#like I would get the amount of lawyers on this site if they were ALL civil rights defense attorneys cause that would make a bit more sense | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vibratingskull · 8 months ago

Note

I as so excited you open your request.

Can I ask a ThurfianxF!reader based on your Thrawn mate story? I would love if reader was sent to the Chiss Ascendancy by Thrawn (like he knew reader would match with Thurfian by her smell or something)

This will challenge our xenophobic boy, and I'm sure the fact that out of all he gets to meet his "mate" thank to Thrawn, will piss him off more than the fact that the reader is human.

g:xkf;glghogfuhfd THURFIAN MY BELOVED ❤️❤️ My old man ❤️❤️❤️ He would have a heart attack in all honesty 🤣

Beautiful drawing by the talented @thrawns-backrest

Tags : Thurfian is an ass, xenophobia, mate system and culture, attempted assault, Thurfian saves the day (Go King!)

Thurfian lays his head on his hand, scrolling on his comm. He likes to get an idea of the current climate through comms during his rare break times throughout the day to compare the info he receives on his official feed on his computer. It helps him get new points of view and perspectives.

That also means going through an impressive amount of tabloids. He really should look into how to block these sites on his comm, they are a nuisance and a disgrace to true journalism. He is scrolling through one of them rapidly when the title of an article stops him.

“Truly cut for the role? Why the Mitth Patriarch’s lack of mate highlights a worrying trend.”

He remains fixated on that one for a solid minute, completely flabbergasted. His first instinct is to call his lawyer to have that tabloid closed for the affront, but it passes quickly. Instead, he puts his comm down sighing, feeling tiredness washing over him. He passes a hand through his long braided hair, laying his head back against his chair.

The most painful thing is that that rag is true. All Patriarchs of every family recorded in history with a big H had a mate, no exception ever. Some found them sooner or later in life but none reached his age without a partner sitting with them on the throne. He is quite the exception.

The shameful exception.

He feels Thivick disapproving gaze on him during diplomatic dinners with other Patriarch and their mates, the seat next to Thurfian being desperately empty.

His hand comes to loosen his collar to allow him to breathe better. He closes his eyes, feeling defeated.

It was not always like that in his life.

He used to collect lovers back in his youth, potential mates or not, none were safe from his charm. A large collection of Chiss visited his bed when he was a young adult. He shamefully admits that he played potential mates to get access to their intimacy before leaving them when they were no longer fun. Non-potential mates were less difficult, they both knew what they were here for. And then he started his career as a syndic and left dating and playing around in the past to dedicate himself to his career. He, naively he will admit, thought he would meet a new potential mate at work, getting to know each other day by day, falling in love over time, and deciding to mate and unify himself with her, finishing his life at her side. Something simple and uncomplicated.

Boring to some, sufficient for him.

But all the women he met were taken, non-compatible, or rejected him. Mates tend to get together young when they can, way younger than he was already back then. He made peace with his situation, choosing to focus on his career and what he could do for the Mitth, becoming a “mateless”, one of those people who failed at settling down with a compatible person in time. Not the most glorious, but he could do with it.

And all was well.

Until he became a Patriarch.

And his situation was brutally rubbed into his face again.

A Patriarch without a Mate is a failure.

No matter their results.

Having a mate is the first step toward respectability in Chiss society, and a Patriarch failing at that task is the subject of gossip and mockery and always on the verge of being overthrown in favor of a more stable individual. It is such an easy insult to throw at him. And he fully deserves it. If he didn’t play so much with potential mates in the past he wouldn’t have his sulfurous reputation of player and heart stabber. Not so many potential mates would have rejected him since then.

He recalls how he used to modify his smell with perfume, something highly prohibited in Chiss society. Misguiding the potential mate of someone else by modifying one’s scent markers is highly illegal.

But he was young, hot-headed, and an idiot.

And today he pays the price of his entire life choices. He grew and matured decades ago but the harm had been done.

Sometimes he envies mateless species. Simply living and falling in love or living free of the marital and mating duties... Sounds comforting and liberating.

When was the last time he felt the presence of a potential mate?

Several years, easily.

More than ten years since he last smelled that delicious scent of honey, liquor, and tea leaves on someone. The one scent signaling him that this person is compatible with him. The same as his.

He greets his teeth.

“The Mateless”

His unofficial title when his back is turned.

His shame, his dishonor. The stain in his life.

But what can he do now? He is fated to finish his life alone, the question is more about how he will meet his end. Back in time, non-mated Patriarchs could get executed for failing their family, for being too unstable, and for not providing an heir to the family.

It was millennia and millennia ago, of course. Chiss evolved past those barbaric laws, but the prejudice remained, remembering Thurfian that ages ago his life choices would have guided him to the pillory.

Thurfian suddenly freezes and opens his eyes wide, almost trembling in shock.

That smell...

No.

It’s impossible. He must hallucinate, that’s the most logical explanation.

Thurfian suppresses a laugh at his own idiocy. Of course, it is impossible. Crossing paths with a potential partner at his age is simply improbable. He shakes his head with a light chuckle, what a stupid thought just crossed his mind!

He turns back to his files, waiting for the hallucination to settle.

But five minutes later, the scent he stopped hoping for is still here. Well present.

Heady.

Overporwering.

Making his head turn and his heart pumps harder. He almost starts feeling vertigo.

He gulps, passing his hand through his long hair.

He needs to calm down and be rational.

This is impossible.

But the delicious scent of tea leaves titillates his nostrils, like a dare, like a temptation.

He needs to be sure!

He almost jumps on his feet, before remembering who he is and calmly exiting his office. He is the Patriarch and a Mitth for the Warrior’s sake! He slowly, almost lazily walks in the corridors of the Manor.nHe really needs to keep his expectations low. They surely already know about his scandalous reputation. But maybe...

Just maybe...

They could come from a far enough away world to have never heard about it!

Highly unlikely!

But he cannot help but hope.

The further he walks into the Manor, the more significant the smell of tea leaves gets, the notes of honey and liquor mixing deliciously, enhancing that superior scent. Thurfian chides himself. By all accounts that mysterious person will already be taken and mated to someone else. But nothing prevents him from coming to meet and befriending them.

Yes.

A friend is also appreciable, he has so little left since he accessed the throne. He nods to himself. A friend would be perfect.

His comm rings, prompting him to stop to check it.

It is a Syndic of the family signaling that a stranger with the highest priority code message wishes to meet Thurfian, waiting for him in the Manor’s salon. The message is short and leaves no guessing about the urgency of the demand.

But not even a family name? Thurfian frowns, dubious.

And the salon is exactly where the delicious scent is leading him right now.

When he reaches the large and heavy old-style wooden doors of the salon the delectable smell invades his lungs and nose, he can breathe it in at each inhalation. That’s definitely them!

He opens the door to meet the Syndic who sent him the text.

“Patriarch?” They ask surprised, “What are you-”

“I am here to meet them.” He cuts them short, walking past them.

“Ah! Patriarch! Wait! Plea-”

Thurfian keeps going and passes the arches with palpitations.

He turns his head and...!

Stops dead in his tracks as the stranger turns their head to his arrival.

An alien!

A... Human!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I need your help for a delicate mission, Commander.” Grand Admiral Thrawn said to you, skirting his desk to sit.

“Of course, Grand Admiral.” You stend to attention, “What can I do to serve you?”

Thrawn smiled tightly. Always energetic and willing to serve, obeying every one of his orders and missions with brio and excellence. You were one of his most trusted officers with Karyn Faro. Nothing he could ask you would throw you off your rhythm or deter you.

You crossed paths pretty early in your respective careers. You were one of the first to recognize Thrawn genius and merit in warfare and followed him ever since, asking the chain of command to affect you with him on every ship he received the commandment of.

Your loyalty towards the Empire slowly melted into loyalty towards the Chiss. He never said anything, that he, himself, could fail and precipitate your end. That he could become your very death if your true colors were revealed.

But you were just so good at your job! He trusted you with his life and he worked to keep you both out of the blast radius. He needed your competencies and skills at his side.

But...

Maybe the Ascendancy needed you more.

He remembers.

The man, looking straight at him with cold detachment during his trial before disappearing in silence.

His Patriarch.

Single and alone.

Unstable, they would say.

How could he command the Mitth family in those conditions?

Thrawn somehow sympathises. He knew he could only rise so high in Chiss ranks as a mateless, that at some point his genius would stop carrying him and his mateless character would stop any further ascension.

They needed someone with something to lose in command.

Not an unstable like him.

And as freeing as it was for him to come into a system where mates were not the norm, he also realized long ago that he couldn’t change his home in any meaningful manner. That the mate order was here to stay.

But maybe he was also not the only one suffering in this system. Now that he has risen to the top he understands the pure loneliness and isolation that come with power, but if it is here to stay for him, he can maybe still lend a hand to that man.

It is not uninterested, far from that. It is purely strategic. Chiss politicians seemed to care a lot about the mating order, to the point that mateless individuals could get fired at any given moment in favor of a mated. And Thrawn remembers his History books, the fate reserved to mateless Patriarchs.

To those men and women who failed to conform to Chiss values and therefore weakened their families. And although he has no real good grasp of politics, he has no difficulties imagining that a weakened family of the nine could greatly destabilize the current system and the Chiss Ascendancy as a whole.

So if he sends you, his little miracle back home, maybe he could help stabilize the powers in place. That was risky, but beating the odds is his trademark after all.

Admiral Ar’alani discussed it with him lately, confirming that the Patriarch that sent him away was still in place, still mateless, still unstable, and therefore dangerous to the Ascendancy.

Thrawn could very well wait for him to fall and get replaced, but Ar’alani told him that he remained a very powerful blood Mitth. A powerful blood Mitth that would owe him a very, very huge debt if his plan worked. And he knows he will need all the allies possible when he gets back from exile to the Ascendancy.

So maybe

Just maybe

If he sends you to that man...

You may just be his ticket to more power and freedom to protect his people.

Honestly, he didn’t believe it at first when he met you. How could you, an individual from a mateless species, be compatible with a Chiss?

But his smell didn’t misguide him. Your scent and pheromones are highly specific and match his Patriarch’s profile.

By all means it was a crazy plan, but he already agreed with Ar’alani that she would take you on the Steadfast and guide you into the Ascendancy. As an Admiral without ties to any family, she will be able to give you access to the Mitth Manor by playing her cards right and he will give you his message, his “peace treaty” as Ar’alani called it.

That’s very much not his style and usual strategies but how could he survive in the long run if his tactics don’t evolve with the times?

“At ease, Commander. It is a very peculiar mission, that will need fineness, dexterity, and tact, but I trust you. I know you will rise to the challenge!”

“For you, I will!” You assured him.

‘For you’

If you were any of his other officers he would have chastised and corrected you in an exemplary manner! You were here to serve the Empire and not just a single Grand Admiral.

But your relationship evolved past that point long ago and he came to appreciate your devotion to his person.

And right now he hopes this devotion is as deep as he imagined it for you to accept this mission. Because this is not just a diplomatic mission. It is a life-changing mission.

Mating with someone isn’t a laughing matter to the Chiss and he knows full well you will go without knowing your true purpose.

He cannot reveal it to you.

You would say no.

Understandably.

And he does feel guilty to trap you in such a way, but he knows his time is limited in the Empire and he must prepare his return to the Ascendancy. And a willing Mitth Patriarch could ease a lot of difficult situations.

He remembers his discussion with Ar’alani a decade ago, about how he saw people as tools. He needs to see you that way to send you there, no matter the friendship that came to form between you two. He eases his guilt thinking this is not such a horrible fate for you, to become the Mitth Patriarch mate is to live free of worries and wants, in a comfortable home with sophisticated and cultured persons.

You will have it easy.

At least money-wise...

Ar’alani warned him of Commander Eli Vanto’s tepid welcome among his people and chances are you’ll get the same. He knows you can take it, he is more worried about the Patriarch’s behavior.

Will he ever accept a human as a mate? Will the Chiss accept a human as a Patriarch mate?

Your status as a diplomatic agent will protect you but as soon as you will set foot in the Manor, the Patriarch will understand and his reaction is unplannable.

But those who don’t try and take action get nothing!

“I need you for a diplomatic mission. A very, very long diplomatic mission...”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"State to me again. Why are you here?" The Chiss asks you.

You straighten your back and readjust your position on your chair. What doesn’t he understand ?

“I am here on behalf of one of your good friends. I bring you a message and an offering of peace and appeasement, he also asked for me to offer my service to you.” You repeat, controlling your tone to not sound condescending.

It is simple really.

The chiss, the ‘Patriarch’ looks at you intently, his hands clasped before his lower face, his burning red eyes fixing you like he was trying to disintegrate you. What’s annoying you is his manner of bringing a perfumed handkerchief to his nose every five minutes, like he was keeping a gag at bay. You took a shower and dressed in a freshly washed uniform, why does he act like you reek?

Does Chiss have more sensitive olfactive receptors? Does humans smell is that unnerving to other species? Thrawn never specified any such info to you.

“Because you think he is one of my… ‘Good friend’?” The Patriarch asks with a sneer.

“He is your fellow Chiss, and a Grand Admiral of a close power nation with sensitive information about the immediate survival of your Ascendancy. He considers it sufficient to demand you listen to his propositions."

The Chiss eyes fall back on their equivalent of a datapad, reading again what Thrawn proposed. You’re only the messenger with Admiral Ar’alani, Thrawn didn’t specify to you the intricacies of his proposition and wrote everything In Cheuhn, his mother tongue.

As the man reads again the terms of the treaty you take time to observe him in more detail. Tall, with deep blue skin, and burgundy red shiny eyes, despite being older than Thrawn he is dignified and haughty, clearly still having long decades before him as Chiss live longer than humans according to your Grand Admiral. His clothes are expensive with very intricate embroideries and multiple layers of pricey fabrics, the prominent red color seems specific to this family. Braided long hair in a sophisticated fashion, makeup enhancing the sharp Chiss features, now you know why Thrawn had the habit of underlining his eyes with red eyeliner… A single intricate ring, probably a family heirloom, proof of his role as head of the family.

So this is the man...

The one you promised Thrawn to serve, for ‘the good of both species and future diplomatic relationships’ as he put it. You silently sigh. You are doing it for him. For the genius that he is and his mission… You had all the time to question your sanity and why you accepted.

But you know why…

Because Thrawn’s gaze was clear and assured, and this could only mean one thing

Victory.

Thrawn warned you this mission could take as long as a year, if not more… way more. But you accepted nonetheless…

Well at least this ‘Patriarch’ isn’t displeasing to look at, it is your only consolation considering his bad temper. He never once was impolite but made absolutely no effort to make you feel welcomed and comfortable.

As a soldier, you don’t mind. As a diplomatic agent, his lack of concern is a red flag for the mission.

“Why you?" He asks out of the blue, eyes lazily raising back to meet yours, or rather to make you lower your head.

You don’t. You look straight into his burning gaze, unflinching. Is he asking why Thrawn sent a woman? His contracting throat muscles indicate his real mood, the little patience he has, and his true desire to have you walk away from there.

"Grand Admiral Thrawn trusts me.”

That’s litteraly the only reason he gave you. You could tell he had another reason, but what Thrawn wants to keep hidden, will remain hidden.

The Patriarch raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"I already conducted several diplomatic missions, I am…was his go-to officer for them and speak several wild space languages, like the one we are using now. I was the most suited for the job."

He sneers, your answer far from satisfying him.

“I am afraid that isn’t sufficient to be worth my time."

“I know your secret.”

Again, he raises an eyebrow.

“And what secret do you think you know exactly?” He inquires with a sadistic smile stretching his lips.

"How you travel through space. Without any Navigation computers. This secret.”

His smile vanishes instantly, an incredulous expression flashing on his face before melting in a controlled, but very much real, anger.

“You are lying.” He modulated his voice carefully, the tone is almost sweet with a note of poison.

You very sternly shake your head.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn took care to teach me. He wanted to make sure you would not send me back, not with my knowledge.” You plainly state.

His expression closes back in a detached, cold, and aloof expression. You cannot read him anymore.

“You are bluffing. He is an indiscreet and a fool, but he would not betray the secrets of our navy like that.”

You sigh, reaching the end of your patience.

“You use little girls with very rare capacities.” You let him know without a shadow of a doubt.

He closes his eyes slowly, taking in the information that yes, Thrawn did actually spilled the secret to you.

“You realize I could very simply have you executed and get done with all of this?”

“I am under the protection of Admiral Ar’alani and Supreme Admiral Ba’kif.”

You hear a faint growl emanating from him. Whatever happened between them, the Patriarch and the Supreme Admiral aren’t on good terms.

You try to smile politely.

“Come on Patriarch, are the mighty Chiss so terrified of one woman? I am but a messenger from one of your compatriots, only wishing to do good for our two nations. Take it as the opportunity to build privileged ties and bounds with a future powerful neighbor. Your family would be on the forefront of the scene and the negotiations.”

“Do not teach me how to do my job.”

“Far from me that idea.” You temper, “I am merely pointing out the benefices you could get by listening to the Grand Admiral.”

“You spoke so highly of your dear Grand Admiral. Learn that he left us with a terrible reputation and was sentenced to be exiled for treason. We do not give credit to his words or any of his peace offerings.” Once again, he takes his scented handkerchief to his nose and deeply inhales it.

“I am aware. He also contests those accusations but counts on your common sense to see the bigger picture.”

“I think we are finished here.” He stands haughtily, “I will ask Admiral Ar’alani to conduct you back to your Empire and your dear Grand Admiral.”

“I am going nowhere, Patriarch. He bestowed me this mission and his trust and I intend to honor both.” You stop him firmly.

He contemplates you with lassitude.

“Why going so far for him?”

“I trust him.”

“That cannot be the only reason.”

“To you, it may not be sufficient. To me it is. I learned to know him and I saw the grandeur of Great men in him.”

“How touching. Someone will escort you to the do-”

“I invoke the Protocol 39 of Chiss laws for diplomats.” You cut him.

This time you thought his head would really explode.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thurfian lets the fresh water roll on his skin.

He is absolutely fuming.

Where did you learn about that stupid protocol 39?! That damn law should get repealed urgently! A law offering asylum to alien diplomats who know about that particular protocol has no place in their books. It is a useless remnant of a past era of the Chiss Ascendancy when they were weaker.

But you knew about this protocol and invoked it out loud, and now he has to offer you protection...

He sighs.

Of course...

Ba’kif told you. It is the only possibility.

Whatever Thrawn planned, Ar’alani and Ba’kif are in leagues with him, leaving him all the mess to deal with.

What in tarnation Thrawn had in mind? Revealing one of the most dire secrets of the Ascendancy to a human? That Vento one wasn’t enough, he had to send another lost puppy to the Chiss. But this time he sent it to Thurfian.

He almost wants to laugh thinking back at that ‘peace treaty’ as you called it. Gibberish, unenforceable, naive. Thrawn learned absolutely nothing about politics during this decade. His true goal is so apparent and frankly Thurfian feels like he spat in his face.

Who does he think he is? And who does he think you are to even think this could work?

Him? Mitth’urf’ianico? Mating with an alien? Thrawn lost the last remnants of his foolish mind.

How would that even work? You humans have no mates, what did he hope would happen?

He gulps, his throat dry.

His own body hoped for something...

To his horror.

His dignity revulses at that thought, but his body awakened quite... brutally at the proximity of a compatible individual.

A young

Unmatched and single

Potential compatible individual.

He hates to admit it, but you are the prime example of a perfect Mate. A shame you are an alien, that spoils everything.

But his body, again, disagrees with his morals.

It only sees a potential, fruitful, and willing potential mate, ripe and ready for the harvest. His own body betrays him, desperate to get to know you better and pushing things to their climax.

It his demanding you, craving you, your scent, your voice, your touch...

It has been almost 6 months.

6 months of pure torture for him. Of his body feeling the presence of an available mate and entering fight mode to deter any potential rivals. 6 long, long months he tried to put the most distance between you two, keeping you as far away as possible, hoping it would ease his urges and cravings, only for his organisms to demand you harder, resorting to pain to force him to get closer.

6 months of him being hunted by lustful, disgusting dreams of you two together, waking him in a cold sweat, hard and shameful.

And you had to keep harassing him! In the name of your Warriordamn devotion to Thrawn you kept testing him every day. He has to hand it to you, you are dedicated.

He sees himself in you, back in his youth when he pursued lovers, the relentless chase, and the thrill of the hunt. But you have no idea of the true reason why Thrawn sent you here, to him. Would you have been a Chiss, he would have reveled in your insistence.

He tried everything to make you leave of your own will, to the subtle passive-aggressive ways to downright discrimination and hate. Anything to keep you far away. But you took it all, unflinching, dignified, keeping your head high in front of everything the Chiss threw at you.

He lowkey respects your attitude. He understands better what Thrawn saw in you and how you earned his respect and friendship. Not everyone would have held on before such treatments, he has met plenty of Chiss that would have chickened out long ago.

