overwhelmed or perturbed. With his unbelievable charm, your parents instantly fell in love with him too, thinking that he's the best fit for an attentive, loving, and dependable partner.

It doesn't matter if your parents were conservatives who may be offended by how he presents himself with modest makeup as an androgynous man. No one can deny that he looks stunning in every angle. He will win them over without compromising on his identity too much. Knowledge is power and Yves is the most powerful one out there.

You might or might not find it strange that he defies the common trope of hating his in-laws. Yves gets along with your parents well, maybe a bit too well. There is an 'off' aura to each interaction; he also makes a beeline to his office when he gets back home, claiming that he was contacted for work.

Obviously, he was transcribing what was recorded and organizing them, to improve his predictive algorithm.

One thing that you may be worried about, would he secretly judge you for liking this one thing, for doing a particular activity your own special way, and disliking something he likes? No. Yves is humble, who is he to pass judgment? He is lucid enough to know that he's not at all normal. Nothing about you irks him, data is data. You may have dated before him. Maybe during with him. But he remains neutral, it just means some hypotheses are either proven or disproven. Does that mean he will not get jealous? No, he can turn into a green-eyed monster of envy. However, he has full control over all aspects of his life, even his feelings. It may not be easy, but he is fully capable.

He does consider cheating as a major betrayal and disrespect, as he ensures that the both of you had the talk, discussing what is considered acceptable and what isn't. But he never let his emotions take him over. Yves remains cold and calculating as ever. Depending on your personality, he could either confront you and come to a compromise- and update your records, or he could simply eradicate the nuisance- and update your records. Yves is a strong believer that your actions were bad, but it does not mean that you are a bad person, And you could grow from it. He words his thoughts very carefully here, guaranteeing that he doesn't label your entire being as evil. Your actions are separate from your inherent value.

Everything he does is according to your nature and what works most effectively. His goal is never to punish you for wrongdoing, it's always to love you unconditionally while advocating for himself.

Even if he has tears rolling down his cheeks upon setting sights on the surveillance camera footage that confirms your adultery.

He would be badly hurt, the pain searing through every unit of life in his body. However, Yves would still love you the same and care for you to the best of his abilities. He just needs you to understand that it is not acceptable.

If it takes brutally dismembering your lover in front of you to teach you that lesson, so be it. Let the filth smear his expensive clothes. Let the blood paint his lips even redder. Let his tears wash the smear of viscera away from his face.

Your screams will be data to him. Your hyperventilation, heart rate, and blood pressure shall be the baseline wherein you're experiencing an extremely traumatic event. It will improve his prediction.

When that's all done and over with, he will assess the situation. Have you learned anything? Do you feel regret or remorse? Will you do it again? Will you break his faith once more by outing his crimes to the public?

Once Yves is satisfied with the outcome, he will give you a tight, comforting hug. Thanking you for enduring that and appreciating your genuine apologies. This is only if he is absolutely sure he achieved what he wanted.

But thankfully, that is unlikely to happen. As you wouldn't cheat, correct? You know better. You know very well that isn't a good idea to cheat on your personal mind reader.

As long as you're kind, in line, and faithful, you will have a wonderful, fulfilling life with Yves. All the ugly, unsightly parts of him will remain hidden in the shadows. He will conceal his eyes, giving you that sense of normalcy in day-to-day life while monitoring your every step and breath. Like a magic trick, the magic lies in not knowing how the trick works.

But unlike knowing the ruses of a magic trick, you will be horrified to learn about Yves's clandestine machinations.

Don't ruin a good thing for yourself.

[faulty-writes]

[ Alright! Here’s a Taishiro piece for you! This was originally going to be for a Fat Gum Bang, but one of the admins was a real jerk, so I decided to quit the bang and post it here instead! This also might be slightly different from my other works, I’m trying to incorporate more detail with settings and surroundings in my writing. Depending on how well this is received, I may write a part II. Either way, I haven’t written for Fat Gum in a while. I hope you’ll enjoy it! ]

[ Working for The Public Modeling Commission wasn’t easy, but you managed. The modeling business wasn’t for everyone, and society always had negative opinions about plus-sized models including famous ones such as Taishiro Toyomitsu, who defied these societal expectations to the point of getting The Public Modeling Commission’s attention and furthermore, getting a proposed collaboration from them. But he’s on the fence about it until you’re sent in to convince him. ]

One had to follow certain rules in certain settings, and the modeling industry was no different. Be respectful, keep eye contact, and follow orders exactly. During your many years working under The Public Modeling Commission, you learned these things.

The sound of multiple voices and the gentle clink of glasses filled the air of the grandiose ballroom. The chandeliers hanging along the length of the ceiling sparkled like prisms and cast rainbow hues that reflected off the walls and some parts of the marble flooring that was colored a pristine white and had gentle strokes of yellow.

Delicate blue flowers were also painted onto its surface, further adding to the sense of elegance that made you feel suffocated. That’s probably why you chose to stand in the corner. You wore a gray tailored suit with a crisp white button-up shirt, the collar of which remained open exposing just enough skin.

A black tie complemented the collar and hung loosely around your neck and the black blazer that hugged your figure added a touch of sophistication that was normally associated with these types of parties. And finally, on your feet were polished oxfords.

You sighed and slumped against the wall as one of the waiters walked around holding a large circular tray with what appeared to be five flute cups filled with a golden liquid that kissed the edge of each glass and had some delicate bubbles floating along the top of it that begged you to drink.

Despite this, you resisted the urge. It was lovely to drink champagne, but you were ordered not to consume any alcoholic beverages. However, you knew that being part of this celebration should make you happy. Should.

After all, it was regarding the newly created plus-size modeling division The Public Modeling Commission was planning to launch. Unlike many models and society in general, you didn’t judge anyone based on their size, nor were you stuck up as some would assume people in your career were.

While it looked good on the surface, modeling became a dead-end job after a while. As strange as that may sound, not to mention the dark secrets behind the modeling industry or at least the dark secrets behind The Public Modeling Commission. However, you had your reasons for continuing to do it.

It’s not like you were a private person, you told anyone anything you felt like saying. In most respects, honesty wasn’t something you feared. Sadly, if your past were to come to light, it would ruin your career and the image of The Public Modeling Commission.

Unlike most models, you didn’t have a pleasant start. You shuttered when you thought about your past although you suspected that most would look up to you if they knew the things you had been through and the success you tasted now.

However, the past was the past, and you were determined to keep it behind closed doors. When you think about it, your job had many positive perks…well, besides fame. It also had its downsides, such as working even when you weren’t supposed to.

“Y/n,” Yokumiru Mera said, approaching you. Yokumiru was the second in command of The Public Modeling Commission and worked closely with Madam President, who oversaw the entire operation. Without her command, the wheel wouldn’t turn.

“Hm?” You hummed in response. Yokumiru was a middle-aged man, his usual messy beige hair was slicked back and the dark bags that were normally present under his eyes were concealed with makeup. He was wearing a formal black shirt with a white collar and tie, along with black dress pants.

“Here,” the man said before handing you a small envelope, sounding tired as ever. You glanced at it briefly before opening it and upon reading what it said, you knitted your eyebrows. “Taishiro Toyomitsu?” you asked, immediately recognizing the name.

He had an agency in Esuha City and was a famous plus-sized model. Yokumiru nodded. “You know who he is, Madam President wants to ensure the collaboration between this agency and his goes smoothly,” he explained. 

Taishiro has been making astonishing achievements in his plus-size modeling career and caught the attention of The Public Modeling Commission, that’s what initially started their desire to create a plus-sized modeling division of their own.

While most would find this a noble goal, you knew it was only for business purposes considering The Public Modeling Commission was the largest modeling agency in Japan and had endless connections. Most of which were made from the past collaborations they had agreed to with lesser agencies.

But unlike those past collaborations, Madam President was intensely focused on doing a special collaboration with Taishiro that would skyrocket the introduction of the new plus-sized modeling division. A hand fisted into his hair as he sighed.

“She wants you to gain his favor and give her a report.” It was your turn to sigh. This was typical of Madam President to give you tasks that were meaningless in the long run and sometimes you questioned her methods. But this was also meaningless.

When she pulled the strings, you had to dance if you wanted to stay on her good side, and more importantly, if you wanted to remain employed. You nodded and tucked the envelope away on your person. “Understood,” you replied before looking around the room.

That’s when you spotted him, a rather tall and bulky man standing over the snack table dressed in an orange suit and tie. The few people who were standing nearby were looking at him in awe or possibly disgust, you couldn’t tell.

But you saw a handful of others making subtle gestures at him and more than likely gossiping about how big he was which, in your typical modeling business, gave the right to ridicule. That didn’t sit well with you, but you weren’t someone who dived into drama unless it was necessary.

After looking at Yokumiru, you crossed the room to Taishiro who was holding a small plastic plate while looking disappointed at the finger foods that were arranged just so on fancy clear plates across the table. The food they provided didn’t appeal to you either.

It was tasteless, bland, and didn’t satisfy your appetite and that’s probably why most of the attendants preferred to fill up on alcohol. “Were you expecting something else there?” you commented, grabbing a plate of your own and successfully catching the man’s attention. 

