#simple-glass-window-design

[designonglass]

Why Sliding Window Glass Designs Are Perfect for Contemporary Homes

Introduction

Contemporary homes prioritize minimalism, openness, and functionality. Among the many design elements that contribute to this modern aesthetic, windows play a pivotal role. They not only invite natural light into the space but also create a seamless connection with the outdoors. One of the most sought-after window styles in modern home design is the sliding-window-glass-design-for-home.

Sliding glass windows offer a sleek, space-saving, and stylish solution that fits perfectly with the architectural needs of modern homes. Coupled with options like safety-glass-windows-for-homes and simple-glass-window-design, homeowners can achieve a perfect blend of safety, functionality, and elegance. In this article, we'll explore why sliding window glass designs are ideal for contemporary homes, the benefits they offer, and how they compare to other window options.

What is a Sliding Window Glass Design?

A sliding-window-glass-design-for-home features movable glass panels that slide horizontally along a track. Unlike traditional hinged windows that swing open, sliding windows move effortlessly to create an open space. These windows are ideal for areas where space is limited or where unobstructed views are a priority.

Sliding windows are commonly used in living rooms, bedrooms, kitchens, and balconies, providing maximum natural light and ventilation. Available in a variety of materials, including aluminum, UPVC, and wood, they are versatile enough to suit any contemporary home style.

Why Sliding Window Glass Designs Are Perfect for Contemporary Homes

1. Space-Saving and Compact Design

Unlike traditional casement windows that require space to open, sliding-window-glass-design-for-home takes up zero extra space. The sliding panels move horizontally along tracks, making them ideal for compact homes, apartments, and tight spaces. This space-saving aspect aligns perfectly with the minimalist nature of contemporary homes.

2. Abundance of Natural Light

Natural light plays a key role in modern home design. Sliding windows have large glass panels that invite an abundance of sunlight, making living spaces feel brighter, larger, and more welcoming. Pairing sliding windows with a simple-glass-window-design can create a clean, unobstructed view of the outdoors, enhancing the overall aesthetic appeal.

3. Improved Ventilation

Sliding windows allow for easy and controlled ventilation. You can open them partially or fully, depending on the amount of fresh air you want. The ability to slide the panels in both directions gives homeowners better control over airflow, making these windows a practical addition to kitchens, bathrooms, and living areas.

4. Aesthetic Appeal and Minimalism

A contemporary home is all about simplicity and elegance, which is why many homeowners choose a simple-glass-window-design. The minimalistic appeal of sliding windows, with their sleek frames and large glass surfaces, fits perfectly with this modern aesthetic. The clean lines and smooth functionality of sliding windows add to the overall elegance of the home.

5. Unobstructed Views of the Outdoors

Imagine waking up to a panoramic view of your garden, balcony, or scenic surroundings. The sliding-window-glass-design-for-home provides uninterrupted views thanks to its large, clear glass panels. Unlike traditional window styles that have multiple frames and bars, sliding windows create an open, expansive view of the outside world.

6. Easy to Operate and Maintain

Sliding windows operate on a track system that allows for smooth, effortless movement. Their design ensures minimal wear and tear, making them long-lasting and easy to maintain. A quick wipe with a cloth is all that’s needed to keep the glass clean. This makes it a practical choice for families seeking a modern, low-maintenance window option.

Importance of Safety Glass Windows for Homes

Safety is a top priority for every homeowner, and with modern glass designs, it’s essential to ensure that the windows are secure. This is where safety-glass-windows-for-homes come in. These windows use tempered or laminated glass, which is stronger and more durable than standard glass.

Benefits of Safety Glass Windows for Homes

Break-Resistant and ShatterproofUnlike standard glass, safety glass does not break into sharp, dangerous shards. Tempered glass shatters into small, blunt pieces, while laminated glass stays intact, thanks to its interlayer of polyvinyl butyral (PVB). This makes safety-glass-windows-for-homes the ideal choice for homes with children, pets, or areas prone to strong winds or impact.

Enhanced Home SecuritySince safety glass is much stronger than standard glass, it provides an added layer of protection against break-ins. For homeowners who prioritize security, installing safety-glass-windows-for-homes ensures better protection against forced entry.

Weather ResistanceIn regions prone to storms, heavy rains, or high winds, safety glass is a must. It offers better resistance to harsh weather conditions, reducing the chances of cracks, leaks, or damage.

Sound InsulationLaminated safety glass also reduces noise pollution. It acts as a sound barrier, making it a popular choice for urban homes or houses located near busy streets. For homeowners seeking a quiet, peaceful living space, safety-glass-windows-for-homes are an excellent option.

UV ProtectionLaminated glass offers UV protection, which prevents furniture, curtains, and flooring from fading due to prolonged sun exposure. This is a key benefit of modern simple-glass-window-design combined with safety glass technology.