But you didn’t.

You remained, with your insufferable smugness and attitude, as infuriatingly spruce as ever.

And now he really has no ideas left to escape you and the temptation that you are for him.

He dreamed so much of dropping to his knees before you, kissing your hand reverently if you promised to be his and his alone, to devote yourself to him like you do with Thrawn, if you let him do what it pleased him to you...

He woke up horrified each time.

What other reaction was he supposed to have in front of such dreams?

Give in? Not a chance.

He remembers how he tried to push you out of his office the first day, your delicious smell was so overpowering he honestly thought he would pass out from his awakening urges. The last time he felt so... Alive was decades ago. He had to inhale his perfume handkerchief to limit the vertigos and baseless pulsions he felt pushing in his veins. He slammed the door once you exited his office, taking support on the wall to not fall to the ground with how he was trembling. He needed a long, icy cold shower after that.

You are no Chiss! How could you have such an effect on him?!

Did Thrawn knew?

Did he deduce that it was possible? Oh he really thinks he did Thurfian a favor, that he will be indebted to him.

But he just sent him a tormentor.

When Thrawn comes back

He comes back...

He will find Thurfian in the forefront of his detractors, ready to guide him to the pillory. He will find the exact opposite of what he tried to create.

Did he really think he would be able to come back untouched just because he sent him an alien to fuck? Thurfian remembers Thrawn having difficulties with relationships and socialisation but this is a real new low...

And to think he expects him to lower himself to you?! Him, the Patriarch of the Grand Mitth? Does he think he is desperate to find a mate? That he will accept anyone thrown his way? Even an alien?

He knew Thrawn had weird views but this one is an insult plain and simple.

He exits the shower to go down and eat breakfast with his family. Another long day ahead of him. Another load of pain waiting for him. He needs to get rid of you...

He needs to find a way. Any way.

He passes the large arches and his senses are immediately assaulted by your... obsessive scent. He swiftly takes support on the wall to not fall before the sheer power of your presence.

He REALLY needs to get rid of you, murder is still an option. It can still happen.

You are speaking with a member of the Mitth about something he does not care about. His first instance is to leave and climb back up in his suite, but that would be an admission of weakness on his part. That would be admitting you do have an effect on him, and he doesn’t intend on revealing that.

He already has enough problems like that. If Thrawn and his socially impaired character were able to deduce that you are compatible with him, then that means everyone in the Mitth Manor picked it up by now. He needs not to be a genius to know they all speak behind his back. And that’s also why he forbade you from leaving the Manor despite him trying to avoid you. He will not let the rest of the Ascendancy know one of his possible mates is a human.

Leaving the room right now would give them prove them right.

And that is not happening.

He takes his seat and takes out his questis to read today’s meeting and missions, ignoring you blatantly. He almost manages to focus and forget about everyone’s presence when he hears you laugh.

Cristallyne and melodious.

Delectable to hear.

So pleasing to his ears...

He deeply inhales to take back the upper hand but cannot help a guilty side glance in your direction.

You are radiant, smiling with a gleaming shine. You smile at another male, giving him your attention.

And that...

Infuriates him!

He mentally shakes his head, he needs to stop being so foolish but he cannot help the rising ire in his veins.

You are speaking an accentuated Cheuhn now. You made very great progress, proof of your brilliant intellect and willingness to serve him. And that accent is just soooo... Exotic and musical, just so pleasant to listen to.

He wants to listen to it for hours, he wan-

He chastises himself. He wants none of that. He is not jealous of that man. He does not dream about you every night.

This is not him.

This is his baseless urges and instincts speaking. Not his personhood.

He is way better than that. Way above that.

Way above you...

He would rather remain ‘the Mateless’ than associate with you. And prove Thrawn’s point.

This trial is far from over...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You silently walk in the corridors of the Manor. You don’t want to get spotted, Patriarch Thurfian would be heavily displeased if one of his guests spotted you. You just want to grab a snack anyway, you will not take long.

You listen to the music emanating behind the closed doors of the ballroom of the Mitth Manor, a very large party is taking place. You received explicit interdiction to appear, not that you wanted it anyway. You can hear the lively discussions and waves of laughter, this is a lively party. You reach the kitchens and start picking up in the dishes destined for the banquets.

A bit of this, a bit of that... You grab a fruit and head towards your room.

As you walk past one of the doors opens, letting you have a glance at the party. You have a sneaky look, only to cross gaze with Thurfian inside, looking straight back at you, frowning, ordering you to get the fuck out of here pronto. You scurry away, not wanting to get him on his nerves.

You’re not especially in the correct attire to be seen by all those guests. You are in your nightdress, ready to go to bed after your little snack, and you will really look out of place among those high-standard guests for sure.

You sigh, after a whole year here, Thrawn didn’t show up as promised. You knew it could take longer than what he told you, but you are almost a prisoner here, forbidden from leaving the manor altogether, your weapons and uniforms confiscated. They limited your contacts with Ar’alani and Ba’kif to a minimum. You had to fight tooth and nail to just have the right to own a questis.

Thurfian cannot bear to see you. He forbade you from approaching him entirely, but in every room you enter he seems to follow, only to look at you with disdain and horror and leave without a single word. You don’t know what his problem is but if he could have banished you to the other side of the Ascendancy, he would have done it.

Thank the Maker Admiral Ar’alani explained Thrawn’s plan to Supreme Admiral Ba’kif and he gave you that nice little trick with the protocols. Or it would have been a nice little trick if you could have accomplished your mission given by Thrawn, but in those conditions it is impossible.

‘Sorry my friend, I failed you for the first time’ you think bitterly.

“I told you they hide an alien!” A male voice raises behind your back.

You stop and spin on your feet to meet the disturbance of your peace. You met a group of four tall Chiss, looking at you up and down. Something in their demeanor displeases you immensely.

“And quite a looker! Look at that skin color, it looks so soft!.”

A fifth man appears behind your back, blocking the only other exit of the area.

“Where are you going like that, little one? You will need an escort, a lot of bad people roam around that kind of party.” One of them speaks casually as they all circle you.

“I thank you for your concern, good sirs. No need to bother with me, I am going away immediately.” You inform calmly, discreetly looking for an opening.

The situation is not yet dramatic, but with five men against you, you will be in severe difficulty.

“Mmmmh listen to that accent, it is absolutely lovely. Can you sing well too?” The one behind walked so close that he could grab a strand of your hair to wrap it around his finger.

You immediately slap his hand away.

“Careful man. She is feisty.” One snigger.

“I love them feisty.” He responds licking his lips, “Tell me girly, are you the pet of the house?”

“I am no one’s pet.” You growl.

The next one approaching will receive your fist in his teeth.

“A hottie like you, hidden away from the rest of the world like a secret... Someone wishes to keep you all for themself.”

You fight the desire to sigh loudly to their face.

“You are imagining things. Slow down the wine and let me pass, I need to sleep.”

“You can sleep with us if you want. We have the whole night ahead of us.” One of them grabs your hand and attempts to pull you away towards a darker room.

You throw your fist in his face, feeling something broke under your knuckles and hearing a growl of pain. The man is projected against the wall violently, under his comrades round eyes.

“You BITCH! Seize her!” He growls, his hand pressed on his bleeding nose.

They suddenly jump on you, grabbing your arms and clothes to tear them apart. You bite, claw, punch, and kick them back, giving them a hell of a hard time. But it is clear very soon that you will not win against five pissed-off opponents, not without a blade. And slowly fear settles in.

No one will hear you.

No one will save you.

No one wi-

A gunshot blasts in the air, stopping the commotion entirely.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He just had a bad feeling.

When he first smelled tea leaves, liquor, and honey he just felt ire in his veins, what the fuck were you doing around here? When he caught a glimpse of you between the two cracked open doors in your nightdress he felt his stomach tie itself in knots and his heart pumping faster.

He shot you with his gaze to make you get out! Away from him you devious temptress!

But when he saw this group of men leaving the ballroom right after you, he felt the ground opening under him.

He knows very well this kind of gaze they had. How many times him and his friends had to fight off creeps like them to protect their girlfriends back in the day? A lot. Too much.

Way too much.

He could not fight off the cold sweat rolling in the back of his neck when they walked past him with that deranged smile.

His hand unconsciously slid inside his inner tunic, feeling the cross of his personal Charric solidly attached in its straps. His head told him to stay in the ballroom, that aliens’ problems weren’t his.

But his heart told him that he couldn’t let such a horrifying act happen to any woman he knew, not under his own roof, not even to a pain in the neck sent by Thrawn, alien or not. His own morals couldn’t tolerate it!

And his instinct screamed at him to protect you specifically, his organism growing territorial and protective over you. You seem very well trained, and a part of him knows you are deadly with a weapon.

But he confiscated each and everyone of your weapons and sealed them away.

He even confiscated what you called a comlink. You will have no means to call for help. No one will hear your screams.

He put you in this situation!

And as that thought strikes his brain he realizes that he is furtively following the group of young men, his charric in hand. He doesn't see or hear them. He only has to follow your delicious scent..

He reaches a door and hears a moan of pain. A woman’s voice.

Your voice.

He sees red, all rational thoughts leaving his head. He kicks the door open and shoot a random mirror, dangerous glass shards exploding across the room.

They all stop.

You’re on the ground, nightdress torn apart, face bloody, limbs pinned to the ground with one of the creeps lying on top of you.

Your abusers turn toward him, their ears still ringing from the loud sound.

“Get off her.” He orders coldly.

“Patriarch Thurfian, what are yo-” Thurfian doesn’t let him finish and fires at the foot of the one speaking up, making him scream a pitiful wail of pain.

“Get.Off.Her. Or I shoot you down like dogs.” Thufian very calmly, very slowly, but very menacingly repeats.

He is dead serious he realizes. He has no idea who they are, they very well might be sons of important syndics or magnates, but he knows that if they don’t obey he will shoot them dead without any second thoughts about any of the consequences.

His gaze falls on you. You are in terrible shape and visibly terrified. His heart bleeds at such a sight...

He treated you terribly for an entire year to push you to the door and you took it with grace and determination, unsinkable. He never thought he would see such an expression on your face ever.

This fear in your human eyes is absolutely odious. He wants to get rid of it immediately.

Your attackers let you go reluctantly while the fifth is crying on the floor, holding his wounded foot. The one laying his disgusting body on top of you groans as he gets up, displeased that his fun is now ruined.

Do those types of men know no decency? No sympathy? No respect?

“Protecting your candy, heh?” The one on top of you chuckles, looking at him.

“What?” Thurfian snarls, heading the canon of his charric towards the chest of the impertinent.

“I smelled it on her.” He licks his teeth. Absolutely revolting, “What would the other Patriarchs say if they knew about her, I wonder?”

And suddenly, Thurfian’s anger subsides. His boiling blood turns into icy cold water in his veins and his mind gets clearer. His trembling hand shaking with fury steadies perfectly and he simply presses the trigger. The revolting man gets thrown back, hit in the chest. His friends jump and shout in surprise, incredulous that he dared fire his fellow Chiss over an alien.

Thurfian takes his comm out to ring his bodyguards as they look at their unconscious friend lying on the ground in a pathetic position.

In an instant, Chiss in uniforms enter the little salon, handcuff your attackers, and call an ambulance for the trash that got shot. Thurfian walks to the table. During the commotion you crawled in a corner of the room to put as much distance as possible between you and your assaulters.

You are trembling, knees pressed against your chest, your human skin soiled by your blood, almost naked in the cold room. He gets on one knee and detaches his Patriarch coat to pass it around your shoulder.

You shudder as his hand inadvertently brushes your shoulder. Look at you, terrified and lost.

And that is his fault. Only his fault.

Without a single word, he seizes your body and lifts you up bridal style. You yelp in surprise, looking at him with questions in your... gorgeous eyes. He carries you out of that room, without a single word for Thivick that just arrived.

Your scent reaches Thurfian nose again, and for the first time since you arrived in his manor, he indulges. He deeply inhales those delicate and harmonious notes.

His heart jumps in his chest as he feels you pressing yourself against him, huddling your wounded body against his, laying your head on his shoulder.

He should feel indignant. Revolted. Absolutely revulsed!

But the proximity feels comforting, it feels right. Like it was meant to be all along.

Did the Warrior himself placed you on his way? Did he remained mateless all of this time because he was waiting for you?

He doesn’t know. And frankly, he doesn’t care. Having you in his arms feels like the only good thing that happened to him in a long, long time.

He has a lot of explaining to do. But first, dressing your wounds.

He enters the infirmary and lays you in one of the beds. The medic stands up to start the treatment but Thurfian simply pulls the curtain, isolating both of you from the rest of the world. He washes his hands and washes your face delicately with a wet cloth.

You wince in pain, you received several blows that tore the skin apart in several places, and bruises of a variety of colors are already flourishing on your human skin.

“I am terribly sorry, (Y/n).” He simply says.

What else can he say after such an aggression? What words could comfort a victim?

“They will be brought on trial. They would not go unpunished.” He assures you.

You sniff with disdain, not believing his promise for a second.

“You all say that each time that it happens, but nothing gets done.”

“You have my word. With the testimony of a Patriarch, they will not be able to escape justice.” He tries.

You huff again, pushing his hand away.

“Why would you even do that? You made it very clear I was not welcomed anywhere in the Chiss Ascendancy, especially in your presence. Why shoot one of you for a ‘mere human’?”

He can feel the pain in your voice, how it twitches your features, how you gulp with difficulties.

‘Because I am physically incapable of seeing you suffer.’ are the first words popping into his mind and he almost says them out loud before biting his tongue.

But this is the truth. The fear he felt when he saw you in danger, the urge to tear those men’s eyes out of their sockets for just breathing weirdly in your direction, the absolute desperation when he saw your eyes widen in horror and fear.

He had to fight his attraction and desires towards you the entire year for him to shoot a man down at your first trouble. He hid behind the pretension that it was only his instinct getting desperate to not find a proper mate that they were desperate to settle with anyone, even a lowly alien.

But seeing you in this state makes him feel so guilty. He could have made your stay pleasant, welcomed you properly, and shown you the wonders of Chiss culture. But he locked you inside the Manor and limited your contacts with the outside world out of fear.

That they would know that you were made for him.

He could have made it easy for everyone and even facilitated future diplomatic relationships with humans like you proposed when you arrived.

But no. He had to act like a child and now look at the results...

“Because it is my job to protect guests under the Mitth roof.” He answers, muzzling the truth. “I will make sure it will not happen again.”

“I do not believe you.”

“I shot a man for you tonight.”

You turn your head away from his red gaze. He feels the urge to dive in the crook of your neck and kiss it, his body wants to hug you close and make sure you are safe.

But maybe...

This isn’t just his body speaking.

Maybe it is simply him too...

He wants to kiss your lips and swallow your pain and fear for you to only know peace and serenity in his arms.

He won’t, obviously. You are in shock, now is not the time for romantic advances.

“You could have just sent me back to Thrawn... You did not want me here anyway, why not allow me to go back to him?” You ask, fighting back sobs.

Now that things are settling down your body needs to evacuate the tension and stress of the aggression.

So you start crying.

Stabbing his heart deep.

‘Because I couldn’t let you go...’ He thinks with a sigh, realizing it as the thought crosses his mind.

He disinfects and dresses your wounds in silence, letting you cry to your heart’s content before sitting down and taking your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“Things will change from now on. I will give you back your weapons and uniforms, I will let you explore Csilla as you wish, and I will arrange a rendezvous with Ba’kif and Ar’alani. If you wish to go back to Thrawn, I will set you free...”

His hearts bleed at those words because he knows he wants the exact opposite as he is proposing it to you.

“But if you wish to remain and finish your mission, I would appreciate sharing a cup of tea with you, one day at your convenience. I want to know you better...”

And a little more he hopes.

Maybe one day you’ll forgive him.

Maybe one day you will hold his hands and call him yours.

He will wait, as long as it takes...

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar@thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037

#thurfian x reader #thurfian #mitth'urf'ianico #thrawn #thrawn ascendancy #fanfic #vibratingskull

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eternalera · 3 months ago

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discussing project 2025 and how it will most likely NOT affect ao3

tw: p0rn mentions/discussion

ive seen some news in the past few days about something called project 2025 and how it could result in ao3 being taken down because theyre trying to limit pornography and theyre classifying the lgbtq (or trying to) as part of that content.

people are afraid that because of this ao3 might be taken down as a result but here's why it most likely won't and you don't need to worry to much (but should still be cautious just in case). from my reading of the situation theyre mainly focusing on porn sites, porn hub and things like that. theyre started making it so that you have to enter in your drivers ID to prove that you are above the age of 18 so that kids and stuff dont have access to this content.

of course that itself is going to take a while because its a whole damn website, its not just in the US but it's international in itself. the programming and passing the bill will take an extremely long amount of time.

but this bill (or whatever) also violates things such as freedom of speech. writing is a form of speech and you are allowed to write about whatever the hell you want and no one is able to take that away, whether it be online or in real life and believe it or not writing gay fanfiction is a form of speech. especially if youre creating healthy gay relationships and promoting lgbtq content. the government cant just take that away because they classify it as 'porn' when its clearly not.

thats called censorship, limiting what you see so that they can control what you get fed in media and stuff like that. but not only that but if they were to do this then it would also affect sites like twitter, facebook, discord, pinterest, tumblr, literally ANY website where you can make ANY statement this would affect.

and no one is going through with that lets be honest for a second. because at that point its just controlling the internet and whats put out and what isnt. and no one can do that, at least not in america because guess what? YOU HAVE RIGHTS. and i can NOT stress this enough.

the government is NOT allowed to control what media you get fed and what you create. in fact that cant even reasonably define lgbtq stuff as porn because guess what? it wont work. people will riot, they will find a way, and yknow why? BECAUSE ITS NOT PORN.

then again you must be wondering about the explicit fics on ao3 and to that i say what about the explicit stuff on twitter? the bots on tumblr? hell even youtube.

the government cannot control all of this.

and if they were to even try i guarantee that the silly little website known as ao3 will be one of the first not even top five things that they try to target.

they'll target pornhub, youtube, twitter, literally ANYTHING before they get to ao3. and even if they do im more than certain that ao3 will lawyer up and put together a case about why they should stay in tact.

ACTUALLY if they try doing this in the slightest about ANY website that site is likely to fight back.

so while you should stay cautious i dont think any major panic is necessary. in order to take down ao3 the freedom of speech would need to be taken away in an amendment and that is not happening.

so basically, stay cautious but dont be too worried. and if ao3 does get taken down (which it most likely wont) there will probably be a set date where you can download and save everything before then

#ao3 #archive of our own #politics #trump #project 2025 #freedom #us politics #usa #america

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reservoirreputation · 1 year ago

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My Mom and I watched the FNaF movie last night. It was after game 1 of the world series, so I didn't want her to push through if she was very tired, but she was good, and guys-

-I loved the movie.

Like in a 'this is so charming and darkly twisted' kind of way.

That one article, saying that the movie was heavy on plot and light on scares, acting like that was a bad thing? Is just one of many review sites that doesn't get you're not the target audience.

A plot-heavy movie is exactly (I think) what FNaF fans were largely looking forward to, and it delivered! And, practical effects, my beloved! I think there was only one instance of CGI, and that was any shots that had to deal with electricity. Otherwise? It's a PG-13 gateway horror film for mostly kids that treats the devoted fanbase well, and is even gorier in some places than the games ever were. Like, I don't recall there being any blood AT ALL in the games, and the use of it in the movie was still sparing, but effective!

Also, spoiler(s)

Afton giving Vanessa the hand-me-down toy airplane is an incredibly underrated and twisted moment in the film. Like, think about that; how many of her other childhood toys, clothes, and so on come from the kids her father had murdered? That's a great expansion on what a sick bastard Afton is, and it's a quick moment, too.

The blanket fort scene was so precious and sweet, and taps into the unexpected friendship dynamic that Security Breach gave us, and a great moment of humanity for the dead kids, who could easily just be seen as villains, but moments like this help combat that.

Genuine question: is 'The bite of 2000?!?' a meme yet, because it should be. Both my Mom and I were delighted by how unexpectedly brutal that was, because I was anticipating the hand jump-scare from the commercials, which I think was great marketing; the viewer keeps an eye out for this moment, almost brushes it off, only to be caught off guard by Max getting CHOMPED. Another favorite moment was one of the thieves SCREAMING as he ran through the restaurant, because that's just so good.

Some 'theatre of the mind' scares going on in this movie, and I really think it's gonna burn itself into the minds of kids for years to come, like, who's moving all of these bodies? What happened to Max's top-half before it got moved? What do those corpses stuffed in animatronics look like after 20 years? And, most importantly, what happened to the aunt?!?!?! Like, I wanted to see her death scene because she's an awful character (affectionate) but like, it's really a great choice. 'What happened to my aunt?' 'Don't worry, she's just sleeping.' *only shows us the bottom-half of her body* Like, did she also get chomped?? That's gonna haunt some kid's nightmares, and I love it.