“Hm?” Taishiro turned and that’s when you got a better look at the outfit he was wearing. In addition to the sleek suit jacket which yes, was as bright as an orange, you also noticed he was wearing matching trousers and a deep burgundy colored tie with black dress shoes that while like yours, looked more worn.

You smirked, ignoring his stare even as you piled your plate with the provided finger foods. Then you smiled at him. In addition to your outfit, figure, and hairstyle, he also noted that you appeared to be of average height, even though it wasn’t much of an endorsement given his stature; most people were much smaller than him.

As most of the models at this party did, you looked handsome and beautiful. Prim and proper even. He noticed that when you were a little plumper than others, there wasn’t much kindness in their eyes when they looked at you, but your eyes...well they were different.

Taishiro had long since gotten used to the stares and criticism that came with his job and...well, his build. Despite this, he had his reasons for considering the collaboration proposal from The Public Modeling Commission but had yet to fully make up his mind.

He was quite a handsome fella when he modeled in his youth, and he was well acquainted with the modeling business. However, many don't remember him for his younger years, but rather for what he became in his later years.

“Well, I know these fancy-like parties have these lil’ delicacies. They may be appetizin’ for some, but ‘fraid they don’t do much for a big fella like me,” he explained with a smile. In response, you shrugged and ate one of the snacks on your plate.

Despite tasting bland on your tongue, you chose to engage in conversation, just as Madam President instructed. “Well, it’d be dangerous if they served actual food at these kinds of events,” you joked. “You know the ones with...models.”

Although some may not find your joke humorous, it was one of the harsh realities of modeling. Maintaining your appearance, for the most part, was essential otherwise you would lose your career. Taishiro frowned. “Heh, well...” he paused, uncertain what to say.

“That doesn’t apply to you, does it? Don’t get me wrong. Plus-sized models are amazing and you’re doing the right thing by promoting what you do,” you said with a smile. “After all, you’re Taishiro Toyomitsu,” he laughed. “Sure am!” he replied.

“And what’s your name? I’ve seen ya around, on billboards and such,” he grinned as he extended his hand out. “Y/n,” you responded, shaking his hand. As soon as he heard your name, his eyes lit up, which you expected.

After all, you had held sixth place among the top 10 models in Japan for years which was impressive considering the models ahead of you were Enji Todoroki, Keigo Takami, Tsunagu Hakamada, Shinya Kamihara, and Rumi Usagiyama.

Most of them had their own agencies. It was almost funny to think that models were treated as though they were celebrities. While most had their own fanbase, the top 10 models typically received the most love and as such, they needed to work hard to keep their fanbase happy.

It was a challenge sometimes, but you managed. After all, when you had so many fans who loved your beautiful face, it was best not to disappoint. As far as the ranking board was concerned, you knew that Taishiro fell within the 50 most popular models. In retrospect, that was an incredible accomplishment for a plus-sized model.

“Well fancy yourself a model!” he declared, putting his plate down before nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been with The Public Modeling Commission for a while, right? Maybe ya can teach me a thing or two,” he joked and you faked a smile, but it seemed genuine to most, and you knew it would fool him as well.

“Yeah, guess you could say that,” you replied, shrugging. “And yes, I could teach you a thing or two. First things first,” you pointed lazily at the individuals who continued to stare at Taishiro as if he were some sort of spectacle. “See those stares?” you asked, watching as he turned his head ever so slightly to see who you were referring to.

You threw your plate of food into the nearby trashcan while he was distracted and after a moment of hesitation, he replied, “Yeah.” Your smile widened. “Fantastic!” You exclaimed. “Ignore them,” you held two fingers up before he could respond.

“Second,” You took the plate of food he had set on the table and carelessly dropped it on the floor. He looked utterly shocked by your actions, but before he could address it you motioned for him to follow you. “It’s better to gorge yourself on actual food.” He looked at the food now splattered across the floor.

Since it was a little hard to lean over when you were a big fella, he followed you curious to see where you were leading him. “I’m guessing you’re familiar with the restaurants around here, yeah?” He chuckled at your question.

“Sure, I am!” He replied with a happy grin. “Great!” You said as you walked past the entrance of the building and out into the cool night air. No matter what time it was, the city was always busy, but at night, it was more captivating.

Neon lights illuminated the streets and reflected a rainbow of hues off the windows of the numerous buildings that surrounded the area, creating that bustling energy that cities are known for. In addition, the paper lanterns that hung from the food stands nestled between the buildings created a warm, welcoming aura.

They also added that savory fragrance that lingered in the air and made your mouth water. Despite that, a multitude of people lined the sidewalk, and each seemed woven together as they passed one another. Others sat on the available benches that were scattered around or stood at one of the many bus stops the city offered.

“Mm...” You seemed drawn to the couples that walked hand in hand or were sitting down lovingly gazing at each other. You never thought much about romance, but what else could you expect when you were adored by...well everyone?

It was somewhat disappointing to think that they only loved you for your career as opposed to the real you. Whoever that was. Even so, as of right now, you aren’t interested in anyone. You glanced up at Taishiro who, too, seemed awestruck by how beautiful the city looked.

Nope...weren’t interested in anyone. “So,” you said, resuming walking. “What restaurant do you want to go to?” He hesitated before following you. “Whatever suits your fancy! Trust me, this big ol’ gut doesn’t care as long as the food is hot and fresh!” he said patting his stomach with a hearty laugh.

“Mm, is that so?” You asked, glancing back at him. “Sure is. One thing I’ve learned is not to be picky when it comes to havin’ a good meal,” he shared. “Yeah, I agree,” you replied, your stomach grumbling at the thought of some steamy hot food piled high on a plate.

You looked ahead, spotting a large red building with a flashing yellow sign situated above it and a long line that expanded down the sidewalk. “Since we’re on the same page, how about we go there?” you suggested pointing at the restaurant.

“Seems a bit crowded,” he replied after taking into account the long line of people waiting outside. You smirked, “I know, but I’m sure I could get us a private room no problem,” you winked at the bigger man, who looked at you in confusion.

Instead of addressing it, when the two of you approached the building, you walked to the front door and he remained standing on the sidewalk. When the line of people spotted you, screams of joy echoed and he heard a few people call out your name. “Hm,” it wasn’t that hard for him to put two and two together.

“Heyo!” You greeted them with a pleasing smile and a playful wink, making them scream out again. He laughed softly. In general, he didn’t have much of a fan base because few people liked plus-sized models, but he treasured the fans he did have because fame wasn’t everything.

The only thing he wanted was to spread positivity and self-love. Glam and fashion magazines have always told everyone that skinny was the only way to be, that somehow a small stomach and a flawless face equaled true beauty. It didn’t.

He enjoyed inspiring others to see their inner beauty and appreciate how they looked on the outside. However, he was happy to see that you had a lot of fans. Guess you earned them. The hostess appeared more taken by you than the rest of the crowd and stared at you with such love and awe he was almost jealous.

“Mind if we get a private room to eat in, sweetheart? Yeah, I can autograph that for you,” chuckling, you took her clipboard and scribbled your name across it. She allowed you to enter after a selfie request but stumbled back when Taishiro walked over. Unlike you, he didn't get a warm welcome per se.

Suddenly, the crowd that had been shrieking for you stopped and murmurs and concerns filled the air. He couldn’t help but recall that most of the discrimination he faced was due to his size and shape. But people just have to deal with it.

When you realized he hadn’t followed you inside, you paused and turned to see him standing in front of the hostess. She wore a defensive posture, and you could only assume she was giving him a nasty look. “Hey,” you said, catching her attention.

“He’s with me,” the hostess looked at you in disbelief before looking back at Taishiro. Then with a sigh, she motioned him inside. You could only imagine what was going through her mind. Of course, that wasn’t important.

You turned and resumed walking inside the restaurant. It wasn’t that difficult for him to notice that you turned several heads when you walked by. The waitresses gave you that familiar loving gaze and some squealed with delight when they saw you.

Others who were eating suddenly paused and gazed at you with amazement. He wondered if you realized what you were doing or if you had just gotten so used to being treated this way that you ignored their reactions. Either way, he hoped you were happy and if you weren’t, heck he’d try his best to make you.

The pristine wooden door leading into the private room opened with a faint whisper and you noticed it was adorned with a beautiful painting of cherry blossoms and delicate pinks and greens that looked like they were swaying when the door moved.

You looked at Taishiro before stepping inside and immediately noted the elegantly placed table that dominated the room. It appeared to be constructed from ash wood, giving it a modern and sophisticated appearance that aligned with the feeling of the restaurant.

Its edges were carefully constructed into a gentle curve, and, like the door, cherry blossoms adorned its perimeter, further enhancing its artistic appeal. Its polished and prim surface had a pitcher of ice water and two large glasses on it and reflected the soft golden glow from the paper lanterns hung across the room.

To create an inviting atmosphere, the table was set low to the ground on tatami mats painted a greenish hue, encouraging you and Taishiro to sit on one of the four cushions placed along the curves of the table. Your concentration was broken when Taishiro laughed.

“Well, guess that’s a preview of the lovin’ and admirin’ ya get daily, huh?” You wanted to shrug and dismiss his words. Instead, you walked over and took a seat and he followed, taking the one across from you. Although he struggled a bit getting onto his knees and sitting cross-legged which you partly expected.

