#like i'm adding to their workplace stress?

[devilsskettle]

i hate that this website has location based ads now like it's one thing to promote the local grocery store chain to me but i am seeing ads for my workplace now :/

[abbotjack]

This City Doesn’t Forget (part three · impression management)

part one - part two

summary : Hospitals are full of ghosts. But the worst ones wear perfume and know your full name. What follows is a slow unraveling: whispers among staff, a curated “gift,” a rooftop encounter with Jack, and the quiet realization that the real threat isn’t scandal—it’s perception.

word count : 4,548

content warning: Emotional manipulation, gaslighting, covert workplace harassment, implied power imbalance, past infidelity, family tension, grief, trauma references (including pediatric death), subtle bullying and ostracization, emotionally intense dialogue, mentions of burnout and medical stress, allusions to PTSD, and ambiguous threats. Contains heavy themes of reputation, control, and the weaponization of grace.

a/n : I dedicate this to everyone whos been waiting for part three, deepest apologies.

TUESDAY

The hospital doesn't hum in the mornings so much as it breathes shallowly. Paper rustles. Shoes scuff. Machines beep in staggered time like a slow, mechanical heartbeat. And somewhere between the coffee pot in the lounge and the trauma board, your phone buzzes with a text that shifts the center of gravity under your feet.

URGENT: Compliance Office needs your signature on file. Sublevel 1. Ask for Jenna.

You stare at the screen a little too long. Your fingers are raw from double-gloving. There's a streak of dried something on your scrub top you can't identify, and you haven't eaten anything solid since a protein bar at 6 a.m.

Still, you go.

Because when you're a first-year resident and someone from Admin says "urgent," you don't ask questions. You obey.

The elevator ride feels longer than it should. Sublevel 1 is clinical in a different way than the trauma bay—quieter, unnerving in its civility. The air smells like toner, laminated badge sleeves, and lemon-scented floor polish that always feels slightly inappropriate in a place where so many people die upstairs.

You push open the door to the Compliance suite—and stop cold.

Charlotte Abbot is sitting at a table by the far wall.

The mother. The matriarch. The woman who once held your wrist too tightly at a holiday dinner and smiled with all her teeth while calling your thrifted dress "a brave choice."

Today, she's dressed in something pale and bone-colored that belongs in a luxury SUV ad. Her scarf is knotted with precision. A small gold pin gleams on her collarbone—medical caduceus, stylized and expensive. She looks like she came here to chair a foundation meeting, not ambush her son’s former mistake.

"Doctor [Y/L/N]," she says. Not Ms. Not you. Not even dear. The title slides out like she's trying it on.

Your first instinct is to flee.

Your second is worse: to apologize for something you haven't done yet. Instead, you nod. Not a bow. Not a smile. Just acknowledgment.

"I was told to meet Jenna," you say.

Charlotte gestures to the empty chair across from her. "Jenna's indisposed. I asked if I could borrow a moment of your time. Just a moment."

Her voice is low. Elegant. Practiced. A velvet rope across a locked door.

You don’t sit right away. There’s a French press and two cups on the table—one chipped at the rim, the other stained inside from something darker than coffee. Who the hell brews a full pot down on Sublevel 1? You glance around. No Jenna. No admin staff. No compliance officers lurking in the corners. Just silence and the slow drip of something that doesn't belong here.

Just her.

You sit.

"I'm sure your schedule’s relentless," she says, voice light but eyes tracking you too carefully. "I remember Jack’s intern year—he’d stumble through the front door looking half-dead, still in scrubs, sometimes with blood or charcoal stains on his sleeves. He’d sit down to eat and fall asleep with his fork halfway to his mouth. Hand would shake so bad he couldn’t get it to his plate without missing."

She laughs, like it’s endearing. Like Jack’s exhaustion was some charming, character-building footnote in his medical career. Like nodding off with a fork in his hand meant he was determined, not dangerously burned out. But you weren’t there for that part. Not really. Not when he came home wearing two uniforms at once—one stitched with rank, the other with a hospital badge. Not when the war hadn’t quite let go of him yet, and residency piled on top like a dare. Still, you can picture it. The tremor in his hand that no amount of caffeine could explain. The way a dropped tray probably made him flinch before his brain could remind him he was safe. The tightness in his jaw that didn’t come from stress, but from memory—old, buried, clawing its way back through fluorescent lights and sterile hallways.

You stay silent. Because even if you weren’t there, you know enough to recognize the ghosts.

"It's impressive," she continues, pouring into your cup without asking. "Emergency medicine. That's a battlefield discipline. You always struck me as more of a philosopher."

"I don't remember us talking much."

Charlotte smiles. "No. You were always in the kitchen with the boys. Laughing too loud. Taking up too much space."

There it is.

You wrap your fingers around the cup. It's porcelain. Bone white. The handle too small for a comfortable grip. Made to look delicate even when it's boiling.

"I wanted to speak before the year progresses," she says. "Before people get attached. Or ideas get… cemented."

You raise an eyebrow. "Ideas?"

Charlotte folds her hands. "About what your presence here might mean."

You hold her gaze. "What does it mean?"

"That depends on you."

She pulls a folder from her bag. Cream linen. Gold-trimmed. Heavy paper.

You already know what's inside before she opens it.

"There are other options," she says. "Other programs. Less crowded. Less emotionally… volatile. One of our family donors is on the board at Wake Forest. They’re looking for someone like you. Quiet. Capable. Willing to start fresh."

You don’t touch the folder.

Charlotte sighs.

"Jack is… loyal to a fault," she says. "He carries things long after they’ve stopped serving him. Pain. People. Promises. He’s never learned to distinguish between guilt and love."

You feel something twist in your stomach.

“What happened that summer was… regrettable,” she says, each word carefully chosen, lacquered in control like she’s rehearsed this line a hundred times. “You were young. My other son made foolish choices.” She doesn’t say his name. Doesn’t have to. “But Jack—Jack almost didn’t come back.” Her tone falters just enough to make you notice, but not enough to admit guilt. She lifts her cup, taps her nail against the rim—once, twice—before continuing. “He wrote me from overseas. Said he couldn’t sleep. Said every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were porch lights humming in the dark and knees scraped open on the pavement. He didn’t say your name, but I knew.” Her eyes flick to yours. “He said he felt failure. Like he’d left something bleeding and didn’t know how to stop it. Like no matter how many wounds he patched over there, it didn’t matter, because he hadn’t fixed that one.”

She lets the silence breathe. Lets it grow.

"I won't let him do that again."

You blink. “Do what?”

"Lose himself," she says.

You take a sip of the coffee. It’s not what you expect—light, almost delicate, with some floral note clinging to the edge like perfume on a collar. Not the kind of coffee brewed for comfort or caffeine, but for image. It tastes like someone tried to soften it on purpose, like bitterness was something to be ashamed of. Like someone poured rosewater over something burned and hoped you wouldn’t notice. It tastes like curated grace. Like someone trying to dress a wound in lace and call it closure.

“Are you in on this with him?” you ask. No soft lead-in. No mask of civility. Just truth, raw and bleeding.

Charlotte doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. She picks up her coffee, takes a sip, and sets it down on its delicate saucer like she’s discussing dinner plans—not the fact that her son cornered you in a garage with a decade old photograph.

“I assume you’re referring to my youngest,” she says, tone light, almost bored. “The one you left.”

“I didn’t leave him,” you say, jaw tight. “He cheated on me. He lied. And the second he told me, I ended it.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to bring the photo up,” she says smoothly, like she’s been waiting for this moment since you walked in.

Your throat constricts.

“You were heartbroken,” she says, like she’s narrating a memory that belongs to her. “And Jack has always had a weakness for things he thinks he can fix.”

Your pulse hammers in your ears. “He didn’t try to fix anything. He listened. He sat with me. I was the one who—”

Charlotte raises a hand gently, silencing you without needing volume. “I’m not interested in the choreography. It’s a mother’s job to notice patterns. That summer—you and Jack thought you were discreet, didn’t you? The long nights. The mornings he didn’t come home. The way you stopped flinching when his name came up. You were both too careful. And not careful enough.”

Your stomach twists. “You knew.”

“I suspected,” Charlotte says. “Then I watched. Jack is many things, but subtle has never been one of them.”

You force your voice steady. “And your other son? He took a photo. He followed me. Cornered me in a garage.”

She doesn’t react. No flicker of surprise. No maternal concern. Just a slow inhale.

“He’s angry,” she says. “And embarrassed. You made him look like a fool. And Jack let it happen.”

“He cheated on me,” you snap. “I left him. Jack didn’t steal me—I wasn’t his to keep.”

Charlotte leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, the picture of composure. “Be that as it may, the story isn’t about what really happened. It’s about what people think they saw.”

She taps one manicured finger against the rim of her cup.

“The image that remains—the one on that porch—isn’t of a woman scorned. It’s of a woman with her ex’s brother, legs around his waist, dress pushed up, eyes closed. You know what that looks like to everyone else? A scandal. A poor decision. An opening.”

You go rigid. “You’re going to use it.”

Charlotte’s smile is thin, almost pitying. “We don’t need to. All it takes is a whisper. A well-timed doubt. The photo is just a prop—your presence here is the real threat.”

“I didn’t come back for Jack,” you say, voice low, sharp. “I came back because I earned this. I built this life without him.”

“I’m sure you believe that,” she replies. “But tell me—how many people will see it that way once the story shifts?”

You stare at her, breath tight in your lungs.

Charlotte leans forward, her voice dropping.

“Reputation is about narrative. And you let yours tangle itself with both of my sons. That’s not ambition. That’s carelessness.”

You clench your jaw. “So this is what? Punishment? Gatekeeping?”

“This is protection,” she says. “For the legacy Jack still has left. For the family name. For order. You weren’t supposed to come back, and you definitely weren’t supposed to matter.”

You push back from the table, heart hammering.

“I won’t let you rewrite what happened.”

Charlotte exhales, slow and deliberate.

“We don’t need to rewrite,” she says. “We just need to remind people what they’re most willing to believe.”

And with that, you finally understand: she’s not afraid of the truth.

She’s counting on no one caring about it.

She stands. Smooths her blazer.

"You’ll think about it," she says. "I know you will. You always overthink things."

She gathers her purse. Steps to the door.

Then pauses.

Looks back.

"Do send my regards to Dr. Abbot," she says. "But let him rest. He’s done chasing ghosts."

She leaves.

And the air doesn’t move for a long, long time.

You don’t go straight back to the emergency room.

You say you’re checking vitals on 3. You say you’re waiting on a consult. You say your badge isn’t scanning on the trauma locker again. All of it is a lie.

You just need a minute.

And the cafeteria, sad as it is, doesn’t ask questions.

You take the far corner, near the vending machine that’s always broken. Slide into a seat against the wall and uncap your water bottle like you’ve got time to drink it. Like your stomach hasn’t been hollow since the moment Charlotte Abbot said “You always overthink things” and left you alone with your silence.

You don’t eat. You don’t scroll.

You listen.

It starts like a faint breeze. Two tables away. Two voices. Women. Breezy, clipped vowels that belong to people who’ve worked here long enough to stop pretending the place is sacred. You catch the first name—Renee—and the lilt of the second—Kirstie, maybe? RN tags. Hair tied back in uneven buns. One’s reading an email on her phone while eating baby carrots; the other’s folding a napkin into quarters like she’s trying to reduce the space she takes up.

“You see her this morning? Came in late. Or maybe she just looked it. Like she’d been crying or hadn’t slept or both.”

“Table Nine girl?”

“Mmhmm.”

“She matched here?”

“Apparently.”

A pause. The sound of chewing.

“Didn’t think they let that kind of drama through the Match algorithm.”

“They don’t. Unless someone made a call.”

That makes your stomach tighten.

You keep your eyes on the condensation dripping down your water bottle. Watch it bead. Slide. Pool against the label like it’s trying to escape.

“I mean, I don’t blame her, really. I’d sleep with Dr. Abbot too.”

“Wouldn’t. Too intense.”

“Exactly why I would.”

Laughter. Soft. Familiar.

“Still. Wild to go from one brother to the other.”

“I heard it happened before the cheating. Like she was already running hot for the older one while she was still with what’s-his-face.”

A beat.

“God. I sat at her table at the wedding. You could feel it. Like… heat. Not the sexy kind. The kind that curdles.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like Jack wouldn’t look at her. But also like he wasn’t not looking. You know?”

“Mmm. Dangerous.”

“Yeah. Like one of those things where no one says it out loud, but everybody knows? And now she’s on the trauma service?”

“What could go wrong.”

They laugh again.

But not cruelly. Not like they mean to hurt you.

Worse.

They sound curious. Intrigued. Entertained.

Like your life is a late-night case they didn’t have to chart.

And that’s what hurts the most.

Not that they’re wrong.

Not even that they’re talking.

But that it doesn’t occur to them—not for a second—that you might be sitting in the same room.

You rise slowly. Controlled. Leave the table. The air behind you buzzing with assumption and familiarity and the easy rhythm of women who’ve worked too many shifts to care about collateral damage.

You’re almost at the door when you hear one last thing—soft, almost inaudible.

“She doesn’t look like trouble.”

“They never do.”

You take the stairwell back up instead of the elevator. The motion helps. Forces breath into your lungs. Pulls your body back into your skin one step at a time.

You tell yourself it’s fine.

They didn’t say your name. They didn’t know for sure. They’re not malicious. Just bored. Just reading the signs you left behind.

But the signs were never yours to post.

They were hers.

Charlotte’s.

And now they’re blooming like mold on the walls of this hospital—impressions, innuendo, a photo no one’s seen but everyone feels.

You push open the stairwell door and nearly collide with Whitaker, who jumps like you slapped him.

“Oh—shit, sorry, didn’t mean to—uh.” He steps back, almost trips over his own feet. “Didn’t know anyone used this stairwell. Thought this was, like… pigeon storage.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

Then frowns, softer now. “You okay? You look kinda—like your soul left but forgot its keys.”

You force a breath. “Caffeine’s crashing.”

He nods. Way too seriously. “Yeah. I had three Red Bulls before noon and then started crying in the elevator for, like, no reason? So. Vibes.”

His pager buzzes. He checks it. Grimaces.

“I gotta go help Santos find a vein in a dude. But, uh—if you die in the stairwell, just… don’t haunt me, okay?”

And then he’s gone—half-jogging, granola bar still in his pocket.

And somehow, that helps. A little.

You don’t move for a moment.

You just stand there in the middle of the hallway, scrub top wrinkled, ID lanyard sticking to your neck, pulse too loud in your ears.

Because this is the moment you understand something new.

They’re not going to ruin you all at once.

They’re going to let you rot slowly—beneath the surface, behind polite smiles, under the weight of stories that only have to feel true to become fact.

You rejoin the floor. You check on the elbow dislocation. You re-chart the beta. You even manage to laugh—half-heartedly—when Santos makes a joke about Whitaker falling asleep upright in the break room with his eyes open like some kind of burnt-out trauma raccoon.

You act normal. Because that’s what they expect from you. And you’ve already given them enough to whisper about.

You don’t see it until you swing by the resident lounge.

A bag.

Sitting on the counter near the fridge. Small. Black. Matte paper with matching ribbon handles—expensive, but subtle. One of those gift bags that looks like it came from a boutique that sells candles named after abstract emotions.

Tucked inside: tissue paper, crisp and folded. Something pale blue beneath it. And a small envelope. No name. Just your initials. Neat. Slanted. Familiar.

You glance around.

No one.

You peel the tissue back.

Inside: a travel-sized set of things. Lotion. Lip balm. A roll-on essential oil labeled “serenity.” A tin of mints. A tiny mirror shaped like a peony. The kind of kit someone would give a bridesmaid. Or a nervous girl. Or a mess.

Your hands go cold.

You open the envelope.

The card inside is thick, soft cream stock. Gold-foiled edging. Real stationary. Not drugstore. Not impulse-buy.