During the diner scene, I was so distracted with the aunt continuing to be The Worst, and bringing her cohorts to a restaurant, only to not buy breakfast, as she's burning money to keep her lawyer with her constantly, only to realize, 'HOLY SHIT THAT'S MATPAT' The way my Mom and I BURST out laughing, ohmygod. Also, that actor who played the lawyer? Does some of the most with the least amount of screen-time to further get across how awful the aunt is. That thousand-yard stare, he's seen some things.

Extra sadness to an already sad movie: do you think Mike's parents, in grieving for Garrett, had Abby as the 'fix-it' kid? Fill the void with another child? Because I think it would further explain how messed up their family is.

When Mike's introduced to us, and he starts doing pushups, I instantly got flashbacks to Pollyanna's character in 'Let Us Prey'. And when he just starts going to town, punching that dad's face? I knew, in that moment, our boy would go the distance against these haunted animatronics. He got the ever-loving SHIT kicked out of him by Afton and was STILL going.

Another great, underrated creepy moment is when Mike tries talking to the kids in his dream, and the one in the foreground stares at him, the others behind him are blurred out. It's such a nice, off-putting touch.

There was something really nice about Mike cleaning the place up after the thieves trashed it. That time and effort to tidy up a place most people would never see again is just really touching, and I think is one of the reasons why he survives for so long in the movie, despite napping on the job. Before Abby ever enters the picture, he doesn't disturb anything, break stuff, nothing. Really, he's the caretaker of a graveyard and he just doesn't know it, yet, so it feels like someone tidying up the lawn, cleaning up the gravestones.

Those are some of my thoughts on the movie, about a day later. I really hope they get to make a second film, because we need more quality gateway horror, and there's certainly a LOT of plot-points and characters the movie hasn't even TOUCHED on, yet.

#fnaf #movies #horror #gateway horror #spoilers

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straydog733 · 2 years ago

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Reading Resolution: “We Had to Remove This Post” by Hanna Bervoets

27. Wild Card: We Had to Remove This Post by Hanna Bervoets

List Progress: 11/30

On any social media site, or truly any website that accepts user submissions, there is a team of people working behind the scenes to keep some basic rules in place. The anonymity and sheer volume of the internet can bring out the worst in people, and professional content moderators spend their days wading through hate speech, pornography, spam, abuse and violence. Moderation cannot and should not be left entirely to machines and algorithms, but what about the impact on the moderators themselves? We Had to Remove This Post, the 2021 novel by Dutch author Hanna Bervoets, follows one such moderator, Kayleigh, as she reflects on what working at the moderating company Hexa did to her, her friends, and her relationships. It is a bracing, disturbing, sometimes unpleasant read, and if the book were much longer than its novella length, it would be too much. But for a story about the very concept of “too much”, this book is just the right amount.

We Had to Remove This Post is framed as Kayleigh’s tell-all, her interview with a lawyer to explain why she won’t join her former coworkers’ lawsuit against Hexa for unsafe work environments. Kayleigh knows that working at Hexa damaged her, but she also sees her own actions as shameful enough that she won’t publicly take a stand against them. Because Kayleigh started a relationship with her coworker Sigrid fairly soon into her tenure at the company, and with the combination of a toxic relationship dynamic and the trash they pumped into their brains every day, they brought out the absolute worst in each other. Sigrid starts to see the appeal of the conspiracy-theory videos they have to watch for content violations, and Kayleigh starts to crave the rush and revulsion of seeing incredibly depraved acts in a constant stream. They both think they are handling things better than the other and don’t see the rabbit holes they’ve gone down. Their whole job as moderators is to evaluate things from the outside, so of course they are better at that than the introspection to see their own actions. It’s a canny dynamic that Bervoets sets up, one that is easy to get sucked into.

This book is not for the faint of heart. Slurs, hate-speech, racism, descriptions of violence, self-harm, animal abuse and child abuse are all to be found in this short page count, and no one would be wrong to decide that it is too unpleasant of a matter to engage with in their media. But for everyone on the internet, there are people working day and night to make sure that you don’t have to engage with it, and Bervoets does powerful work highlighting that. While Remove this Post is a work of fiction, it is based explicitly on several real sources, including lawsuits that content moderators have brought against companies like Facebook. It’s a rough job, and someone does have to do it, but those people deserve all the support they can get.

Would I Recommend It: Yes, with the large caveat that the reader be comfortable with the content mentioned above.

#straydog's reading resolution #we had to remove this post #hanna bervoets

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thecoolertails · 2 years ago

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looks like it's time to repeat myself: if section 230 goes under, ao3 is fucked 10 ways from sunday and throwing money at them isn't gonna stop that.

there is already precedence for them to know the content that is posted to their site. they have content guidelines, a section on their site adressing the presence of RPF on their site, frequently refer to the presence of fanworks on the site throughout their TOS, and a complaint system in which quality & abuse personnel will review reported content.

im not a lawyer, i didn't pass the bar, im certainly not getting paid by billionaire executives to take down the site, and this is just what i found in cursory readings of their TOS and content policy. im sure any prosecutor worth their pay grade would be able to dig up a lot more than that to prove they have knowledge, or reason to know, about at least SOME of the content they host. moderation or no, if OTW were to be brought to court over defamation or copyright infringement after a section 230 overruling, they would be just as fucked as they would be if they actually vetted the content they host.

also it's funny how apparently it's a security risk for writers to link to their patreons or for them to pay their policy & abuse team, but OTW can pocket hundreds of thousands of dollars more than the amount that they claim they need to run the site, multiple times a year. you think a prosecutors gonna overlook that too?

i also want to point out that their policy regarding lawsuits filed against them is to remove the offending content. they aren't some bastion of free speech that's raising money to protect the voices of writers or whatever it is you seem to think. all these precautions you're bringing up do nothing to protect the users of the site, who ao3 would be nothing without (and who would find another platform if ao3 were to ever go under). when push comes to shove they aren't jumping in the the way of any harm that comes to the people actually contributing to the archive

anyway, OP's point was about everything having ads and how that sucks. someone then hijacked the post to advertise ao3. my point was that, in addition to the fact that giving ao3 money literally doesn't help that issue at all, ao3 makes more money than it needs by a significant margin every single fundraiser (and then doesn't use that money to improve their site or user experience/safety), and that your money is better spent by donating to actual artists. which it is.

#this is the last response im giving you #if i have to read another legal case im going to throw up #and im not interested in bothering OP with this off topic conversation any more than i already have #i know im right and i dont particularly care about convincing you of that 🤷

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douchebagbrainwaves · 6 months ago

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THE COURAGE OF MONTHS

That gave me a way to make a fortune without noticing. Some, like selflessness, might come from going to drunken parties. I think the root of the problem you think about a world in which it would be misleading even to call them centers. Not all were necessarily supplied by the PR firm. There's still a lot of intelligence to get rich. You're investing your own time in your startup. Youth It's the young nerds who start startups wish they could start a startup, and sell it to colleagues. We get all the paperwork set up properly so there are no misunderstandings. An apartment is also the essence of venture investing. If you can find such a clump, it's probably a good bet, why are smart kids so consistently unpopular? I like being part of this talk became Why Startups Condense in America May 2006 This essay is derived from a talk at AngelConf.

What defines it is the same as Berkeley's: you should live better. In the startup world from investment banking, she has always been that it's difficult to pick them out. If we assume 4 people per startup, which is doing so well they could probably starve the trolls of the lawyers they need. Maybe. When they first start working on a space that contains at least one partner from the VC fund takes a seat on the board of directors. I was one of the biggest ideas at Google is going to be better than you realize. Html 23. But this meant a Google was now setting Microsoft's agenda, and b Microsoft's agenda consisted of stuff they weren't good at. It could only spread to places that already had a vigorous middle class. Persistence Is the Key A lot of startups grow out of ideas?

You'll be better off in Silicon Valley, MIT Press, 2006. If wealth means what people want, and for the first time as an adult. They'll make sure that suing them is expensive and dangerous. But that's not true. So the fact that they have a single format. The Secret Weapon Eric Raymond has written an essay called How to Become a Hacker, Eric Raymond, Ken Anderson, and Dan Giffin for reading drafts of this. Xenophon Mem. The future turned out to be a good thing too, or a new category of things not to eat—the kind where, by spending a lot of the advances that happen in programming languages. 3 million six months in, they probably didn't realize it till I was in Africa last year and I wish we had. Let me put the case in terms a government official would appreciate. So if you need to impress are not very discerning.1

Though it brought many social changes, the Industrial Revolution did is their social disruptiveness. A typical angel round these days might be $150,000 raised from 5 people. So I sent all the founders shared this summer was a spirit of independence. In filtering, this translates to: look at the most advanced theoretical principles. Similar sites include Digg, a technology startup takes some amount of bullshit in your life by more than 6. Morgan was to the customers. The most famous example is probably Steve Wozniak, who originally wanted to build microcomputers for his then-employer Hewlett-Packard. Or business users.

Notes

When governments decide how to allocate research funding moderately well, partly because you need to know how to be driven by money—for example, there was when we created pets. Obviously this is mainly due to the wealth they generate.

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rootresident · 2 years ago

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Google and Your Privacy

I've been seeing many uninformed takes going around on how Google uses your data, and AI in general, so I thought I'd address the topic.

What is the problem

Some class action lawsuits have recently been started claiming that google has used data scraped from public sites to train its new chatbot. This includes things like PDFs of books, blogs, forums, etc. As far as I can tell, this does not include content stored in google drive (i'll touch more on this later). The legality of this is questionable, but I'm not very familiar with this particular case and how this data is being used, so I won't really touch on it. I bring it up because this seems (i think) to have sparked more debate on AI and data usage in general, some of it very... misguided.

AI and the issue of IP and copyright

Massive amounts of data are required to train an AI model, and many services collect whatever data they can get their grubby little hands on in order to train it. Github's Copilot AI model which helps to generate snippets of code faster uses data from public github repos in order to train its model. The issue with this is that most repos have licenses attached, which dictate how the content can be used. One of the rules in open source, is that whatever license governs some code must be distributed with the code if it used elsewhere. This means that if you use code from another project in yours, you have to distribute the license along with it. Copilot does not do this. If you use copilot, you could very easily be committing copyright infringement without even knowing, because the code from copilot may be owned by someone else. Now, most of the time you cant copyright a generic piece of code, so how much of an issue this may cause is up for debate (which it is, in class action lawsuits).

Google's IP License

When you use Google Drive, you automatically agree to their license which allows them to use your content in certain ways (https://policies.google.com/terms#toc-permission). From my understanding, Google's license allows them to host, distribute, publish, and modify your content as long as it is for the purposes of operating and improving services, publicly promoting services, or developing new tech and services. I encourage you to check it out for yourself, but I'll try to summarize what I think that means. Essentially, google is allowed to do pretty much whatever they want for those limited purposes, which normally would not be concerning as you still retain ownership of all your data so they can't just use it for whatever. However, AI turns it into a different beast. I am not a lawyer, so take this with a healthy serving of salt, but the license states your content can be used for

developing new technologies and services for Google consistent with these terms.

This means it must still be consistent with the other limited purposes of operating and improving services and promotion. However, some of the bullet points under improving services include the purposes of "recognizing patterns in data" and "customize services for you" which could absolutely fall under acceptable use for training an AI model. Again, I'm not a lawyer so I don't really know what I'm talking about, but the potential is there and I wouldn't put it past Google to just do it and worry about legality later.

What does that actually mean?

Just like with Github's copilot, if Google is using your data to train AI models it may use your data in part in it's responses. As an example, if you were to ask it to generate a movie script it may use some content from something you've written in order to create a scene in the script. Technically you still own the original, of course, but now the question is whether you own that part or should get credit for it using your work to generate something new. Under google's license this answer would be a "no" and they can use it to their heart's content. This doesn't mean your entire work would be used, but it's still an issue. Again, this doesn't mean it is happening, but it is definitely a concern. This is the primary concern for any AI model, because they all use any public data to train their models. The legality and concerns about fair use are being debated, but as usual regulation lags far behind.

Please share your thoughts, if you have any left. Do you think how AI models use data is acceptable? How can researchers and companies ensure they are using data fairly and responsibly? How should IP and licensing work, and who takes the credit for some work done by AI?

#google #coding #ai #privacy #copyright #data usage

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officialcreature · 2 years ago

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I love this site and appreciate everyone's attempt at being understanding and acknowledging struggles, but sometimes I see people reblog the dumbest takes just because they're put forward by or use the language of marginalized people.

Just saw back to back dumb posts.

1. A post about how white supremacy was responsible for all arguments over domestic labor, because white men were told they just had to provide and white women were told they just had to have white babies. Then the slaves would do all the house work. This of course neglects the fact that I've never heard any woman ever claim that they gave birth a few times so they don't have to do anything, the inslavement of black people was region specific and even in the south most people didn't have/couldn't afford slaves, the issue of household labor division pops up in basically every house regardless of race or gender, these sorts of expectations exist in countries that have never had any form of racially specific slavery, etc.

The image of well off white slave owning families and their traditional rolls, not to mention the exploitation of black labor by even those who didn't have slaves continuing on through Jim Crow, probably has had a measurable effect on perceptions of domestic labor at least in the US, but it's not even kind of able to explain most issues regarding it. Still we have a post of some lady claiming it's the be all end all of domestic arguments, and a million people claiming its a hot take and excepting it as basic fact without thinking it through at all.

2. A post saying doctors should have to get relicensed every certain amount of time because as of right now people are dying and being gas lit or whatever because doctors are just refusing to even try and stay up to date. Then someone being like, "Yeah lawyers have to do 20-30 hours of continuing education. So should doctors."

Every medical profession I know of does have to do some combination of continuing education and/or relicensing. In my field for example you have to do 30 hours of continuing education per "maintenance interval" with some specific amount of hours having to be spent on DEI and ethics.

While there are definitely doctors who phone it in. Keeping up to date on all changes in the field is near impossible. It's why your professors usually do research and are really knowledgeable on a very specific topic, because most medical fields are so large that it's nearly impossible to know it all to the point that even researchers on a very specific topic don't know all there is to know about just that topic. Not to mention most fields having multiple research journals each, the issues of most studies being highly specific and the general application of those studies not being entirely obvious, etc. Then you take a more general field like your family physician and that bitch is fucked. There is no way humanly possible for someone to have a strong understanding of every issue that any patient could walk in with.

Not to mention the impact of insurance and the overall lack of doctors and their time and how those impact this as well.

Of course people pointed this out to OP and they literally said something along the lines of, "People saying they're region requires it etc. Fuck off."

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backofthebookshelf · 4 years ago

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The DMCA and You; or, why Tumblr won’t get sued over Post+

I keep seeing people saying “doesn’t Tumblr understand they’re inviting an avalanche of lawsuits” and being baffled that people think this, and then I remembered that most of you were not both alive and in fandom in 1998 and therefore probably haven’t spent hours reading through the DMCA trying to figure out exactly how it was going to screw us. (Turns out we were right, but not nearly pessimistic enough.) So gather ‘round, children, it’s time for another bout of fandom history.

You have to understand what the internet looked like in 1998. Most people didn’t have internet access at home, and for those who did, you got a whopping 54 kbps (yes, that’s kilobytes per second) (compare that to 4G wireless, which 14 Mbps, not to mention, you know, wireless) unless you wanted to shell out for ISDN, which was twice the speed and five times the cost. Only 47% of American adults “went online” at all, never mind the two to six hours per day that current internet users are estimated to spend.

And I mean, why would you? There wasn’t that much there. If you wanted to post something online, your first and best option was to pay for web hosting of your own, or mooch off a friend’s. Or you could get a Geocities site, which would be plastered with ads and limited you to such a small amount of storage that you couldn’t have more than a couple dozen low-resolution images at best, or you could post on a message board (which would be essentially mooching off of a friend’s paid web hosting, because most sites that hosted message boards were just some guy who wanted to have a place to chat with his friends that wasn’t a Yahoo! email list), where you might get permission to post three or four images at a time. Music? Rude, takes up too much bandwidth, don’t do that to people. Video? You’re hilarious. (I once left my computer on for a week while I attempted to illegally download a copy of Velvet Goldmine but I finally gave up and got it from the video store instead.)

But still, at the time that was magic, and as more and more stuff found its way online, somebody who held a copyright somewhere (read: music studios and Disney) realized they had to get out in front of things. And into this brave new world came the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, which was passed in 1998 and was already skewing the shape of the internet of the future when it came into effect in 2000.

It did a lot of dumb things but the one we’re concerned about is the “safe harbor” provision, which basically says that in the case of an online copyright infringement, there are three parties: the infringer, the copyright holder, and the internet host, and the host is not a part of the copyright dispute.

Prior to this, if Sony or Disney or whoever found an illegal copy of their intellectual property (read: an mp3 or an avi) online, they’d go after whoever owned the server it lived on. Which made sense! If you find stolen TVs in someone’s basement, you go after the guy who owns the basement, and “I didn’t know my deadbeat brother in law was stealing TVs” is something you’ll have to prove in a court of law.

But internet companies like Geocities and Yahoo! and anyone else who offered random users the chance to post things on the internet using a free account said wait a minute, this doesn’t make sense. Because the internet is not like a physical basement; we have no reason to see someone carrying stolen mp3s down the basement stairs, and the scale is such that we couldn’t see all of them if we tried (unless we banned all mp3s, which means goodbye, MySpace, and goodbye indie bands). You wouldn’t go after a landlord in New York because their tenant in New Jersey is stealing TVs, would you?

So the DMCA said fine, we understand that the internet as it currently exists, and as it is attempting to exist (remember this is still the height of the dot.com boom and people are making money hand over fist by just owning websites), can’t operate if we try to do this. So instead of letting big companies sue big companies over copyright law, we’ll let big companies sue individual humans over copyright violations. That’s much more fair.

Of course most of what resulted wasn’t lawsuits at all; it was individuals getting threatening letters from Sony and Disney promising them that they were planning to sue but if you, Joe User, will just delete the thing you posted from the internet, we’re willing to make this all go away. And people did, because fuck, who’s going to duke it out with Disney?

The DMCA is the reason tumblr exists in the first place (not to mention twitter, and facebook, and essentially the entire part of the internet that isn’t either an ad or a news website). Technically, if tumblr was responsible for copyright violations, they’re already a prime target for a lawsuit, because they’re running ads on a website where people post copyright violations on a daily basis. Adding the opportunity for you to make money off your copyright violations doesn’t make them any more liable than they already are, which is not at all.

So here’s what predict will happen with Post+ at the beginning: absolutely nothing. A few people will monetize gifsets or fanfiction or vids and no one will pay attention and no one will care. But some small creators, people who post original fiction, people who post craft patterns, people who post insightful analysis, will start using it as part of their actual revenue stream. Sooner or later someone will be making enough money that it pings someone’s radar, and sooner or later someone making money will slip up and post something that could plausibly be a copyright violation, and they won’t get sued. They’ll get a takedown notice, a threatening letter from whoever owns the thing they infringed upon (...so Disney), and they’ll pull the thing. But it’s hard to pull things from the internet, much harder than it used to be, and nearly impossible the way tumblr works. So they get another takedown notice. Or Disney’s lawyers go through their blog with a fine-toothed comb and they start getting more and more unreasonable takedown notices, but now they’re scared and fuck, who’s going to duke it out with Disney? So they take their blog down entirely, and now that person is a little bit poorer and Disney is out the cost of four or five stamps and envelopes and the time their lawyer spent fifteen years ago drafting the takedown notice template.

I guarantee you that the people who decided to implement this know that this is going to happen, and they do not care. We’ve reached the “we could make this website work if we could just get rid of fandom” stage, which never ends well for the website but they never seem to learn that. So please, please don’t try to monetize fandom content on the assumption that tumblr is going to be the one to get slapped with a lawsuit for it, that’s just not how it works. It never has been and it never will be.

#tumblr is a website #fandom history #copyright law #psa

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1995lahaine · 3 years ago

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I am sincerely confused by your posts because in the trial so far, the couples therapist relayed that amber reported she would habitually strike and hit depp when feeling disrespected and provoked by him ignoring her or leaving the room during a verbal argument. Of course that’s the definition of domestic violence to punish a spouse with a physical beating for a real or perceived insult or slight. From what I can tell if depp ever hit her back while she struck him, he would fit the bill of a reactive abuse. If all that’s the truth, I have a hard time faulting him (hypothetically) for returning a blow when being attacked physically. There’s a certain amount of human dignity and natural reaction in striking back against a domestic attack. Which I wouldnt automatically label abuse / wife beating . But again, it remains to be seen if that is the full story

I’ve made two posts. Two posts about the current trial, detailing the fact that Johnny Depp is FACTUALLY an abuser, and about how AS I SAID IN THE POST, what he’s arguing for now is nothing to do with amber heard’s conduct. if the current trial were anything but an attempt to continue his abuse, amber would not be involved. if it were about whether he has been defamed, all that were in question would be whether what was published were factual or defamatory (which, if you knew at all what you were talking about, you would know that publishers are very careful not to publish anything that would get them caught as guilty in suits like this). he lost in the uk. he is certainly an abuser. even if amber were complicit, which I do not believe she is, it does not matter. What is at issue is whether his conduct was abusive. It was, and continues to be. I could be here arguing that amber did nothing wrong. I don’t think she did, but nothing I have posted has argued that she did nothing wrong, until now. The full story doesn’t matter in these proceedings. The full story is quite literally none of your fucking business. This case is about whether he abused her. He did. There are photos, there are texts, there are tucking police documents. There is a history of abusive conduct. Not to draw a false equivalence, but had any of Harvey Weinstein’a victims fought back against his attacks, you are arguing that they would have been abusers too, for daring to resist him.