You tried to resist smirking and leaned one elbow on the table and cradled your hand against your cheek. “Yeah, more or less, sorry if I threw you for a loop,” you said with a forced laugh. “Heh, that’s alright!” he declared.

“No harm done, and I enjoy seein’ ya work your magic,” your smile filled him with joy, but there was something odd about it. He tended not to appreciate others smiling unless they meant it. “Right, well,” you picked up the menu and glanced over the choices while tapping your chin.

You lacked self-control when it came to food. Considering your very strict exercise regimen, eating whatever you desired didn’t adversely affect your modeling career. When you glanced up, you noted that Taishiro looked tall even when he was seated, and although he was a big and round individual, he was nice to look at.

His skin was clear and creamy, his blond hair fell in gentle waves, and his eyes were the same color as his hair. His appearance was truly unique, and you admired it. Several years ago, he made his plus-sized modeling debut, and you remember everyone laughing and criticizing him.

Of course, there were a few kind hearts out there, yourself included, that thanked him for his work and how he defied plus-sized modeling limitations. Not many knew this, but he was one of your motivations for your modeling career.

It’s funny how life works sometimes. Here you were sitting with one of the most famous plus-sized models in Japan, the same plus-sized model you had admired for years. Yet, it was almost as though it were under false pretenses given the fact you were only following orders.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t wise to go against Madam President since the newest division of her modeling franchise depended on Taishiro’s collaboration, and you were sent in as her rat to sweeten the deal. You didn’t realize how lost in thought you were until you heard your name.

“Y/n?” You snapped out of your daze. “Huh?” you replied, only to hear him laugh in return. “Is anythin’ wrong? Heh, I can understand why ya wanna stare, heck a lot of people stare at me. But your head seems to be in the clouds, is there somethin’ on your mind?” You shook your head.

“No...nothing,” you replied, glancing to the side. Despite knowing you were lying, he shrugged. “Alrighty then...” he said, not wanting to provoke or push you into telling him what was wrong. It had to come out sooner or later. “So,” he adjusted the menu in his hands.

“What were ya thinkin’ of gettin’? Everythin’ sounds pretty appetizin’, doesn't it?” You tapped your lips several times, scanning the menu. “Hm...takoyaki, yakitori, and tempura sound delicious. We could also order sushi and onigiri,” you suggested, making him laugh in response.

As you lowered your menu, you raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I’m sorry,” he said, letting his laughter die down. “I didn’t mean to disrespect ya in any way. I just wasn’t expectin’ a model as fine as yourself to be prepared to eat that much,” he explained.

“I just admire someone with an appetite like mine,” he added. “Heh,” you tried to smile but knew what he was thinking. He thought you were like the rest of the braindead models, who starved themselves or ate nothing but healthy food, but that’s not how you lived.

You reminded yourself again that as long as you stuck to your exercise routine, the one Madam President made for you, eating what you pleased wouldn’t jeopardize your career. “Is that correct?” You asked respectfully, but even so, tension dripped from you like a leaky faucet.

He opened his mouth, sensing the tension, only to have the waitress interrupt him. After placing your order, you flashed her a smile and tried to ignore the look of disbelief on her face. Then Taishiro ordered his food, and the two of you were left alone again.

After pouring yourself a glass of water and taking a sip, you glanced at him and leaned back in your seat. “So, what made you want to get into modeling? If memory serves, you started modeling after you graduated High School and your popularity grew,” you said, wanting to start a conversation.

Taishiro tensed up a bit and a hint of sadness appeared in his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose that’s right,” he said, quickly recalling his younger years. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed modelin’ back then, and still do now!” he exclaimed with a determined smirk.

But it soon faded, and he fixed his eyes on the table. “After a while though, fame, and fortune don’t mean much if people only come to ya ‘cause you’re pleasin’ to the eye,” he explained, and you understood what he meant.

It seemed that beauty played the most crucial role in determining how people treated you and what kind of looks you got in society. “I wanted to be somethin’ more, but along the way, I found another passion,” he said, patting his stomach.

“After that, I got to thinkin’ that despite my growin’ size I could still be a role model that others look up to,” you nodded. “Yeah…I remember your early days as a model. You inspired me to follow the profession. Even after people tried to bury your name and career,” you smirked when he parted his lips in shock.

“Heh, well I guess I should be thankin’ ya for lookin’ up to me so kindly. But with natural beauty like yours, I’d think you’d find your way into this career without lookin’ up to me,” he said, and you shook your head, a smile still painting your features.

“I like looking up to you. The fact that you redefined the modeling business is amazing,” might as well try buttering him up. “All your dedication and work are paying off. The Public Modeling Commission was determined to open a plus-sized division after seeing your success.” You chuckled briefly.

“I’m sure the collaboration between your and our agencies will finally give plus-sized models the respect they deserve and-” you paused. You could dig for more information discreetly now that you’ve mentioned The Public Modeling Commission and the collaboration. You could also make sure Taishiro was 100% on board.

You felt your stomach twist in disgust, almost wishing he knew what you were doing. If he did, the kind and admiring eyes he used to look at you would no longer be there. “Oh sorry,” you said, pressing your hands against your chest.

“You haven’t fully decided if you will go through with the collaboration. Shouldn’t have mentioned it, I-” He interrupted you, falling hook, line, and sinker for your setup. “It’s alright,” he said with a chuckle allowing his eyes to linger on you for a long moment then gazed at your hand which remained resting on the table.

“Truth be told, I was on the fence about it…but…” You tensed up when he placed his hand over yours. Yes, you did not judge others by their, ahem…proportions. But it was hard to ignore how large his hand was. While it swallowed your hand whole, you also noticed how warm and gentle his touch was.

His thumb stroked the side of your hand like one would pet a bird or a kitten. “Ya convinced me with your kindness,” you knitted your eyebrows. “Sorry?” you replied, but he smiled. “Your kindness, most wouldn’t approach me like ya did,” he chuckled, “and that honesty of yours is also somethin’ to be admired.”

Your heart sank at his words, if only he knew how dishonest you were being. “And if I accept this collaboration, well it’d be a downright honor to work side by side with ya if I’d be so privileged,” you looked at him with disbelief. It faded after a few moments, and you glanced away. “Oh, uh...” What should you even say to that?

“Thanks?” Yeah, thanking him was better than nothing. “Heh, heh. The pleasure is mine,” he replied with a smile, and you gave a forced one in return. It was sad to think that such a smile fooled thousands of people every day.

Taishiro knitted his eyebrows almost as if he sensed something was wrong and opened his mouth, but at that moment the waitress returned, placing the food on the table and you sighed in relief. Grabbing a yakitori, you greedily tore off a chunk like an animal tearing into a fresh kill.

While he looked on in amusement, you hummed in approval and licked your lips. “Heh, guessin’ it’s good eatin’, don’t mind if I do,” he said, reaching over to take a yakitori. A minute later, you both had your plates piled high and exchanged a few words as you ate your fill.

“Ah, that food was pretty tasty!” he said with a chuckle, patting his stomach. You nodded, leaning back against your seat when the waitress came with the bill. “Hm?” Taishiro sat up and was about to reach across the table to look at it, but you snatched it away.

You placed it on your lap before pulling out your credit card. “Pardon,” he said as you tucked your card into the check presenter’s plastic sleeve. “Yes?” you replied, looking at him. “Are ya intendin’ to pay for this meal?” he asked, and his voice reflected a slight suspicion and uncertainty.

“Is that a problem?” you replied with a smirk. “Well now, I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I expected ya to pay,” he said, but you shrugged. “I’m paying,” you replied, your tone firm and your voice deep to make sure he knew there was no room for argument.

As you handed the check presenter to the waitress, you looked at him and said, “Consider it a welcoming present and a thank you for collaborating with The Public Modeling Commission.” You gave him yet another sweet but fake smile.

He frowned when he saw it but decided not to address it now. “Well, thank ya kindly but next time, the meals on me,” he stated. You were caught off guard by his words. “Next time?” You muttered under your breath but knew not to overthink it.

Most likely, he was just being polite. Before walking out of the restaurant with him, you ensured everything was correct and put your credit card away. It was less cluttered on the sidewalk, but people still walked along it.

More than likely they were heading home after a long day’s work. You noticed the signs you passed by earlier looked brighter than before. This was especially evident considering the sky was now painted black and only a few stars were visible. 

Taishiro noticed a genuine smile on your face as you looked up at the sky, and he wanted to tell you to only smile when you mean it. At the same time, he knew that you must have had your reasons for that fake smile. “Heh,” he chuckled, catching your attention.

“What?” you asked, and he shook his head, his eyes lingering on you. “Nothing, I just…” He paused and rubbed the back of his head, ruffling his already messy blond hair around. “I wanted to apologize for my earlier comment again and-” you waved his words off.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you said as you walked down the sidewalk. “That’s the reaction most models who actually eat and are friendly get. We break the illusion society holds over us. That we’re perfect little porcelain dolls,” you explained before looking up at the sky again.

“Some of us are lucky enough to be broken porcelain dolls,” you joked, a bit of a dark joke at that but still you chuckled. As Taishiro followed you, he apologized to the few people he ran into and those who stepped around to avoid him.

“Is that right?” He replied before holding back his breath. “Well,” he reached over, laying his hand on your shoulder and making you pause. “Hm?” You turned, looking at him with curiosity and something about that expression made his heart leap.