The handwriting is deliberate. Feminine.

“You seemed overwhelmed at the wedding. A little grace goes a long way. Hope this helps.”

That’s it.

No name.

But you know.

Of course you know.

Because the font on the “grace” matches the embossing on the brochure Charlotte tried to hand you this morning. Because the lotion is the same brand she used to leave in the guest bathroom during holidays, with the lavender sachets and the monogrammed hand towels no one was allowed to use.

Because grace is a word women like her wield like a scalpel.

You set the card down.

Slowly.

Like it might explode.

You want to throw the whole bag out. Shove it in the trash and light it on fire. But that would make it a scene. That would give it shape. And this isn’t a story with witnesses. It’s a pressure game.

You pick up the bag.

And gently—very gently—place it in your locker, behind your trauma clogs and extra compression socks. You close the door like you’re sealing something inside.

You don’t tell anyone.

Because it’s just lotion, right?

It’s just a card.

It’s just concern.

It’s not a threat.

Except it is.

You feel it in your teeth.

The door creaks when you push it open.

You don’t mean to be here. Not really. You’d just kept climbing—one flight, then another—chasing silence like it might let you breathe.

And now you’re standing on the roof of Allegheny General, the wind catching at the edge of your scrub top, the sky that sickly shade of late-shift blue, and the city stretching wide in every direction like it knows how lost you feel.

Your chest’s still tight from the last case. You can feel it in your ribs, in the place behind your sternum where the monitor beeped too long and too steady. You shouldn’t have run it. You weren’t even the first assist. But Langdon barked something about moving faster, and suddenly it was your hands in that kid’s chest, your voice counting off compressions, your breath stuck in your throat while the mother screamed in the hallway.

You keep trying to forget the sound.

You can’t.

The wind’s colder than you expect. It bites at your fingers, tugs strands of hair loose. You cross to the edge of the rooftop and lower yourself onto the concrete, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them, jaw locked as the city yawns open below.

You don’t cry.

You just sit there. Still in the scrubs with someone else’s blood drying under your sleeve.

You breathe.

One in, one out.

Don’t fall apart. Don’t flinch. Don’t let them see it.

That’s what you’ve been telling yourself since orientation. Since you saw the bag. Since you caught the two nurses whispering about you in the cafeteria.

And now you’re here. On the roof. Alone.

Except you’re not.

You don’t see him at first.

But you feel him—before he says anything. That shift in the air. That low, deliberate kind of stillness he carries with him, like he was built in the silence between artillery rounds. You don’t turn. Not right away.

You just stare straight ahead and say, “If you’re here to tell me I’m being dramatic, you’ll have to wait your turn.”

A beat of quiet. Then—

“That bad, huh?”

You glance over your shoulder.

Jack stands a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, watching you like he’s not sure you’ll let him near.

“I didn’t know you came up here,” you murmur.

Jack shrugs. “Only on the days that end in Y.”

You almost smile.

Almost.

He watches you for a second longer, then walks over and sits beside you—carefully, like he’s still measuring the space between you, still remembering what it felt like to want more than he was allowed to ask for.

“You good?” he asks.

You let out a laugh that isn’t really a laugh. “I think I broke a rib trying to crack a five-year-old’s chest, so no.”

Jack doesn’t flinch. He just nods.

“That was a shit case.”

You don’t respond. You just look out at the skyline.

Jack leans back, eyes on the clouds. “First time I lost a kid, I punched a vending machine and bled through three sets of gloves before anyone noticed.”

You glance at him.

He looks tired. Not the kind of tired sleep could fix. The kind that lives in your joints, your blood, your bones.

“I didn’t punch anything,” you say quietly.

He turns his head to look at you. “No. You ran it.”

You stiffen.

“Bad call?” you ask.

Jack’s expression doesn’t change. “No. Right call. Just a hard one.”

You nod. But your hands are fists in your lap now.

Silence.

Then—

“You always did show up when it was already burning.”

You say it before you mean to. And instantly regret it.

Jack’s jaw flexes. But he doesn’t argue.

You don’t know why you said it. Maybe because you’re tired. Maybe because you’re still bleeding somewhere inside from the last time you let him close.

Or maybe because being on this roof, with him sitting too near and not saying enough, makes it too easy to remember that summer. His hands on your skin. His mouth at your throat. His voice in the dark, low and wrecked, whispering your name like a confession.

You loved him. You never told him, but you did.

And when he left—God, when he left like that—you told yourself you’d never feel that weak again.

You nod toward the door. “I should head back.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you rise.

Then, just as your hand touches the door handle, he says—soft, almost inaudible—“You know it wasn’t just about me, right?”

You freeze.

He doesn’t clarify. Doesn’t explain.

But you know what he means.

That it wasn’t just about him staying away.

It was about who else told him to.

Who else never wanted you there in the first place.

You look back at him—just once.

And the thing that breaks you isn’t the distance. It’s the fact that he still looks at you like he wants to close it.

But you can’t let him.

Not now.

Because if you let him back in—if you let any of this happen again—you’ll lose more than your grip.

You’ll lose him.

So you just say, “I know.”

And then you leave.

Because sometimes protecting someone means becoming the thing they believe they’re better off without.

Even when it kills you.

The hallway you’re walking is the kind that always feels too long at the end of your shift—too fluorescent, too still. This stretch of the hospital doesn’t carry voices well. Just the sound of your own footsteps bouncing off cracked tile and the occasional hum of overworked vents. The air smells like bleach and something older, something settled deep in the walls.

You pass a hand sanitizer dispenser that’s half broken, a light that flickers once and dies. And still, you keep moving. Until something catches in your chest and you stop—just for a second. Just long enough to press the heel of your hand to your sternum like pressure might calm the panic clawing up from somewhere you can’t name.

Jack’s words are still in your ears.

You know it wasn’t just about me, right?

You knew. You’ve always known. The whispers at the wedding. The long looks from his mother. The fact that she wouldn’t speak to you unless his brother was in the room.

You remember the way she smiled when you'd leave. The kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. That says: finally.

You make it to the break room without seeing anyone. But someone’s already there.

Langdon’s leaned against the counter, sipping coffee like he hasn’t run three traumas back-to-back. He glances up as you walk in. Doesn’t say anything at first—just narrows his eyes like he’s assessing damage.

“Hell of a shift,” he says eventually.

You open your locker. Your hands are still shaking.

“Rooftop help?” he adds.

You freeze.

Slowly turn your head.

“I was up near Step-Down a few minutes ago,” he says, tone casual but not careless. “Caught a view of the east side.”

You freeze at your locker. Your hands still.

He sips once. Doesn’t blink.

“Saw you and Jack up on the roof.”

The air tightens.

He leans back against the counter, eyebrows lifting, expression unreadable. “You two okay?”

You force your voice not to crack. “Fine.”

Langdon sips his coffee again. “Uh-huh. That why he’s still up there?”

Your blood goes cold.

You blink. “What?”

Langdon nods toward the window. “Still saw him when I came down just now. Just standin’ there. Staring like the whole goddamn city did something personal.”

You don’t respond. You just shove your granola bar into your bag and close the locker harder than you mean to.

Langdon watches you. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine.”

He lets it sit there. Doesn’t push.

But then he says, casually, “There’s been talk.”

Your body goes rigid.

“What kind of talk?”

Langdon shrugs. “Couple nurses. Something about you. Something about Jack. And something about the Abbot family not being too happy to see you walk through the front doors.”

You meet his gaze.

“Let them talk.”

Langdon snorts. “They will.”

You shoulder your bag. Turn to go.

Langdon calls after you, voice low but serious.

“Whatever this is, it doesn’t scare me. But it scares him.”

You stop in the doorway. Don’t turn around.

“Good,” you say. “He should be scared.”

And then you’re gone.

You don’t look back.

You can’t.

Not when the person who’s still standing on the rooftop hasn’t moved an inch since you left.

[skzdust]

Paperwork

THIS IS SMUT. MINORS DNI.

So to the person who requested this in October, I'm sorry, but I did it!!

Please enjoy!

Summary: You're the secretary to Choi Jongho, the CEO to your company, and you've cleared the last two hours of his workday for some stress relief.

Pairing: CEO!Jongho x Secretary!Reader

Includes: smut with feelings, cockwarming, dirty talk, "doll", "baby", fucking on a desk

Word count: 1.7k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst, @atzlordz,

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

You smiled to yourself as whoever had been meeting with Jongho walked out of his office. It was only 3:00, but you’d made sure to block out a couple of free hours for him at the end of the day.

You straightened the papers at your desk and locked your computer before walking in.

“Y/n.” He looked at you with a weary smile. “Who’s in next?” He put his head in his hands. “Do not tell me it’s Jeong Yunho. He’s a fine man, and a fine ambassador, but I cannot deal with the board today.”

“It’s not Yunho.” You could barely hold in your smile. “It’s no one.”

“Hm?” He looked at you with raised eyebrows. “Weird joke.”

“It’s not a joke.” You let yourself grin. “I cleared your schedule for the rest of the day.”

“It’s only three! There’s two hours left in the day!” He protested, but he was smiling now too.

“You need to relax, Mr. Choi.” You leaned on his desk. “You’re going to work yourself to death.”

“No, I’m not.” He grumbled.

“You’re stressed.” You leaned in closer to him. “Let me help you.”

Jongho glanced around, but the walls of his office that weren’t windows were solid. There was no way anyone could see in.

“You’re gonna help me?”

“Yeah.” You undid a couple buttons on your blouse with one hand. “I have a few ideas.”

Jongho groaned as you pulled back to finish taking off your shirt. You left it in a pile of satin on the floor. “Fuck, you look good.”

You smiled, looking at the ground. This arrangement had been going on for a while, but he still made you smile when he complimented you.

Choi Jongho was so fucking hot it wasn’t even fair. And past that, he was sweet. He bought you things, he checked in on you throughout the day as you worked, and he was so gentle when he fucked you, despite his dominance. You could barely believe it was you he chose to have a consensual workplace relationship with.

Jongho hummed, bringing you back to the present. “Why don’t you come over here, pretty girl?”

You nodded, walking behind the desk. He patted it, and you sat on its edge, your tongue darting out to lick your lips.

He laughed. “Nervous?”

“No.” You lied.

“Do I make you nervous?” His voice dropped into something more playful than before.

“No!”

“Don’t lie to me.” He whispered, his eyes searching your face before making their way down the rest of your body. “You’re beautiful, but you’re not good at hiding things.”

You blushed at that. “I’m not hiding anything.”

Jongho stood, taking a few steps forward to cage you between his arms, looking intently in your eyes. “Do you want me?”

You blinked.  “Yes. I assumed that was obvious from me taking off my shirt and sitting on your desk.”

“I still want to hear you say it.” He leaned into your neck, licking at it before moving up to kiss your ear. “For me?”

“I want you.” You whispered, shivering as he gently bit your earlobe. “Fuck, Jongho, please.”

“Good girl.” He ran a hand through your hair, and then down to the base of your spine, pulling you closer to him. You moaned appreciatively, arching into him. “What do you want me to do?”

“Want you to make the decisions.” You whispered. “Want you to be in charge.”

“You want CEO Choi?” He laughed, and you rolled your eyes.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Oh, baby, I know what you meant.” He smiled. “You meant you want me to order you around, to make you do dirty things and watch, to fuck you so hard you can’t even think anymore.”

You swallowed, nodding. “Yes. That’s what I meant.”

“Okay, then I can give you that.” He smirked. “You know I love using you as my own personal stress toy.”

You whimpered as his hands came down to rest on your waist. “And how are you going to use me?”

“I think I’ll make you sit on my cock.” He hummed thoughtfully. “And I think you’ll look so pretty just sitting there while I get some paperwork done.”

“Paperwork?” You groaned. “I cleared your schedule just for this!”

“I still have things to do, doll, no appointments means I just have some time to catch up on things.”

“What about me being your stress toy?”

“Oh, that’ll come.” His grin had a note of mischief, and you settled down a bit, knowing that he wouldn’t leave you hanging… at least not all evening. “Now get on my lap.”

He unzipped his pants, freeing his cock and sitting down. He was already hard, and you smiled, knowing you’d done that to him.

“Don’t get all cocky.” He said. “That doesn’t mean it was you, you know. Maybe my paperwork gets me off.”

You laughed. Jongho had a good sense of humor, and you wished for just a second that he was actually yours, beyond fucking you when you had some time during the workday.

It wasn’t like he had anyone else. No wife or kids, no pictures on the desk. He always said he was married to the company.

You didn’t have time to think anymore when he grabbed your hips and yanked you off the desk, towards him. “I said get on my lap.”

You carefully took off your tights and underwear, leaving your skirt on the way you knew he liked. You looked in his eyes for just a moment— just a second— and began to ease down onto him. You paused about halfway down his impressive length, breathing for a moment.

Jongho wasn’t having any of that. He grabbed your hips again and snapped up into you.

You gasped, the way he was filling you up almost startling you. He was so long and so thick, it felt like he was practically in your lungs. “Jesus, Jongho.”

“Mr. Choi.” He grunted, adjusting the two of you so you were seated facing him on his lap, and he could reach around you to get his paperwork done. You rested your head on his shoulder, moving your hips against his in a desperate search for friction.

“Ah ah, none of that.” He said, and while his voice was playful, you knew he wasn’t joking. Jongho liked obedience and patience, neither of which were your strong suits, but luckily he seemed to enjoy fucking these lessons into you.

“Please?”

“No.”

He did rub your back, consolatory, as he did his paperwork with his other hand. You weren’t watching, your eyes were closed with the pleasure of his cock inside you and the lines he was currently tracing across your shoulder blades.

You might’ve fallen asleep, you weren’t entirely sure, but when you opened your eyes, it was dark outside. “When did it get to be night?”

“Did you fall asleep?” He sounded amused. “Sun set a little bit ago.”

“I hate winter.” You sighed. “Can you fuck me now?”

“Let me finish reading this contract, then yes.”

You wiggled on his cock, trying to get him to break and fuck you now, but his resolve was ironclad, as usual. You heard him writing, then the click of him capping his pen, then he was pulling you to look at him.

“Hi.” He smiled at you, and you were struck, not for the first time, by how goddamn attractive this man was.

“Hi.”

“Lay back on the desk for me.”

You carefully got off his lap, your knees screaming at you. “You’re paying for my physical therapy from bending my knees on a desk chair for hours on end.”

“I can do that.” He said, and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“Thank you.” You hurried to climb on top of the desk, laying on your back and spreading your legs for him.

He arranged himself between them, lining up with your dripping hole and teasing at your entrance. “This has been in here for a while, you sure you still want it?”

“Yes!” You yelped. “Yes, Jongho, please.”

“Good girl.” He whispered, and you shivered. With one hand on your hip, he carefully pushed back inside you.

“Fuck. Wow, Jongho, you feel good.”

“Good.” He said, and his voice had taken on the low timbre it usually did when you were about to get absolutely railed.

He began to move, his hips rocking slowly at first, then setting a punishing pace. He kept talking to you the whole time.

“Gorgeous little thing for me, don’t you feel good around me? So tight around my cock, fuck, baby, you’re perfect.”

Your stomach flipped. He’d definitely just meant that sexually. Your pussy was perfect. He didn’t think you were perfect.

Did he?

He said it again.

“Perfect, so fucking perfect for me, baby.”

Baby.

He didn’t usually call you baby.

You didn’t say anything, wondering. Was he fucking someone else? Was he talking to you?

His thrusts grew wilder, less controlled, more desperate. He was practically whimpering now.

“Baby, baby, so good for me, so perfect, can you cum? Can you cum on my cock? Wanna make you feel good.”

“Yes, Jongho, yes, I feel good,” You confirmed. “Don’t fucking stop. I’m going to— fuck, Jongho, can I cum?”

“Yes, baby, cum.”

He pushed inside you one more time, and you came together, jerking through your orgasm as Jongho moaned your name through his.

You both rested there, breathing, for a few moments.