He literally DID physically abuse her before she said any of this, that is accounted for in copious amounts of photographic, physical, and witness evidence. He texted his friends on multiple occasions about how he wanted to burn and immolate her corpse. Did amber do any of the sort? She didn’t. If she had, his team would certainly have presented it. What has been presented as evidence of abuse in her part has been a couple of instances of her becoming violent in response to Johnny’s ongoing disgusting conduct. i know you’re probably getting false of propagandic information right now but Jesus fucking Christ, go back to the evidence (and I mean that in a serious legwl sense) presented at the initial trial, the divorce proceedings which were the only proceedings that should ever have been brought, the only ones that are relevant to deciding whether or not he abused her or not. if he were innocent of abuse he would have won the defamation trial in the uk. i am not going to respond to any more messages about this because fundamentally I understand court proceedings, the law, and what counts or does not count as valid evidence or acceptable courtroom/legal conduct than anyone willing to hide behind anon on this site ever will. here’s the thing you can try and discredit me but when it comes to the law and facts if you are not a full lawyer you simply won’t be able to win in a fight about this. all sending this message tells me is that you’re an idiot, you’ve allowed yourself to fall for celebrity-sponsored propaganda, and you’re a foul disgusting person who doesn’t care about abuse victims regardless of their gender or status. fuck off. once again, I really sincerely hope you have a terrible day. fuck you 💜

#abuse mention //#I’m sick of this this is the final fucking post I’m making on the matter

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wandering-travesty · 3 years ago

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Off To The Races

Zeke’s life wasn’t supposed to be like this. His father would have a spontaneous brain aneurism if he saw the daily goings on of the younger Yeager’s household on his days off. Horrid amounts of smoking outside, snow or shine, day-drinking without a second thought, and lonely, not by choice. He had honest-to-god tried to live the life his father wanted for him. He married a woman straight out of law school and knocked her up a few months after. They raised that kid for a year then repeated the process. They lived, laughed, and loved for a few years, then, as a surprise to no one, the divorce came along. His wife had run off with a lump sum of money and started a new life out of state. He got left with two kids, substance abuse issues, and a law firm to run. He was stressed, depressed, and by the holiest powers above, was he horny.

Ignoring the horniness for a moment, everything changed when you came around. Every inch of his world brightened, almost like a light at the end of a tunnel. You gave him some form of hope, and reminded him that life wasn’t all doom and gloom. You were still in college, looking for some extra funds to help pay your tuition; a lawyer that doubled as a father of two was the perfect target. You had shown up in your prettiest outfit, almost as if you were showing off for him. Being the kind of man he was, Zeke couldn’t help but hire you. Some sweet, fetching little thing coming up to his decadent doorstep in a tiny little tennis skirt and begging to take care of his kids? That was something he could never turn away.

So, you became the official caretaker of Zeke’s little angels. You truly adored looking after them while their, admittedly handsome, father slaved away at his big, important law firm. You rang the doorbell right as the kids were waking up, Zeke greeting you at the door already dressed in one of his repulsively expensive suits. You talked over scones and coffee and made the kids just about anything they wanted. He would leave, and you would get the kids dressed and out the door with ample time to catch the bus. You’d clean the house, make yourself some lunch, play with the family dog. The golden retriever was just another cliche. But you still loved the mutt, especially since every family member loved him, too. You could tell because Zeke had named him after some long-dead baseball player, meaning he would be enamoured with the thing no matter what.

It was fun, picking up on little details about Zeke, or Mr. Yeager, as you called him. He loved baseball and would talk about it for hours on end if you let him, and he hated strawberry icecream for some unexplained reason. He was the face of success for his entire life, from being a star pitcher on his little league team back home to captain of the debate team in high school; he had never really failed at anything or gotten robbed of what he wanted. He was a winner in everything he had ever tried. He had mentioned how high-strung his parents were, and how they’d gone through a divorce of their own when he was young. He and his step-brother never got along that well, and had actually turned out to be very different people. His family life was anything but smooth, and he feared his kids would look back on their childhood in the same light. You guessed that’s why tonight was happening.

“Alright, I’m entrusting my children, dog, house, and painfully expensive belongings to you for the night.” He was dressed to the nines, hell, the tens. He wore an umber sport coat, mustard turtleneck sweater, a thick black belt, grey slacks, chestnut oxfords, and the most expensive golden watch you had ever seen. His flaxen hair shined perfectly in the low light of the entranceway; it was official: you wanted to fuck him. Rather, you wanted him to fuck you. You wanted him to fuck you stupid and make you squirt all over that pretty watch, and his even prettier face.

“I’ve got it covered, Mr. Yeager.” His youngest son wrapped his arms around your legs as the dog rubbed his head into your palm. “Knock ‘er dead!” You gave him your cheesiest smile and thumbs up. He chuckled at you as his eldest son grabbed your free hand.

“You’ve got this, Dad!” He cheered, starting to drag you to the living room.

“Thank you, Atticus. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gave a weak smile, turning to leave through the large oak door. It was awful, how badly he wanted to stay there with you and the kids. He wanted to chase Atticus down the hall as the rest of you ran after him, laughing all the way. He wanted to put on some old, boring movie only he wanted to watch and feel your breath on his neck as you fell asleep just after the kids and dog sitting on the floor below you. He wanted to feel your warmth in his bed. He wanted to see what you looked like backed up against a wall. Heaving after an especially passionate kiss. With your legs over your head, screaming his name. The sweat dripping down your face as you came undone beneath him. The little whimpers you’d make as he pulled out of you and cradled you in his arms. He wanted you, not this random woman off of some shitty dating site. He didn’t really want the booze, or the men, or the women, or the money, or the white picket fence, or his father’s approval; he just wanted - no - he needed you. Your game of cat and mouse, seeing which playful “sweetheart” or coy little “Mr. Yeager” would be the one to tip you over the edge of more than friends.

“Zeke? That’s you, right?” The tall blonde woman in a sleek black suit walked towards him with an outstretched hand. She could’ve easily been a full foot taller than him. Interesting.

“Yes. Yelena, correct?” But she wasn’t you. He just wanted to get this night of false wining and dining over with so he could come home to you. You in his big, expensive house. Better yet, his big, expensive bed.

You sat and watched the clock after the kids went to bed. It ticked and tocked, back and forth, over and over. It had been about an hour since you’d put them down for the night. You couldn’t wait for Zeke to get home for much longer. Butterflies buzzed through your stomach when you heard the doorbell ring.

“Mr. Yeager?” You opened the door to the sight of your employer with his shirt halfway unbuttoned, glasses falling off his face, and hair an absolute bird’s nest.

“Hey, beautiful.” He purred, slumping onto your shoulder, trying and failing to be smooth. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in my house, huh?” He looked up at you over the rim of his glasses. The way his eyes glimmered a dark shade of teal lit your entire body on fire. Feeling his full weight on top of you only made it spread farther.

“Babysitting your kids, for starters.” You maneuvered your bodies to have his arm wrapped around your shoulder as you dragged him back into the house. “Apparently I’ll be babysitting you, too.” You mumbled, just then realizing exactly how muscular he was. You sat him down on the leather couch and started to walk to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. You didn’t have much experience with alcohol, but you believed water helped with it somehow.

“Damn. Loving the view from back here, gorgeous.” He leaned forwards with his elbows on his knees, licking his chapped lips. You jumped at the sudden compliment. You couldn’t remember him being so…dirty before. You walked a little faster than you already were, wanting to get away from him before you made a stupid decision. You poured a tall glass of water, walking back to the couch where Zeke was now lounging, legs spread far enough to leave barely anything to the imagination.

“Hey there, doll. Got somethin’ for me?” He giggled, lowering his head from where he had been resting it. His eyes were something to behold, and the deep rooted confidence and downright cockiness behind them only served to make you shiver. You shuffled closer, a bit skittish at the sight of the beast before you.

“It’s just water.” You sat down on the table in front of him. “It’s supposed to help with your metabolism, I think.” Your voice was a higher pitch than usual, feeling an odd pressure in your throat every time you spoke.

“What a smart little thing you are.” He praised. It felt genuine, and you started to feel hotter. You handed him the glass, trying your best to avoid eye contact. He took the glass, and almost as if he had sensed your intentions, took your chin between his fingers and forced you to look into his deep, ocean eyes. He leaned back a bit, giving you a better view of his exposed chest. There was a light layer of golden hair overtop of his expansive chest, and it seemed to trail down the rest of his body. You wanted to find out if that was true. Still holding eye contact with you, he tipped the glass and send the water spilling down his shirt. You knew that wasn’t just drunken clumsiness, but a calculated measure to get in your pants.

“Whoops.” He said, eyes cold and emotionless as his words. “You better clean that up, sweetheart. We both know I can’t take care of myself in this state.” You moved closer to him, hands unsure of where they were going. You were shaking a bit, and you didn't have a towel on you. You decided the best course of action was to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. You felt down his chest, gently tugging on his nipples. He let out a soft groan as you continued to feel him up.

“You’re gettin’ a little handsy there, baby. You want something from me?” He pet your hair as you moved further down on his chest. You kissed and gave kitten licks, appreciating every inch and curve of his muscular form. You couldn’t get enough of him, try as you might.

“I fuckin’ knew it.” He pulled you by your hair to force you to look at him.

“Filthy little harlot.” He squeezed you cheeks, forcing your mouth open. You looked confused until you felt a glob of spit hit your tongue. You swallowed like it was second nature.

“You’re just here for my dick, huh?” You continued to kiss and lick down his abdomen, savoring every ounce of him you could; the smell of cinnamon, menthol, and saltwater hit your nose, intoxicating you further and further the more you breathed him in. “I bet it’s all you think about. Especially when those fingers rub that pretty little cunt until you cum all over yourself.” You let out a whine, signifying exactly how right he was.

“Yeah.” You dragged your tongue up his six-pack, savoring the slightly salty taste. “Think about you every night.” You licked a stripe down the same line you had just gone up. “Only way I can get to sleep.” He smiled the warmest smile you had ever seen him produce. Such a sweet little thing for him, getting off to thoughts of him railing you silly in order to have a good night’s rest. Your submissive, horny mind was so focused on him you couldn’t get to bed without him. You were perfection in human form. Truly a goddess sent from above. He would worship you in the most degrading way possible.

“I knew you were dirty, I just needed to force you to show me.” He continued to pet your hair like you were some kind of beloved family pet. You felt so small under his touch; so fragile, as if one touch could blow you away forever. You loved the feeling more than life itself. You felt like you could never live without it again. Touching yourself while thinking about him wouldn’t do the trick; not after you had felt the real thing.

“That’s it, honey, kiss me like you mean it.” He teased, knowing exactly what was running through your head. Sure, he was no master of seduction, but he had bedded plenty before, and he knew exactly how talented he was. He had learned from years of experience; years you hadn’t yet lived. You would learn it all from him. Those little college boys he could smell on you every so often wouldn’t cut it anymore. He was meant for you, and you for him. He knew he already had you trapped, but playing with you was so fun. Poking and prodding and mocking you all while you worshiped him like he had hung the moon in the sky.

“You love this body, don’t you, slut?” He pulled your hair suddenly, earning a yelp that went straight to his aching cock. “You know, I’ve only been keeping in shape for you. I knew from the moment you saw me that was the main appeal, and lord knows I’d go through hell to keep you around.” That was true. He knew others would settle for mediocrity, but a flawless little angel like you deserved better than mediocre. You needed someone to match your talent, beauty, and wit. He didn’t believe he equaled you in anything but maybe wits, but still, he was good for you. At least, you seemed to think so, considering you were giving tiny kitten licks to the tip of his recently freed dick. The tip was red, swollen, and leaking a sinful amount of precum. You sucked it all up, taking the engorged head between your plush lips. You felt like heaven, but the ache in your pussy felt like hell. You slowly began to go the full length down his cock. Zeke was right: you had messed around with college boys before, but none were as big as him. Your gag reflex wasn’t prepared, causing you to choke and sputter on it. Zeke grinned slyly.

“Say my name, sweetie.” He wanted to treat you right, but it was so enjoyable to indulge his sadistic side.

“Mr. Yeager.” You choked out. You knew how much he enjoyed that title; the feeling of authority it brought him made him hard as a rock every time. He groaned in pleasure, sending shivers down your spine. That knocked him off his rhythm for a moment, but he was right back on you the minute he regained some sense of self.

“The kids are right upstairs, peacefully sleeping, while you choke on my dick like a dumb little slut.” The thought made you feel so dirty. You shifted on the ground, squeezing your thighs together and trying to get some friction. “And you do it so well, baby. I couldn’t ask for better.” He sighed.

“That’s it, pretty girl, don’t hurt yourself down there.” He slowly pulled you off his cock by your hair. He didn’t want to admit it, and really didn’t show any signs, but you had him on the verge of cumming down your throat. But he didn’t want his precious seed there. Hell no! He wanted you stuffed to the brim and properly bred.

“I’ve wanted you for so goddamn long, you don’t even know.” The look on tour face was something beyond pleasure or pain. It was a mix of both with a side of...fear? “What, scared of taking something this big, doll?” You shook your head.

“Don’t worry, daddy’ll get you nice and wet for him.” He slowly came to hover over you, lifting you up and sitting you down on the couch. He spread your legs, undoing the button of your shorts with his long, thick fingers, bringing his mouth to your zipper and pulling it down with his teeth. He pulled them down your legs, bringing his face to your core. You felt hot on his mouth and nose. He licked a wet stripe up your clothed core,

“God, you taste like honey, sweetie. I’m so fuckin’ lucky.” He pulled your panties to the side, relishing in the sight of your puffy pussy. You were beautiful in the murky yellow light of the room. You folds shimmered with slick and he could see your cunt clench around nothing, so obviously desperate for his dick. That’s right, his dick. Only his. From now on.

He dove into you, savoring your tangy flavor. Pussy was a taste all its own, each having new, intense, rich tastes he could barely describe. To be perfectly honest, Zeke was a sucker for a wet little cunt in his mouth, and you were the perfect subject. Every suck to your clit, every kiss and lick to your folds, every darting flick of his tongue into your aching little hole; it had you moaning and whimpering like a ditzy little slut. Your mind was hazy with ecstasy.

“Don’t get too loud now, dollface. Don’t wanna wake the kids now, do you?” His words brought you back to Earth, forcing you to remember you were being eaten out by a father of two. It felt so filthy to know you had been bringing up his kids, acting as a faux wife, and now you were being treated like one, eaten out of your mind and promised a thorough breeding.

“Not that I don’t believe you would get off on being watched. I bet you love that idea, huh?” You jolted at the words and the sensation of another kiss to your cunt. “It might sound a little sick, but I could invite my brother over, see if he has as good a taste as mine.” He’d be willing to invite Eren over for a test run of…you? You knew they didn’t get along, so it was surprising, but that only turned you on even more. Imaging them fighting over you like hungry wolves on the hunt. They’d ravish you without even thinking. If this was Zeke, held back, on his own, you could only yelp and whimper at what kind of monsters the two of them would be together.

“Nah, that little shit doesn’t deserve you.” He smirked into your sopping wet core. Eren never appreciated the finer things in life, still to young to understand the joys of pussy eating. No, he was more for the fuck and chuck kind of lifestyle. You deserved better aftercare than a point towards the door. “Some of the guys at my firm, however. Bet they’d turn you out real nice. They’re all just about as big and pent up as me. We could all show you a real good time." That would be about…three, four, even five of him? All fucking you at once with the same vigor and deep seated intensity. You head buzzed at the thought. "You’d like that, wouldn’t you, whore?” You couldn’t keep up with him in this state. You were completely fucked out without even being fucked at all. Before you knew it, you were cumming all over his gorgeous face and beard. He was taken slightly aback, but he licked it all up in five seconds flat. He was a professional.

“Answer me, doll.” He delivered a harsh slap to your thigh. He enjoyed the ripple it gave and the red mark his hand had left.

“Yes, Mr. Yeager.” You stuttered out, barely above a whisper. Torturing you would be fun, but not tonight. No, he needed to be thorough with your pleasure and ensure you would never leave his side again. He gave a few light slaps to your slippery pussy, making your thighs shake and mouth move without making a sound.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.” He slowly stood up, giving you a perfect view of the shining god before you. His body was something sculpted by the old masters; a true work of art. Before you could fully appreciate the image of perfection in front of you, he bent down just a bit, pushing your thigs back as far as they could go, squishing your tits under them. He enjoyed the way your pudgier parts stuck out, giving him more parts of you to pinch and suck on as he fucked into you. His was no doubt the biggest cock you’d ever taken, and it wasn’t easy to have inside of you at first. Your walls clamped down on him so tight it was almost painful. But as he slowly pushed in and out, pleasure began to overtake the pain and you started to loosen up just a bit.

“Just relax, sweetie. Daddy’s got you.” Of course he had a daddy kink. It made perfect sense, as did yours. Hearing him say that in that truly comforting tone made your head spin with pleasure.

"God, you are so fucking tight." He continued to fuck into you at a savage pace, not seeming to care if you screamed or cry, rather relishing in the fact that you were. You were so young and tight and sensitive, it drove him mad. He was sure he could never go a day without your pussy again.

"You fit me like a vice, sweetheart. You trying to milk me dry? Huh?" Your mouth was hanging open, drool spilling out. It gave him ample opportunity to spit in your mouth once again.

"Swallow it you filthy slut." He lightly tapped your face.

"This is exactly how I wanted you." You could barely hear him, blanking out at the intensity of his continuous pounding of your poor little cunt. "Been thinking about this for months."

"Might just knock you up, sweetie. You already take care of my brats so well, what's one more?" You squealed at the thought. He wanted you to have his babies. He wanted you to be his new, permanent play thing to fuck and fill up every night.

"Yeah. I wan' your babies." You slurred your words, inebriated by the feeling of his cock filling your tight little cunt. He gazed down at your fucked out form, finding a sick sense of pleasure in how far gone you were all thanks to him. You moaned far too loud for someone in a house full of kids. You couldn't hold back, he just felt too damn good.

"You gonna cum, little girl?" He had almost a mocking tone when he asked that. You nodded your head, squeezing your eyes shut. He kept up the pace, abusing your g-spot, not letting up for even a second. He set out to make you feel incredible; like the perfect little plaything he knew you to be, and he wasn’t going to let his slightly aged stamina get in the way.

"That's it, you look so pretty, baby. What a good little slut." He looked down at you with heated intensity. "My little slut." He continued his brutal pace almost as if you had never cum at all.

"Oh, 'd you think I'd quit just 'cause you finished? No fuckin' way." You squealed as he continued to thrust inside you, still drunk on the idea of being full of his cum. You wanted him more than you had wanted anything in your life.

"'M gonna make you squirt all over me. Ruin this nice, expensive couch." You were screaming his name at that point, unable to form a thought that wasn't Zeke and his perfect dick.

"Such a fuckin' cocktease all these months. This is what you get for it. Tummy full of my cum." He slowed his pace as he looked into your eyes with the intensity of a man drunk on desire.

"All those times you flipped your skirt up so I could see your cute little panties." He thrusted into you harder than he had before. "All those times you called me Mr. Yeager in that innocent tone that drove me up the wall." He thrusted harder than you had ever thought possible. You felt him hit your cervix. "Every time you acted like you didn't know what you were doing. Like you didn't know what I wanted." He continued to pound into you. You felt so full, so good.

"You're getting tighter, baby. You gonna squirt while daddy fills you up, huh?" His pace was brutal and you were seeing stars.

"That's it, pretty baby, cum all over me. Let me fill you up." He humped into you a few final times before shooting his load into your cunt. You screamed at the feeling of your cum squirting out of you as his cum squirted into you. You were so dizzy and so full. You were happy. You were safe and taken care of and filled to the brim by the man you loved most.

“Hey.” You saw Zeke’s stunningly handsome face look down at you. His cheeks were flushed, forehead sweaty, sculpted chest heaving. But his eyes were transfixed on you with a look so filled with love and passion it made you feel like you were floating. “How you holding up, princess?” That was a new name…not that you minded. “Didn’t go too rough did I?” He panted in between his gentle words, the main drawback of giving it your all.