“Uh,” for a moment he forgot what he wanted to say. “Oh!” He laughed. “As far as porcelain dolls go. I gotta say if I were the collector type, I’d buy a dozen of ya ‘cause I can’t get enough of your sweet self!” His comment made you snicker.

“Right,” you replied dryly and resumed walking, and he followed right behind you. “So, the party should be just about over by now,” you informed him. “Oh?” He smiled. He was happy he got to spend time with you instead of remaining at the party so there was no sadness in knowing it was over.

“Yeah,” you replied, trying not to let silence fill the space between the two of you. “So do you live far from here?” You asked. “Heh, I live back in good ol’ Esuha City,” you nodded. “Near your agency I assume. Good thinking,” you commented, “must be nice.”

“Well, city life ain’t for most. Truth be told, I’d be just as content livin’ in one of the rural areas. Of course, then I’d miss out on all the great food the city has to offer,” he said laughing. You smirked, “Yeah…the city has some excellent food,” enough to satisfy you anyway.

Glancing ahead, you could see the building where the party was being held. There were also a few people walking out and several cars pulling out onto the street. “So did you drive here?” you asked, ignoring the chill of the air against your cheeks, which were slowly turning red.

“Nah, I don’t do much drivin’. Heh, but I have a ride. Don’t ya be worryin’ about lil’ ol’ me now,” he teased, gently nudging you with his elbow. “Heh,” you chuckled and felt relieved when you were finally in front of the semi-empty building.

While your back was turned to it, you felt eyes on you, and you assumed said eyes belonged to Madam President. Somehow, she always kept tabs on you, and if not her, then someone close to her did. To put it simply, you were never actually alone.

Every move you made had to be calculated perfectly, but sometimes you didn’t care about the consequences of your actions, maybe that made you rebellious. You weren’t sure. However, most would advise against angering Madam President.

Despite this, you and your colleague made a game out of it. Come to think of it, it’s strange that Madam President didn't send him to do this job. Who knows, maybe she thought Taishiro would be more drawn to you? Regardless, you knew you would find out later.

“So, I guess this is goodnight. That dinner was delicious, we must do it again sometime,” you said, putting on your most optimistic smile. His face twisted with uncertainty and before you could react, he grabbed your hands and cradled them.

First, he put his hand over yours during dinner, and now this. “I’d like that, if ya don’t mind bein’ seen with a big fella like me again. Havin’ dinner or just spendin’ time with ya again would be a pleasure,” he said, smiling at you and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

“Hmm,” Madam President’s eyes remained fixed on you and Taishiro. “What on Earth is going on…” she muttered, her words dripping with suspicion. “I’m sure everything is fine…” Yokumiru said, ignoring her glare. “I agree!” Keigo announced as he entered the room.

His feathery ash hair was slicked back, highlighting his yellow eyes adorned with triangular tattoos on the top corners and tear ducts. He wore a black and red suit that almost appeared to have some sort of shimmer to it, and he had a faint amount of stubble on his chin.

He smirked as he walked over and plopped onto the couch. “Takami…” Madam President growled but did not remove her eyes from you nor Taishiro. “Aw, come on there Madam President. I know I left my post early, but hey…it looks like you didn’t need hawk eyes on Y/n after all.”

Like you, Keigo often carried out Madam President’s orders which consisted mostly of keeping tabs on the others she sent out. Like a supervisor, but undetected. “I mean sure, I could have done the job just as well,” he stated, placing his hands behind his head.

He lay back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. “But Y/n has that certain genuine charm people seem to like, and besides Toyomitsu seemed pretty smitten with them, so didn’t think I needed to observe any longer,” he explained.

He could sense tension in the air. More than likely Madam President was angered because he technically disobeyed her order. However, no harm was done, and he wasn’t scared of what she might do. She had no one better than him, apart from you, that is.

“I hope to see ya again real soon, alright?” Taishiro squeezed your hands gently before releasing them, turning, and walking away. As you watched him disappear, you felt your hands tingle and a strange feeling of warmth wash over you.

But your moment was interrupted when you heard someone clear their throat. You sighed and turned to face her after shaking your head to clear your thoughts. “Madam President,” you replied nonchalantly. She crossed her arms. “Report,” she stated, and you sighed again.

“Right, straight to that, huh?” You replied, placing one hand on your hip. “He agreed to collaborate with our agency. There’s no changing his mind,” you said. “Ensure it remains that way,” she ordered before turning back toward the building and walking away.

“Suuuuuure,” you replied half-heartedly before placing your hand on your chest, feeling the unusual speedy pace of your heart. The last time you received physical affection and talked to someone who seemed genuinely interested in you instead of your career was a long time ago.

But Taishiro...the way he looked and spoke to you. Well, it was different than what you were used to. He was different than the others Madam President assigned you to butter up. “Mm…” you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“I must be going crazy. It’s been a long day,” you concluded, shrugging before you started toward the car that The Public Modeling Commission provided. When you approached, Untenmaru Kurumada stepped out.

He was an older man with short black hair styled up in the front and a white mustache with hints of black. On the length of his chin, white facial hair was also present. A black dress shirt and white tie complemented his dark-colored jacket that hugged his chest and waist.

Additionally, he always wore white driving gloves. Since Enji, the one he had an exclusive contract with, did not attend tonight’s event, he agreed to drive the models present because he made a living catering to models specifically.

“Hello Y/n!” he shouted enthusiastically as he opened the door. “Where are you headed!?” he asked, his voice high and loud. You replied, “I’ll head home, thank you,” and he nodded before closing the door, climbing into the driver’s seat, and starting the engine.

As the car pulled out onto the street, you looked at the black sky still adorned with those sparkling diamonds known as the stars. Then you looked down at your hands which lay motionless in your lap. You remembered Taishiro’s secure grip on them and yet again how he looked at you.

It was unlike the looks you got daily, there was just something about it that made you feel…strange. “Hm…” you knit your eyebrows. Untenmaru noticed the expression you were making when he gazed at the rearview mirror and frowned.

Despite knowing it wasn’t any of his business, he blurted out “Something wrong!?” His many years as a chauffeur gave him a great deal of insight into the challenges associated with the modeling industry, and the struggles models of your generation face.

He had known you for some time, and usually, you had a smile on your face. However, tonight it seemed someone or something had stolen it from you. Looking at him, you raised your eyebrows. Damn…shouldn't have given yourself away.

Taking a deep breath, you said, “Nothing. I’m just…I mean it’s just…” Drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, you tried to think. “I’m just worried about how well the collaboration with Toyomitsu will go. After all, this new division means a lot to The Public Modeling Commission,” you explained only to hear him huff in response.

“Is that all you kids think about!? There’s more to life than success! Even Mr. Todoroki knows that!” You hummed in response, and although he had a point, you knew he couldn’t tell that there was an enormous amount of guilt weighing your heart down.

When you think about it, Madam President would likely assign you or Keigo to show Taishiro the ropes before the big collaboration debut. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your pants. You could only imagine how chaotic that would be.

In addition, despite your best efforts to tell yourself this was only business, Taishiro Toyomitsu, made your stomach churn with butterflies which was an unusual and furthermore, unwanted reaction that you had to get under control before your next meeting with him.fau

[bullet-prooflove]

Criminal!Joe - Bleed: Joe Velasco x Reader

Tagging: @plaidbooks @witches-unruly-heart @storiesofsvu @magic-multicolored-miracle @rosaliedepp @cycat4077 @deekaag @cixrosie @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thatesqcrush @mydarkestsecretlol @upsteadlogic @wooshwastaken @imaginecrushes @kiwiithecrazybird @justreblogginfics @anime-weeb-4-life @hey-dw @alwaysachorusgirl @telepathay @weiwei0210 @anaferreira-4 @dancingonthebeachatdawn @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @trublu2u @yezzyyae

The Wolf - Joe meets his queen in an unexpected place.

Reward - Joe rewards you for your loyalty.

One More (NSFW) - Joe ruins you when you display your devotion. 

Pictures of You (feat: Mike Duarte) - Mike discovers you're alive.

You’ve been Joe’s girl for over three months when he asks you about the scars on your back, the ones he spends his nights tracing his fingers over. You’re lying on your stomach, drowsy and sated, the sheet barely covering the curve of your ass when he raises the question.

“They used a knife.” You tell him, burying your face even deeper into the pillow. “They heated it up first because they wanted to make sure I felt the blade everytime they cut me.”

“Why?” He asks you, his dark eyebrows furrowing into a frown. His fingertips trail over the largest one, chasing over the raised flesh.

A businessman wouldn’t do something like this, he wouldn’t damage the stock. You’re a beautiful woman, well educated, sophisticated. Clients would pay thousands just to spend the night in your presence. This poses a problem for Joe because the people he deals with are professionals just like him, they don’t supply damaged goods. There’s no way you should have been his shipment that night. That thought hasn’t occurred to him until now, he’s been too caught up in the romance of it all.

“The man I was with, they wanted to hurt him.” You find yourself telling him. “They took me off the street, tried to ransom me and everytime he refused to pay…”

You trail off, your eyes closing because you don’t want to go back to that place, the one where those men recorded every single moment of your agony, your humiliation.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Joe says softly, his fingertips brushing the hair away from your features so that he can read your expression. Sometimes it’s like looking into a mirror. The two of you are both survivors who’ve endured through unspeakable things, but you’ve come out stronger, more hardened against the world because you understand it’s cruelty.