“Baby?” You asked in a small voice.

“I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— I mean, it slipped out.” He laughed uncomfortably, still inside you. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, you didn’t.” You sat up to pull his face to yours. “You can call me it again, if you want.”

His eyes searched yours. “Are you sure, baby?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, and you kissed him. It was gentle, mostly lips, no teeth or tongue. You could hear him giggle into your mouth.

“What!”

“I just feel lucky.”

“Why?”

“The prettiest person at this company just let me come inside them.”

You grinned. “Yeah, yeah, but like you said, let’s not get cocky. Maybe it was just that I was on top of the paperwork.”

[forsaken-headcanons]

roblox headcanons whatever (this might be long)

Robloxia is a biiig continent, and Builderman created it

While Builderman is in charge of Robloxia’s government, it is far too big to manage himself, which is where admins come in!

There are two kinds of admins: branch admins, and regional admins.

^ Branch admins are in charge of a specific ‘branch’ of government, hence the name.

Regional admins are in charge of smaller areas, think states

Beneath admins are moderators, those who enforce the law, keep the regions safe, and work in the branches.

Regional moderators can also act as judges when disputes arise. If a moderator’s selected jury can’t come to a decision, the case goes to an admin. If the admin can’t decide, it goes to Builderman.

In a perfect world everybody uses R6, but that’s just not really possible for Roblox so a small (comparatively) chunk of the population uses R15

ok more survivor/killer specific things

Exploiting and hacking are banned by law, anyone who does break the law is met with jail time or worse.

007n7 were always good at hiding evidence, but n7 got tired of the stress that came with covering up their tracks, so he retired.

^ This may or may not have been influenced by him adopting C00lkidd

Since Robloxia is so big, most of the survivors didn’t know each other (with the exception of some, like Elliot and n7)

Elliot’s workplace (builder brothers) is nearish where n7 and C00lkidd’s apartment, maybe like a 10 minute car drive

^ Bonus hc time! C00lkidd and n7 are banned from the bb because kid wandered into the kitchen and knocked something over by accident, which caused a chain reaction that nearly burned bb pizza down

^ The owners decided not to press charges since it was clearly an accident, and instead just blacklisted the two. Elliot will hold a grudge until the end of time, though

Chance used to live in a city when he was younger, but found himself associating with the wrong crowd. Because of this, his parents sent him to a boarding school, which coincidentally was nearish bb pizza!!

When a regional admin (Shedletsky) and the literal ruler of Robloxia (Builderman) vanished, the entire system collapsed. Exploiters and hackers ran rampant in Shedletsky’s state, and an emergency vote was held to replace Builderman.

Taph was a branch admin and was hit hard by the vanishing of Builderman. Their boss was gone!!

Another Bonus Hc time, survivors added in updates got forsaken later

Two Time and Azure’s cult was based in a rural town, but they did most of their worship in the forest. Two Time feels at home in the cabin.

Dusekkar lived in the same forest, but kept their distance from the cult.

-peepy anon

Oh, I love love LOVE the headcanons about the admins! I always adored whenever they were viewed more of the rulers/bosses of the government! I'm snatching all of the admin headcanons by the way.

/j /silly

I always think that the admins would get together in a day off and just simply hang out! Maybe get drinks or eat and chat about their branches/regions :~]

[leafostuff]

Off*Iz - Camera shy [Ft. Ex-Iz*one]

Tags: Smut, Secretary!Nako, Boss!MReader Sex in Secret, Handjob, Thigh worshiping, Anal

Author's Note: thanks for @iznsfw for beta reading and of course making the Off*iz, I'm honoured to be the first fic of the collab, another thanks goes to @octoberautumnbox for beta reading as well.

hope yall enjoy a quickie for the girl that made my debut smut

=================================

"God, I hate picture day."

It wasn't hard to hear Nako's attitude through her words, looking toward the camera while the photographer instructed her to smile. Even though she smiled a modest yet cheerful smile, you could see it in her eyes that she couldn't wait for this to be over.

A loud snap comes from the camera.

"Oh come Nako, it's not that bad, isn't this better than sitting around on our computer, writing some random numbers?" you said while Nako was getting out of the frame and heading toward you. As you handed her the purse, thanking you quietly as she takes it

"Yeah, until I have to see Ms. Diva here posing to the camera" .

You looked behind her and saw Jang Wonyoung. Her face is made for the camera lights, no wonder she got that modeling gig last year for some prestigious makeup company. It took only 10 seconds for her manager to cough loudly, signaling Wonyoung to remember where she was and remain professional.

"Oh come on. She’s young, let her live like she doesn't have to pay rent this month." It didn't seem to raise your secretary's mood as she simply rolled her eyes and took her phone out of the purse., "And honestly, don't underplay yourself. You are not so bad looking compared to her," you awkwardly said, trying to remain as professional as possible with this sentence.

Her gaze leaves her phone, "Not so bad looking?"

"Do you want me to sound like a weirdo calling you pretty?" you rhetorically asked as the both of you giggled lightly at your joke. It’s the first smile you saw from her ever since this morning.

"Joking aside Nako: you are pretty, even very pretty if I do say so myself," you added. Taking a second look at Wonyoung, you notice her manager looking disappointed in her behaviour.

"Sometimes beauty is best when only one person can admire it."

Nako couldn’t help but lightly blush at your sweet words. For a moment, the atmosphere was pure. Both of you couldn’t help but smile at each other, however...

"You know, I have a lot of data that I need to show you from this morning."

You couldn’t help but raise your eyes a bit from Nako's words as her mouth formed a devilish grin. Instead of her right hand returning her phone to the purse, it rested itself on her waist, her eyes locked themselves on yours.

"From that early? Why didn't you tell me before?" you asked, matching her grin.

As the boss of the Data analytics department in Off*iz inc, it was important that your secretary would share with you the day’s early morning data. You both knew that with how close you two were standing in front of each other (while still keeping a professional distance from each other), the way you smiled at each other—you two look at very different data from the other employees

"I didn't have time, morning was so hectic, and now the photoshoot was happening so this is the soonest chance I got," she explained.

"Besides, maybe showing you today's data can help me... de-stress after the photoshoot~"

=================================

Professionalism was something essential for the work environment. It can help everyone stay focused on the main goal, devise a strategy together and help anyone be happy in the workplace. However in some cases, some very niche cases, professionalism takes the back seat.

Case in point? You right now, making out with your own secretary in the printing room, the only room . It was hard to not say “fuck professionalism” when your hands glided across Nako's soft flesh, from her round cheeks to her toned back, all the way to her plump butt which you had the opportunity to squeeze. It caused her to moan quietly from your kiss, all the way to her milky thighs.

You felt Nako's weight pressing on you as she straddled your lap, her lips still not leaving yours. However her hands did find themselves on your slacks, unbuttoning them as fast she could.

During her attempt to take off your slacks you have free access to her neck, leaving small, invisible marks.

"You put on that cologne I suggested to you the other day," she said. sniffing around your neck. "I'm already wet just smelling it," she purred.

Your hands were not idle as they ripped off Nako's shirt, letting you see her small, petite chest covered in a black lacy bra.

A couple of forgotten pieces of clothing later, the both of you were naked, Nako was irresistably drawn to your already hard cock. Her body and soul started to fill with joy, and from what it seemed she wasnt the only one

“Let me help.” a flirty wink as Her small hand attempted to cup around your base, rubbing it up and down. You couldn’t help but moan at her soft touch.

"Fuck yes Nako, just like that, it feels...ngh so good."

Nako's smile got bigger seeing small drops of your fluids leaking out of your cock. Her pace sped up with each passing second, forcing your hands to clench her shoulders, holding on to dear life. Eventually your orgasm came, spilling out strings of cum all over her thighs.

"On my thighs again?" she asked.

"It's not my fault that your thighs are so damn thick, I didn't lie when i said you are very pretty." You lean forward, letting your hand attach themselves to her thighs like magnets. While giving them a loving squeeze, your lips go to the back of her neck, causing her to quietly gasp. "Especially,” you add, “down there."

"Oh really?" she asks, turning herself back to you as once again she gets into your lap, spreading her thighs as wide as she can. "Tell me how."

"How can I even begin," you ask as you lower your head, giving her outer right thigh a kiss. "As I said before, they are very thick, they might as well be a choking hazard," you tease.

"Oh wow, I'm flattered," she replies, and you can hear the happiness in her voice., She gently pushes your head down, forcing you to kiss her right thigh again, this time closer to her sacred area. "What else? And not so loud, I don't want to get caught."

"Well they are also... soft, and creamy, I bet a lap pillow from them will send me to heaven," you add, but not before moving yourself to her left thigh, now licking it instead of just giving pecks.

"Okay, I’ll make note of that when we go on dates that don't include us hiding in the printing room and fucking each other." The sarcasm in her voice rings clear as you know you can't meet outside; one wrong step can cause a huge dating scandal and get you both fired immediately.

"Oh come on, I know you like it, the thrill of possibly getting caught by our own coworkers. You want this as much as I do." You decide to tease her by kissing her pussy, earning you a melody of stifled moans. If she wasn't such an excellent secretary you would've sent her to an idol company.

"What can I say, I'm a bit camera shy," she replies, now letting your head rise from her thighs. Nako brings you to face her hardened nipples. "Anything else?"

"Well I bet they can be great handles for when I fuck you in the ass." You push your limits, and as expected Nako seems to be taken aback by your words., However, she gains her composure, and flashes you a smile.

"Hmm... interesting claim, you want to test it?" You are taken by surprise as Nako turns herself 180 degrees in your lap, her back completely exposed and her ass in full volume. "Well? what are you waiting fo- OH FUCK!"

Poor Nako did not have time to finish her sentence as your primal urges took over, gripping each of her thighs and pushing your cock inside her ass, deep enough to make Nako almost shout her moans.

"Quiet down, you don't want people to hear you right?" More pumps from your cock go deep into her asshole, and moans come out of her mouth in various pitches and lengths. Your hands remain on her thighs as you tease her "Well I guess I was right about that one".

"Shut up and fill my ass already! I need it so bad inside me…" Such profanities coming from a girl that looked pure and precious when you first met her. Just starting out in Off*iz inc you were already fond of her, and from how you ended up now, it seems she’s fond of you too.

"Fuck Nako, I am so close, your ass is so god damn tight," you say between pumps.Nako brings herself closer to you, taking your dick inside her ass even deeper than before, while the both of you became a moaning mess.

"Please just cum inside my ass, make me feel even better than I already am," she says,her tone is beggijg , even without seeing her face directly you can feel how lewd her expression when suddenly...

*Snap*

"What the- FUCKKKKKK!" Amidst her confusion, you finally released all of your load inside of her ass., She collapsed onto your chest, both of you sighing in relief and staying like that for a minute or two, just kissing each other calmly and sweetly. As you look at your phone and can't help yourself but chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she asks. Instead of saying anything, you flip around your phone to show what you are looking at: a picture of Nako with the lewdest of faces while you were fucking her ass.

"Well I guess when I fuck you in the ass you aren't so camera shy are you?" She delivers a small hit to your chest, her cheeks now red from embarrassment

"Whatever, let's get out of here," she says as she pulls herself off your lap. It takes just a few minutes before you’re both fully clothed and free of any leftover marks on you. Without any suspicion, you manage to leave the printing room quietly.

"Gotta say, for a first time getting fucked in the ass, it didnt end up too bad," Nako says as you both walk toward your office. “I might ask you to look over some ‘Data’ more often"

You finally reach your office and pull open the door.

"Well Nako, we should now focus-"

"On your work? Thought so as well." An unexpected voice comes out from your office and both you and your secretary draw your attention to its source. your own chair is occupied by a blonde girl, one that both of you know very well.

=================================

I finished writing it in a day (22/3/24), lost all of the text once and managed to recover it by memory alone, but yeah I had a lot of fun writing this fic, hope that the Off*iz Series will succeed as much as I want it to succeed

Have a rest of a good day leafies

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

The Rich Bitch

note: I have a weird fascination with tv shows in which they show/sell/renovate homes, and I watch that shit daily, so that's why this fic now exists. This fic is for the S Club girls, you know who you are 🖤

warnings: 18+!! smut, language, unprotected sex bc pregnancy is not a thing in my fic world.

pairing: Realtor!Sihtric x fem!reader (no use of Y/N)

summary: After being dropped as a buyer by Uhtred and Finan, because you were impossible to deal with, Sihtric took on the job of being your new realtor. Your attitude was something he would surely fix in time, but his main mission was to sell you a house, whatever it would take.

word count: 7,4k

Masterlist

Reblogs & comments are immensely appreciated.

'Come on,' Sihtric laughed, 'it can't be that bad.'

'Oh, it is,' Uhtred stressed, 'you don't understand.'

'He's right,' Finan backed Uhtred, 'I dropped her as a client for the same reason. She's just impossible.'

'I also thought it wasn't that bad,' Uhtred added, 'so I made my move when Finan dropped her, thinking I could easily sell a house to her. Because how bad could it really be, right?'

'You can't even begin to imagine,' Finan said, 'I showed her dozens of mansions, and nothing was good enough. She's a rich bitch who is impossible to please.'

'And I did the same, showing her the most amazing houses that people would die for,' Uhtred sighed, 'but Finan's right, nothing was good enough. I'm out of ideas, I truly am. I can't sell a house to her, it's impossible. I showed her a house with a pool that was the size of an amateur basketball court, and she complained it was too small. Too small! She's a single woman, Sihtric! What does she need a pool for that's bigger than the size of a damned basketball court?!'

Sihtric leaned back in his fancy black chair, with his leather boots put up on his desk as he smirked at the two men who he shared the workplace with. The three were all real estate agents, the best in town nonetheless, and their agency was booming; selling multiple luxurious villas and mansions weekly, earning satisfied client after satisfied client. But that was until you had appeared at their door one day, looking for a new home that was the best of the best. Finan was up for the task, because nothing was a bigger jab in the face to his fellow estate agents, which were his best friends too, than selling an insanely expensive house to a drop dead gorgeous woman. But unfortunately for the Irishman, you turned out to be a handful. Finan dropped you as his client after he had shown you so many houses that he had lost count, all which you turned down for the most ridiculous reasons.

'At the last house I showed her she said she didn't like the carpet,' Finan groaned, 'the carpet! She didn't buy it because of the carpet. I mean, Jesus Christ! You can hire someone to pull that bloody carpet out!'

'Maybe she wants a home that doesn't need any work,' Sihtric shrugged, 'that's a common demand.'

'No,' Uhtred snapped, 'that's not it. I have shown her well over ten properties that she could move in right on the day, and still,' he threw his hands up, 'I give up, you can have her,' he looked at Sihtric, 'otherwise we drop her from our agency.'

'Fine by me, I'll take it,' Sihtric chuckled, 'you know I like a challenge.'

'Yeah, good luck,' Uhtred scoffed, 'I'll talk to you in a week.'

'Trust me, I'll sell a place to her,' Sihtric smiled, full of confidence.

'And there he is,' Finan laughed, 'the cocky bastard. We'll see about that.'

Sihtric was not quite like his friends and fellow agents when it came to work. Uhtred always dressed formally for the job, wearing a fancy suit with nice and shiny shoes underneath, and treating those in search of a new home like absolute royalty, which was a guaranteed success for a sale. Finan was always dressed rather sharply too, but less formal, and he was more the kind of estate agent to joke around and lure his clients into a purchase with his friendly smile while promising them a special discount, one that didn't even exist, but it always worked.

But Sihtric was a little different. He didn't do formal wear, instead he dressed in whatever he felt like on the day. Some days he'd wear a nice blouse with some jeans and leather boots, and other days he'd show up with a loose fitting t-shirt, some sweatpants and a pair of expensive sneakers. He didn't wear fancy jewelry, except for some rings around his tattooed fingers. He also had a visible tattoo on his neck. His hair was either loose and messy, or tied back into a bun, or entirely braided, and he had a well kept goatee as well as a few scars on his face.