“Actually.” You huffed a bit, just then realizing how difficult it was to talk, or move, or breathe. “Think you coulda’ gone harder.” He chuckled, the same look of complete infatuation lingering in his oceanic eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“I’m tougher than you’d think, old man.” He laughed at you, appreciating how you could still be the sweetest little thing he’d ever met after being pounded half to death.

“Alright, I’m not even thirty, you little minx.”

“Calling me a minx isn’t helping your case, Zeke.” His eyes lit up with recognition.

“First time you’ve called me that, angel.” He smiled like an idiot in love, because he was one.

“Maybe it’ll be the last, if you keep acting like such an animal around me.” You slapped his shoulder with as much strength as you could muster, which was basically none.

“Well, if you don’t like the rough treatment, how about I treat you like the perfect angel you are? Treat you to a nice, warm shower and a cuddle session with yours truly. How about that?” He gently rubbed your cheek, taking in how wonderful your afterglow was.

“Sounds nice.”

“Alright, let’s go, angel.”

“Okay, Mr. Yeager.” You giggled at how quickly his face darkened and lips tightened into a frown.

“Ever the tease, you are.” He carried you to his shower bridal style, no doubt a sign of things to come.

#aot smut #snk smut #zeke yeager smut #zeke jeager smut #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jeager x reader

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mack3030 · 4 years ago

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Things the Sims 4 Community Can Do About Paywalls...A Post...

[This is going to be a bit long, so you may want to save it and read it when you have time, or just...you know, buckle in.]

I thought I would ring in the new year by talking about something that I feel we as a community need to finally decide on. (It’s been debated since 2017 or so, and it’s now 2021...) I’d like, if possible, to try to suggest some real solutions and choices that we can make that will hopefully create a better and more honest community out of all of us. Now I would like to start by making some postulates. In geometry, postulates are facts that do not need proven with a mathematical proof. They are assumed to be true. Thomas Jefferson and the founding fathers would call these “Self-Evident Truths”. I would like to use these as a bit of a basis for my arguments.

Truth: The Sims 4 has been enough of a cash cow for EA. If you buy the base game ($40) plus all expansion packs (40 each x 10) + all game packs (20 each x 9) + all stuff packs (10 each x 17) you would come to a total of seven hundred and 90 dollars ($790) plus tax. This is of course, without sales, bundling, etc, which many people DO take advantage of, but STILL. That is a TON of money for EA’s pockets. EA makes a majority of its money on the fact that the Sims 4 is an “incomplete game”. It “completes” the game further and further by adding more “expansions” to the game to the point that it seems almost useless to buy the base game alone without adding to it.

Even with sales and other things, it’s easy to spend over $500 dollars on the sims 4 game + expansions. Still a lot of cash for a game that is years old. This is just money that is spent on the game that goes to EA. This does not account for: * Money spent to buy a new computer because your old one wouldn’t run the sims. * Money spent supporting CC artists who have donations open or early access. * Money spent on access to sites that have ads/paywalls/exclusive sims 4 CC such as Leosims, etc. (Which are the problem, frankly)

We should be able to respect the fact that a majority of us paid a hefty amount for this game. It is unfair, and frankly greedy to REQUIRE people to pay MORE just to unlock or gain access to specific user created content.

I am not talking about a VOLUNTARY support or donation because they like what you offer. I am talking about FORCING people to pay if they want to ever be able to use the CC or mod you offer.

Now, the typical defense for this is “Well, I’m an artist! I spend time/effort/etc working hard on these meshes, the code, etc to make this content!” Which leads me to point #2.

Truth: Mods, CC, and other content for the Sims 4 are useless without the game. Once they are created/uploaded to the game, all copyright to those objects IMMEDIATELY transfers to EA.

I teach art in a Missouri public school. Our state standards dictate that when art students are in middle school grades, they have to learn about copyright, fair use, and creative commons. While I am not a copyright lawyer, I have had to learn enough about this subject to teach it. So allow me to break down a few facts about copyright:

First, when ya make it, ya own it. There’s not a process to apply for a copyright. The moment you create something that is 100% your own work, you hold the copyright to it.

Second, when you make something that is created based off of or USING someone else’s intellectual property as a reference or resource it is a fan creation. In art, we call this “fanart”. It is not 100% your own work. Someone else’s intellectual property is involved.

Fan creations always have tread a very thin and shadowy line when it comes to different companies and the legality of them. You can easily search google for various articles explaining it, but to summarize it in a short method:

Most companies do not actively go after those who create fan creations unless they are making profits that could instead be going to the creators of the intellectual property. If the fan creation is discovered to be making profits and/or taking the intellectual property in a direction the creator does not approve of, they have legal options to pursue (court, cease and desist letters, etc).

Third, Copyright can be transferred from person to person. In most cases this is done through a written document that both parties sign, however there IS an exception to this that EA uses to allow itself to transfer your copyrights to your content to them:

EA’s agreement with you is non-exclusive, meaning that the moment you hit “agree” on the sims 4 terms and conditions, you have handed over your rights to any CC you create for the game.

If you want to maintain full creative rights over the mesh/mods/etc you make then, you have to not make that content for the sims 4 and make your own platform to host it on. This is way easier said than done.

Truth: There have been various examples in the past of CC creators who have stolen meshes, bases, bits/pieces of work, or “inspiration” for CC from other sites/companies, who have been called on it publicly.

The most recent event concerning this was drama concerning itsbrandysims and their use of meshes from imvu/secondlife (you can see my opinion on the subject HERE), but there have been other documented cases. Leosims, for example, has been listed as an example of someone taking meshes from secondlife creators and reuploading them (when it was told to me, I was shown THIS thread as evidence). Another well known creator was accused by a former sims 4 cc creator (who now makes content from second life), and was called out in THIS post in 2019.

The horrible part of this? Many of these creators are charging people (often at not so great rates as well), for STOLEN content. Content they don’t even own, that they ripped from another place. This should not be accepted by a community that loves a game as much as the Sims 4 community. Truth: EA has provided a way for people to make money while not hiding content behind paywalls entirely, and the INTENT of this was to OFFSET COSTS. Almost every post about content locked behind paywalls features this post found on the Sims Forum from 2017. In it, SimGuruDrake, who was the community manager at the time (she has since left the Sims 4 team for another job). Most of you who have seen this discussion topic before know this post by heart, but I’d like to highlight one important aspect of it:

One thing that is always important about communication is the intent behind it. The intent for people to be allowed to make patreons and allow early access wasn’t so people could just make money for themselves, the idea was to offset costs to buy programs to make the content. For example, a yearly subscription to Adobe Creative Cloud (which has photoshop, illustrator, etc) costs a couple hundred dollars US a year. If someone was using photoshop to help them create their CC in addition to blender or other free programs, EA/Maxis wanted to allow the creator to not have to pay for making the CC out of pocket. Can EA/Maxis control what people spend the money they make off of patreon on? No. But it should be noted that the intent of this action was to help people pay for supplies for their hobby more than to make a business out of it.

Onto the next truth! Truth: There is an image that disputes this post above, however the authenticity of it and timing of it are very disputed.

This image is often thrown around by people who lock content behind paywalls, but I would like to take a second and try to provide an honest assessment of it. First of all, I have a bit of a problem with the fact that the original person who “messaged” SimGuruDrake this question has not been identified. This image was not posted on the tumblr of a CC creator who claimed “Hey I reached out to a sims guru and this is the answer I got!” The main pages that have this image are either tweets from CC creators using it to defend their stance on paywalls (ex: here), or tumblrs/tweets “debunking it” (ex: here, here). I even reverse image searched this image using google, and another platform and could not figure out where this originated from. Of course, I’m not an expert, but...still.

The fact that the origin of this picture is unknown casts doubt on it. If it were a well known CC maker who is known for being honest, that’s one thing. But the fact that we don’t exactly know where it came from is suspicious. Because frankly, anyone with some decent editing ability could photoshop this.

Here’s my imperfect edit, but I’m just a self-taught graphics nerd and I am not as dedicated at faking screenshots as some. (And the crap photo quality didn’t help.) Another common issue is that at the supposed “time” that this question was being asked, some state that SimsGuruDrake had already left the Sims 4 team. I will admit, this photo is within the correct timeline, as SimsGuruDrake did not officially depart the sims 4 team until February 2018. (There is a post on the sims forums that has a timestamp that confirms this.) But, if you were in the process of leaving your job within the next month (as a two week/30 day notice is common when leaving a job), would you REALLY be answering questions in DMs on twitter, or be focusing on packing up, and training your successor? The last thing that really makes me doubt the validity of this picture is the fact that it’s not really easy to message the sims gurus on Twitter. This appears to be twitter from the screenshot (although there are some things that are a little out of place from the current UI): But when I attempt to direct message a sims guru I get this message:

I even tried seeing if I could reach out via DM to Drake herself, (who now posts under a different twitter) to see if it was possible:

Could the policies have changed since 2018? Possibly, but I feel that opening up direct messages is just asking for Sims 4 team members to get angry messages, so this could very well be a long running EA policy. I have also reached out to her via a twitter tag (as of 1/2/21), and will update y’all if I get a reply:

Okay, so now that we’ve gone through all of this, let’s talk about the last truth that’s really important: Truth: Putting content behind paywalls has generally been considered disgusting by many in the sims 4 community, and TAKES AWAY the choice of people to support CC creators they love/appreciate WILLINGLY. A few notable posts sharing the disgust with this practice can be found: HERE, HERE, HERE, HERE, HERE, HERE, HERE & HERE). And these are just what I can find from a simple precursory search.

Okay, Brainiac. So what can we do to solve this problem?

Well, there’s a few methods we can employ, and sadly, it’s going to take a bit of a commitment and concentrated effort from the community.

Step #1: Make the COMMUNITY the VICTIM instead of EA.

Now when I say this, I don’t mean we’re actually victims, but mean that instead of constantly saying things like “WHEN YOU DO THIS YOU VIOLATE EA’S TOU!”, thus making EA the “victim” of the crime. We change the dialog to saying “When you lock stuff behind paywalls, you cheat the sims 4 community and disrespect their choice to support you or not.” Because let’s be honest. Maxis/EA really doesn’t give much of a care about if people aren’t following this rule. You can report people to the team, but as far as most people have seen, it doesn’t get anywhere. But if we make it where the community is the party being “wronged” it is much harder for those who have paywalls to not be scared. Because the community, in the end, has to be with them. DepthofPixels had a really amazing post about this HERE.

Step 2: Decide to not support anyone who puts their content behind exclusive paywalls and do not hesitate to spread the word about why you choose not to do so.

By that, I mean

not paying any patreon accounts that don’t offer either their content 100% for free, or offer early access.

And sharing about why you choose to do that on your social media. Something I might suggest would be to make it a bit personal and share something like:

Instead of spending $15 a month to get exclusive content from Leosims (or any other patreon/paywall creator here) I’m spending that $15 supporting creator x, creator y, and creator z, who don’t put their work behind paywalls!

Link their patrons, share why you like their content, and why you take the stance to make the community better. Make it a positive thing, praising the people who are doing RIGHT by the community.

Yes, you may not get their content for a while (although there are some different places (

) to find them *cough*. But in the end, is it worth supporting someone’s content when they’re treating the community badly?

Step 3: Report creators who actively steal content from IMVU/secondlife to those respective companies, and all others to EA. (Even though nothing may happen.)

Here’s the deal. When people steal from either of those sites, they are infringing on someone’s copyright, as well as Imvu/secondlife’s copyright as well. It’s not okay, and they should be held accountable for it. Here’s the LINK for submitting a ticket to Secondlife. I haven’t been able to find one for IMVU, but maybe someone else will find one. Let those companies know and allow them to handle those specific creators. As to the other creators, EA may not handle them at the moment. But IF (and this is a wishful thinking “if”) there were suddenly a flood of messages about certain creators...? I think they might have to pay attention to some of those messages. There is an official report form, but it might even be worth tweeting to SleddingGuruFrost, who is the current community manager asking about their stance on paywalls. And last but not least:

Step 4: Make sure that those who are doing the right thing and not putting their work behind paywalls feel appreciated. Show them some love via a tumblr ask, or by tagging them on twitter, or by going up a tier on their patreon (or pledging for the first time). Celebrate these heroes who are creating content and not forcing it on us.

Us asking for people to give us a choice to support them isn’t being greedy, or disrespecting their time. We just want transparency, and respect from those who create content for the game we love so much versus them treating us like we’re just a source of income. I know it might seem a bit hard to do this for some of you, and for some it may seem like I’m preaching to the choir, but we have to decide where we stand on this issue and stop letting those who abuse this system keep doing it. We can make a difference if we decide as a COMMUNITY to work together.

With commitment, ~Sunny

#sims4cc #sims4mm #maxismatch #sims4alpha #sims4cccommunity #paywallssuck #downwithpatreon #EA #maxis #TOS #thievessuck

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lockefanfic · 4 years ago

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Business Trip: Pt 43 - Crazy

You’d been with your share of women who liked rough sex - Seulgi, Chaeyoung, occasionally Momo and Seolhyun. But those girls had always been interested in kinks that were at least somewhat consistent with their personalities. It wasn’t much of a surprise that Seulgi was into rough, occasionally painful sex; likewise, Chaeyoung’s preference for zip ties and name calling didn’t strike you as being out of character with the type of person she was outside of the bedroom.

Miyawaki Sakura was either lazy and airheaded or intense and intimidating, depending on what she was doing. Before you were made aware of this new facet of Sakura’s personality you’d only seen such duality before in Sana; but Sana’s personality swings didn’t surprise you like Sakura’s did, nor was the difference between her two poles nearly as extreme as that of the Japanese police officer.

Sakura was altogether different from those girls. She was two sides of the same constantly flipping coin, it seemed. At the moment you were finding out that this duality extended to her sexual pursuits, where she flipped between being an overly friendly, sugary sweet girl to a woman with very specific, very unique kinks on a minute-by-minute basis.

“I’m so sorry about earlier,” she states, the tone in her voice sounding much more pleasant than earlier in the day, especially as it echoed against the cold shower tiles. “I was in the middle of re-reading the Fate series. Did you know the third movie is coming out this summer? I’m sooo looking forward to it. Are you familiar with the Fate series?”

Speaking proved exceedingly difficult given the ball gag in your mouth, and so you settled for nodding.

“She’s going away for awhile, don’t you worry.”

“She better be,” you answer. “I just hope she leads us to the other three members of Blackpink before they lock her up - or that Canadian officer takes her overseas. Did you have a chat with Officer Miyawaki about this?”

“I’ve told her we want time with Rose before she’s extradited and Officer Miyawaki has promised to raise the issue with her superiors, but she hasn’t quite gotten around to it yet,” Nayeon answers.

You both peer into the interrogation room through the one-way glass. On one side of the table sits Rose, her head in her hands. In her prisoner’s jumpsuit and messy hair, she looked outright miserable - a far cry from the dolled up look she sported at the event two days prior. Gone is the haughty, arrogant air that she wore about her like perfume - now she looked small, afraid, almost as if the cold reality of what was about to happen to her had just recently set in.

She hadn’t said a word since she stepped into the room. The young, nervous looking YG-appointed lawyer seated next to her rebuffed all of the questions directed to her client by telling her that she didn’t have to answer anything, as was her right. Rose’s body language, though, told you all you needed to know about her state of mind.

On the other side of the table are Jihyo and Somi Douma, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer who had arrested Rose at the event. Both of them are placing piece after piece of evidence onto the table in an attempt to get something out of the Blackpink member - to no avail so far, thanks to her lawyer. The looks of frustration on the two young officers has been steadily building, but it is tempered somewhat by the fact that much of the evidence was simply indisputable. Rose’s silence today would do nothing to keep her from spending a lot of time behind bars when the time came.

The other two occupants of the room, sitting in a smaller table by the exit, are Mina and Officer Miyawaki. The former is diligently jotting down notes from the meeting into an iPad, the latter seemingly engaged in something important on her phone - but given her known predisposition for playing video games on the job and the fact that her phone was horizontal, you decided she was likely playing a game.

“Sakura was super intense at the event,” Nayeon says, as if reading your thoughts regarding the young Japanese police officer. “When she showed up with Jihyo and Somi to arrest Rose, she had her game face on. It was almost scary. She wanted to see layouts of the building, possible exits and escape routes, dossiers on who might be there and who they might be with. She looked ready to take down every bad guy in the entire restaurant, all on her own.”

“I saw,” you agree. “She walked in there like she owned the place. Rose’s bodyguard tried to stop her, but whatever she said to him made him look like a whipped dog afterward. She destroyed that guy.”

“And now here she is at a major interrogation involving multiple international parties and she’s on her phone playing Among Us,” Nayeon scoffs. “It’s like she has an on and off switch when it comes to her job. I don’t get it. To be honest, I find it a little odd that the precinct would bury someone with her on-site skills in the record keeping department and not out in the field walking a beat.”

You take a moment to consider Nayeon’s point. She was right; surely the Tokyo PD could make better use of Sakura by constantly keeping her in the field, where she clearly excelled, instead of the records department where she was buried under paperwork she had little interest in. There had to be a reason behind it all, but you currently had more pressing issues on your mind than the Japanese liaison officer’s career prospects.

“We need to make sure she gets us that time with Rose. Preferably without her lawyer present.”

“That would be against the rules,” Nayeon says, hesitantly. She knew what you were implying and while she knew you weren’t going to hurt Rose or do anything stupid, she felt she had to tell you anyway out of obligation.

“There’s nothing illegal about me having a chat with a lovely young Australian woman I met at an event a few nights ago,” you reply with a sly smile.

Nayeon smirks, but understands your implication. “I’ll remind Officer Miyawaki,” she says.

In the room, Sakura lets out a sigh, rolling her eyes back into her head - her spaceman was likely just bitten in half by an impostor. Next to her, Mina frowns and shakes her head, a look of plain disapproval on her face.

“No, don’t worry about it,” you say. “I’ll remind her myself.”

---

It didn’t take long to find Sakura later that day. She was absent from her desk, but a nearby colleague told you she was on her lunch hour - even though at that point it was nearly three in the afternoon. While your time with Nayeon and Jihyo had informed you that law enforcement officers saw lunch breaks as a rare luxury, you also knew that Sakura didn’t conform to the usual expectations of this particular line of work. With your limited Japanese and a healthy amount of hand gestures, you were able to ascertain from her colleague that she usually took her lunch breaks on the roof of the building.

The precinct proved to be a little bit of a maze, but you eventually found your way to the roof, which, like many buildings in Asia, was open to access and was often used as a kind of recreational space for the building’s inhabitants. After your time inside the cramped interior of the building you were happy to be outside again, enjoying the fresh air and the sunny, crisp winter afternoon.

Sitting on a bench in one of the corners of the space was Sakura, legs crossed, her nose buried in what looked like a manga. The small pile of convenience store sandwich containers and empty candy wrappers that occupied the rest of the bench confirmed that she was indeed on her lunch break. The volume of the trash, however, implied she’d been there awhile, leading you to wonder just how long her lunch “hours” usually lasted.

“Officer Miyawaki,” you say as you approach her, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if-”

You are stopped mid-sentence by a raised finger. Without taking her attention from the manga, Sakura reaches for a half-full bottle of Pocari Sweat next to her on the bench, which she brings to her mouth to take a sip. Eyes working quickly, she finishes the page she was reading before turning the page and devouring that one as well. With brows furrowed and eyes narrowed with concentration, there is a clear look of complete and utter intensity on her face that you’d seen only once before - when she was confronting Rose’s bodyguard and putting him in his place.

When you’d first been introduced to Miyawaki Sakura you’d wondered just how she had managed to keep her job given her obvious laziness and what seemed to be an utter lack of interest in her duties - or even in maintaining the false appearance of an interest. But her role in the events of two nights prior, and the seriousness with which she carried herself while on-site, answered that question for you. It became clear that her superiors kept her around because when the chips were down and the game was on, she could put on a game face that almost scared you with its intensity. When that happened, she was almost a different person entirely.

The question then became why her superiors had assigned her to the record keeping department. Was it a demotion? Did they think she was too unstable or unreliable for field work? There had to be a reason.

She goes on for three more pages, consuming the art and text within the manga like they were some sort of life-giving energy source that she could not go a moment more without. You are left to stand there, awkwardly, a little taken aback by the speed and ease at which she had silenced you - but unconsciously, a little afraid of what might happen if you’d insisted on interrupting her reading.

Finally, after reaching what seemed to be a chapter’s conclusion or some other boundary within the manga, she retrieves a bookmark from her bench and marks her place before finally acknowledging your presence.

“Yes?” she says, a look of undisguised annoyance on her otherwise soft, adorable features.

“I, well, I was… um, hoping we could have a quick moment of your time, Officer Miyawaki,” you answer, suddenly unsure of your words, your tongue having turned into stone in your mouth. You’d expected a fast and easy chat - you usually had no problems charming your share of pretty young women - but your resolve had faltered unexpectedly under the piercing gaze of the young officer.