“I love you.” He whispers fiercely as he gathers you up close, your head comes to rest upon his chest. Your fingertips brush over his own scars, the ones his father left embedded in his skin over thirty years ago.  “Believe me when I say I won’t let anything like that happen to you again.”

“You can’t make that promise.” You say softly. “Noone can.”

Everything about what happened to you bothers Joe.

He can feel the rage searing underneath the surface of his skin as he lies beside you, listening to the sound of your breathing in the dark. He thinks about the men that hurt you, the terror you must have felt, the agony every time they cut into your flesh, and he gets that metallic taste in his mouth.

He hears your words ringing in his ears and it feels like he’s being stabbed in the chest because the man you were with before him…

He wants to kill the fucker with his bare hands for feeding you to the wolves, for letting them tear you apart piece by piece.

He kisses you before he slips out of the sheets, his lips brushing over yours with a tenderness he reserves only for you. You whine as he withdraws, and he smiles just a little because even you’re sleeping you want him. He loves you and he would do anything to make sure that nothing like that ever happens to you again.

Terry Bruno is already waiting for him in the office by the time he arrives. The other man has been his confidant since the very beginning, he’s loyal and fierce, with a sharp investigative mind. Joe knows that he can trust him with the task he has in mind.

“I want to know who hurt her.” He tells the other man as he settles behind the desk. “Track the sale, find out how she ended up in our shipment.”

“Anything else?” Bruno prompts because he can see the fire in Joe’s eyes, he knows there’s something else simmering below the surface.

“I want the man who left her in the hands of those animals.”  Joe tells, his fingertips rapping out a tune on the surface of the desk. “I want to make him bleed.”

Love Joe? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[elisedonut]

2, 17, and 29 for paperseer :>

- armadilloradio

Do they have a dynamic trope? (enemies to lovers, sunshine x grumpy, etc?)

I wish someone just made like a giant list of these my brain always draws a blank

Falling for an ex's sibling obviously

Childhood crush redux

Clingy/touch starved

Broken/ Also Broken but in a way that makes them feel compelled to help

Frilly/Sophisticated (in terms of like clothes)

What does a relaxing night in look like for them?

Dinner that they make together even though Lavender is more or less a taste tester then a cook because our poor girl just isn't that good but that's ok because she does the clean up and does help cutting stuff

you know eating together and stuff

and then Bath!! but together specifically!

I don't know why but I like the thought of them enjoying it

they can magic the tub bigger so that's no problem and then Percy just washes her hair while they talk about their days

plus it's able to keep Lavender from having to look in the mirror after and run the risk of ruining her night

and then Percy can brush her hair while they keep yapping on like the yappers that they are

(and if this is a trans girl Percy Au they also switch and Lavender brushes her hair for her too)

and then Lavender can do her nightly divination things she does dont ask me what it is i haven't decided yet but it's meant to make her dreams more vivid and easier to read while Percy does his own little activity that has been explicitly banned from being work related so it changes alot puzzle, reading something on his own. writing letters to friends and family small things

and then they finish getting ready for bed

and then they can lay down and cuddle while Percy reads some of the book they've gotten into out loud until they fall asleep <3

What is something they can never agree on? How do they meet in the middle?

hmmm this question is still difficult to answer

i feel like it's a retread but I tend to think most of Percy's partners do fight with him a bit over the other Weasley's it's just more of a question on what direction they lean

like in Lavenders case she's not exactly like liked by them but that also depends on the au too

I like the concept of Molly opening her home to others post war to ignore her trauma and grief and then Lavender ending up staying with Percy because of the noise and such being too much and eventually falling for each other

and that Molly would have a different impression of Lavender then one from a world where Percy and Lavender just kind of ran into each other one day and ended up getting together

and I do think that would make a difference on their fights and where Lavender stands regarding them

but i think the extended family causes issues of in most Percy ships so

I do think they fight over like pizza toppings but that's not really serious and they just split it in half

normally fights get 'won' by them pretty interchangeably

like if it makes her happy to have yet another lamp who is Percy to say no though if it really is hideous he will try to talk her into a different one with a varying success rate

and if Percy keeps pushing Lavender to actually go see her family a few months after the attack she will eventually cave as long as he promises to go with her

[totravelasfriends7433]

Incorrect Quotes

Valkyrie: No, this is not a mess. You know what I consider a mess? Melissa: Your life? Valkyrie: I- well yes, but-

Valkyrie: I'm hot, I’m tall, I'm gay, and I'm on my theatre kid arc.

Murderer: Any last words? Valkyrie: Do you think I'm cute? Be honest.

Melissa: WHOEVER CAUSED THIS MESS IS GOING TO- Valkyrie: It was me… Melissa: …Is going to be forgiven because everyone deserves a second chance.

Valkyrie: I am the most responsible person in the group. Melissa: …You just set the kitchen on fire. Valkyrie: Yes, and I take full responsibility for that.

Fletcher: Cronch. Fletcher: You hear that? That's the sound of me eating sticks. Melissa: No, don’t— Fletcher: Too late.

Fletcher: I love you. Valkyrie: I love me too.

Fletcher: Big day today, Valkyrie. holds up two shirts Mustard stain or ketchup stain? Valkyrie: Mustard– looks less like blood.

Valkyrie: I hope no one lowkey hates me. Valkyrie: Highkey hate me. Hate me with every fiber of your being. Valkyrie: Go big or go home.

Fletcher: ATTENTION: I HAVE BREACHED CONTAINMENT. Fletcher: DO NOT PANIC, I AM SIMPLY GETTING A SNACK.

Valkyrie: Ask me anything. Go ahead, I'll give you a straight answer. Fletcher: Why are we so fucking awesome? Valkyrie: That's the best fucking question anybody's ever asked.

Fletcher: Hugs Valkyrie from behind Fletcher: Tucks Valkyrie's hair behind their ear Fletcher, whispering: Eat all the frosted animal crackers again and they'll never find your body.

Tsu: Do you support gay rights? Shinsou: I’m literally gay. Valkyrie: He's avoiding the question!

Valkyrie, to Shinsou: You're starting to forget your Spanish. You don't practice. Shinsou: Lo siento. Estoy embarazada. Valkyrie: You just told me you're pregnant. Tsu: Congratulations Shinsou, you're glowing!

Valkyrie: FIGHT ME, YOU NERD ASS SLUT! Tsu: At least try to sound slightly more sophisticated when you threaten someone. Valkyrie: Oh, I'm sorry. I should ask; dost thou want to engage in a duel, my good bitch? Tsu: Somehow that's worse.

Valkyrie: I have to say, I'm a little embarrassed for you. Shinsou: This is a sports-related injury. It makes me look cool! Valkyrie: Tripping over a basketball on your way to the bathroom is not cool!

Tsu: Shinsou, Valkyrie, I love y’all and all, but can I ask what in the hell are you doing? Shinsou, trying to stabilize a tower of folding chairs that Valkyrie is sitting atop: Oh nothing much. Valkyrie: I love you too :)

Shinsou: I wanna sleep for 40 hours. Valkyrie: You know that's called a coma, right? Shinsou: Shinsou: That sounds so refreshing, I could totally go for a light coma right now.

Tsu: Isn’t it weird how we pay money to see other people? Shinsou: You mean movies? Valkyrie: Concerts? Momo: Prostitutes? Tsu: Wha…N-no, I mean glasses, what the fuck-

Valkyrie, dramatically: They called me a fool. Momo, sick of Valkyrie's shit: They weren’t wrong.

Valkyrie: falls down the stairs Momo: Are you okay? Tsu: Stop falling down the stairs! Midoriya: How’d the ground taste?

Valkyrie: I do two things and two things only. I devastate sorry motherfuckers, and get shit done as an awesome leader.

Shinsou: Eat shit and die, Midoriya!!! Midoriya: Eat shit and live, Shinsou.

Midoriya: Remember everyone, violence is never the answer. Valkyrie: You're right, Midoriya.. Violence can't be the answer. Midoriya: Correct, Valkyrie. Now, on to the next lesso- Valkyrie: Violence is the question. Valkyrie: And the answer is yes! Midoriya: Valkyrie, no!!

Hatsume: If there’s one thing I learned from Midoriya, it’s to set people’s expectations real low, so you end up surprising them by practically doing nothing at all.

Store Worker: Would a “Valkyrie” please come to the front desk? Valkyrie, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem? Store Worker, pointing to Midoriya and Hatsume: I believe they belong to you? Midoriya and Hatsume, simultaneously: We got lost. Valkyrie: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me—

Shinsou: What do I get? Valkyrie: A night of fashion, mischief, mayhem, and possible death. Shinsou: Ooh, check, check, and check; not sure about that last one. Valkyrie: It won't be you. Shinsou: I'll get my coat.

Shinsou: walks into the kitchen, ignoring everyone Fletcher: Hey, Shinsou, how was your day? Shinsou: picks up an onion and bites into it, staring at Fletcher Hell. Momo, watching this unfold: whispers Who hurt you?

Midoriya, bleeding out on the ground: Blood loss? No, I know exactly where it is.