Buyers always were a little wary of him at first glance, as they'd expect a real estate agent who sold houses that cost millions to be dressed as a millionaire himself. But it was simply impossible for anyone to not warm to Sihtric's charm after only a few minutes. Sihtric was smart and canny, he always figured out in no time what buyers were actually looking for and the things they didn't want at all, resulting in many successful sales. He could read people like no other, and if he realised a buyer wasn't feeling the house he was showing, he'd cut off the viewing because he was not about to waste anyone's time. 

Sihtric was also direct, never sugarcoating anything for anyone. He sold homes and he never wanted to sell lies, and in all his years of working in the business, he never had to drop someone because he failed to sell them a home. And he would do whatever it would take to keep that reputation. If he only knew what he had signed up for when he took you over as a client from Uhtred.

You were livid when Uhtred dumped you as his client out of the blue, through an email. First Finan, and now him. You didn't understand why those men couldn't just do their job of finding you a forever home, as if it should be that hard. You considered changing estate agencies, but in the email Uhtred referred you to his colleague, Sihtric, and you decided to give the firm another chance. You wouldn't deny that Uhtred and Finan had tried to find you a new home, albeit barely though in your eyes, they still had tried. 

You didn't have much hope for that Sihtric guy if you were honest, but you still pulled up to the address you had received by email a few days after your agent change. As usual, you had done no prior research nor looked the house up on maps, so the house listed was a surprise at first sight when you arrived.

It was a mansion to say the least, with a massive driveway and a dramatic fountain in the middle of it. The smell of chlorine greeted your nostrils when you stepped out of your silver Rolls Royce, indicating the mansion had a pool in the back. You hoped that it was at least of a decent size, and not like that pathetic little kiddy pool the house had which Uhtred showed you once. Your black high heels clicked on the pavement while your white sundress flowed behind you as you crossed the street. It was a hot summer afternoon. Your large Dior summer hat and big Gucci sunglasses shielded your face from the sun, and also managed to hide half of your disgusted face when you stopped before stepping onto the actual driveway, seeing it was no smooth surface but consisted of millions of dark pebbles instead. You sighed and groaned softly, there was no way you were able to make it to the front door without scratching your beloved Louboutin's.

You looked around and then spotted a rather rugged looking man coming out of the house, and you frowned. You lowered your designer shades and glared over the rim, judging the man's nonchalant haircut as his long hair was tied back, and you muttered an 'Ew,' upon seeing the simple black jeans he wore with a pair of hideous black boots underneath. Your demand for every house you were shown was to be available, meaning no residents or employees living there anymore, so you weren't sure why this man just came out of the house. But regardless, you needed help crossing those pebbles from hell to even view the inside of the house in the first place. And since the man seemed strong and muscular even from a distance, you were sure he could help you, whoever he was. Little did you know that it was Sihtric, your new real estate agent.

You pushed your shades back up your nose and waved at him.

'Uhm, excuse me!' you called out, 'are you the pool boy?'

'Pool boy?' Sihtric murmured to himself, 'who the fuck does she think she is?' He then cleared his throat and called back, 'Ma'am?'

Sihtric was confused as to why you were yelling at him instead of coming over, but he figured immediately that you were the nightmare buyer Uhtred and Finan had warned him about. And you in turn were offended when the man didn't come over right away, leaving you like a damsel in distress on the opposite side of the driveway.

'Do you work here?' you yelled.

'Eh, I'm your real estate agent!' he yelled back.

'Oh!' you chuckled, then made a face, 'oh… okay, so you must be Sihtric?'

'I am!'

You looked at him and scoffed at how he simply didn't come over to offer any help, surely he saw your shoes and the impossible road ahead of you. You truly had to spell everything out for a man.

'Well,' you yelled and pointed at the pebbles, 'surely a strong man such as yourself could help me cross this driveway?'

Sihtric stared at the small rocks and then had to fight a grin, because he knew what you wanted now. You wanted him to hold your hand as you stumbled across the driveway, or even better, you wanted to be carried by him all the way up to the front door. Why else would you bring up his physique like that? But Sihtric wasn't about that special treatment, and he refused to give it to you.

'You got feet?' Sihtric yelled.

'Excuse me?'

'Do you have feet?' he asked, slowly this time.

'Of course I have feet!' you snarled, 'but these pebbles,' you groaned, 'have you seen my shoes?'

'Oh, I see them,' he smirked and looked at your bare legs for a split second, even from afar he couldn't deny you were hot. 'But you have feet, yeah? So you can walk too?' Sihtric asked, amused.

'Yes, I can walk too!' you hissed, 'I don't understand what-'

'Great! Then I'll meet you inside,' Sihtric yelled and gave you a thumbs up, then stepped inside the house and disappeared.

'What?' you scoffed.

You thought he was joking, but after a few long seconds it became evident that Sihtric was not coming out to help you, so you groaned and pouted as you took off your shoes. And after you had finally made your way across the boiling hot pebbles, barefooted, you sat down and cleaned your already blistering feet with the wipes you always kept in your Louis Vuitton purse. You were fuming when you put your heels back on and turned to see Sihtric, looking at you with a shit-eating grin on his face as he leaned against the doorpost. He thought you were gorgeous, and he'd flirt with you instantly if he wasn't aware that you were such a bitch. So instead of flirting he decided to remind you that just because you had a lot of money, didn't mean you deserved to be treated like a queen if you weren't a kind person yourself.

'Well, would you look at that? I'm proud of you, miss,' he smiled down at you, 'you made it all the way here by yourself. Was it a life changing experience? Do you need a foot massage tonight?'

'Uhtred could have warned me about his replacement being such an asshole,' you huffed and got up, 'not very professional, are you?' you sneered as you gave him a judgemental look, glaring over the rim of your shades again.

'And I am delighted to meet you too,' Sihtric mocked and bowed his head a little to you, 'so, now that we're done with the formalities, shall we view the house then?' he asked and turned on his heels, then made another jest, 'you might want to take off those shades, or the house may come off dark-'

'Why is the house not gated?' you snapped, 'anyone can just go up to the front door, and I don't like that.'

Sihtric turned back to you and scoffed with a smile. He then pursed his lips and nodded lightly as he scratched his goatee for a moment.

'So you want a gated property?' he asked.

'Of course I do.'

'And yet when my colleague asked about your wishes during the intake, you didn't mention that. Your only demand was for the houses to be empty and available right away.'

'Must've slipped my mind,' you shrugged.

'Sure did,' Sihtric smiled, then became serious all of the sudden, 'but then I hereby declare that this viewing is over. I will go back to my office now, and I will contact you by the end of the day with a new listing.'

He pushed past you and opened the front door again, pointing you out.

'Excuse me?' you asked, absolutely baffled.

'You want a gated property,' Sihtric said, 'and that is not what this is. So we both know you will not be buying this house. My time is valuable, miss, and I am not wasting it for anyone.'

You couldn't believe your ears, and you couldn't possibly pick the right curse word to call him out with. You had just made your way to the front door only, without shoes, only to not even get a full tour of the property. You were offended and angry that he dared to treat you like that, and so you just stormed out of the house without another word.

'Oh, miss?' Sihtric called after you as you stepped off the porch, 'careful with those heels on your way back, will you? I'll make sure the next house has no pebbled driveway.'

'You- how dare you!' you snarled and attempted to jump at him, but the agent was quick to slam the door in your face.

Sihtric had kept his word and emailed you with another house to view that same night, and your appointment was scheduled two days after your first horrible encounter. That night after the failed viewing, you wrote a long email in which you complained about Sihtric and his behaviour, and you had emailed it to Uhtred. Uhtred in turn had forwarded it to Sihtric, with the added message: 'Told you so.' But all Sihtric did was laugh when he read the amazingly worded rant about him, written by you, that clearly meant nothing. Because despite the fact you were apparently "incredibly offended" and "disgusted by his behaviour and appearance", you still agreed to be present at the next viewing, so Sihtric knew there had to be something that kept you coming back.

And he was equally as amused and irritated upon seeing you for the second time. The way you got out of your expensive car in that tight fitting dress, he was surprised you didn't have a driver to help you out. You wore the same heels as last time, but this time you were able to walk up to the door all by yourself. But not before you had to ring and wait at the intercom for minutes before Sihtric responded. He had heard the ringing the first time, and he had seen you get out of your car as he looked through the front door's window, but he liked to see you struggle in the heat before he opened the gates that surrounded the building.

'Good afternoon, miss,' Sihtric smiled widely as he stood in the door.

'Afternoon,' you replied and feigned a smile back.

You hadn't forgotten about his behaviour, the only upgrade today was that he looked a little more… decent. His hair was braided and he wore a grey blouse that wasn't fully buttoned up, showing off a little bit of chest with his hammer pendant visible, but not in a tacky way. The only thing that ruined his look was the fact he wore those leather boots again underneath his black jeans. You couldn't deny that he was good looking, for a savage looking man that was. Your type was the all shaved and spray-tanned rich business man, who treated you like a queen, and Sihtric didn't even come close to looking or behaving like that. But still, you knew a handsome man when you saw one, and there was something about Sihtric that was undeniably attractive, you just couldn't stand his attitude.

'So, the house is gated and we got no pebbles,' Sihtric remarked, 'how did we like the exterior then?'

'Not too bad,' you admitted, 'but the gates could be higher, because people can still climb over.'

'They could,' he agreed, 'but this place has the latest security system installed, with cameras covering the entire property day and night. It's in direct contact with a security company that is housed at the end of this street, it looks after every other mansion in this area. Also the top of those gates are secured with electricity, giving you a good shock you'll need to recover from when you try to climb over.'

It was clear you had nothing to remark, and that pleased Sihtric, meaning he got to cross one of your demands off the list he had created the night before. He would sell you a house, he knew he would. Maybe not today, but he would in time.

'Now, if you come in,' he said and stepped aside to welcome you into the spacious hallway, 'you will see that this place was recently renovated by the previous owners.'

'I see,' you said and looked at the ceiling, 'and… does that chandelier come with the house?'

'It does.'

'I hate it.'

'Well, then if you decide to buy this place, you can take it down.'

'I don't want to put in any work.'

'No shit,' Sihtric mumbled, then spoke up, 'then you can hire someone.'

'Why would I spend money on someone for that?'

'Why wouldn't you grab some stairs and take it down yourself?' he retorted, 'oh, wait,' he clicked his tongue, 'of course, how stupid of me, you can't do that wearing those heels.'

'I can do a lot in these heels that would surprise you,' you snarked.

'Oh, can you now?' Sihtric smirked. He looked you up and down for a split second and bit down on his lower lip. 'Look,' he sighed, 'just forget that chandelier, okay? That's not what it's about. It's about this house being the right fit for you. So, let's continue to the living room.'

You followed the realtor into the impressively large and empty living room, and you wandered around slowly as you inspected the place while Sihtric gave you all the details you needed.

'It's been renovated last year,' he began, his eyes following you around while he leaned back against the wall, 'the whole house that is. New floor, new kitchen, new layer of paint. It's basically brand new. It's got double-pane windows everywhere, also new, and the size of the windows allow for a perfect amount of natural light to brighten up every room, making it even feel more spacious than it already is.'

'I see,' you murmured, quite satisfied with what you saw so far.

'Any complaints?' Sihtric asked with a smirk.

'None,' you looked at him, 'yet.'

'Very well,' he said, 'let's go through that door on your right then, and I'll show you the kitchen.'

You followed Sihtric again and, after the living room had surprisingly pleased you, the spacious kitchen did too.

'Countertops are all granite,' Sihtric informed you, 'and the cabinet handles are actually antiques, they reused the originals when they renovated it. Furthermore the kitchen comes with the latest technology when it comes to cooking. You got your built in multifunction oven-'

'I don't cook,' you interrupted, 'so all that doesn't matter to me.'

'You don't cook,' Sihtric said, then chuckled, 'of course you don't. Well, then, if the kitchen doesn't matter, we'll move onto the first floor.'

Sihtric took the lead again and walked you up the grand spiral staircase, which he told you was also brand new. He felt confident this time showing you around. Maybe you hated the chandelier in the entrance hall, but so far you hadn't complained about anything else, which pleased him. But his confidence was shattered when he saw your face as you looked around the master bedroom.

'What is it?' Sihtric almost groaned, looking at the perfect bedroom.

'The ceilings,' you scoffed as you looked up, 'they are too low.'

'Too low?'

'Yes, I feel… it's just very claustrophobic.'

'Claust- lady,' he took a deep breath to calm himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did. 'Okay, okay,' he fake smiled, 'noted, madam. I wasn't aware you required high ceilings at all times, my bad,' he then muttered, 'probably need it for your ego.'

'What was that?' you snapped.

'Nothing,' Sihtric said. 

He knew for a fact there was nothing wrong with the ceilings, as they weren't low at all. In fact, the ceilings had been raised during the renovation, so he knew you were just bullshitting him. But knowing that, he immediately told you once again that the viewing was over. And once back at his office, he added the low ceilings and chandelier to your shit list, joining the pebbles and non-gated properties.

Sihtric found it was indeed not an easy task to find something that would please you. The biggest issue was that most available homes had already been shown to you, and you had turned all of them down. He stayed up night after night, working outside of his office hours, looking for that one property you just couldn't refuse. And after hours of searching, he finally found one. He went by the place himself twice before sending you an email to schedule an appointment, making sure that there was nothing that wouldn't satisfy you, and he felt confident again.

When you met Sihtric for a third time, outside the gates of yet another seemingly perfect property, you were completely shocked by his appearance. He looked even more rugged than usual, which you thought was impossible. His hair was loose and seemed somewhat uncombed, as if he had just gotten out of bed. Not a professional look in your opinion. Also his plain white t-shirt and black sweatpants weren't very professional for a realtor either, you thought, and you couldn't hide your unpleasantly surprised face as you crossed the street.

You were dressed in your fancy heels, wearing a short black skirt and a white sleeveless crop top. Your LV bag dangled from your shoulder, and you took off your Gucci shades as you approached him.

'Good morning to you too,' Sihtric sighed upon seeing your disapproving face.

'Are you okay?' you asked, with actual concern, 'are you sick?'

'Sick?' Sihtric asked, mildly offended. He was a little tired perhaps, as you had given him a headache non stop with your ridiculous demands, but there was nothing that could indicate he was feeling under the weather. 'Why do you think I'm sick?'

'Well,' you scoffed and gestured at him, 'you look like shit.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Look at you!' you almost yelled, 'did you even brush your hair? Christ, you look homeless.'

Sihtric stared at you, his duo-coloured eyes full of rage, and he clenched his jaw in an attempt to calm himself. He took a deep breath and then laughed as he shook his head.

'Nah, I'm not playing that game,' he sighed and grabbed the keys out of his pocket, 'come on.' He walked you through the gates and up to the fancy porch. 'The property is gated, there's a smooth cement driveway and, I checked, there's no chandelier in the entrance hall and no low ceilings in the bedroom. So, how do you like the outside?' he asked before opening the front door.

'It's nice,' you said curtly, 'I like the palm trees over there.'

'Wait,' Sihtric scoffed, 'did you just say you actually liked something?'

You glared at the realtor, not sure if he was joking or actually mocking you, so you sighed and rolled your eyes as you told him to shut up. Sihtric grinned at that, and he then opened the front door for you. He bowed like a servant as he welcomed you inside, which got on your nerves, and in return to his attitude you held your purse out to him. Sihtric was confused for a moment, but decided to take it, and you then smiled almost wickedly at him.

'Thank you,' you smiled and walked further into the hallway.

Sihtric scoffed and then chuckled, knowing it was his own fault for falling for that trick you just pulled. But if you expected him to carry your bag around the house for you, then you were wrong. Because he dumped the expensive purse on the floor when you had your back turned, and he kicked it with his foot underneath a decorative table next to the door, all while he checked out your ass as you walked ahead of him. He silently wondered if you always dressed rather risky and revealingly, or if you only just did it when you were viewing houses.