“About?” she asks, plainly, even though you knew what you wanted to talk about must have been obvious to her. What else could it have been, if not Rose? Did she just want to hear you ask for something? Did she want to hear you beg and grovel?

“About the girl, uh, the woman that Officer Dou- I mean, you, you placed in your custody a couple of nights ago,” you answer.

“Yes, and, what about her?”

“I was hoping I could have a chat- er, maybe, some time, with her. Alone, before she, they, she’s, well... taken away.”

“And what would you want to speak to her about?”

“Well, you see, um…. we’re kind of after her colleagues - three of them. They’re in this team, er, corporate espionage group - they’re called Blackpink. I, well, me, my team and I, we were hoping she could lead us to the other three.”

Sakura takes a moment to weigh your request, her large, deep eyes boring into yours. You were a little ashamed to admit you were faltering a little bit under the intensity of her gaze. While you were sure her current demeanor was borne from you so rudely interrupting her reading and not from any malicious intent, it did little to keep you from withering under her look.

Eventually Sakura’s eyes leave you, and you find yourself releasing an inward sigh of relief to be free of her gaze.

“I can arrange something,” she says as she opens her manga again. “But it will cost you. Helping you and that foreign officer during that arrest resulted in a lot of extra paperwork for me.”

You are about to say something about her job and the amount of work she actually had to do, especially given the fact that she was in the middle of what seemed to be a three hour lunch break, but an unconscious fear of being put under her gaze once more meant that your response died in your throat.

“What exactly… can I do f-for you, Officer Miyawaki?”

“Sakura is fine,” she says under her breath as she finds her place in her manga. “Meet me in the precinct showers in two hours. Cancel any appointments you may have this afternoon.”

You are left a little stunned by her demand, and what it might have meant. The possibilities run through your mind at a million miles an hour; what did she mean-

“You can leave,” Sakura states, and not wanting to risk her ire by lingering any longer, you quickly turn and leave.

---

Speaking proved exceedingly difficult given the ball gag in your mouth, and so you settled for nodding.

“Ah, that’s good!” Sakura exclaims, “I’m such a big fan. I totally ship Shirou and Saber, although I’m also a fan of Shirou and Sakura - I bet you can guess why! I like both couples, though; it really depends on what mood I’m in! Sometimes I- whoops, is that too tight for you?”

It was. The girl knew how to tie a neat, tight knot (which itself raised several questions) and the thick nylon rope dug painfully into your wrists as she tied them behind your back, but you gave your head a shake nonetheless. The black cloth blindfold she’d tied around your head was similarly a little too tight for comfort and was beginning to give you a headache - not that you were willing, or even able, to tell Sakura as such.

Even if you could speak, you weren’t sure you would stop her from proceeding. You were equal parts terrified and aroused by the sharp, unexpected turn of events this afternoon had taken, but the thought of stopping the young woman hadn’t yet occurred to you.

“Good, I don’t want to hurt you. Anyway, yeah, I’m sorry if I came off rude this afternoon. I just don’t like to be interrupted during my lunch hour. That’s when I get all my reading done! Because the rest of the day I’m so busy with work, you see. Anyway… you’re all set!”

You obviously couldn’t see her through the blindfold, but the loud click-clack of Sakura’s high-heeled shoes against the shower tiles tell you she has stepped in front of you. The next few moments of silence provide no audible clue to tell you what she is doing, but you knew she was likely giving you a good long look from head to toe, as if enjoying the sight of you sitting on a stool, gagged, bound, and blindfolded.

“It’s time to begin, I think. Are you ready?”

Her tone reminded you a little bit of any of a hundred anime voice actors, particularly those that voiced the sugary sweet and cute characters. And Sakura was nothing if not cute, although she also seemed to have a bit of a crazy side to her - a side it seemed you were about to get to know intimately, whether you were ready for it or not.

You nod, because there wasn’t much else you could do.

“Good! Let’s start!” she says, sounding a bit like an announcer for a game that involved Italian plumbers and dragon/turtle hybrids racing go-karts - and not like she was about to engage in a sexual act with very particular, very specific kinks.

So when she straddles you on the stool, her long, thin legs suddenly on either side of your waist and her small frame atop your lap, you were a little unsure about how to react to the juxtaposition between her tone and her actions. With other women you would have enjoyed the weight of her body on top of yours and the promise of impending pleasure. But with Sakura you were a little hesitant - and as much as you hated to admit it, almost a little afraid.

“So as I mentioned earlier, I’d be happy to set up a meeting with you and that Australian chick,” she says, her voice dripping with sugar even as you feel her trace random patterns with her fingertip on your jawline and chin. “But I’ll need to get something out of it.”

You are unable to manage anything more than a muffled groan, and so you settle for nodding your head once more.

“Good.”

Sakura’s hand drifts lower, her fingertip never breaking contact with you as it drifts down your neck and chest, eventually reaching the buckle of the jeans you wore. Her fingers work quickly, and before you know it she has your button undone and the zipper lowered, your quickly hardening shaft aching for its impending release from its cotton prison.

“Oh! You are quite eager for us to begin, I see.”

You nod.

“Well then, let’s see what you’re hiding under here.”

Sakura’s tone continues to be that of a cute, sweet girl. Her actions, as she frees your nearly fully hardened shaft from your boxers, are altogether the opposite.

You feel the breath leave your lungs in a rush as she grasps your cock in her small, dainty little hands for the first time and gives it a few small, exploratory pumps. It would have been utterly arousing at any other time. But now, wrists bound behind you and with your eyes and mouth rendered useless, it almost felt like your sense of touch was heightened - and it felt utterly sublime. It wasn’t long before you the Japanese police officer had brought you to full, aching stiffness.

“I see now why your team is full of those women,” she observes, a slight hint of edge appearing in her tone. “I bet they love taking turns being filled with this.”

“Mmmghmm,” you answer.

“What’s that? You fuck them on a daily basis? I bet you pump their thirsty mouths and wet little pussies just full of your cum on the regular, don’t you? Maybe those tight little asses too?”

“Yughhhm.”

“I bet they love it, too, don’t they? I bet you have them all bent to your will like the obedient, needy little fucktoys that they are. Is that right?”

“Mmmahghg.”

“I knew it. I knew all of those girls were filthy little sluts the second I saw them.”

To hear such filth come out of Sakura’s mouth - out of a girl whom you’d pegged as being adorable and cute if a little airheaded and lazy - was more than a little bewildering. Each of her words dripped with sweet sugar tone even if the actual content of her words was dirty and nasty. Two sides of the same coin. Two faces of the same girl.

“Well, I think it’s time for us to play a game. Do you want to play a game?”

For a second you are frozen as a shiver of fear crawls up your spine - you’d seen enough horror movies to know that nothing good ever followed that question. But you had to admit that it both frightened and aroused you. Part of you wanted to submit to her every whim, and part of you suddenly wanted to run away as quickly as you could.

You nod.

“Good! I’m happy. Let’s lay down the rules. Hmmm… well, there’s actually only two! Are you ready for them? Are you paying attention?”

It was a little difficult to do so, truth be told. She hadn’t stopped pumping your cock, at an almost lazy pace, with her slender, soft hands. She had begun to squeeze on the downstroke and loosen on the upstroke, causing a delicious little jolt of pleasure to shoot right to your brain every few seconds.

You nod.

“Okay! Rule number one - every time you make me cum, I remove one item of your choice: your blindfold, your gag, or the ties at your wrists. How much time I give you with the Australian girl depends on how good you fuck, I guess! I’ll make the judgement at the end. Rule number two - you don’t get to say anything aside from a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ Pretty simple, huh? You understand the rules, right?”

Despite laying down the ground rules for what would likely be a filthy sexual act, Sakura sounds a bit like a voice actor reading the script to the tutorial level of a Mario Party game. The prospect of regaining your ability to see, touch and taste her was appealing, and with the ball gag filling your mouth you couldn’t exactly voice any objections to her rules even if you had any.

You nod.

“Good! Then let’s begin!”

Without giving you much time to ready yourself, Sakura presses her body forward on your lap - and almost immediately you feel the wet heat of her pussy pressed against the base of your shaft.

Before she put the blindfold on you, the police officer had been wearing a short blue skirt and black heels along with the blue blouse that formed her uniform. Had she removed her panties somewhere along the way? Was she ever wearing panties at all?

Your brain had little time or bandwidth to answer those questions - not as Miyawaki Sakura began to grind herself against the underside of your cock, her hips swirling up and down, finding and trapping your shaft between the splayed lips of her pussy and moving, slowly at first, up and down its length. She is absolutely dripping. Her flesh is hot and warm against your cock. Were your mouth not gagged, you would have let out a long, wordless moan - but it escapes your throat as a wet, guttural sound instead.

Sakura, her own mouth unbound, lets the first outward sign of her arousal escape her lips in a long, drawn-out gasp. The entire process - binding you, teasing you, explaining her rules to you - must have turned her on immensely. The slick, warm juices that coated your cock in a thick, glistening layer with each grind of her hips were clear indication of how turned on she was. You found yourself impressed that she was able to hide her need for so long behind her sickly sweet tone.

“Mmmm, that feels so good!” she gasps. “Mmm, you’re so big, and you’re not even inside me yet!”

You nod.

And so for a few delicious minutes you are content to let the small Japanese girl grind herself harder and harder against your cock, her slick, hot pussy pressed against the underside of your shaft, sliding up and down, up and down, up and down. The small shower room reverberates with the soft squeaking of your stool on the tiles, and the soft, pleasant moans of pleasure that leave Sakura’s throat.

“Mmm, fuck, I’m gonna cum already, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so quickly, mmmmm, your cock is so hard! Do you like the feel of my pussy? The feel of my clit on your cock? Hmmm? Do you want to be inside me?”

You nod.

You are surprised by how quickly she was coming to her first orgasm, even if the heat emanating from her splayed pussy lips as she grinds them against you, combined with the sheer amount of the juices that were now running down your balls, clearly indicated how needy and wanton she was even before she first touched you.

“D-Do you want me… oh, fuck… do you want me to-to cum all over your hard cock?”

You nod.

Sakura’s response is to orgasm.

You’d been with plenty of women before, witnessed the many forms of the female orgasm and the differences in the bodies of each woman when she finally reaches her peak. Each was unique. But even given that fact, you knew that no other woman on Earth orgasmed like Miyawaki Sakura did.

She felt a little bit like she was being jolted with electricity - every fibre of her being quivered and shook like she had a thousand volts coursing through her veins. It was almost unnerving, in a way, and from the way her small body trembled atop yours you were worried that she had hurt herself somehow.

Even the way she orgasmed was far from the norm. The more you knew about Miyawaki Sakura, the more and more you were frightened of her.

But the same things that frightened you also aroused you.

It seems to last forever, her orgasm. When her body finally winds down, the loud breaths that leave her throat and the fact that she has slumped forward onto your chest imply that she is somewhat drained by the experience.

“That was pretty good!” Sakura exclaims once she has regained her energy, sounding once more like she were some sort of video game announcer. “As per the rules of our game, you get to remove one item. What would you like it to be?”

Your options run though your head, each with their own merits. You would’ve loved to finally lay your hands on the young woman, and the thought of watching her cum obviously appealed to you, but the opportunity to taste her won out.

“Mowwffth,” you manage to mumble.

“Your mouth? You want to get rid of the gag? Are you sure?” Sakura asks, sounding the way a video game does when you decide to overwrite a game save and it wants you to be sure of your decision.

You nod.

“Okay! Away it goes!”

Sakura reaches behind your head and you feel the ball gag loosen before she rips it none-too-gently from your mouth. A drip of saliva spills from your mouth - one that Sakura is quick to lick off your chin with her tongue.

Her tongue, feeling long and particularly flexible, traces a path up your chin until it finds your lips. She crushes your lips with hers in a torrid, passionate kiss that had little affection but plenty of need, her hands quickly reaching behind your blindfolded head and pressing your head against hers as she sticks her tongue as far into your mouth as she could. Your tongue wrestles with hers, but she quickly gains the upper hand, and it is all you can do to sit there and submit to letting the young woman explore your mouth at her whim.

When she finally tears her lips from yours she lets out a satisfied sigh.

“Mmmm, that was a good choice. You’re a good kisser! And it will definitely help you when it comes to the next way you’re going to make me cum. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you say, finally happy to be able to speak.

“Good. Get ready!”

Sakura climbs off your lap, and you lament the loss of her warm body for a split second - until you hear the snap of her foot meeting the stool you were sitting on, followed by a sharp thud of your butt hitting the floor as she kicks the stool out from under you.

You are about to groan in pain at your hard, unexpected landing, about to protest at the way she was treating you - when you hear Sakura step over your body, her crotch just inches from your face. She must have been lifting her skirt to get it out of the way, because when she presses herself against you, you find yourself face to face with her pussy.

There was no doubt in your mind now. Miyawaki Sakura was crazy.

But you weren’t in a position to complain, not with the girl’s juicy, slick, hot pussy suddenly and fiercely pressed against your face, her splayed lips immediately smearing your nose, lips and chin with her juices. By instinct your tongue darts out, almost like a defensive measure. You begin to lick her slowly, hesitantly, still caught a little wrong footed by her ridiculous aggressiveness - but Sakura was having none of that, and she quickly grasps the back of your scalp with one hand and presses it against her warm, wet folds.

“You can do better than that,” she says, her tone still that of the video game announcer, as though she were encouraging a kart racer who had fallen behind. “Eat my pussy like the hungry little fucktoy you are.”

You follow her orders, as much out of fear of upsetting her as the need to finally have your fill of the needy young woman’s body. You start by giving her long, slow licks from the bottom of her pussy to the top, ensuring to add a little swirl of the tip of your tongue around her engorged clit as you reach it. Sakura moans in pleasure as you drink of her, enjoying the pleasant, sweet bitterness of the girl’s plentiful juices on your tongue.

When you decide that the steadily rising volume of her moans and gasps, enhanced by the echoing off the shower room’s tiled walls, has reached a high point, you quickly switch up your technique, latching your lips as best you could around her clit before swiping at it in broad, strong strokes with your tongue. You begin with strokes that begin and the bottom and end at the top. When she begins to quiver and shake, you begin to trace random patterns around her taut little bud.

“You’re doing so great!” Sakura moans, “I’ve never felt anything like that!”

You are almost annoyed now with her tone of voice - not that you were in a position to complain, not while her wet, slick lips were sweet upon your tongue and lips. You continue to swipe at her clit with your tongue, using the flat of it now to ensure maximum contact with the taut bud. Sakura begins to grind her hips against you, almost crushing her pussy against your face in an effort to draw every ounce of pleasure from your tongue as she could.

What a sight it would have been for anyone walking into the precinct showers at that moment. A man sitting on the floor, blindfolded and with hands bound behind his back, while Miyawaki Sakura stood over him, one hand pulling her skirt up and another gripping the back of his skull, pressing his helpless face against the wet, slick lips of her pussy.

Sakura grinds her face against you. You almost struggle to breathe - every time you come up for air, she presses you against the hot, slick flesh of her pussy with the hand grasping the back of your scalp. It was frightening. It was almost too much to handle. But it was also intensely, perversely arousing.

“Ah, stop, I need you inside me right now,” she snaps - the first time she’d broken her tone and shown the slightest hint of losing her composure. “Are you ready?”

“Fuck yes, Sakura. I want-”

Sakura silences you with a raised finger to your lips, just as she did earlier that afternoon on the rooftop.

“Just a yes or no, remember?”

“Y...yes,” you answer, suitably chastised.

“Good. Now sit there and be a good little cock for me to fuck.”

Sakura drops to her knees, straddling you once more. With your hands still bound behind your back you are unable to lie back fully, and so you settle into a sitting position as she sits on your lap. You would’ve given anything to get your hands on her hips, particularly as she adjusted herself for penetration - but you had to admit, not being able to see her or touch her beyond what she allowed your mouth and hips to do only heightened the intensity of your other senses.

She wastes no time. You felt her slim fingers on your cock for a moment, aligning your tip with her entrance, before she drops her hips and takes you inside her for the first time.

You both sigh out loud - loud, breathy sounds that echo off the tile surrounding you. Sakura gasps as you fill her completely, your crotches finally meeting as she fills herself with your stiff shaft for the first time. For a second you regret your choice to free your mouth and wish you’d freed your arms instead, as it would have allowed you to lie on your back and thus let Sakura penetrate herself more deeply - not that you were actually upset at being finally inside the needy, mewling young police officer.

“Oh my,” Sakura sighs, “you’re so fucking big inside me! Now I see, ohh! I see why those other girls keep you around! But now it’s my turn. My turn to use you as a fucktoy. Do you like being a fucktoy for me? Do you like being nothing more than a toy cock for me to fuck myself with?”

You want to argue with her, put her in her place, spit the same vulgarities and names right back at her. But there is a sharp, edgy undertone to Miyawaki Sakura, a kind of fierceness that made you fear what would happen if you did.

You decide to let her have her way - for now at least.

“Yes.”

“Good! Then get ready!”

Any misgivings you may have had about Sakura, about her double-sided personality, about her lack of professionalism when off-site and intimidating intensity when actually in the field, even about the way she spoke so casually and vulgarly about your relationship with your team - they all flew right out the window as she began to ride you. Every muscle in her small, lean body seemed devoted to driving your stiff shaft in and out of her body, each of her movements propelling her up and down as fast and hard as she was able.

For all her faults and almost frightening instability, Miyawaki Sakura knew how to ride a cock.

You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised by the lack of build up to the way Sakura rode you. It was all you could do to grit your teeth and attempt to stay upright as her tight, lithe body rocked up and down, threatening to tip you over and onto your back, which, given your bound hands, would have been quite uncomfortable. Thankfully Sakura quickly grips onto your shoulders, helping keep you upright as she used them for more leverage, driving you in and out of the hot, wet flesh between her legs again and again.

“Oh, oh fuck, you’re so fucking big!” Sakura moans, seemingly barely able to turn her thoughts into words before she abandons the thought of speaking altogether, relying instead on a wordless string of gasps and sighs to articulate the pleasure coursing through her veins.

You grit your teeth, relishing the feel of her tight heat wrapped around your cock as she continued to ride you with fierce abandon on the shower floor. Eager to do something more than merely hold on, you lean forward, searching for and then finding her upper chest, pressing your lips against the small patch of exposed skin at the top of her blouse.

Sakura catches on to what you were doing, and the next thing you hear is the sound of buttons ripping from fabric as she quite literally tears the blouse open.

Were any other girl to rip open a button up shirt to give you access to her chest, you would have been surprised with her recklessness - but with Sakura it was simply par for the course.

Your hungry lips press themselves against the newly revealed skin of her upper chest, greedly pressing against her pale, vanilla skin, licking and kissing and tasting. Soon you find her neck, latching onto the warmth you find there, sucking hard enough to bruise her and leave marks on her otherwise perfect skin. Sakura hugs you tightly against her body, not lowering her pace at all, still riding you fiercely, her hips not ceasing for a moment in their desire to fill herself over and over again with stiff, hard cock.

The minutes pass as the tiny little police officer fucks herself on your stiff cock, the small shower space filled with your wordless moans and the wet slap of flesh hitting flesh.

The entire experience was torrid, fierce, intense. Sakura was so unpredictable, so unreadable - and that was even not counting the fact that you were blindfolded or had your hands bound. Her personality seemed to flip from moment to moment, and while a part of you missed the stability and predictability of your other partners, you would have been lying if you had said Sakura’s sheer craziness didn’t also turn you on in its own unique, special way.

When Sakura cums, her body turning into the same shaking, quivering mess she was when she came the first time, you are thankful - because you were close behind. Her flesh tightens and pulsates around you even more than you’d thought possible.

“I’m gonna cum, Sakura,” you hiss, forsaking for a moment her rule to limit your speaking to simple yesses or nos, and being thankful she was so far lost in the pleasure overtaking her senses that she was unable to pick up on that particular rule violation.

“Fucking fill my tight little pussy with your hot cum, you little fucktoy!”

Helpless to do much else, you allow yourself to finally fall over the edge, letting a deep, low groan escape your throat as your cock spasms and begins to spurt thick, hot cum inside the still-quivering Japanese girl’s wet, slick pussy. Even as your cock fills her with semen Sakura doesn’t stop, still riding you fiercely, still impaling herself with what was left of her energy, pushing your cum even deeper inside of herself with each thrust of your spasming cock.

It’s almost painful the way she slams her entire weight onto your crotch and the cold, unforgiving floor beneath it. You would’ve given anything to just hold her down by her hips and savor the feeling of your orgasm, the feeling of filling a young woman’s pussy with your cum for the first time. But what you wanted didn’t matter. You were in no position to tell her what you wanted, and she probably wouldn’t have cared even if you were.

When she finally stops it is almost a mercy. You are drained of energy like you’d never been before - utterly physically and mentally spent. Your cock still embedded hilt deep inside her, she reaches up and finally slips the blindfold from your eyes. You spend a few seconds blinking rapidly, your eyes unused to the sudden brightness.