Tsu: Hatsume noticed only today that they can label their email inboxes, but they took apart their entire bloody laptop two weeks ago. Momo: This reminds me of the Hatsume who couldn’t turn on the coffee maker, but remembers about 500 digits of pi. Tsu: I’ll be delighted to inform you that this is the very same Hatsume.

Valkyrie: Is this about me? Fletcher: No. Valkyrie: Then I've lost interest.

[female-eren]

vegan radfems are so annoying I literally do not care

I like that vegans exist. I can also in some cases see the connection to feminism and the treatment of women/female animals as a whole (chauvinist attitudes around meat eating being correlated with misogyny, and how we create constant reproduction in farm animals in a way that is terrible for their bodies), although I don't really think that animal rights is a question for feminism to solve or focus on, rather maybe animal activist sub groups. I've been vegetarian for long periods (several years at a time) and cook vegan meals from time to time. But I can't seem to feel full when I don't eat any meat or fish so I ended up eating way more bread/sugar and gaining weight, and I've also developed some deficiencies (iron, primarily). I know you can avoid a lot of deficiencies even on a vegan diet, but it takes a lot more work and energy.

What I don't like is the aggression and immediate defensiveness. And I don't like the argument that some humans are braindead or have developmental disabilities and if we eat animals because they're "dumber" then nothing should stop us from eating those humans. Because if your point is "we can't eat living beings even if they don't have human intelligence" then what is actually okay to eat? I don't like being met with aggressive and extremely ridiculous arguments like that. And I know it's been said a million times in bad faith, but honestly, why is eating plants okay? We know that plants react to stimuli like light and resources like water, and we also know that many species of plants also react to being damaged. Trees warn each other with stress signals when they're "injured", so is pruning and cutting fruit trees okay just because we can't see these signals of stress without sophisticated technology? How come? If the argument against mine is that we don't kill and eat disabled people even if they're developmentally on the cognitive level of a child or even an animal (for example, pigs are generally thought to have the intelligence level of a 4 year old child), then where is the cutoff? Plants don't have central nervous systems, is that the cutoff? Can we farm and eat insects? Both of these options still have some kind of survival instinct. What makes them okay to eat?

The people who say these things aren't jainists even if they're vegan. I don't like it when vegans make the point that meat eaters are simply making emotional arguments like "I want to keep eating meat because it tastes good" when SOME amount of farming and killing is fine and necessary to vegans too. We're learning new things about animals AND plants every day. Some plants like certain species of fungi even seem to have some sort of reasoning and strategy in their patterns of growth. The arguments for eating plants are also emotional because you need to eat something to survive. What I think is a strong argument is the minimization of suffering, because those stress signals simply aren't as important as the much more obvious and material suffering of mass factory farmed animals. And also minimizing detrimental environmental effects. But that argument requires differentiation between sufferings. You have to recognize, confess almost, that some suffering is worse than other kinds. Which was my point from the beginning, a human can be cognitively aware of certain things in a way that creates terror that simply isn't present in another creature in the same way, which is why I don't think targetting those specific emotions/thoughts in an audience is the smartest idea depending on your goal.

My point has always been that the act of eating in itself can't be unethical. Eating is not morally wrong. We as a species evolved to be omnivores, so it's not unnatural or unethical to eat meat in itself. Many species are predatory. I will never be convinced that meat eating in itself is morally reprehensible. What I think is bad about the meat industry has to do with the treatment of the animals, and the effect such farming has on the environment, and the public health issue of too much meat consumption.

[monarchtonone]

@restart-the-cycle @keeper-of-magic @angeliteonfridgeduty (Since you seem to be curious about this now . . . )

Lucky spent the last few cycles with me, trying to uncover all the secrets of this butchering chart we found. The results are . . . morbid, to say the least.

- - - - - - - -

-WHITE LIZARD-

Eye - Inedible

Head - Edible, though not worth effort of breaking the skull; Very rich in protein, however

Claws - Generally Inedible

Leg - Little meat, but sweet and somewhat fatty

Chuck - Tender, meaty, and better cooked than raw; Very full flavor

Rib - Full, hearty, meaty flavor that strikes the tongue, despite how little fat is marbled in

Loin - Lean and tender, but bland; Do not eat alone

Tail - Very long strips of mostly fat; What little meat there is tastes wonderful

Spines, etc - Inedible

Tongue - Very rubbery and sticky, but with unrivaled flavor

Organs - None are very appealing, save for the heart, which has a nice gamey taste

RATING: 3/5

Too little meat for a lizard. Overall, though, a sweeter and leaner choice to Pink.

- - - - - - - -

(OOC: There was originally an image to accompany this, but I'm still fighting drawing it and wanted to get this posted because tomorrow is the big reveal lol.

I will post it once I finish it.)

This confirms it. He's eating them. He's dissecting and eating creatures . . . but why?! Why do this, then still have the nerve to lie?

I have to thank Lucky for all this, he confronted Drops about it shortly after. The transcript is below.

-Begin Transcript-

LE: Drops, we need to talk.

NDI: Is it about the dissections? The way I talked to Pages? Ungrateful spoiled little rat, is what she is.

LE: None of that. Look, I swiped one of your notes-

NDI: How DARE you!

LE: Shut up or we'll find out if you're a mobile model as well. Now, look, I swiped one of your notes and you're clearly butchering creatures. You even have the way they taste!

NDI: . . .

LE: Drops. Tell me why.

NDI: . . .

LE: Tell me why or you'll get a fire egg shoved down that bloody maw of yours.

NDI: I was curious. My ancients always wanted me to reflect on their own odd personalities. I never understood it. One day, they gave me a mouth, and it was like something inside of me awoke.

NDI: A part of me I wouldn't trade for the Triple Affirmative, even.

LE: Weird flex but okay.

NDI: They wanted to see me go savage. They wanted to watch me break down into nothing more than the beasts on the ground below.

NDI: But I'm a little more sophisticated than that. Instead I began dissecting out of curiosity. But of course, then I had to dispose of the bodies, and, well, I have a mouth, so-

LE: So you ate them.

NDI: Yes. You all have no idea how good meat tastes. Particularly red lizards, they're all muscle and absolutely amazing. Cooked or raw, I like-

LE: You're getting sidetracked.

NDI: Right, um, of course. So, my ancients started coming down themselves. And, I had enough of it, so I did some research and . . .

LE: And?

NDI: I won't explain how I did it. But I disabled their ID drones so I could hurt them. As much as I wanted.

LE: For fuck's sake, Drops, don't tell me you-

NDI: It's a possibility.

LE: Well, that settles that.

NDI: They got suspicious, even though I only ate about a third who crossed my path. So they all ascended and left me behind. Alone. Hungry.

NDI: Creatures have been slow coming in. I started to feel weak without their blood. I fear my system as become reliant on it, just as necessary as water.

LE: So . . . why.

NDI: Why what?

LE: Why the fake water call.

NDI: Well I needed something to eat! I doubt anyone would respond to a sudden call for blood, so I did the next best thing!

LE: Yeah, next time, don't.

NDI: Lesson learned, lesson learned. Look, if I had known something like that actually happened I wouldn't have done it! I would have said something else, like . . . like I needed creatures for an experiment or I needed creatures to fight off something in my ecosystem.

LE: Be glad I'm not mad at you. The others . . .

NDI: Is there another annoying messenger on it's way-

LE: . . . You'll . . . you'll see. Monarch hinted at something called a Scrapper.

NDI: FOR FUCK'S SAKE, TELL THEM TO STOP IT!

LE: You deserve it. Anyway, now I'm curious. What do some creatures taste like?

-End Transcript-

Technically there's more Lucky wrote, but it's all just Drops talking about the way different creatures taste and I am not reading all of that. There is one good thing:

Lucky convinced him to open his communications in a few cycles.

Now, with all this out of the way, who wants to go topple a superstructure with me?

[noodyl-blasstal]

Super-ish

It's day 9 of @taznovembercelebration and I drew "superhero AU". Taako's speed dating to save the puppy orphans!

Read below or on Ao3 and find yesterday's prompt here.

--

The bell clangs loudly and it can't come soon enough. It's a melody, a sweet symphony of horrible bell janglies because it means Taako gets to move on.

When Magnus told him there was a speed dating event to raise money for the puppy orphanage Taako definitely, 100%, absolutely told him it was a fucking stupid idea. He knows those words came out of his face, near certainly followed by 'what nerd's gonna show up to that?' Apparently him? Apparently he's the nerd that's gonna show up to it. He doesn't know how it happened, it's like he blacked out and woke up with at least twenty of the worst men in the city taking turns to talk at him.

Magnus looks so pleased with himself, he and Julia are holding hands, even when Magnus rings the bell. They keep looking at him expectantly every time too. He has to keep giving them a small head shake and destroying their dreams of finally pairing him off and getting to go on double dates. Taako's the perma third wheel baby, get used to it.

Honestly, Taako was sick of his single status, and maybe that was how Magnus wore him down. He tried at first, he did, but there were only so many times he could be talked at tonight. His most promising match so far seemed to be the spider magician. If he wasn't in a fucking cult he'd probably be a great bet, but the guy's deep in the sauce. Also, Taako and Brian?? Terrible. There's no mystery in it. What are they gonna portmanteau to? Taian? Braako? Bad. No way. Taako needs sophistication, he needs...