You were pleased at first sight when you looked around, for there indeed was no hideous chandelier present and the hall was spacious and bright. Sihtric gave you a quick rundown on all the important things; the two story home was recently renovated with a great security system, it had five bedrooms, five bathrooms, two massive living rooms, one grand kitchen, and there was also a brand new pool in the back which he'd show you later. If you'd make it that far obviously, because first he was going to show you the living room and the kitchen.

'It's nice and bright,' you said as you stood in the living area, your voice bouncing off the walls in the large empty space, 'I like it.'

'Well, I just can't believe my ears,' Sihtric chuckled.

'Don't push it, mister Realtor,' you side-eyed him.

'Oh, I wouldn't dare,' he winked, and then walked you to the kitchen. 'The kitchen was renovated along with the rest of the house, as you can see, they made the countertops granite-'

'Granite,' you interrupted, with a look of disgust painted on your face.

'Yes, the countertop is made of granite,' Sihtric confirmed, then suddenly lost his confidence, 'as is the kitchen island- I… I don't see how that is a problem?'

'I don't like granite.'

Sihtric stared at you with undeniable fury in his eyes once again, while his lower lip was drawn between his teeth. He briefly pinched the bridge of his nose before raking his hand through his hair, his blood boiling inside of him as he went over your list of demands in his head, and suddenly something inside him snapped. He swallowed hard, then exhaled sharply but slowly, and a forced smile appeared on his face.

'It's only the granite you don't like, miss?' he asked, 'or is there anything else about this kitchen that you hate, my lady?'

'Just the granite,' you said after you looked around again, then looked straight at him, 'and watch your tone.'

'Right, okay,' Sihtric rasped and clapped his hands together and stepped closer, 'no granite countertops for the lady, my apologies,' he visibly feigned his compassion, 'however, I can't help notice how at the previous house I showed you, you never made a remark about the granite, which was nearly identical to this here. You only complained about the ceilings being too low in the bedroom, which was ridiculous in the first place. And actually,' he scoffed, 'the ceiling right here is lower than the ceiling we saw in that bedroom, yet you aren't saying a word about that today. So, tell me, are you just a fucking brat all the time, or do you really have a problem with everything my firm has shown you?'

'Excuse me?' you asked, shocked at his sudden outburst.

'Oh, wait, wait,' he chuckled and held his hands up, 'is it commitment issues?'

'What is wrong with you?' you snarled and gaped at him.

'Yeah, that's it, isn't it?' Sihtric smiled proudly and leaned back against the granite counter, 'you keep finding excuses because you are simply afraid to commit to a house. Same reason you are single I assume?'

'This is absolutely ridiculous,' you scoffed, 'what are you, my therapist?'

'So you do have issues?'

'We all have issues!'

'Sure we do.'

'So what's yours?' you snarked and took a step towards him, 'being rude to people? Mansplaining commitment issues? Or are you just a shit realtor?'

'Mansplaining?' Sihtric half hissed and got up in your face, 'I ain't mansplaining anything. I just want to know why you are being such a bitch about every property you've seen, when clearly there is not a single thing wrong with any of them. What is your goal? Why do you keep coming back to me, when clearly I can't find you the right house? Why have you not dropped me as your realtor yet, if I'm so shit at my job?'

'I don't know,' you shrugged, 'maybe I just like to piss you off.'

'Oh, so that's it?' Sihtric clicked his tongue as he towered over you, 'you just enjoy being a rich bitch, huh?'

'Maybe I do,' you half smiled, not backing away, 'and maybe I like the fact you're not giving up on me as a client, but talk back to me instead.'

'So all of this attitude,' Sihtric said calmly as he leaned in, 'is just because you need someone to put you in your place?'

'Maybe,' you smirked and eyed him up and down, 'maybe I'm just testing you.'

'Oh, are you?' he lowered his voice.

'Yeah, maybe I just want to see what happens when you finally snap,' you added fuel to the fire.

'You want to see what happens?' his eyes darkened.

'I dare you to show me,' you almost purred and bit down on your lip as you looked up at him.

There was a tension as you stared at each other, the air not just filled with a form of mild hatred, but something way more electrifying. Something heavy, something that would soon explode and cause sparks and fire. The tension was thickening quickly and it was something… deeply sexual, that needed to be released.

'I'll show you,' Sihtric suddenly chuckled darkly, 'sure, I'll show you.'

He took a small step back. Your heart was drumming in your ears and you felt your cheeks were all burned up, but that was nothing compared to the feeling you experienced when the realtor suddenly took your hand and spun you around. He bent you over the granite counter and trapped you, his muscular body pressing up behind you while you felt the cool countertop against your cheek.

'Are you sure you don't like granite?' Sihtric asked and leaned in, his voice warm in your ear as his breath hot tickled your skin. He slid his hand up the back of your neck and wrapped around it when you didn't respond, and he brought your face up to the cupboards above you. 'What about the modern cabinet handles?' he rasped in your ear as he kept his body pushed up against yours, 'you got a problem with those maybe? Is it not fancy enough for you?'

You half moaned at his roughness and only chuckled in reply. Because you got him all riled up, exactly how you wanted it. And he was quick to catch on your sudden motive. Sihtric gave you one firm slap on your ass and then spun you back to face him. He lifted you up on the counter, spreading your legs swiftly and he shoved one hand under your short skirt, grabbing your thigh, while his other wrapped around your throat. He pulled you closer to him, and you instinctively hooked your legs around his waist, feeling his hard cock pressed up against your soaked panties as your skirt was already pushed up. You moaned at the friction and began to grind your hips against him, desperate for the good fuck you knew he would be. The sound of his ragged breath in your ear, while he enjoyed the way you were grinding up against him, drove you mad and lusting for more.

Sihtric then grabbed your chin and pushed you to look up, at the kitchen ceiling, and he hissed in your ear, 'No complaints about the ceiling, miss Bitch?'

'The ceiling,' you breathed as you smiled and lied, 'is too fucking low.'

He momentarily tightened his grip on your thigh, leaving a pleasantly burning mark, and he then pulled you off the counter. 'Then maybe,' he snarled and pushed you down to your knees, 'you should look at it from a different angle.'

You grinned as you looked up at him, and you bit down on your lip as you ran your hands up his sweatpants, over his muscular thighs, and you chuckled when you palmed his arousal and heard him groan lightly.

'Maybe you're right,' you smiled devilishly and lifted your top up, revealing your tits to him, 'the place does look bigger from this angle, don't you think?' You curled your fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants, lowering them slowly, then doing the same with his boxers, until his hard cock sprung out in front of you. 'And you know,' you began to work him slowly with your hands, 'I only like really…,' you purred, 'really…,' you brought your lipstick painted lips to his leaking tip, 'really big things.'

You enveloped his cock with your lips before Sihtric could even properly respond, and he threw his head back with a grunt while he grabbed onto the granite counter behind him.

'Fuck,' he hissed through his teeth, and a guttural moan slipped from his mouth when you took his length all in the warm wetness of your mouth, 'finally found a way to shut you up, huh?' he laughed darkly as he looked down at you.

You gazed up at him as you enjoyed sucking him off, giving probably the sloppiest head you had ever given in your life, and you moaned when he twitched in your mouth. 

He grabbed your hair with one hand, controlling your pace steadily. 'You do this to all your realtors?' he husked.

You pulled away from him, strings of saliva and pre-cum dripping down your lipstick smudged lips and chin, and you smiled cheekily at him.

'Only the realtors who have really big cocks,' you giggled, 'turns out you are the first.'

That answer was satisfying enough for Sihtric, and he smoothly pushed himself inside your mouth again, steadily using you and fucking your face until he almost came. He pulled out before he climaxed and helped you up on your feet, only to bend you over the counter again. He shoved your skirt up and pulled down your dripping wet panties, and he pushed your legs apart with his knee. He sheathed deep inside you with ease, but you still gasped at the way he stretched and filled you up. And before you knew it you clawed at the granite countertop while your realtor fucked you relentlessly from behind. He thrusted hard and deep inside you, causing you to moan loudly for him, just as he liked it, but he stopped and pulled out moments before you could finish, leaving you a whining and begging mess.

'We weren't done with the viewing yet,' Sihtric hissed in your ear.

He spanked your ass once firmly, to which you gasped with a moan, and he then pulled up his sweatpants. He took your hand and dragged you with him up the black marble stairs, to the second floor. Your legs were shaky, and you struggled to stay up on your high heels, but you made it to one of the bedrooms where Sihtric pushed you on the bed.

'Master bedroom,' Sihtric said as he pulled his sweatpants down again and joined you on the bed, 'three large double-pane windows,' he continued and grabbed your ankle, 'wooden floors with heating,' he pulled you towards him, 'and raised fucking ceilings with smartphone controlled led lights,' he added before he pushed himself back inside you again, 'comes with an ensuite bathroom too.'

Sihtric continued where he had left off in the kitchen, fucking you relentlessly but being able to watch your face now as he did, which made him only go harder on you.

'Oh, god!' you moaned and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

'What?' he chuckled, his face buried in your neck while he kept your legs hooked around his waist, 'and fucking complaints about this room?'

'N-no,' you babbled, eyes rolling back as he continuously hitted the right spot, 'it's… it's p-perfect.'

You moaned in his ear whenever you weren't grazing it with your teeth, earning a heavy grunt from the savage looking man each time he heard the pretty sounds you made for him, while he took you on the queen sized bed in the massive bedroom.

'Good,' Sihtric then said and stopped his movements, to which you protested again. 'No, no,' he chuckled and hushed you, slowly dragging his length out, 'no, I won't give you what you want just when you want it. The world doesn't revolve around you,' he whispered in your ear, slowly pushing himself back inside you, 'but it seems no one ever told you that. Or maybe someone did,' he murmured and bit your ear teasingly as he fucked you painstakingly slow, 'and you just didn't listen, because you think you know it all. And you know what needs to be done?' he leaned back and grabbed your face, looking deep in your dazed and teared up eyes.

'Please,' you begged, hands grabbing and tugging at his shirt, 'please, don't stop, I'm so fucking close.'

'Shh now, you know what needs to be done to pretty little brats like you?' he asked as he traced your lips with his thumb, smiling, 'they need to be fucked so good to the point they can't think for themselves anymore, because that's all they really need, right? That's all you really need, isn't it?' he brushed his lips against yours, slowly thrusting into you, 'being fucked back into place, being reminded that you can't always get what you want when you want it. Being reminded that nothing and no one is perfect,' he stopped as he was deep inside you, and whispered, 'nothing is perfect, princess… Except for this house you'll be buying today.'

And with those words he left you on the edge again, as he pulled out and adjusted his clothing once more. You were already too dumbed down, you could only agree with him while he helped you up from the bed. He pulled your skirt down over your bare ass and then led you down the stairs again. He walked you down carefully, as you wobbled on your high heels, but he was nonetheless impressed that you still hadn't taken those off.

'You didn't lie when you said you could do a lot in those heels, huh?' Sihtric said with a sly smile.

'You'd be surprised,' you giggled, feeling a little lightheaded.

You followed him through the massive house as he took you into the backyard, informing you the yard had a dining area and lounge area. And he pulled you with him to the lounge space, which was next to the large pool.

'Is that big enough for you?' Sihtric asked as he sat down on one of the comfortable chairs, 'the pool I mean, not my cock,' he smirked.

'Yes,' you almost whispered as you looked around, barely grasping the size of it, 'it's… it's good.'

Sihtric hummed in approval, and when you turned around to face him, he had already taken off his sweatpants and boxers again. AndtThis time he stripped himself entirely, taking off his shirt too, which left you speechless as you took in the sight of his godly shaped body in the hot sun.

'God,' you gasped, 'you… you're so fucking hot.' 

Sihtric smiled satisfied at that confession, returning the compliment even. But you didn't have much time to gape at him, because he took your hand and pulled you towards him, turning you around to face the pool again.

'Now,' he said and lowered you down on his cock again as he sat back in the chair, 'I need you to take it all in,' he groaned and slowly began to fuck up into you, his hands holding your legs up by the back of your knees, 'and by the time I'm finally done with you, I'll want an answer.'

You moaned when he picked up his pace, your head falling back on his broad shoulder while his hot and ragged breaths warmed your neck with each grunt and moan he let out. Sihtric would've loved to keep this going for hours, but he knew he was running out of time and had to return to the office soon. So he didn't go slow on you anymore, like he had done in the bedroom. Instead he fucked you hard and deep again, like in the kitchen, and he didn't stop until he felt you tighten around his cock as you released, and he spilled his seed deep inside you as you both moaned heavily. 

And luckily for you, the property consisted of so many acres that no neighbour nearby could possibly hear what happened that afternoon, next to the pool.

'So,' Sihtric said as he handed you a glass of water, then sat down next to you on the lounge set and threw some papers on the table, 'have you made up your mind?'

'I have,' you smiled at him, your hair just as messy and wild as his.

'I need to hear it,' he smirked and pushed the paperwork your way.

'The place is perfect,' you said, 'but you already knew that. So, yes, I'm buying.'

'Good,' he smiled and clicked his pen before handing it to you, 'then please sign here on the dotted line.'

You signed and sealed the deal with a rather heated kiss, after which Sihtric handed you the keys to the property right away, before he said he had to run because he was late for meeting his colleagues in the office for their weekly debrief. You watched him speed off in his fancy car, and only when you walked back inside your brand new house did you see how recklessly the realtor had been with your expensive purse, as you found it shoved away under some ugly looking table.

'Fucking savage,' you muttered, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips while you still felt him inside you, long after you had finished.

'There's no way,' Finan said with a scoff.

The Irishman and Uhtred stared with disbelief at the signed paperwork Sihtric had thrown on the table.

'Told you I'd sell her a house,' Sihtric flashed a cocky grin, 'and I did.'

'But how?' Uhtred asked.

'Sometimes you just have to go the extra mile,' Sihtric shrugged.

'I don't know what you did,' Finan chuckled, 'but congratulations.'

'I don't care what he did,' Uhtred said, 'at least we never have to see her again.'

'Well,' Sihtric laughed at that, 'I wouldn't be so sure about that.'

'What?' Finan asked, 'why?'

'I think I'll be hearing from her again soon,' was all Sihtric said, leaving the men to guess what exactly had happened that afternoon.

But Sihtric was right. Because you called the number that was included in his emails that same evening, and Sihtric was more than happy to meet you outside of business hours from that day on, now that he knew how to handle you and actually had grown fond of you. The same way you weren't able to get him out of your mind anymore either, nor out of your new home after a few weeks.

@mrsarnasdelicious @neonhairspray @sihtricsafin @errruvande @penumbrie @lexeirikrleif @diiickbrainn @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @bubblyabs @dixie-elocin @alexagirlie @stupiddarkkside @urmomsgirlfriend1 @gemini-mama @foxyanon @man-i-be-that-pretty-motherfuckr @thenameswinter99 @m-a-s-h-k-a @superblyzanynight @hernakedmuse @ewanmitchellfanatic @lady-targaryens-world @cosmosnkaz @stronger-than-steel @cheesesandwichsanto

[mariii1]

🧚🏾‍♀️Messages From Your Queer Ancestors✨

I'm backkkkk, check Patreon for my extended general version of this reading!

AHHHH I'm so excited to launch my Patreon, you guys don't even know about all the ideas I have lined up and I'm sure there's more to come as this month goes on! Anyway these photos are all from pinterest buttt see if you can guess who's a very important figure and whyy 😽

1. So a few of you in this pile are trying to force yourself to forgive qhen you don't actually want to (or need to) and for the rest you're almost bulldozing over your identity and how it's affected you. I have a feeling you hang around people who don't know about your identities and would outright make fun of you or disrespect you in some way because of it. Your ancestors are way more sad than angry; if anything they're sad that these people are around you and they're sad that you don't honor or place importance on those aspects of your identity enough to walk away from them. Some of you might believe you'll never find people who truly accept and understand all these aspects of you so you've completely given up on it. Your environment might now is definitely very homophobic/transphobic or just xenophobic in general. While you might've been born in these environment or have had to stay in it, your queer ancestors want you to believe in yourself and in your queer identities; those aspects matter just as much as other parts of yourself. They want you to focus on creating an exit/escape plan out of this situation and to find the strength and hope in you to believe you will be able to find the right people one day instead of just completely shutting this idea out.