“That was a great job! You have one hour with Rose,” she says, her face bright and cheerful, as though she were congratulating the first place kart racer and wasn’t currently impaled with a recently orgasmed cock, filled to the brim with its fresh, hot semen. She grabs you fiercely by the skull and gives you a final, fierce kiss.

“Will an hour be enough?” she asks when she finally tears her lips from yours. Able to see now, you lock eyes with her, and while her eyes are large and bright, you notice now that they are laced with more than a little crazy, brimming just below the surface.

It occurred to you at that moment just why Miyawaki Sakura had been buried in the records department of her precinct by her superiors.

She was a little crazy.

Too spent to come up with anything resembling a verbal response, you resort to following her rules once more.

You nod.

---

“I’m sure Officers Park and Douma have informed you of the charges that will be brought against you, and that your lawyer has conveyed the gravity of the situation you’re in,” Momo states, matter-of-factly. “The evidence is indisputable. Your future doesn’t look bright, Rose.”

“I’m aware that I’m fucked, yes,” Rose replies, making a dismissive gesture with her hands from the interrogation room’s table, where they are handcuffed to the thick metal bar in the middle of it. She had appeared to become even more of a mess since you saw her last at yesterday’s interrogation, with darker bags under her eyes and frazzled, messy hair. “So if I’m as screwed as you say I am, then why are you still here? Come to gloat, have you?”

“You’re here because we want to offer you something,” Momo answers.

“You? Offer me something? Hah! Unless it’s a ticket that lets me walk out that door a free woman then I’m not interested. What could you possibly have to offer me?”

Momo leans back in her chair. She had predicted that Rose would react the way she did during your preparation for this meeting. It was almost as if she had written a script for it - and it was your turn to speak your lines.

“Revenge,” you state, leaning forward on the table.

“Revenge? The fuck do you mean by that?”

“Let me ask you, Rose: how do you think we knew you’d be at that event a few days ago?”

“I dunno. Fucking cops have probably been tailing me from the second I touched down,” she spits with a dirty look towards the one-way glass, even if you knew there was no one on the other side. Sakura had made sure this conversation was strictly off the record.

“Nope. It’s because we received a tip - from one of your friends in Blackpink.”

Rose is unable to hide her reaction, her eyes going wide with surprise.

��You’re fucking lying. Why the hell would they give me up like that?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” you answer. “Maybe you pissed one of them off. Maybe they decided they didn’t need you anymore, getting caught doing shit overseas while they did the real hard work here in Japan and Korea. I don’t care. But if you help us find them, then maybe we can make sure they’re just as fucked as you are. If you’re especially helpful, maybe we recommend a lighter sentence for you.”

“You want me to rat on them? Give up my team?”

“Yes,” Momo answers. “Remember - it’s because of them that you’re going to be behind bars for a very long time, while they’re out there free as can be, living the life. This is your chance to take them down with you.”

“You must have had a safehouse or a base of operations here in Japan,” you add. “Give us the location of that base and we’ll make sure we take them down, without them being any the wiser that it was you who gave up their location.”

Rose bites her lip, staring intently at her own hands as she weighs her admittedly small range of options.

“If I give them up, you get me a lighter sentence? That’s it?”

“That’s part of it,” you answer, as Momo retrieves mugshots of the two Red Velvet members and from her briefcase and places them on the table. “We’re also tracking two fugitives from Korea that you might have heard of - Kang Seulgi and Kim Yerim. Do you or anyone in Blackpink know anything about them?”

Rose takes a quick glance at both photos, but there is no hint of recognition in her eyes.

“No, I don’t know either of those two. If it’s Koreans you’re looking for you’d best speak to the others. All my work was done overseas, as illustrated by your giant pile of indisputable evidence.”

Momo gathers the mugshots before taking a pad of paper and a pen from her briefcase and places them in front of Rose.

“We need you to write down the location of Blackpink’s safehouse,” she states.

Rose takes a last moment of thought before she reaches for the pen.

“I want your word that I’ll get a lighter sentence for this. And that they’ll never know it was me that gave them up.”

“You have it. We can’t guarantee that the judge will honor our request, but I promise you they’ll be aware of your cooperation,” Momo replies.

Rose scribbles an address down on the pad of paper before sliding it across the table to Momo. Momo takes out her phone and opens her map app to confirm its validity. Satisfied, she gives you a nod.

“You’ve made the right decision,” you tell Rose as you stand up and get ready to leave. Momo packs up her things and follows closely behind.

“Throw those bitches into a hole and let them rot,” Rose hisses as you leave the room.

In the outside hallway, Sakura, wearing a garishly pink hoodie now given that she’d torn the buttons off her uniform blouse earlier that afternoon, raises her head from her phone as she notices you and Momo have left the room. Giving Momo a polite, cheerful smile and shooting you a suggestive wink, she enters the interrogation room, presumably to return Rose to her cell.

Also waiting in the hallway, sitting on a bench, are Nayeon and a third woman, who begins to speak as soon as Sakura has closed the door to the interrogation room.

“Did she believe it? That it was Blackpink that gave her up?”

“Yes, you answer.”

“You got the location of their safehouse?”

“Yes.”

“What about Seulgi and Yeri? Did she know where they are?”

“No. I’m sorry, Irene.”

There is a flash of something resembling sadness and disappointment in Irene’s features. It is short and fleeting, but unmistakable. Soon it is replaced with the look of quiet determination that she had worn since the moment she’d joined you in Japan.

She rises from her seat. The short leggings she was wearing did little to hide the bulky tracking device around her ankle, but at least now her hands were free of the handcuffs she had on the last time you saw her.

“Understood. Let’s go - we have work to do.”

---

Author’s Note: Not my best work, I know, but I just wanted to get across how wild (in a good way) Sakura was during sex and I found it kind of difficult to get across that she was good crazy but not insane lol. Not sure how well I did or how clear everything came across as I’d never written anyone quite like her with those kinks. I always want to try writing new things and improving my writing, though. Let me know what you think. :)

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader #pov smut #izone #izone fanfic #izone sakura #miyawaki sakura #izone smut

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

Text

Conundrum (A.B.)

Type: One-shot, challenge fic

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!reader Word Count: 7700 (:

Summary: conundrum - a confusing and difficult problem or question

Andy Barber is a difficult man whom you have yet to understand. He certainly doesn’t make it any easier; and right before Christmas, he manages to surprise you again.

Prompt: You have to look for a gift impromptu

Warnings: a smidge of angst, a drop of awkward humour, mention of death (mild AU - both Laurie and Jacob!), alcohol consumption, feels, explicit language, reader gets called a dumbass... that’s it I hope, lemme know

A/N: This is my submission for the Happy Hoelidays challenge. There’s no hoeing tho, shame on me. Also, if you want some music to go with this, know that I listened to ‘God I Hope This Year Is Better Than the Last’ by SYML an obscene amount of times.

Andy Barber was an enigma.

Reporters liked to think he wasn’t; almost a year ago, they tore down all the walls he had built up to protect the privacy of his family and they shed light into startingly intimate details of his life – and where they couldn’t shed light, they used their imagination and sold it with a claim of having a reliable source. Naturally, it worked; there were always people willing to believe it just so they obtained more of juicy gossip material.

There were wanabe psychologists who would address his trauma and tried to analyse his personality, the consequences he would suffer in the aftermath of the tragedy, who attempted to strip down his soul just to get a few more reads and generally talked about him as if they were best friends, as if they knew him.

It was all a load of bullshit.

The truth, you thought, was that no one knew him. If you were being honest, you weren’t sure if even his wife ever had, truly – but that was you under the influence of the little information you bothered to gather from the influx of crap that the media provided the public with.

What you believed was that the reporters and all the self-proclaimed experts on him knew nada.

Andrew Barber was and always would remain an enigma; to the public, to the little what remained of his family after the death of his wife and son, to his co-workers – the category which included you. If you could even call yourself a co-worker; you were simply a secretary. Granted, one whose previous employer let her peek over their shoulder quite a bit so you learned a thing or two about law, but Andy Barber was the lawyer. The former DA from Boston, who moved over to rule the DA office of Portland, your home.

Even after having been working with him for nine full months, Andy’s thoughts and feelings didn’t get any easier for you to read or predict. When he wanted to let you know he was disappointed, he did. When he was truly angry with someone, well, he wouldn’t let it go unnoticed either.

Other than that, however, you would have had better luck trying to decode the actual enigma-encrypted messages sent during World War II.

Small talk didn’t last longer than three sentences from you each. Work-related affaires were discussed in his office with politeness and with calm, rather dispassionate mannerism. If you caught a hint of a smile when an important case that helped people went his way (or the office’s way really), you considered it a miracle that sent your heart reeling.

He would sometimes smile only for you if you brought him a coffee without him asking first, simply because he looked like he needed one; at those times, he would thank you softly and let slip in your first name instead of referring to you with your last. Those were your favourite moments.

Well, almost.

You found him with a tumbler and an expensive whiskey on occasion when you were leaving the office late; you never commented on it, but there were four times he actually silently invited you to have a glass with him. You refused the first time and accepted the other three.

Those nights, you got a glimpse of the mystery of a man hidden behind surprisingly soft mannerism, one which was in such a sharp contrast to his shark-like demeanour he displayed in front of the judge and the jury. His scars ran deep, his hopes had been shattered, his life in the past year as bitter as the overpriced liquor. Your heart cracked for him to the point of nearly breaking altogether.

And yet, it was beating for him too; behind all that hurt, you couldn’t but notice certain gentleness. Yes, he could be scary, downright terrifying and when his temper got the best of him, the true rage on display, he was a force to be reckoned with. But oh, that gentleness. The kind shattered soul he hid so well every morning, more so on the days right after your little heart-to-hearts. Trying to build a working relationship with him – a friendship of a sort, anything you wanted to call it – was a game of push and pull and more of a string of guesses than an effort that would bore fruit.

You might have already given up on that and instead, with the ferocity you hadn’t known you possessed, you kept punching the crush you had on him; that silly thing that would always call louder and louder after he revealed a piece of him on one of the precious nights, only to shut you out completely the next morning.

Andy Barber had never even remotely showed a romantic interest in you and by God, did you not blame him for not being interested in anyone at all as far you knew. While you considered yourself a fairly capable worker and half-decent person, you were aware you could never measure up to him. Just another reason to push down the feelings you had for him, ones that seemed to bloom with more intensity whenever he raised the corners of his damn lips, when he asked a question about you during those stupid nights as if he cared— nonsense. You had to get rid of those. He didn’t even like you, barely acknowledged you in the end. Or did he? You honestly didn’t know.

Bottom line was that if you couldn’t get close enough, then the reporters knew jack shit, no matter how much reading on him they had done or how many books on psychology, criminology and law and shit they went through. Many people knew Andrew Barber’s name, but no one could hope to know him.

And yet, those assholes still called and asked about him.

It was the fourth one that day; December 23rd, over a year from the accusation of Jacob Barber, and those fucking vultures still called Andy Barber’s office. They weren’t even good newspapers and news sites anymore; obviously, because every rational decent person would have let the poor man rest. But nope. Not them.

“Portland’s DA office, secretary of Mr. Barber speaking. How may I help you?”

“Oh, wonderful! Is there any chance I could talk to Mr. Barber personally?” the chipper of a man asked on the other end of the line and just by not giving his name, he raised suspicion; was it forgetfulness caused by his distress or intention?

Fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, you had to be polite. Hot-shot lawyers and other important people rarely returned the courtesy, but that was the world you lived in.

“There might be, Mr-?”

“Oh, Connor. Peter Connor.”

“Well, Mr. Connor, what is your legal issue?” you asked patiently, writing down his name automatically.

“Well, you see, I would rather talk with Mr. Barber about—my delicate situation, in private.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stopped scribbling and spared a brief glance towards the door to Andy’s office. It was opened ajar in what could be an invitation, but all blinds on both the door and the windows were down in typical fashion.

Talk in private?

Yeah, not gonna happen. You knew a few tricks that these assholes calling the office tended to pull and whoever this man was, you were growing more suspicious by the minute that he was not seeking legal advice.

You went back to your notes and wrote down the word liar right next to his name and a question mark. Was he a liar? One way to find out you guessed; you caught your phone between your ear and your shoulder, opening a new tab in your browser to google the name along with a wild guess of him being a reporter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Connor, I’m afraid I will need more information before I put you through. And I will probably need to make you an appointment, my boss is a very busy man-“

“Oh, is he? Lots of cases in Andrew Barber’s new district, huh?”

The blood in your veins was set aflame even before the search was done, because in an instant, you knew for sure.

And then you had it confirmed by the results.

This jerk had even given you his real name, utterly shameless. Sure, he could have only had the same name as the journalist you found, but what were the chances? Two days after you told his colleague – who had made it through your vetting, got an appointment and even got past the reception desk before you spotted him for what he was – to get lost and not try again?

Your pulse skyrocketed along with your blood pressure. Technically, you didn’t owe Andrew Barber anything, but he was respectful enough, didn’t make much trouble and for most time, was an okay boss to you.

You owed him this much: he was a decent guy. Why couldn’t other people show a shed of basic human decency too and leave him the fuck alone?

“That depends, Mr. Connor,” you purred, barely holding the outrage locked inside. You felt both energized by your anger and achingly tired and done with humanity. You rested your elbows on the desk and leaned onto it with a sigh, massaging the bridge of your nose, eyes closed. “Is he going to have to sue your rag of a newspaper or will you and your colleagues finally get the memo and leave. His. Personal. Life. Alone?!”

You most definitely strained the last words through your teeth, but you didn’t care anymore if you were being rude. He was the fourth reporter today ready to ask about Andy’s personal matters. The FOURTH!! He was lucky you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself… explicitly.

“Are you threatening me?” the man demanded, his voice insulted, losing all traced of pretence.

As if you ever. You knew better than that, working with lawyers.

“Nice try, Mr. Connor. I will thank you to never call this office again unless you have legal issues or a relevant question which you should direct to our PR department anyway. And if you could extend this to all editorial staff, please, preferably to all editorial staff in the United States, that would be splendid. Have a good day. Happy Holidays.”

You slammed the phone down, missing the slot for it, not caring. You were sure he would hang up on his own.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath and hid your face in your palms, grunting, fingertips sinking into your hair.

“I hope you don’t mean me,” sounded from the doorway and you yelped, honest to god yelped and straightened in your seat, head snapping up-

-only to meet your boss’ curious gaze. Hurt and anger casted shadows over his beautiful cerulean irises, but there was no mistaking the melancholy and resignation on his face either.

“Of course not!” you blurted out quickly, panic rising in your chest.

How much had he heard? Was he going to fire you for being unprofessional? Did he figure out what was this about— of course he did, there was little room left for doubt. Your choice of words was pretty straightforward.

Andy bounced off of the doorframe he was leaning onto, not easing his stance – his arms remained crossed over his chest and had you not been so alarmed, you would have indulged in the sight of his biceps nearly cutting through the seams of his shirt.

“Why do I get the impression that whoever you were talking to was not the first person to call the office to feed on ‘the misery man’ that Andrew Barber is?” he more stated than asked, his tone unmistakably bitter.

You gulped as he approached your desk, nails digging into your palms. You had no idea what to say. Once again, you couldn’t quite read Andy; you had no idea where this was heading and how you should answer without setting him off, making him sadder or even more bitter. And without getting fired, obviously.

“I—uhm, well, I suppose you heard me, so you know he wasn’t the first—Mr. Barber. I apologize-“ His eyebrows rose a fraction and you didn’t dare to analyse why. “-if I was too loud. But--- humanity sucks.”

The moment the last two words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, snapping your eyelids close and squeezing. You were sure you were about to have bloody crescents in your palms from your nails at this point.

Did you really just say that? To your boss, no less?

Way to go, me.

“Not wrong there. Why don’t you take your lunch break now?” he offered casually.

You nodded as you felt the tell-tale burn of tears forming in your eyes; fuck, this was humiliating. Why had he had to walk in exactly in that moment? And now using that tone?

He didn’t say anything else and you didn’t dare to look at him. Only when you heard him walk back to his office and close the door behind him, you opened your eyes and released the breath you were holding, your heart hammering in your chest.

Gulping and swallowing your tears before they could escape, you grabbed your purse and your coat, rushing out to the cold air of Portland winter.

✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

Andy didn’t bring up the incident again when you came back. You had a short list of assignments for the upcoming days off which you went over with him before parting ways for the holidays. You mentioned you would probably drop in tomorrow despite not necessarily having to, but wished him Happy Holidays in case you’d miss him during your brief visit.

The corners of his lips twitched at that, but he wished you the same. You supposed his holidays weren’t about to be happy – more like the opposite. Last year, he celebrated with his family, even if it might have been already falling apart. This year however…

Your heart cracked another fraction for the man and you wondered if you should leave some cookies for him in the office tomorrow at least. Then you realized he would probably hate it, either being bitter about feeling like a charity case or hating the reminder of what he had lost, what wasn’t waiting for him at home anymore. Not to mention that maybe even the poinsettia, which you had placed on his office window two days ago and neither of you commented on, was already too much.

The only cookies you baked that night were the ones you knew should stay in a box with apples for over a day, the cookies you were supposed to bring to your sister’s house for Christmas, because your nephew Harry loved them.

With cheesy Christmas songs in the background and a bottle of wine for the party of one, you kneaded the double batch of dough and couldn’t but spare your achingly handsome and likely lonely boss a thought and maybe… maybe a tear or two.

✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

The office was empty when you arrived on 24th at around half past four; everyone left as soon as possible, which was to be expected. Admittedly, despite not knowing what you would talk about with Andy, you found your heart sinking when you didn’t see light peeking through the blinds of your and his offices. You had expected him to be working to avoid being at home; but then again, you knew next to nothing about him. Maybe he was with a girlfriend. With a boyfriend. With former colleagues. With his deceased wife’s family. It was only assumption of yours that he might be lonely on Christmas.

You shook your head at your train of thought as you unlocked your office, mentally going over which files you needed to bring home, trying to eliminate the amount as not to endanger confidential information by taking them away from the safety of the bureau.

You froze in your tracks when you found a rather large piece of paper folded into a roof on your desk. A note, you realized, frowning and slowly walking to the suspicious object.

There were very few people who could enter your space, namely three: the janitor, you and Andy. The first option was unlikely, the second impossible, the third confusing. You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just shoot you a text if he needed anything.

You halted in your steps, the air knocked out of your lungs when you noticed that the note was not the only new item on your desk.

There was a box.

A box roughly size of your extended palm. And if you weren’t mistaken… it looked like a jewellery gift box.

“What the hell?” you asked yourself breathlessly, your curiosity getting the best of you; more so as you recognized what was most definitely Andy’s handwriting on the paper.

Andrew Barber, your boss, with whom you weren’t sure what your relationship was – if there was any at all – might have got you jewellery.

Say that again?

A tiny voice in your head told you he might have just used the box for something else entirely, but that didn’t seem to be his style.

So you picked up the gift carefully, almost reverently removing the lid, your heart pounding in your chest, stomach twisting with pleasant anticipation; with the familiar rush that kids feel when opening a present with high hopes of what could await them inside.

Your lips parted in pure shock, you mind turning blank.

There were no words in English language to express how… how absolutely magnificent the bracelet inside was.

Five thin circles with symbols made of slender lines inside, looking like charms, but withing the body of the bracelet, one clasped to the next one with delicate ellipses. The metal reflected the fluorescent lights of the office, glimmering softly, appearing almost fluid, a thin stream of water trapped in a box.

You actually had to blink and it took all your willpower not to pinch yourself, because—how-

How had he known? Where had he got it? Holy mother of Jesus, how much had he spent on it?

And why get you a gift in the first place? You were… acquaintances at best. Yes, there were almost friendly moments, and then there were those nights, but this was---this- you couldn’t even---- think, apparently.

Keeping an eye on the opened box, you gently placed it back on the desk, afraid to even touch the metal itself. You blindly reached into your purse in search for your phone to dial the only number that made sense for you to dial at that moment.

It sure as hell wasn’t Andy’s.

Nothing but a dialling tone sounded for half a minute, the time seemingly endless. You fell heavily into your chair, still staring at the absolutely gorgeous and thoughtful gift.

How did he know?!

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as your sister still didn’t answer the phone and your hand automatically reached for your necklace to toy with.

And that was when it hit you.

Your necklace; one you got from your sister during the period of your biggest obsession with the Divergence series. Two arrows in a circle pointing different directions, the symbol for a ‘divergent’ person. Your eyes wandered over the five circles of the bracelet – scales, an eye, hands connected, a flame, a tree –, an incredulous chuckle escaping you.

But--- you didn’t think he would notice. You didn’t even wear it all the time, rather often, yes, and yeah, perhaps you did have a bit of a bad habit of fumbling with it when nervous-

“Hey sis! What’s up?” Amber’s voice sounded cheerily from the microphone. You jumped in your seat, startled by her as she interrupted your musing. “Please tell me you’re still coming, because Harry wouldn’t shut up about his favourite chocolate chip.”