"Kravitz." Says the, admittedly handsome, dude he plunks himself down opposite. Something's gotta be wrong with him. He's wearing a three piece suit, a nice one, his tie has a tasteful skull pattern and Taako wanted to inspect his raven collar pin. He wanted to inspect a lot of things about Kravitz. Corporate goth with flair, most other people were in jeans and a t-shirt... or their spider magic uniform.

"So, what're you in for?" Taako asks. He's long given up on the suggested questions on the sheet. He doesn't know if he cares about this guy's job yet, or if he wants kids or likes sports.

"I'm here to find true love, obviously... Taako?" Kravitz glances at Taako's name badge and actually pronounces it right, suspect behaviour, if you ask him, along with taking this seriously.

Kravitz manages to hold his face in a sappy smile for a few moments before he cracks and laughs. "My friend bullied me into it. Bought me a ticket, drove me here with her wife. I've actually possibly been kidnapped - do you think I need to tell anyone?"

"Hmmm, are you having a bad time? I think it's only kidnap of you're not enjoying yourself."

"Then it's partial kidnap. I wasn't having a good time before , but I am now."

Okay, so he was funny too, funny and handsome, Taako likes funny and handsome. Taako can work with funny and handsome, especially if he keeps flirting.

"How about you? Why are you here?" Kravitz asks and leans in like he's interested in the answer.

"I have no idea. Not in a 'they knocked me out and put me in a trunk and now I'm here' way, more a 'my friend turned every ounce of his enthusiasm on me and I got caught in the tractor beam and now I'm here' way."

Kravitz nods sympathetically, like he understands, like the same thing could happen to anyone.

"That's him, over there, staring intently at us right now." Taako waggles his fingers at Magnus, who raises his eyebrows questioningly. "He's the most married man I know who isn't my brother in law."

"Gross." Says Kravitz happily and waves at Magnus too, probably giving him false hope. Magnus looks delighted.

"Anyway..." says Kravitz, "...down to business, if you could fly to the moon via any object and have one cheese as a snack, what would you choose?" Kravitz picks up his pen to take notes like he's taking this seriously, like he's considering Taako as a life partner. Wild.

But... the thing is, Taako likes to win.

"Unicorn." He replies immediately. "With two horns. If Taako's going to the moon he's gonna go in style."

"What's the unicor... Binicorn? called?" Okay, Kravitz is operating near his level, he knows how to play.

"Binicorn, thank you for respecting Garyl's identity. Now, cheesewise, cheesewise you got me because there's options, see, there's manchego because it's smooth and it's got the fun texture; but could cha'boy whip up a baked camembert with hot honey and garlic?"

Kravitz considers for a moment, then nods. "I'll allow it." He jots some things down on his black notepad with his silver ink pen. It was covered in tiny bats.

Taako admires the commitment to aesthetic theme. Taako also desperately, passionately, needs to know what he's writing. It'd better be "hottest man alive, great cheese opinions, 69/10"

"But the problem is, the problem is, that cave aged cheddar exists. It's got the bits."

"The mineral chunks!" Kravitz adds with enthusiasm.

"A man of taste I see!"

"I like to think so."

Kravitz sounds like he's flirting. Taako was probably flirting? He oozed it apparently, had no idea it was happening most of the time. People got angry about it sometimes, but you can't lead someone on if you don't know you're doing it.

"How about you, cheese and object?"

"Giant raven, mozzarella shreds straight out of the bag." Kravitz doesn't even look ashamed.

He's disgusting, he's perfect.

The bell rings, loud and unwelcome. It's far too soon, Magnus clearly fucked up the timings, but some guy is walking over here like he's planning to sit down?

"Keep it moving, kemosabe, this seat's taken."

Maybe he should have checked with Kravitz before engaging this plan, but he hasn't objected, so Taako's going to assume he's on board.

Magnus looks confused and gives the bell another jangle while looking straight at Taako - which means he misses the chaos it causes as everyone else stands up and rotates again. Julia tugs their conjoined hands and gently guides him away from ringing a third time.

"Nope." Taako doesn't even look round at the second guy. He's absolutely not budging, this is the first conversation even vaguely worth his time. Goth boy is his now, actually.

"Thank you." Kravitz looks relieved enough that Taako doesn't feel any guilt. "You're stuck with me now, you can't throw me back into the man pit."

"If you insist, but the man pit sounds intriguing."

"The man mines?"

"Yeah, okay, Taako doesn't do heavy labour."

"I bet you did while you were carrying all those prior conversations." Kravitz wiggles his eyebrows, dork.

"Speaking of which what's your shit superpower?" Taako asks. "I mean, you can tell Taako if you can stop time or whatever too, cha'boy isn't a snitch, but this is about the day to day powers." Taako kind of hopes he can stop time, honestly, then he doesn't have to worry about Magnus' bell ringing.

"I run the perfect bath every time." Kravitz barely hesitates, just has it ready to go.

"You know how you like your bath?" Taako's not convinced Kravitz understands the question.

"Oh, no, you misunderstand me, anyone, no matter who, I can run them the perfect bath." Kravitz looks totally confident. It's weirdly sexy. Maybe it has been too long since Taako dated...

"Run many baths for strangers, have you?"

Kravitz winces slightly, oh, now Taako's intrigued.

"There was this whole thing in college." Kravitz begins.

This sounds like it's going to get unhinged. Taako needs to know this story right now immediately. He rests his chin on his hand and may or may not flutter his eyelashes a little, no one can prove anything one way or another.

Kravitz looks like he's running sums in his head, big ones, difficult ones, with scary number teeth.

"You can't dangle something like that and then stop!" Taako needs to hear.

"It... well... when I..." Kravitz starts, then seems to find his feet. "Sloane, my married friend, off of kidnapping me fame."

Taako nods to show he follows.

"We went to college together, in Goldcliff."

Taako winces.

"Yeah, exactly. We were full ride scholarships, but most people were so posh and so rich and so unaware. The cost of everything there was ridiculous - so we needed money."

It's a shame Kravitz isn't loaded, but at least he's not saddled with college debt and was smart enough for someone to give him money about it.

"I ran Sloane a bath one time after she had a hellish shift at the roller skate diner and I guess she mentioned offhand that I ran the perfect bath because Johann asked if I'd do one for him and he was a friend so I did and he loved it." There's definitely pride in his tone. This is incredible, Taako wants to study him. Lup's gonna get a kick out of this.

"Sloane thought it was the perfect rich people nonsense magnet - pay 40 quid for the perfect bath. Pocket change to them, a week of food for us."

Taako nods as if this is a reasonable plan, a completely normal thing to do with one's time. "Bath consultant, right, of course."

"Oh, no, no no Taako, there's no consultation, I just do it. Wham, bam, perfect bath every time. It was weird enough that they'd pay it to test it out, and then they'd tell their friends and their friends would test it out. Snowballing. Bathballing." Kravitz looks so earnest, so keen for Taako to understand the magnitude of his powers.

"You bathballed your way through college?" Taako adores this man. He's going to pick him up so carefully, take him home and put him in a special box and just look at him.

Kravitz nods. "What can I say? I'm talented."

He looks so self confident, so pleased with himself, Taako's probably being goaded right now... But, but...

"What kind of bath do I like?"

"I can't tell you."

"Is it illegal?"

"I can't describe the perfect bath, and if I tried you might do something that gives me an indication of what you like which is cheating. I don't need to cheat. I have to just do it."

Okay, Taako's in. "What're you doing after this, handsome?"

"Running you a bath?"

"You can run us both a bath, if you'd like."

Kravitz's smile is wide, but he pretends to take a second to consider anyway. "Hmmm... What's your shit power? You'll need to show me yours if I show you mine."

Taako laughs lightly. "You're never going to believe this, Kraveroo, but cha'boy makes the perfect breakfast. Whatever you're craving in the morning will be what Taako already decided to make."

"I can't wait."

-

I hope you enjoyed! Want to read more? Find the next prompt here.

[ivory--raven]

I'm not going searching for the first bit rn but meh. some absolutely wild decision making here. everyone aside from these two shocked and astounded.

The water almost sizzles when the hook hits it. "A beast in the water," the crew whispers, "a creature, hunting ships!"

"Don't be ridiculous," says Michael, not nearly as confident as they portray themself, "hunting ships, that's nonsense."

Hunting ships may be nonsense, but hunting crew- Michael dismisses the notion. Whatever is out there probably isn't sophisticated enough for that. They can handle it, even if it is hunting people. Even if their crew can't cope.

"We've got something!"

"Haul it in, don't stand around gossiping," Michael snaps. They stand a proper distance away from the edge, fold their hands in front of them, and wait to see the creature in whose sordid flesh their hook is buried.

When the hook emerges from the water, it has not captured anything. It almost seems to have been captured itself. There is a - some creature, some person, some thing - wrapped around the hook, arranging itself elegantly. Its head and torso are almost human, rising from a mass of tentacles and fins ever changing in feature and colour. It locks eyes with Michael.

"Hello," it says, with a clear voice.

"Hello," Michael says back. The - whatever this is - seems to display brighter, more vibrant colours.

"Come," says the creature, reaching out a clawed hand.

"You caused this storm," says Michael. They're staring. They know they are.

The creature smiles with too many teeth. "Come."

"End it."

The smile falters. "Is it not magnificent?"

"It's dangerous."

"Yes."

"So you did cause it."