2. Things are going to change for you very, very soon. Some of you may be doubting a partner or a close friend in terms of loyalty or how much they love/respect you, but you'll soon realize these are just fears with no real basis. You will hit the jackpot somehow or you'll realize you have already in some area of your life. If you're financially broke right now, there's an idea or action you take that'll be the jackpot literally in terms of money and its something you didn't expect to happen, or at least to such a large degree. Keep doing what you're doing and the truth will be revealed to you soon.

3. I feel like me and your queer ancestors would've been good buddies and they've been so nice to me since the beginning of this reading. You're blessed spirituality in terms of family even if your immediate family right now is dog shit. You all however are really tired. I'm getting for most of you this isn't necessarily physically but more tired of people trying to fuck you over or fuck with you in general. You might've had to cut a lot of people out and seek justice or revenge in some way; ways that might be very tedious or draining like filing paperwork, legal battles, etc. I'm sincerely sorry if you have experienced some form of assault especially sexual assault please rest assured you will get justice whether through the system or not. You feel really tired pile 3 and this might sound infantilizing but I mean it in the sweetest way, you need a hug. You need someone to be understanding of you and you might wish you had someone physical to rant to. This might not bring you much comfort but your ancestors are watching your struggles and they wish they could coddle and baby you. A few of them see you as a baby and it breaks their heart that their baby is so stressed out 🥹 they are still proud of you and are rooting for you ad wish to send you lots of money so you can focus on self-care. Don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it pile 3!

4. Some of you feel very stagnant or just stuck in a situation especially financially. You might've realized something was a scam or actually wasn't going to lead to anything more; this could be about staying at a toxic workplace in hopes of getting a promotion or being transferred to a better team. I'm also having a hard time focusing on your reading so you might just be feeling overwhelmed or scattered. You realized a situation would never get better but now you don't know what to do or you've convinced yourself you have no other options left that are any better. However, I'm getting this really isn't true and it might take a drastic change in your mindset in order to see the potential of other possibilities. This could be realizing going back to school or learning a trade might not be so bad or that maybe relying on online income (influencing, youtube, etc.) Could actually be a real plan. These are just examples but your queer ancestors are really begging you to try and think outside of the box and realize "standard" job opportunities might not be as reliable as they seem and that options that seem very flaky, can be very stable if you put in the work.

[kerink]

Can I ask what's next on your read list? I feel like I've read everything already and I'm always on the lookout for more

my gf to read list, in order of most recently added. as always mind the tags etc

to be a free someone by brella

if i could begin to be (half of what you think of me) by jikanet_tanaka

are you satisfied? by neverwherever

Till The End Of Time by Eye_For_An_Eye

Changed the world by Lilwoofs

Collect Call by Caspercryptid (FaiaHae), theneonpineapple

Hammering the Nails by asphyxeno

apology tour by dolorous

One Stage of Grief by Fooeyburr

Take A Chance by sacklunch

Last One Out Of New Jersey by StarFallsRed

Rest in Closure by WeepySleepy

The Muse and the Marionette by a_wirty_opponent

Can't, or Won't? by Anonymous

A promise and a threat by Clarisimart

Parhelion by godsfavoritescientist

The Hand That Mocked Them by jack_of_no_trades1256

Bait & Switch by underwater_owl

Creative Solution by GG_Ratley

Kept, Trapped, Locked in Gold by gaydreaming

2 guys have normal responses to workplace stress by normalaboutstanfordpines

We Think This Could Really Help Him by MarsupialsOfMars

The Stars Were Made for Falling. by Anonymous

Snakes in the Garden by Miss_Ginger_Bread

Addendum: How to Bind a Book by Victopteryx

Face to the Sun by BarbarianBeauty

It's All in Your Head by Jenetic777

Property of Bill Cipher by xXslugXx

Your anaxiphilic devotee by What_An_Enigma

hopefully that grave is empty by untrustworthyglitch

Imbibing Endearing Orchids by acedormouse

This is hungry work by Miss_Bowen

Covenants and other Provisions by geniusboyy

Chicken Scratch (or the misadventures of grunkle stan and his shitty goddamn handwriting) by KukuiOlelo

Bacardi by twinkinu

by the skin of your teeth by Rev (apathetic_revenant)

hide and seek by parsnipit

Blow the Dust from the Bones by emjam

O Brother by Obsessive_Reader

Reassurance by tbmd1066

Sympathy For The Devil by nights_0ffline

Something More by Jjpink

Drunken Worship by Anonymous

I Grow, Unforgiven (To Be Otherwise Is Madness) by Werewolfnightwalker

[rea-grimm]

Sleep Protector Kaku

You worked as a carpenter in a small, fairly family-run business. You made furniture, sculptures, statues, and all kinds of wood you could want.

You concentrated more on ornamental things and you had an eye for detail. However, some time ago, someone else joined your company. Your new colleague, who everyone liked, but who made your job a living hell. He was constantly hiding you from others, making fun of you, ruining your projects, or once even stealing your project.

You tried to put up with his behaviour, to accept that it wouldn't last forever. That he couldn't get away with it forever. But unfortunately, it got worse every day.

You were almost afraid to go to work every day because you'd have to meet him and talk to him. You were scared of what he would do again and what he would do to you.

You were so stressed about one person that it gave you nightmares where you couldn't sleep and where it affected your work. You even started making more mistakes at work because of it, which your colleague was just using to his advantage and your downfall.

You were almost sick of it when a colleague from another department who you were talking to and who was your best friend at work invited you for a drink at a local bar.

You sat at a small table and ordered your drinks.

"Don't feel stupid about it. He's just jealous that you're better than him. You know him. Guys," she said before taking a sip. "He'll end up cutting his own branch underneath him," she added.

"I hope you're right," you muttered before taking a drink too. You wanted to believe her words, but you were afraid of how long you could hold out.

"I brought you something," she said after a moment, pulling out a small gift bag with a plush giraffe head peeking out. To your surprise, it had a square snout.

"Giraffe?" You asked, taking the bag from her.

"It looked cool," she shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "I don't know, I thought of you when I saw him," she explained.

So you left the bar around midnight, along with the plush giraffe. It wasn't until you got home and got a good look at the stuffed animal that you noticed he was wearing a white cap and a blue-sleeved sweatshirt. However, when you took a closer look, you could turn the hoodie over and it was completely black. It gave him a completely different impression.

You didn't think much of it, though, since you were about to go get a glass of water and before you knew it, you fell asleep.

Even now, you were having nightmares of your workplace and the alcohol in your bloodstream gave them an even scarier tinge. Nothing in your nightmare made sense and threatened to consume you.

Suddenly, the figure of a sword-wielding man descended from the sky and sliced all the nightmares to pieces.

"Are you okay?" He asked you when all the nightmares were gone and sheathed his swords. You looked at him like he was an apparition. He looked like your new stuffed giraffe. He had big round eyes and what struck you most was his square long nose. Eventually you managed to nod your head in agreement that you were really fine.

"I'm glad," he smiled sweetly, and in an instant, he looked like someone completely different. A moment ago, he and his swords had seemed like ruthless killers, and now he was smiling at you like an old friend. You thought he had even introduced himself to you but in all the confusion you had forgotten his name.

You woke up in the morning full of energy and in good spirits. You felt that nothing would upset you today. Not even your obnoxious colleague. And you were right.

Since you've had your stuffed animal, your sleep has improved, as has your mood and determination during the day. You were much more positive and full of energy and determination.

Your square-nosed protector regularly took you around the city, which reminded you of Venice, but which at the same time, from a distance, resembled a non-captain's cake or a fountain. He took you on adventures and even gave you carpentry advice. Since then, you've also noticed that in his dreams he wore colourful clothes like a teddy bear.

Everything was turning around and you thought you might finally get your dream promotion. You wanted to finally create more of yourself, and this was the perfect opportunity. Despite the annoying efforts of your colleague who was slowly sinking.

You could see how annoyed he was with your good performance and how it was throwing a wrench in his plan to climb to the top. He even redoubled his efforts to make your life miserable but to no avail.

It made him even more frustrated and he resorted to increasingly desperate methods. But all his plans went awry and he decided to end it all.

One day he approached you and asked if you could give him an opinion on one of his metal designs. You felt that things had improved between you and saw no subterfuge in it, so you agreed.

You had a strange feeling the whole time but decided to ignore it. However, when you got to the roof you found it strange and wanted to go back. However, he slammed the door in your face, grabbed your hands, and put a rag dipped in some kind of cloth on your nose.

You tried to get out of his grip, but it was like trying to move a mountain. You tried to scream for help, but you couldn't be heard from the roof.

You had no idea where it had come from, but suddenly your colleague's grip loosened as he was pulled away from you. You ran away from him, closer to the edge when your eyes fell on a man in black and a skull mask as he stood protectively in front of you.

Only now did you notice that your colleague was bleeding from his nose and had a split lip and several scratches on his body. You had no idea where he'd gotten them in such a short time.

The stranger in the mask held your colleague away from you and it all seemed to end after a while when your colleague fell to the ground. You were about to step around him towards the door when your colleague made a last-ditch effort, scooped you up and before you knew it, threw you off the roof.

You screamed in fear as the ground closed in. Suddenly something, or rather someone, slammed into you and nearly knocked the wind out of you. It was the same man in the skull mask.

You accidentally landed on the roof of the building next door, where you did a few rolls, but overall you were fine.

"Are you whole?" The man asked, taking off his mask. When you saw the familiar round eyes and square long nose, you knew immediately who it was.

"Kaku?" You gasped in surprise, wondering if it was a dream or not. If you'd lost consciousness and this was a manifestation of your subconscious yearning for protection. But his touch was all too real for that.

"I won't let anything happen to you. I promised once, and I will keep my promise. You're safe with me," he smiled at you, running his eyes over your figure, searching for injuries. When he saw you were okay, he pulled you into a hug.

Kaku took your cheeks as he nuzzled your nose in an eerie kiss. You had no idea how relieved you were to be near him.

Your protector took you in his arms before he began jumping from rooftop to rooftop with you in the same style as in your dream, heading with you to safety.

Sleep Protector Masterlist

One Piece Masterlist

[diazsdimples]

tumblr glitching and only showed me you tagged me just now 😭

pls id love some snippets if you've got an urge to write more 💜

✨✨✨🚁🚁🚁🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️

9 sentences for Stargazing Fic!

Evan had never considered just how big the sky could be until he arrived at the Dude Ranch in Montana. Atlanta had made him claustrophobic, the buildings around his inner-city apartment much bigger than anything he’d seen in Hershey. Sure, he’d taken trips out to Philadelphia and New York City with school, but that had only been for a couple of nights. He hadn’t lived somewhere that he’d only manage snatches of blue between the cold, hard steel and glass of the skyscrapers around him. Virginia Beach had more sky, and God, he loved the ocean, but there was too much light to ever see the stars. He’d sit on the sand after his shifts at the bar, listening to the water lap against the shore and stare out to sea, wishing that he could see just one star shining through ever-present glow from the houses and hotels around him. From state to state he’d drifted, picking up odd jobs here and there, saving up enough money to be comfortable before moving on, but nothing had ever felt right. Bartending was too loud, the hours were hectic and the pay was shit. He hated construction and the general toxic masculinity of the workplace there.

9 for Coastguard AU!

There’s enough in there to allow them to hover for a minute and be comfortable getting back, but Tommy doesn’t want to risk any unnecessary delays. Especially not when the cloud starts thickening, surrounding them like a heavy blanket. “Higgs, can you radio ahead and ask them if they can bring the patient to the seaplane base? We can send the basket down with Michaels there and make contact that way,” Tommy instructs as he pulls the chopper into a climb, giving himself some space to do a flyover of the settlement. He barely registers the choppy chatter as Higgs keys the radio, his eyes scanning the ground to see if there’s anywhere he could put the bird down. It doesn’t take long before Higgs is back on the channel, but news from below isn’t what Tommy had hoped to hear. “The patient is on the other side of the fjord, towards the mainland! The medic told me there’s a flat stretch of beach, just to the west of where the boats land. They’ve had choppers land there before, no problem.”

And 11 for Disaster Date! (2 extra because I felt they needed to be added)

He blinks his eyes a couple times, willing his retinas to get with the programme and push their way through the sedatives. It works – the room becoming clearer with every blink, and in an instant, he recognises the sleeping body. Buck. His boyfriend is asleep, his arms folded over his chest, his mouth slack, and his breathing slow and even. Even in sleep, Eddie can tell Buck is tense, his brows drawn together, and his lips turned down. There are bags under his eyes, like he hasn't slept properly in days. He must've been so worried, and Eddie aches to reach out and smooth his hand over his face, to press a kiss to his brow and erase all the stress and anxiety that has plagued his mind. Eddie looks around the room, searching for Tommy, wondering if his other boyfriend is sitting by his bedside too. He's not. That doesn’t immediately worry Eddie – he’s probably at home with Christopher. Someone has to be.

Using this as my WIP Wednesday, tagged by @theotherbuckley

NP tagging @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @bigfootsmom @bekkachaos @slightlyobsessedwitheverything

@bidisasterevankinard @wikiangela @watchyourbuck @bi-buckrights @ravipanikking

@buddiekinard @eddiebabygirldiaz @monsterrae1 @bucksbignaturals @daffi-990 and I'm sorry if I've forgotten anyone and if these aren't anyone's ships! I can't keep track of who to tag for what anymore ksdfjhs

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Reminder [Tim Rockford x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Merge Mansion ad (can't fucking believe this...)

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x you/cishet f!reader

Tags/Warnings: reader wears sexy lingerie but no description of body type, blowjob, deepthroating, workplace sex.

Summary: Tim Rockford works too hard, and too late. You have to remind him of what's waiting for him at home.

Words: 2,165

A/N: Y'all I am adding a new character to my menagerie of Pascal men! Dunno if I get Tim Rockford but I've been thinking about sucking his dick since I first saw him. He just has that vibe about him. Enjoy.

He is sitting astride a chair in front of a huge notice board filled with photos, notes, clippings, clues pinned to it, connected by red twine. The white shirt is straining to reach across his broad upper body. You remember a time when it had the shape of a V, now it's more of a U before connecting with the still narrow hips and flat ass.

You nod a thanks to the officer who let you in, and when he closes the door behind him, you lock it.

"Detective," you quip teasingly, but there's no response except a neck roll. He sighs deeply as he rubs his neck.

He's been working around the clock on this case. You avoid looking at the notice board, the pictures of bloody crime scenes, as you walk up to the chair.

"Tim," you speak softly, your hand landing on his shoulder. Tim twitches and looks up at you. It takes him a moment to recalibrate his brain to reality.

"What are you doing here? It must be like ten o'clock."

"It's past midnight, actually," you correct him with a wry little smile. He sighs again and takes your hand away from his shoulder, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

"I'm sorry, my love, I'm gonna pull an all-nighter again."

You grunt. He knows what it means. You've been over this before.

He rises from the chair, moves it away before turning to you. He smells of stress and determination: smells that you know well. He's always like this when he's working a case. You don't like it, but you've grown to accept it.

He pulls you in for a hug, so fast that you almost stumble into him. His broad chest, the soft stomach with the buttons ready to pop. He refuses to go up a size for some reason. The shoulder holster, the gun at his side. Your hand slides away from it, not wanting anything to do with it, only wanting your soft man.

"I'll come home in the morning for a shower," he promises in a low whisper against your hair. "Have breakfast with you."