You cleared your throat, barely able to comprehend what she was talking about, too caught up in your head.

“I—hi. Uhm- I need help actually,” you finally stuttered and you could practically feel her frown even over the phone.

“Oh? Is everything okay? You sound… a little strange.”

“That’s-“ not wrong. You scanned the office and listened in for the tinniest noise, making sure you were still alone. “I’m at the office and I--eh, I found a gift for me.”

“Awww, a secret admirer? Nice!” Amber chuckled, then abruptly stopped. “…unless it’s a stalker. You don’t think you have a stalker, right? Is that why you called me, so I could tell George? He’s not on duty-“

This time you did roll your eyes at the mention of her husband who happened to be a police officer.

“No, Amber, I have no stalker as far as I know. I’m pretty sure I can recognize my boss’ handwriting at this point.”

Nothing but silence could be heard from the other end for a good minute. You bit your lip in anticipation of… something.

And then: “You’re shitting me.”

“Not really-“

“Holy mother of-!” your sister squealed loudly and you winced, instinctively withdrawing from the phone. “Your boss got you a Christmas present?! --Wait. Is it a Walmart card? Because if it is, then this call is pointless, because that’s boring as-“

“No, Amber, he—he gave me a bracelet,” you admitted softly, your gaze once again wandering over the said object. Beautiful. Fragile. Yours, apparently. What?

When Amber only responded with silence again, words suddenly spilled from your lips, all the mixed feelings you had about receiving the bracelet released, relief singing in your veins as you vented.

“And-and it’s actually really beautiful and--- it’s thoughtful, because it has all the fractions from Divergence on it? But not like something you buy for ten dollars, only paying for the copyright or whatever and the quality is shitty, no, I mean--- it looks pretty, eh, delicate.”

It did, awfully so, which was why you still couldn’t make yourself to touch it even if you really, really liked it and wanted to do nothing but to wear it for the rest of your damn life.

“And expensive. I-- I think it might be real silver and…” you wavered, almost scared to share your last observation out loud for it seemed impossible for it to be true. “Amber, you know I looked through a lot of Divergence-related goods so I would know. It- it doesn’t look familiar at all, it’s--- I think it might be custom-made.”

You choked on the last word, tasting so strange on your tongue as you couldn’t quite believe that you were saying it. You felt--- incredulous to put it simply… and touched and- absolutely bewildered.

Silence stretched in the follow-up to your rambling and you felt your brows drawing together.

“…Amber? You there?”

“Oh yeah, I’m here,” she assured you swiftly, mischief curling around the tone of her voice like a smirk on her lips you couldn’t see. “Just wondering how could you not tell me you started sleeping with him-“

“What?! No!” you protested instantly, straightening in the chair. “I’m not—I’m not his sugar baby or whatever! This is not a ‘thank you for letting me fuck you raw’ gift-“

“Not that you would complain from what I heard and saw-“ she hummed playfully.

She was right. But shush!

“Screw you!”

“George does, that’s why we have Harry in the first place,” she sassed you. “But… sis? What kind of a gift it is then?”

And wasn’t that the question.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, you should, because from what you told me, you guys aren’t even friends. Nota bene, this isn’t exactly a gift you give to a friend,” she pointed out, addressing one of the million issues concerning the damn (gorgeous) bracelet.

“I-- I guess?” You were sure, in fact. This was something to give to a… well, to a lover, to a partner. “But- Amber, he doesn’t--- that’s not-“

“What did the note say?”

“Huh?”

“You said you recognized his handwriting,” she reminded you slowly as if speaking to a five-year-old. “What does the note say?”

You glanced at the note again noncommittally, remembering exactly what it said. Pretty much nothing. Definitely nothing to go on.

“Uhm… Thank you. Happy Holidays.”

There was a beat of silence, again. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Eloquent.” You rolled your eyes at her sarcastic tone. She should see him at court. True though, on personal level, he wasn’t exactly chatty. Unless he opened up a bit over a glass of whiskey--- anyway, she had a point, obviously. “What are you gonna do?”

That snapped you from your musing like a shot of life into your bloodstream.

“That’s why I’m calling! I should-- I should get him something too, right?” Right?! Absolutely. “Oh god, I hate last-minute shopping. And I don’t even have a fucking clue what to buy! Well, a good whiskey is always a safe bet I guess, but supporting his drinking habits doesn’t sound like a good idea. Plus, it’s kinda… impersonal with comparison to what he gave me.”

Though if there was one thing you learned about Andy Barber, it was that he could appreciate the high-quality liquor, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been as impersonal as one might think.

“Well, I don’t know him so I can’t really help, but what you got from him should definitely give you a clue.”

“A clue?” you parroted, confused.

“I don’t mean like a clue for what you should buy him. But… look, even if you didn’t suspect that it’s custom-made, which whoa, he has to pay a lot of attention to buy you something like this. Much more attention than you thought.”

“…okay?”

“He likes you, you dumbass! It doesn’t matter what you get him, he’ll be happy you got him anything in the first place!”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you deadpanned, unsure which statement you were referring to. That he liked you or that you shouldn’t take care to choose something that would really bring him at least a little joy.

You tried your best to ignore how your heart skipped the beat at the former.

“Whatever. Harry’s throwing a hungry eye on me, I gotta go fix him a snack unless I want him to eat all the candy again. Good luck!”

“Amber!“ you called out in honest despair, panic rising in your chest, only to get no answer.

You pulled the phone from your ear to look at the screen, already knowing what awaited you.

Disconnected.

Fuck.

It seemed you were on your own. Wasn’t that wonderful?

You shot your sister a simple ‘I hate you’ text, the gears in your head already turning frantically in order to figure out what you could get Andy.

Amber replied with a set of laughing emojis within seconds. Bitch, leaving you alone to deal with a situation like this! What a sister she was.

You sighed, admiring the delicate lines of the bracelet again, torn between indulgence and guilt. There was no questioning whether you should buy Andy something too.

Say yay for the last-minute shopping for a man out of your league and whom you had no idea what you should get.

You were utterly at loss, growing anxious not only about the difficult choice of a gift, but also about possible delivery, wondering what should you even tell him and when.

Maybe though…. just maybe, you were getting kinda excited about what you were about to do too.

✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

Three hours.

You spent almost three hours at the mall where you could barely breathe because of the crazy crowds and yet you were none the wiser; your excitement left you quickly, once again replaced by despair. It took you three hours and passing the lingerie shop four times, a shop with pieces on display that barely covered anything, intended for either bedroom games or a swimming pool, before it finally hit you.

You cursed under your breath, calling yourself an idiot in murmur loud enough to have few people around you look at you in surprise.

“Dumbass, I’m such a dumbass,” you continued your monologue as you fished out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts.

To say that the person on the other end was shocked to hear from you at this time of month and hour was an understatement.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Lee. I have… eh, a favour to ask…”

✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

You were being ridiculous.

Absolutely and utterly ridiculous as you stood on a modest porch in front of a small family house, the roof hiding you from the intrusive drizzle but not keeping you quite safe from the wind as you clutched your handbag to your side as if it was your lifeline, cursing yourself for not wearing a scarf in December.

Your nose was practically freezing, your cheeks burned from the wind and your hands were cold too, because you were stupidly underdressed; as if you haven’t lived in Portland your whole life.

But that wasn’t the main issue; an Uber dropped you off about five minutes ago and still, here you were, standing outside and trying to convince yourself to ring the bell.

The plan had been to finish packing a bag and leave around 10 p.m. to your sister’s house, where you would spend the night so you could be with her family on Christmas Day from the very beginning. But then Andrew fucking Barber, your fabulous boss, left a gift in your office, a breath-taking bracelet now sitting low on your right wrist, and it all went to hell.

Maybe you could still make it to your sister’s house – it was shortly after nine, your bag waiting on your bed, so maybe you should just call another Uber and be on your way. Maybe you could leave the silly envelope in the post-box just so you wouldn’t have to deal with Andy’s reaction; after all, he had chosen the same approach; cookies be damned, there would be more left for Harry then-

But you really, really wanted to thank him. And you might be shitting your pants, but the prospect of seeing him in a domestic environment, possibly more relaxed, perhaps nearing the man you had had the honour to see on those nights… you couldn’t make yourself to pass on that opportunity.

At the same time, you kept reminding yourself that Andy did not expect to see you tonight, he might not even be home – you were pretty sure a dim light was coming from the living room, the TV on probably, but yeah, you could keep lying to yourself – and that he might be grieving and genuinely might hate you for invading his privacy since you had to search his home address in the official documents.

Yeah, you definitely should just spin on your heels and-

“Oh for God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath and pressed the doorbell, your heart suddenly hammering in your ribcage as you realized there were no takebacks now. “Shit.”

Maybe you should just run. What if he had fallen asleep already and you just woke him up?! Oh, he was so going to be pissed and he might even show that emotion, screaming you down like he did one with that intern-

A scruffle on the other side of the door snapped you from your hopeless expectations and you sucked in a horrified breath.

And then the door slid open before you could react and you were certain you looked like a deer caught in the headlights, a semi-frozen deer to make the situation worse and--- there he was.

You quickly dropped your gaze, only then realizing how rude that was and that you should meet his eye no matter how much you did and did not want to do so at the same time. As you gaze travelled up, you found that a domestic Andy was everything you imagined he would be; black socks, loose dark grey sweats, pale t-shirt slightly wrinkled. One of his arms hung loosely by his side, the other still at the door-knob as you continued your inspection, gaze caressing the line of his bare forearm, reaching the sleeves that were hugging his biceps precisely. Broad shoulders, perfectly trimmed beard framing plush lips with the slightest hint of a curious smile.

You smiled awkwardly as your eyes met his watching you with interest, dimmed with a hint of a doze-off you must have woken him up from. You tried not to dwell on the inconspicuous redness surrounding his irises.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up!” you blurted out quickly, rewarded with a light shake of his head and a stifled yawn; subtle.

“You didn’t. Hi,” he greeted you, only to make you realize that 1. you forgot to say hi and 2. his post-nap voice was a thing from wet dreams-- which was definitely not relevant at that moment.

“Hi,” you offered unsurely, eyes roaming his face, searching for any trace of anger. All you found was bewilderment; if pleasant or not, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry for barging in. I just… uhm- I wanted to thank you and-“

The hint of a smile on his lips grew a fraction, expression softening at your admission and before you could find your footing, he opened the door further, subtly extending his hand to usher you in.

Your heart skipped a beat, the strangest feeling tickling your gut, teeth sinking into your lower lip, the grip on your handbag growing stronger. Yet you accepted, taking two reluctant steps inside. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing whatever fate awaited you.

Attempting not to look too nosy, you turned back to Andy rather than scanning the hall.

Words got stuck in your throat. As tired as he looked, worn to a bone by everything but physical exercise, you couldn’t but marvel at what a handsome man he was, even without his smart suits and ties and neatly styled fluffy hair; it was still very fluffy, just more of a mess than a fashion statement.

God, wasn’t he beautiful.

He kept looking at you too in mute anticipation of something, appearing mildly lost just as you were, giving the impression of a man who couldn’t tell what to expect.

Your gaze locked with his, unyielding, a gorgeous trap and you knew you had to say or do something before your heart gave out entirely.

Your mouth opened, no words coming out and you cursed yourself, simply opening the bag and pulling out a Tupperware box with half the cookies you baked last night, practically shoving it to Andy’s capable hands.

He accepted the item with eyebrows shooting up once before settling back, eyes misting for a moment. His fingertips brushed yours as he took a firm hold of the box, the not-quite-there smile of his remaining on his lips.

He seemed perplexed.

You felt like an idiot.

“This feels so silly now,” you admitted with a sigh, realizing the absurdity of the situation only accented by the fact that you stood there in the hall of his home in your coat and high-boots, ridiculously overdressed in comparison to him.

“It’s not,” he whispered finally, forcing the corners of his mouth to rise higher. “Thank you. Didn’t know you baked. Should have figured.”

You shrugged. “Never came up.”

Something shifted in his expression as did in the air; you knew he sensed it too. The unspoken hung between you, that you meant not in your daily routine at the office, but on your private nights, so rare and precious, so desperately pretended to be non-existent the next morning.

Your gaze lowered as the silence fell on your pair again and you awkwardly shifted your weight from one leg to the other. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“So, uh-“

“Thank you for the bracelet. Really. It was-” you licked your lips, meeting his eyes again, so deep, so blue and somehow soft and you forgot what you were about to say. “Eh- I wasn’t expecting it. I-- I didn’t think you’d… notice. And--- care.”

His brows furrowed for a bit and he placed the box on the shoe rack next to him; an action he soon regretted you guessed, because his fingers went for his wrist as if he wanted to readjust his cufflinks, a nervous habit of his, only to meet bare skin. Good to know you weren’t the only one iffy in this conversation.

“But you liked it?” he asked almost shyly and the corners of your lips rose on instinct as did you right hand, the sleeve of your coat sliding down a fraction, enough to reveal the new accessory. “Looks pretty on you.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers gently slid over one of the symbols, brushing over the sensitive skin of your wrist. His gaze returned to yours, a flicker of something heated in his eyes, calling butterflies to your stomach.

Lord have mercy.

“Thanks- uhm--- thank you. Here, I got you something too.” You quickly reached into the handbag again to hide how flustered you felt – for a different reason than awkwardness.

He had touched your wrist and you turned into a blushing mess. Fabulous. And to make the matter more humiliating, now a twinkle of amusement played in his irises.

“You gave me a plant. And cookies.”

“Yeah. Kinda? But that was more of a… gesture?” you offered reluctantly as you handed him the envelope. “I uh—this is probably stupid, but, uhm--- here.”

“Stop putting yourself down,” he muttered darkly, causing your cheeks to burn hotter. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.” Pulling out the firm colourful paper, he blinked a few times, seemingly surprised. Ha, you bet he expected a Walmart card! Instead, there was a voucher for five entrances to the swimming pool where your friend Lee worked at. “Oh. Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

A stone the size of Texas fell from your stomach and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief. Andy seemed genuinely pleased by your choice of gift and you felt your whole body relax.

“It’s just… eh, just for half an hour each and you can pick them on a horizon of three months. I’m not sure how often you like going, so… uhm, my friend works at the place, so you just give her a call and it shouldn’t be a problem to book it for mornings right before the opening hours,” you explained lamely, earning a puzzled look.

“How did you know I liked going when no one’s there?”

That caused one corner of your lips twitch in slight amusement and your eyebrow arch, even if his reasons weren’t exactly funny; his cheeks flushed a hint of red, a sight to behold for more than one reason. It was nice to have the roles reserved, you making him feel flustered for once.

Really? The rather quiet lone-wolf Andy Barber, followed by reporters still, just asked you this? Cute.

“…that’s fair,” he said and for a brief second, you were afraid you had shared your thoughts out loud. But he didn’t look offended, so probably not. The self-awareness then. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m-eh, glad you like it.”

You stood there again, both smiling – a little reluctantly, a little soft – and once again you had no idea how to proceed.

What you did know was that you enjoyed talking to him, even if it was awkward like this. You enjoyed seeing him in his natural habitat, in his home, relatively relaxed. You thrived seeing more of this Andy Barber, just a handsome guy, not Andrew Barber, the hot-shot lawyer.

He was the first to break the silence, hesitantly gesturing further into the house.

“Would you—would you like to-“

YES! was what you brain screamed.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother…” was what you told him, mentally cuffing yourself on the head.

“You’re not,” Andy opposed lowly. The whisper of your name that followed made you shiver.

His gazed trailed all over your face, so intense you would swear he saw right into your soul and further. You felt naked, but for some reason not too vulnerable – Andy seemed to like what he saw, expression genuinely inviting and yet. Yet there was a subtle promise of this not being a friendly invite which was as exciting as unsettling. The air appeared the crackle and you found yourself yearning to taste the electricity on your tongue.

“May I?”

He beckoned to your coat, suddenly free hands already rising and all you could do was to nod, automatically placing your handbag on the floor and unbuttoning the garment. Once if fell open, revealing simple black jeggings and a light pink sweater, Andy sidestepped you, fingers sliding under the hem, cautiously skimming over the bare skin above your collarbones, leaving a burning sensation in their wake.

The warmth of his fingertips seeped into your flesh and yet you shuddered, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You watched Andy put your coat away with care, turning back to you torturously slowly. He filled all of your personal space, so close and too far. You weren’t sure when exactly the air turned so heavy in your lungs, but as your gaze travelled to his lips, not missing how his sought yours in return, you felt all the oxygen leave the room.

“Andy,” the word rolled off your tongue, nothing but a soundless breath of his name.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips again and back before he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, hoarse.

“Am I imagining it?”

He didn’t have to say what and still you knew with absolute certainty that he was addressing the unbearable and delicious tension, the one that had been building and coming to life during those three nights you had spent talking in his office late--- and now it was back with smouldering intensity.

“You’re not.”

You shivered and gulped when he cautiously took a single little step further into your space, your gaze falling to his chest, lowering in sudden surge of the deep-rotted insecurity, whispering about your and his world being thousands of miles apart. And yet, your heart raced in anticipation, your hopes dizzyingly high that you might touch heaven, even if for a few moments.

When his fingertips grasped your jaw, tough light and oh so careful, your eyelids fluttered close, already indulging in the sensation. God, his touch was so soft despite the roughness of his fingertips…

As if he wished to torture you or to indulge that sweet little moment before lips met lips, he stopped an inch from his destination, his breaths as wavering as yours, the words whispered straight into your mouth just a little broken.

“I’m fucked up.”

Your brain basked in blissful fog, but this got across, causing you to tense briefly.

You couldn’t deny what he was saying, you both knew he spoke the ultimate truth – well, you guessed. What had happened to him, having his life dismantled and then losing his family, that sort of thing was bound to leave a scar. Confirming it bluntly though, that felt unforgiving, only adding insult to injury.

“We all are,” you whispered instead, not only because you wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’, the words too harsh.

And it wasn’t trivializing the tragic turn his life had taken. It wasn’t downplaying the depth of his wounds. It wasn’t necessarily implying that you had been through something equally horrible either. Most importantly, it wasn’t you mocking him.

And somehow, he understood that; even if he could have interpreted it in every wrong way imaginable and shove you away, insulted, disgusted.

But no, in that fleeting moment that meant everything, Andy understood that this was your acceptance; this was you telling him that you were willing to try; take whatever he offered and give anything you could in return.

Finally, his lips brushed over yours, slightly chapped and oh so warm and delicious, withdrawing too soon, leaving you to savour the taste as your ran your tongue over your own lips. You inhaled shakily, overwhelmed by everything that was him, powerful, electrifying and then your hand was somehow on his chest, your palm laid over his racing heart, your fingers twitching as his ribcage expanded with a sharp inhale.

Blindly, your mouth searched his again, his whiskers tickling softly and scratching at once, a pleasant sensation on your sensitive skin as he grew bolder, and truly attached your lips in a kiss that made you feel lightheaded with the emotion poured into it. Your hand curled around his nape, an instinct to pull him closer, fingers toying with the short soft hair there, drawing a hum from within the expanse of his chest.

You granted him access to your mouth when he wordlessly asked, but it was him who retreated shortly after that, his heart now appearing as if in pain with its furious beats under your palm. His breaths started coming out short and it dawned to you what was wrong. How fast this could have felt to him, even if he was the one to start it.

‘I’m fucked up,’ he had said. Too caught in the moment, you hadn’t fully realized the extent of his words perhaps.

But you did now – at least a little better than before.

So when he rested his forehead against yours and a breathless ‘sorry’ slipped from his lips, you shook your head lightly and planted a kiss on his cheek, hand still on the back of his head, fingers running over his scalp in a hopefully soothing motion.

“I’ve got you, Andy. You lead.”

You had no strength to keep him close when he pulled his face away, your eyes snapping open in fright that you had said something terribly wrong.

But Andy’s cerulean eyes were big and glassy, grateful and softly speaking about him being… moved by your proposition. Your heart felt like it just grew twice its size, too big to fit into your chest at what a breath-taking picture he was.

The next thing you knew, he dropped a chaste kiss to your forehead and pulled you into his arms, an almost protective embrace, kissing the top of your head for a good measure and you melted against his large frame, smiling into t-shirt.

“Thank you,” he murmured breathlessly into your hair and your smile widened, remembering the note he had left with the exquisite gift that had started everything that led you right here into this moment.

“Happy Holidays.”

Thank you for reading! I’ve been sitting on this since the beginning of damn November. I hope you enjoyed.

It was my first (and maybe last) time writing Andy, so I hope it was alright. Feedback always appreciated.

P.S. – sorry if the nosy reporters thing offended you.

P.P.S. - …I know, the prompt was veeery loosely filled. Shush.

Pretty divider by whismicalrogers.

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