The creature leans forward. "What are you called?"

"My name is Michael."

"Michael," says the creature slowly, as if tasting the syllables. "Good name. Pretty like you."

"Stop this storm," says Michael.

The creature's head tilts. "If you come here."

"Storm ends first."

"All right."

Everything stops. The ocean is still and calm as glass.

"Captain! Let's go!"

Michael shakes their head. "No wind. We can't go anywhere."

Besides, they've said they'll go, and they don't want to break their word. They are... intrigued.

Michael climbs over the edge of the ship.

They're halfway to the creature before they realize they're walking on water.

"I'm Dagon," says the creature. "I saw you."

Michael stops next to the creature. It - Dagon - reaches out, with an arm that flows like liquid before solidifying over Michael's shoulder.

"You saw me," echoes Michael.

"I like you," says Dagon. "You're very pretty."

They're not blushing. They're not. They fold their arms. "You mentioned."

"I like the way you command your ship."

"You have been watching me, then."

Dagon's whole body flashes purple. "I wouldn't lie to you."

"Don't give away all your cards," warns Michael, not sure why they bother.

"No harm in it," says Dagon. "You can't go anywhere. I've caught you."

"You're on my hook," Michael points out. "I've never lost at hand-to-hand combat. I'm not unarmed. You've caught me?"

"Means you hadn't met your equal yet."

Michael meets their eyes. Strangely blue eyes, they have. Blue as the sky. Blue as the sea. "And I have now?"

Dagon smirks.

"Come with me," says Michael suddenly.

"Make me."

They don't squirm away, though surely they easily could - they're already holding onto Michael, so it's easy enough to find their waist, pick them up, and carry them back to the ship, where it seems the entire crew is staring, aghast.

Dagon waves. Several men reel back.

"Captain, what are you-"

Michael shakes their head and climbs the ladder onto the ship, somewhat awkwardly. They aren't accustomed to doing this while holding someone.

"Captain! What is this?"

"Don't question my judgment," says Michael. "Get to work."

They feel Dagon sigh, and the wind picks up just enough.

[laladellakang]

drunk-dazed

masterlist | wattpad

italics dialogue = english

the aftermath of della's interview with lee youngji

"Ahh! 차린건 쥐뿔도 없지만!" Sunghoon clamped his hands together. [charingeon jwibbuldo eobjiman = lee youngji's drinking-interview-show]

"Wahh!" the members immediately cheered and clapped, saying things like 'it's really legendary'.

"Aish, seriously," Della scoffed with an embarrassed look. "Guys-"

"'This is so delicious! What is this?!'" Jungwon imitated.

"'THIS IS THE TYPE OF DRINK THAT I LIKE!'" Jay exclaimed, pretending to hold a glass.

"'Bye, unnie! Bye unnies and oppas!'" Sunoo waved around dramatically.

"'I'm not possessive of the members,' and then later says 'NO! THE MEMBERS ARE MINE!'" Heeseung came next.

"AH, SERIOUSLY!" Della threw her head back frustratingly.

"'I am a sophisticated lady,'" Niki straightened his back and put his legs together. Della sighed, hanging her head with a hand over her eyes.

"It was really legendary! I watched it so many times!" Jungwon clapped.

"And then we she returned home-" Jake cut himself off. All eight members laughed at the memory.

"Ya- seriously- it was not Della that day- she got replaced a few minutes after filming," Della whined. "The members really like watching that video, but I just want that interview deleted from existence and everyone's memory of it."

"It's so cute, though!" "It's a great interview!" "It's legendary!" Della threw her head back again.

"Seriously! I wish I just drank water and pretended to be drunk..."

❅◦❆◦❅◦❆◦❅◦❆◦❅◦❆

"I'M HOMEE!" Della screamed when she walked into Enha's dorm. "IT SMELLS SO GOOD! Is someone cooking?!"

"In the kitchen!" Heeseung yelled. "I wonder if she's drunk," he giggled to Jungwon and Jake.

"She's definitely drunk. She can't even handle a sip of beer," Jake shook his head.

"Wait- wait- I wanna record," Jungwon aimed his phone at the corridor. 

"OW! That hurt!" she lost her footing and bumped into a wall. "You guys have fooood?" she walked in while leaning against the wall, dragging her shoulder across the surface.

"We ordered bibimbap. How was the show?" Jungwon grinned.

"It was sooo fun! I love Youngji-unnie! I feel so free!" she switched her position, shifting her weight to her back. "I think it'll be the best interview ever!"

"Oh really?" Heeseung held back a laugh. "What did you drink?"

"Kahlua with milk and Bailey's and vodka- vodka was so delicious! I was so surprised!" her brain failed to realise (again) that the 'vodka' was water. "Or was it something else...? I think it wasn't vodka, but it was clear! It was so yummy; it didn't taste like alcohol!"

"Della's home?" Sunghoon and Sunoo left their room to join them. Jungwon stopped recording as soon as Della dramatically gasped when the two walked in.

"My darlings!" she rushed to give them a hug. "I missed you all so much! Doing a show all alone was sooooo hard!"

"Ya! Do you only miss those two?! There's seven of us, you know!" Jake complained.

"I like Kungyaz. They waited for me to come back so they can eat with me!" she leaned her head back to look at them with pouted lips. "You three ate without me!"

"They finished their food before us!" Heeyunwon protested together. "We're the ones who waited got you! They went back to their room!" Sunsun laughed and cheered at their 'win'.

"Ah really?! Then I take it back! I'm upset at you two!" Della stepped back in betrayal. "Ah give me a second. Why am I so dizzy?" she held onto the wall and squatted down.

"You're really really drunk, aren't you?" Sunghoon caressed the top of her head.

"No," her response was immediately met by the others saying 'you definitely are' and 'you're so drunk'. "No but- I'm confident that I can still remember everything by the morning so I am not drunk. I'm just tipsy."

"Just because you'll remember everything doesn't make you not drunk, Lala. You're full on drunk right now," Heeseung explained.

"YAA! WHERE IS EVERYONE?!" Della stood back up and silently counted the heads. "TWO MEMBERS ARE MISSING- WHERE ARE THEY?!"

"Who? Who is missing?" Sunoo giggled, trying to mess with her.

"The really tall one and the one with the sharp jawline," she joked to him back. "Am I right, the one with honey brown eyes?"

"YA! Did you forget our names?!" Sunoo raised his hand playfully.

"Of course not, Kim Sunoo of Enhypen from Gyeonggido! This one is Park Sunghoon of Enhypen from-" a hand was placed over her mouth before she can move on.

"Okay, darling, we get it. You still remember all your boyfriends," Jungwon pat her head to try to sober her up a bit. He doesn't know how it'll work but he'll do it anyway. "Someone get her water, please."

"Of course I remember all my boyfriends! I certainly remember that I have seven!" she pointed at everyone. "Aish- Kang Della, what are you doing? Snap out of it, snap out of it. Sober... now!" she patted her cheeks repeatedly. "Where's Jay-oppa and Riki?"

「ただいま!」Niki yelled just as the front door opened. "LALA! Are you still drunk?!" [tadaima = i'm home]

"No! I was never drunk!" she whined again before taking a sip of the water Jake gave her. "Mmm! This was the drink I was talking about! I guess it was water..." she pointed.

"You thought this was vodka?!" the members in the kitchen all laughed. Sunghoon, Sunoo and Heeseung laughed especially hard.

"It was in front of me! I didn't know what it was, it was just clear and tasted good!" 

"I think she's still very much drunk," Jay told Niki. "I guess she did actually drink a lot."

"My darlings!" Della squealed at the sight of the newly arrived members. "You're home! You're home! You're home!" she rushed to jump into their arms, similar to how she did with Sunoo and Sunghoon. "Our team is complete again!"

"Oh she definitely drank a lot," Sunghoon chuckled. "Looks like we didn't need those," he pointed to the shopping bag in Jay's hand.

"What is that-" Della immediately gasped at the bag's contents. "You planned to get me drunk?!" 

"Della- Lala- I think you need some rest, my love," Niki tried to hold back his laugh. "You must be tired. Do you wanna go to sleep?" yet another dramatic gasp from the girl.

"You wanna get rid of me?! After I worked so hard today without you guys?! I missed my members so much, do you not miss meee?" she whined. "Wait wait- my head is pounding again," she held onto Jay.

"Why don't we help you wash up and get unready?" Jay suggested. "Then you can decide what you wanna do."

"I wanna cuddle with all of youuuu," she started hanging from Jay's neck like a monkey. "I miss all of youuuu."

"That's gonna be a struggle, Lala. You need to choose one or two," Jungwon said. 

"But I don't wannaaa," she got up and switched to Niki. "I want seven!"

"Actually- maybe you should take a shower, babe," Jake patted her hair. "That should sober you up."

"Carry me!" she stretched one arm to Jake while the other stayed around Niki's neck. "I like showers. It makes you feel so fresh," suddenly she started giggling. "F-R-E-S and H, so fresh!"

"Let's go," Niki picked her up himself. "We've seen drunk Della, and now you need to chill."

"F-R-E-S AND H! 'TIL DEATH!" she yelled. "DOES NO ONE WANNA SHOWER WITH ME?!"

"SOBER UP, DELLA!" 

requested: — drunk della — aftermath of della's interview with youngji

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