"No, you won't," you calmly point out. "You'll get terrible coffee and a bagel from the diner around the corner, and your stomach will be a mess by the time this case is solved."

Tim chuckles a little at that before seeking out your lips. He tastes of stale coffee, and sweet and sour pork; the flavors of a murder case unsolved.

"Go home, get some sleep," he tells you gently. "I'll call when I leave."

"Aren't you wondering what I'm doing here, at this hour?"

He blinks, like he's only now realizing what time it is, and that you're actually here.

"Is everything okay?" His hands come to your cheeks, and he searches your face. You cover his hands with yours, lowering them as you smile reassuringly.

"I'm good, Tim, nothing's wrong. But I knew you'd be working all night, and I wanted to bring you something."

His brows draw together when he waits for you to elaborate. You untie the belt around your waist, and button open your trench coat. His nostrils flare and his eyes widen when you reveal yourself to him.

You're only wearing a bra, lace panties, and stockings underneath. It's cheesy, but he likes it.

"I came to make sure you were okay," you purr, smiling at how he swallows hard, his glassy stare.

"Baby..."

"Just let me give this to you."

You undo his belt, knuckles brushing against the soft fat of his tummy. Tim exhales in a low sigh when the belt releases its hold of him. With heavy-lidded eyes, he gazes adoringly at you as you unzip his pants. Softly, he trails his hands along your sides, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch. Your nipples knit, and his gaze drop to the stiff pebbles showing through the lace fabric of the bra.

"You're too good to me, baby," he sighs, and then his eyes fall shut as you slide your hand inside his pants. "Oh."

You cup his still soft cock through the underwear, stroke in carefully as you lean in to kiss him. His lips betray a hurry that's he's loath to rein in, but when his tongue tries to pry in between your lips, you pull away with a smile. Tim doesn't smile back, but stares at you with a drunkenness in his eyes, mouth open and begging to be kissed again. You lean back in and nibble at his full lower lip, cup his cheek with your free hand, and stroke your thumb over his mustache. His cock hardens against your other palm, and you encourage it with a firmer touch.

"Tease," he groans, hands landing on your hips, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties. A shiver runs through you.

"Takes one to know one."

You press your lips to his anew, and now your hand slips in under the worn elastic of the waistband. His cock jumps at the direct contact and your feel a patch of wet rub off on your hand. Your fingers close loosely around his cock, thumb smearing out the precum as your tongue plunges into his mouth for a hungry kiss. Tim's strong arms wrap around you, the smell of his sweaty pits hitting your nose but not in a repulsive way, instead you feel the crotch of your panties get wet, and your kiss turns more insistent. You suck his lower lip between your teeth, pull it out, and release it with a pop. Still holding his cock, you step back, pulling him gently but firmly to make him follow you. And Tim follows, hands reaching all over you, eyes burning with desire, lips swollen with kisses. You direct him to his desk and pull down his pants and underwear before giving him a little push to make him sit down. His cock is now as stiff as it can be, and you separate his legs, keeping eye contact as you kneel between his thighs.

"Oh, baby..." he sighs, surrendering to you with a pleading look on his face. "Baby, you're so good to me..."

"You deserve it," you purr as you nuzzle his cock, kissing its length, flicking your tongue at it. "You work so hard, you deserve to relax a little."

He moans again when you hand closes around the thick root of his cock. You trail your tongue up his length, ending with a soft swirl around the head, the glistening precum bringing a sharp taste to your mouth.

A few night shift officers pass by the door, but apart from that you can only hear the drone of the air conditioning, and Tim's heavy breathing which turns into an audible gasp bordering on a moan when you open your mouth and take his cock into your mouth. He breathes your name, looks down on you as you smile up at him, his cock in your mouth, one of your hands wrapped around the root, the other cupping his balls. He draws his fingers through his hair before dropping both hands to your head, petting it softly as you pop his cock out of your mouth and proceed to licking and stroking it. The low lights are casting shadows over Tim's face, but you can see his eyes, half closed and staring down at you in complete surrender. You squeeze the root of his balls firmly and are rewarded with a sharp hiss as Tim draws in breath.

"Sweet baby..."

Your cunt is heavy and warm, and your arousal starts to drip into your panties. The mossy, heavy scent rises to tickle your nose through the musk of your man, and you moan low as you suck the head of his cock before flicking your tongue at the frenulum.

"Fuck, oh God..."

Second that. You enjoy sucking his dick, always have. The different textures, the scent, the way it makes him twitch and curse and finally beg you. The sloppiness of it when you drool, the rush of adrenaline when you manage to take all of him, the tip bumping down your throat, Tim losing it when you massage his balls while letting him fuck your throat.

You draw a deep breath and swallow all of him, balls deep. Your lips shielding your teeth from grazing him, you immediately start to salivate, the pressure against your throat almost too much. You will yourself to calm down, to breathe through your nose as you know you can, and start to fuck him with your mouth. Your eyes fill with tears, and when you look up Tim, he brings a trembling hand to wipe away the first one that falls. You pull back, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock, and lean into his palm cupping your cheek.

"Don't hurt yourself, sweetness," he mumbles hoarsely. "You're doing so good."

"I can do it," you promise him.

"I know you can."

You devour him again, tongue pressing flat against the veiny underside of his cock, your eyes falling shut as you focus on the act, on breathing, on controlling your gag reflex. Tim's breaths come in choked groans above you, his fingers tangle into your hair, petting and gently pulling while he showers you with gratitude and praise. The cold linoleum floor is hard on your knees, but you don't let that hold you back as you do your best to blow Tim’s mind. The taste of cum grows stronger, and you press your fingers against his taint while still fondling his balls. That's his undoing: his balls twitch and you feel the length of his cock pulsate as he shoots his cum down your throat. You almost choke, so you pull back, coughing as the last of his cum splatters your chin and chest. He crouches in front of you, wobbles like his legs don't carry him, panting like he just ran a marathon, but still searches your face as you fight to find your breath through the coughing.

"I'm good, I'm good," you wheeze, but Tim doesn't stop his scrutiny of you until you've found your breath.

"Okay?"

"Okay," you nod, smiling breathlessly. He smiles back then, and heaves a big sigh.

"Goddammit, woman..."

"What?" You bat your eyelashes innocently.

"Look at the state of you. A pornographic mess."

He wipes his thumb over your slick chin and closes his eye with a deep exhale when you grab his hand and bring the thumb to your mouth, sucking hard.

"You'll be the death of me."

"What a way to go, huh?"

His chestnut eyes are warm when he opens them anew.

"I'd prefer to live for as long as I can, as long as you're in my life."

"I'm here," you reassure him, your hand coming up to his cheek, which has not seen a razor in days. He leans in for a kiss, licks at your lips and into your mouth where you share his taste with him.

He finally helps you up and tuck himself in before grabbing a couple of tissues for you from his desk. You wipe yourself clean, but when you're about to wrap the coat around you again, Tim stops you.

"What about you?" His eyes are like molten chocolate when he slides his hand inside your coat and brings you snug against him.

"What about me?"

"You're so wet I can see it through your trench coat, honey."

You chuckle. You should have known.

"Sweetheart," you tell him, languidly wrapping your arms around his neck. "If you wish to pleasure me, you have to come home."

"Oh, so only you can do dirty things to me in my place of work?" he grins, hands sliding down to your ass cheeks, barely covered by the lace.

"That's right, detective." You kiss the tip of his nose. "Gotta have something to bring you home."

"I do have that," he replies softly, touching his lips to your forehead. "I'll come home in the morning, I promise."

Before you can answer, there is a hard bang on the door, followed by a call:

"Rockford, we brought in your suspect!"

His countenance changes: his eyes turn sharp, his lips austere, his shoulders squared. He is no longer your Tim; now he's Detective Rockford.

"I'm sorry, I gotta go - "

" - and you won't be home for breakfast," you finish his sentence with a practical shrug as you straighten out his tie for him. "I know. Go do your thing."

He dips his face down to kiss you.

"I'll be home," he renews his promise. "And I'll bring bread rolls from that place you like."

You smile against his lips, his warmth spreading through your body, your cunt bottoming out at the thought of a slow morning with him.

"I'll hold you to that, Tim."

He brushes his lips over your cheek, his breath warm when he whispers:

"Keep that underwear on."

[bengiyo]

The Trainee Ep 4 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Ryan woke up late and had to scramble to make it to the set, and added extra stress by accidentally taking the store's phone instead of his. On set, Jane tasked him with supervising the extras so they would remain on standby, leading to a lesson in ignoring age politics to do his job well. Pie did well executing the shots for Unit B, but kept looking for more to do because she felt all of their tasks were beneath her. Pah did well with his tasks, and helped teach Pie a few things. Ba-Mhee did poorly, and needed a stern lesson in the role account managers play in keeping a set functional. After Pie accidentally let an extra go home early, Ryan noticed a way to replace her, and Jane ate crow for Pie when the client was pissed about the overages. Ryan returned home after checking in with Jane to help his sister with the extra work from the phone issues. Ryan also tried to reach out gently to Pie, who felt really bad about causing problems.

I was happy to see Ryan interact with his dad, but now I'm nervous about Ryan bringing oil to work.

EP 4: Backup Files

I love when a show remembers its own drama. Ryan is sore from his first day required to work on his feet for extended hours, and Pie is still embarrassed about her mistake. She kept throwing Ryan under the bus before. Curious how she'll manage her fear of Jane.

Pah, please don't fuck up the invoices...

I'm glad Jane is getting used to Ryan's nonverbal tendencies.

Oh no, Jane can smell the oil.

Ba-Mhee should not have followed Tae to the same company. He's clearly trying to complete a task right now, and this drive is going to break.

This is classic intern behavior. You're afraid to admit you made a mistake, and now you're scrambling to try to make up for it. It's also something they do because they're bored. Pah is rushing off on a plan to fix something he didn't break because he's clearly avoiding the invoices.

The comedy of this whole plan execution is really quite stellar. They're hitting these comedic beats perfectly.

They're also cutting in the tension of being discovered really well, too. This is a lot of fun. I like that simple office nonsense is where we went after the high stress of a film set. In the grand scheme of things, the footage is probably already on additional backup drives. All this is unnecessary, and I'm hoping for a meaningful resolution.

Ew, this guy is gross. Both women and his coworkers have told him to stop and he keeps going. Disgusting. I'm glad they showed them scolding him further after the ladies left to change.

Pie is nervous about this meeting, but I'm sure it's about her actual work on Unit B.

I do love this moment between Pie and Ba-Mhee. It would suck if Ba-Mhee was only defined by her relationship with Tae.

Ah, there's our romantic moment of the week.

Of course Tae has helmet now.

Tae from another multiverse. Not a Vice Versa reference.

I love when a show and I are on the same page. Baimon asked generally about the day to see where Pie was about it, and she immediately unloaded about how she screwed up. They used it as a teachable moment about relying on your team, and revealed that they did see her talents, and that she did real work that mattered as a test for even more responsibility with a specific timeline. This hits especially hard because we had that scene with that gross man earlier, because we have two men she reports to validating her efforts.

It's actually refreshing to see a GMMTV workplace show where they understand the minutiae of the work itself. Their interns are making small mistakes that interns make that have manageable consequences for their organization, which allows for the appropriate scolding. Tae screwed up when he didn't report the broken drive, and Pah screwed up by bailing on his own responsibilities. Worse, Tae could have leaked client information. Reminding the interns that they have superiors for a reason, and the purpose of their internships, is going quite well here.

Aww, Pie is hugging Ryan.

Of course Jane was the one who insisted Pie be given another chance. He recognized how she had already beaten herself up about her mistake, and so there was no need to pile on. He focused on correcting the presumptions she had about working on a team as they move forward.

Well well well, the oil led to a cute moment instead. A win.

An excellent preview: they assured me we'd be dealing with the invoice paperwork next week, and that Ryan will still be dealing with Jane's curt nature.

We've been led down a lot in the back half of GMMTV shows lately, so I really hope this one holds together. The drama in this show is so well-balanced for the setting. I also am really enjoying the pacing. Last week was quite frenetic to match the energy of a film set, but this week was a bit slower as we dealt with post production issues. I've really enjoyed following the projects they've been working on, and am excited about the beginning of a new one next week. It's also really cool that the projects we've seen are rather small: first an ad, and now a music video. That feels like the right work for a production company that's trying to keep revenue streams going. A big show gets a lot of views, but you're hoping other producers want to hire your company for their projects too. This has been an awesome watch experience.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 Love Sick Book Review 🦇

❓ Do you watch any medical TV shows? 🦇 Love may be the best medicine, but first-year resident Grace Rose isn’t prescribing it anytime soon. Not since hearing the rumor that she slept her way into the OB-GYN program. (Spoiler alert: not true.) With her social anxiety already in full spiral, Grace is determined to set the record straight. But after a tense first encounter with fellow resident Julian Santini—with his annoying good looks and witty charm—she realizes that her reputation may never fully recover. Forced to work together through grueling shifts and sleepless nights, Grace and Julian try to cut back on the bickering for the sake of their training. Before long, however, a different kind of tension exposes the cracks in their truce. With their hearts in critical condition, will they accept that love is the best remedy of all?

💜 I do love that I read this following a binge of The Pitt and Doctor Odessy. This book was way more heartfelt than either of those shows, though. Let's break it down.

✨ Characters (3/5): There's a pretty big cast of secondary characters, but they're nearly indistinguishable. Grace and Julian, on the other hand, are TOO precious. The two fit together seamlessly--Julian soothing Grace's anxiety, Grace amplifying his confidence. I do wish there was stronger characterization (and maybe more recent pop culture references). Though I'm glad the characters experience internal and external conflict, everything with the "best friend" left me feeling frustrated, even with the story's resolution (because sometimes, there's no fixing a shattered friendship).

✨ Plot and Pacing (3/5): I devoured this in less than 12 hours, so there's no exhausting lag with the pacing. I'm glad subtopics like toxic double standards were discussed. The rumor plot alone is strong, real, and supports both Grace and Julian's growth.

✨ World-Building (2/5): The story mostly exists in the hospital and MCs' apartments. I wish we got stronger setting descriptions--I definitely didn't feel any panic or stress when reading the hospital scenes, despite the tense situations mentioned.

✨ Romance (4/5): The romance in this story is everything. This is one of the slowest burns I've read in a while, and it's executed very well. I do love Julian falling faster and harder, wearing his heart on his sleeve, stepping back to give Grace time and space to figure out her own feelings. Well-executed, heartfelt, and a ship you can't help but root for.

✨ Mystery/Suspense (2/5): We're given too many pieces about Grace's trauma too soon; letting the mystery sit with readers (to the same extent Julian is left in the dark) would have added more tension.

✨ Tone/Prose (3/5): The prose is fine.

🦇 Recommended for fans of Will They or Won't They, Grey's Anatomy, The Hating Game, or The Good Doctor. ✨ The Vibes ✨ 🩺 Forced Proximity 🩺 Workplace Romance 🩺 3rd Act Breakup 🩺 Enemies to Lovers 🩺 Slow Burn 🩺 Lots of References 🩺 Banter 🩺 Dual POV 🩺 Found Family 🩺 He Falls Faster & Harder

🦇 Major thanks to the author and publisher for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book. #LoveSick

💬 Quotes Is there anything more intimate than breathing someone into my lungs? Letting the essence of him saturate into my bloodstream and filter into every organ? What if my body grows receptors for him? Adapts to him? Wants him?

The woman is disturbingly sweet, and I’m beyond disarmed. All my weapons lay on the table between us. She’s free to pick up any she chooses and destroy me.

Some insults simply cut too deep to heal. Some insults bleed forever.

[nowoyas]

(un)professional (NSFW/suggestive) - Nishinoya Yuu/Reader

m.list - Ao3

A/N: written at the suggestion of an anon! I'm very likely going to write a follow-up to this.

Summary: It's your company's 50th anniversary, and it's kicking off a month-long anniversary celebration with a mandatory work banquet. Formal wear, impress the clients invited to the event, oh—and bring your partner. Surely, Noya can be trusted to keep his hands off you for one night, right?

Warnings: suggestive, suit kink, semi-public, making out, biting (I mean come on it's a fic I wrote you can just kinda expect it at this point)

Words: 2300+

You are quite sure that you've been this stressed at least once before in your life, but nothing really comes to mind. Entrance exams, maybe? Waiting to hear back on whether or not you had a future?

None of that compares to this.

This, of course, refers nearly every waking moment of the past few weeks: preparing for a month of work events, of 50th anniversary sales, marketing marketing marketing, long nights at the office and coming home to your pouty, early-to-bed boyfriend who misses you the way a puppy might—half-asleep but excited to see you all the same.

He's been so good in the past few weeks. Making sure you ate, sending you reminder texts to take a nap and that he loves you, and you adore Noya with your whole heart for being there throughout the crunch.

It's almost over. Soon, it'll be the actual events, instead of the million tasks required to prep each one—kicked off with a banquet. Dinner, mingling with coworkers, other departments, and some of the bigger-ticket clients. Formal wear. And, like everyone else in attendance, you are expected to bring your partner.

He'd agreed. That was the worst part. You'd offered to take a friend instead, but that had only made him mad—and let everyone think you belong to someone else? Hell no. He didn't have anything going on, his work actually gave him the time off, and, since you were busy ripping your hair out, he assured you that he was getting a suit with friends—and, he'd added, with Asahi, the fashion designer, and not Ryu, the one who only seems to encourage his chaos—and that everything would be ready in time for the banquet. He'd sat back and patiently waited for you to detail boundaries for the night, but still it wasn't enough.

The thing isn't that you don't trust him. It's that it's Noya, your Noya, who you love. Ever since you moved in together over a year ago, his hands have rarely left your body at home, and you frequently find yourself interrupted with dizzying kisses before he goes back to whatever he's doing. He thrives on showering you with affection, and you adore him for it, adore the little boost of self-esteem at knowing just how much he wants you, but… you don't exactly want him pausing to affectionately plant a kiss on your neck where your boss can see.

"No grabbing my ass tonight," you call over your shoulder as Noya gets ready in the bathroom. You're already ready to go, frantically cleaning up the bedroom in an effort to work out the nervous energy. "I do mean that."

Noya groans from the bathroom. "But it's perfectly shaped for my hand!"

"One of our biggest clients, and also my boss, are going to be there. No."

He whines in reply, and you let out a nerve-riddled sigh. "Please, Noya. I could lose my job if they think I'm unprofessional tonight."

"You're not gonna lose your job. I promise. I can be good, you know?"

You straighten up, having re-made the bed for the fiftieth time in the past twenty-minutes. "I know, I just—"

You turn and there's Noya: fresh cologne, chapsticked lips pressing sweetly against yours. "Baby. I'm gonna be the perfect coworker's boyfriend tonight. Hand on your waist, no sliding lower or higher, at absolute worst one or two completely workplace-appropriate kisses. Professional as fuck. The only PDA is gonna be Professional Displays of Affection. Alright?"

You sigh, letting him kiss you one more time. "Alright. I trust you."

"Gonna be the best arm candy. Gonna make them think I'm your trophy husband," he teases as he peppers kisses on your cheeks. "Some old dude is gonna make a boring joke and I'm gonna giggle like a sugar baby so you look smarter just by standing next to me."

You giggle, pushing him away. "Stop that."

"You could replace me with a purse dog tonight, that's how good I'm gonna be. The most professional little pomeranian in an overpriced bag. They're gonna think I'm a stuffed animal for the first hour until they notice all the food on my plate has mysteriously disappeared."

"Oh my god, Noya—"

He stops and sighs, and you sigh with him, flashing a dopey little smile. That's about when you open your eyes and really look at him, and oh.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry as you take him in. Noya's slicked his hair back, leaving his trademark little tuft of blonde spiked up the normal way. He's already mostly dressed—well-fitting pants, nice shirt, a fucking vest that cinches in his waist a little. His tie hangs, loose and not-yet-tied, around his neck. In short, he looks delicious, and you're reminded that you maybe have been avoiding eye contact with a little bit of a thing for suits for a few years, now.

He grins sheepishly. "I haven't had to tie a tie since I graduated middle school. Could you, uh…?"

You nod. Fumble a little as you reach for the tie. Try to blink away the fog that has suddenly clouded over your thoughts. "Y-yeah, of course."

"Something wrong?"

"No! No, of course not, just—you did good by bringing your friend to get the suit. It's perfect," you manage. Of course, what you mean is something more along the lines of I need to jump your bones right this instant, but you've got fifteen minutes before you have to leave so you get there appropriately early, so instead, you try not to call attention to it, and instead focus on his tie.

"Good, right? Asahi-san said I should match it to you, so…"

Oh. It does match. You're not in identical suits, but his vest matches your jacket, his tie your vest. Your own tie melds well with your outfit and his, and your heart melts a little at the thought. "Thank him for me. You look great."

"Great?" he repeats, waggling his eyebrows with a smug look.

"Fantastic," you assure him as you secure the knot. For good measure, you smooth down his collar, and then, as you lean in to kiss him, you tuck the tie down his vest. "Got your jacket?"

"In the living room. Am I driving?"

"Please."

"Got it, babe." He flashes a smile, and you watch appreciatively as he slips into his suit jacket, effortless, and fastens the button.

"You're the best," you reply, eyes lingering on the curve of his waist, the fit of his pants on his ass.

You are so fucked.

~

You're glad you made Noya drive; for one thing, you're better at navigating from the passenger seat, and for another, you can't fucking tear your eyes off him. He keeps a hand on your thigh the whole way there, thumb rubbing circles into the fabric the way he always does when he's trying to keep you grounded. It's his silent way of saying: breathe. I got you.

So you breathe. You try to compose yourself on the way to the hotel, try to get ahold of your brain so you're not blatantly staring at him the whole night. But it's hard, okay? It's fucking hard. Noya lounges around your house topless, in sweatpants, during the summers and in a loose hoodie and pants in the winter. He's a t-shirt and basketball shorts guy. You've never seen him dressed up like this. The scent of his cologne is making you dizzy.

And he's just as perfect as he promised he'd be: he walks you in, keeps his hand in E-for-Everyone-rated placements, makes charming small talk with the coworkers you've been sat with. When it comes time to mingle, you mingle, and he does a better job of chatting up the clients and executives than you do. If you could think about anything except his shoulders in that jacket, you might be thinking something along the lines of how he's practically earning you a raise by himself.

He lets you handle the polite refusal of champagne for the both of you, gushes over how hard you've been working for your company's 50th these past few months, how proud he is of you. For the millionth time, you're reminded of how easy it is to love him: he's so bright, so good with people, so effortless in how he navigates the social waters. And he's hot as all fuck.

He's so good that you don't even mind when he excuses himself to find a restroom—you're engaged in conversation with your boss and one of your favorite coworkers, able to ride the high of him behaving himself while you charm all the right people. You channel Noya in his absence, and it's easy—everyone else is at least tipsy, but the two of you are not, and it makes it all the easier.

They're quick to gush about him in his absence—how nice he is, how charming, how utterly professional in comparison to one of your seniors, pulled away from nearly sitting in her husband's lap in the corner. You preen under the attention, more proud of Noya than you ever have been of yourself, and chat with them until, at last, you're starting to feel a bit suspicious.

Noya's been gone over twenty minutes.

"I'm gonna go looking for him, actually," you say with a smile. "He probably got caught up talking to someone."

"Good luck," your boss says, grin wide. "And keep up the good work!"

You scan the room for him, to no avail. You'd know his voice anywhere, know where to find him in an instant—even when he's not being loud, like tonight, your ears are specially tuned to the sound of his voice. And he's not here. Frowning, you slip out into the hall in search of the bathrooms, and in the cool quiet of the hallway, away from all the people, you let out a sigh of relief.

You hope you find him soon.

You follow down the dim hallway, eyes scanning just in case a certain someone decides to try to scare you—

And yelp as you're dragged, wrist-first, into a dark closet.

You find yourself staring into familiar brown eyes, warm and molten as you're pulled flush against a too-familiar body. "Hi," Noya whispers. "Been looking for you."

"You're supposed to be my emotional support extrovert!" you pout, hitting his chest lightly. "You left me to socialize all by myself!"

"Well, I had to get you away somehow." He flashes a wicked grin, and the discomfort that's been brewing between your thighs all night rears its head once again. "Someone can't keep their eyes off me today."

"I-I think you're projecting," you mumble, eyes lingering on his lips.

"Am I? I can feel your eyes on me, you know," he teases. "I think you're supposed to be attracted to your boyfriend."

"You look really good in a suit," you admit at last. "Like, too good."

"There it is. That can't have been that hard to say."

"Oh, shut up," you snap. His thumbs hook into your belt loops, tug you forward until his thigh is firmly pressed between yours. You gasp at the sudden pressure, the grind of him against your heat.

He stifles a laugh. "We gotta be quiet, [name]. You don't want anyone to think you're unprofessional, do you?"

"Oh fuck you."

"That's kind of the goal, babe. You spent all week telling me to be good tonight, and you can barely stop checking me out for a few seconds."

Frustrated, you grab at his tie, tug him into a hot, open-mouthed kiss. His hands slide—one gripping your ass, the other unbuttoning your suit jacket just to rest on your waist—and his lips are hot against yours as he kisses you senseless. He tastes more than pleasant, and you're pretty sure he reapplied his chapstick while he was waiting for you.

When you break away, breathless, you drop your head against his shoulder. But his hands don't stop moving: he loosens your tie, begins unbuttoning your shirt.

"Noya," you breathe, pushing at him lightly. "We can't."

"I'll stop if you tell me to," he replies, and then he's pushing the collar of your shirt aside, attaching his lips to your collarbone.

"Yuu," you whine.

He doesn't stop, and you don't tell him to. He scrapes his teeth against your flesh, finds the spot he's memorized just to make you melt as you drag your hips against his leg.

You shouldn't be doing this, but you find it hard to care with how easily he wrecks you, how easily he has you a puddle of mush at his feet. You think you might go completely insane if you don't get his dick in your mouth just like this—him fully clothed, you disheveled and waiting for him, but he has other plans as his hands continue their adventure in mapping out your body.

He moves from your collarbone only to kiss you again properly, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moan softly around his tongue, eager for more, his hands sliding down to slip below your waistband, closer and closer to your soaked panties—

And tucking your shirt in neatly as he pulls away all at once. You chase his lips with a whine, pouting even harder when he begins buttoning your shirt back up with a snicker.

"Yuu, what are you—"

He smiles as he smooths down your collar. "I promised I'd behave, didn't I?"

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I do," you grumble.

He fixes your hair. "You can hate me when we get home. Right now, I'd focus my energy on not walking out of this storage closet looking like you're ready to ride me in front of all your big-ticket clients."

You groan, drop your head against his shoulder again. "Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you."

"Not here," he teases. "It wouldn't be very professional to do it here."

You're either gonna marry him or kill him by the end of the year. You'll decide in the car.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

[wanderingmind867]

They always say to write what you know. And then you see Batman villains like Kite Man, The Eraser, Signal Man, etc. And they were clearly made via taking common objects and making them themes for criminals. But now I want to take both edicts and make them as one. I want to take what I know, specifically what makes me stressed and scared, and I want to use it to create a supervillian.

One of my fears is being unable to make it in college or university or the workforce, then languishing away for the rest of my life. It's a really intense fear, one that chokes me up inside and makes me panic whenever I think about it. So I want to make a villain to express my fears and frustrations. I don't care what company they're used for. Honestly? Let's just use them everywhere. This fear is all pervasive, and a villain channeling my panic could be so cathartic to write about.

So here's what I currently have in the way of ideas for this villain. Feel free to help me by adding to this, and maybe then I can make a revised note. But i'm thinking this character would be my conduit to release all my philosophical screeds against leaving High School. Here, have a taste. Allow me to unburden myself by copying an old vent post and using it to show my (and this character's) viewpoint:

Why does school exist if you're always meant to be graduating!? If you wanted me to leave school and enter the workplace, you shouldn't have made school feel like such an integral part of my life! Seriously, who does that!?

Imagine if I told someone that they had to spend half the day somewhere for 10+ years, only to rip this institution away from them once they began to base their whole life around it! That's what happens with school! School is an integral part of my life now! I don't remember a life without it! For all the bad (and the good too), school is a place I'm familiar with! You don't have the right to take that away!!!

So there. There's an old note I made back in 2023. And it's still so true today. I still feel the exact same way today. That pain and anguish still pounds away at me. And so I think it'd be cathartic to turn it into a theme for a supervillian. I just need help thinking of ideas. Because I don't know how to take it from private rants to a concept for a full fledged character.

[soupofmushrooms]

Just a little bit more (Akaashi Keiji x reader)

note: it's not often i write a fic, but i'm an adult navigating adult life and trying to get my shit together, and maybe sometimes that looks like finding comfort in a fictional character. this fic can be very self-serving, feel free to skip over parts. not proofread. it's also 2:35AM and i have work!!! tomorrow!!!

themes: workplace setting, comfort fic, established relationship, busy schedules (sigh this was the name of my iwa fic, so that's a sneak peek into my life)

---- It's only 4pm. Somehow the meeting only added to the throbbing headache you've had since the morning. There are 2 more hours of the work day left, and yet there's still so much to do. At times like this, you really just want to be in bed. Or take a day off. Maybe both. You whipped out your phone and sent a text to Akaashi. "Shit day. Let's have something good for dinner tonight."

For Akaashi, working in the editorial industry meant trend research, meetings with agents, networking events, supporting and advising authors, and reading late into the night to create a list of books to sell into the next weekly meeting. It's emotionally, mentally and physically taxing, yet his humble, dutiful interest in shaping the literature society reads only motivates you to work harder.

Between the two of you, the recommended 8 hours of sleep is a rare occasion in your household. Mornings are spent in a rush. Dinner consists of simple meals from whatever energy you both have left. Some days, you'll both work from home and finally get to bask in each others' presence at the kitchen table. Paper sprawled all over, cups after cups of coffee, maybe a cheeky little microwave chocolate cake treat to power through the rest of the day. Those days are the best.

The past couple of weeks were the toughest you've had in a while: the biggest pitch in your career, a tall ask, tight deadline, disappointing budget, and half your team was away. You had frequent early morning meetings, worked overtime and occasionally even over the weekends. And although your boyfriend was more than understanding, you missed him, dearly.

With submissions nearing, everyone's feeling tensed but for tonight, the team has decided to take a good rest and continue tomorrow.

Your phone lights up. Akaashi, ever-quick to respond. "A beer would be nice. Hang in there, love. I'll pick you up at 6:30."

Akaashi leads you to a quieter corner of the izakaya, away from the rowdy team dinners where everyone decided to test their alcohol limits. You both take a swig of the cold beer, letting out a long sigh as you both leave the stress of work behind. He thumb rubs circles over the back of your hand, a firm yet gentle grasp. The corner of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. "It's been a while. I'm glad we could get some time together tonight."

"Let's savour this. I hate not seeing you often. The submission is soon so it'll be a while more till we have time like this again."

He presses a kiss to your hand, giving it a light squeeze. Akaashi never once complained about how much work occupies your life. To you, it didn't feel fair. To him, he knows it's just on occasion. His work bleeds into his domestic life too, with the coffee table piled up with manuscripts and sticky notes, notebook by his side of the bed for when ideas spring up in the middle of the night. He feels grateful that you share his love for books and reading, and occasionally give your input when he feels stuck. "Just a little bit more. We both have an off day coming up. Let's hold on a little bit more." His fingers interlocks with yours, catching up as you both recapped your week. The food arrives. Your bowl of hot udon soup and a refreshing cold beer - the familiar warmth of each others' presence, recharging for the week ahead.