Simple Glass Window Design: The Modern Minimalist Trend

While the concept of "less is more" drives contemporary home design, the simple-glass-window-design perfectly embodies this philosophy. Simple designs focus on minimalism, clean lines, and an unobstructed view of the outdoors.

Features of a Simple Glass Window Design

Minimal Framing, Maximum ViewA simple-glass-window-design emphasizes large glass panels with minimal framing, allowing for unobstructed views. This design is especially popular in modern living rooms and bedrooms, where natural light and scenic views are essential.

Customizable Glass FinishesHomeowners can choose frosted, tinted, or clear glass to achieve the level of privacy and style they desire. Frosted glass is great for bathrooms, while clear glass is perfect for living spaces that connect to the outdoors.

Versatile ApplicationsA simple-glass-window-design is versatile enough to fit in living rooms, bedrooms, kitchens, and even staircases. The simplicity of the design makes it easy to pair with sliding windows, fixed windows, or picture windows.

Perfect Match for Sliding WindowsSliding windows naturally blend with simple glass designs. The clean, straight lines of sliding windows pair well with large, clear glass panels, providing an ultra-modern aesthetic. Together, sliding-window-glass-design-for-home and simple-glass-window-design make a powerful design statement.

How to Choose the Right Sliding Window for Your Home

When choosing a sliding-window-glass-design-for-home, it’s important to keep functionality, safety, and aesthetics in mind. Here’s a checklist to help you make the best decision:

Prioritize SafetyIf you live in an area with strong winds or if you have children, opt for safety-glass-windows-for-homes. The added durability and impact resistance provide an extra layer of security.

Select a Simple DesignA simple-glass-window-design is perfect for homeowners seeking minimalism and elegance. Choose a design with large, clear panels and minimal frames for a modern look.

Ensure Smooth OperationThe best sliding-window-glass-design-for-home should operate smoothly along its tracks. Look for windows with stainless steel or aluminum tracks for long-lasting performance.

Opt for CustomizationYou can customize your sliding window with tinted, frosted, or textured glass. Customization allows you to achieve the perfect balance between style, privacy, and function.

Focus on Energy EfficiencySliding windows allow ample natural light, but it’s also essential to maintain thermal insulation. Choose windows with double-glazed or UV-resistant glass to reduce energy bills.

Conclusion

Sliding window glass designs are the ultimate choice for contemporary homes. By combining space-saving functionality, enhanced aesthetics, and energy efficiency, sliding windows meet the demands of modern architecture. Pairing them with simple-glass-window-design and safety-glass-windows-for-homes provides a comprehensive solution for security, privacy, and style.

For homeowners looking to add elegance and functionality to their homes, consider the many benefits of sliding window glass designs. With features like natural light, enhanced views, and improved security, these windows are a perfect match for any contemporary home. Choose a design that prioritizes safety, beauty, and convenience, and transform your living space with modern, stylish windows.

[ssrvm]

Elegant Pooja Room Glass Door Designs for Indian Homes and Privacy Needs

Pooja rooms hold a special significance in Indian homes, serving as a dedicated space for prayer and meditation. These rooms are not only places of worship but also spaces of tranquility and peace. When designing a pooja room, every detail matters, including the choice of doors. Glass doors are increasingly popular in modern homes, offering a blend of elegance and functionality. However, privacy is a key consideration when it comes to glass doors. In this article, we explore elegant pooja room glass door designs for Indian homes that strike the perfect balance between style and privacy.

Privacy Glass for Home Windows

Privacy glass, also known as frosted or obscure glass, is a popular choice for windows and doors in Indian homes. It allows natural light to filter through while maintaining a level of privacy. Frosted glass is created by either sandblasting or acid etching a clear glass surface, creating a translucent effect. This type of glass is perfect for pooja room doors, providing enough privacy for prayer and meditation without sacrificing natural light.

Pooja Room Glass Door Designs

There are several elegant pooja room glass door designs that can enhance the ambiance of your prayer space while ensuring privacy. One popular option is stained glass doors, featuring intricate designs and vibrant colors. Stained glass adds a touch of traditional Indian craftsmanship to your pooja room, creating a stunning focal point. Another option is frosted glass doors with intricate etched patterns, combining elegance and privacy in one design. These doors allow light to filter through while adding a touch of sophistication to your pooja room.

For a more contemporary look, consider frameless glass doors with a sandblasted or frosted finish. These sleek and minimalistic doors create a seamless transition between rooms while maintaining privacy. If you prefer a touch of luxury, opt for leaded glass doors with ornate designs and beveled edges. Leaded glass doors add a touch of opulence to your pooja room while preserving a sense of privacy.

When choosing glass doors for your pooja room, it's essential to consider the overall aesthetic of your home. Match the door design to your existing decor and architectural style for a cohesive look. Whether you prefer traditional or modern designs, there is a pooja room glass door that will complement your home beautifully.

Privacy Needs

Privacy is a crucial consideration when it comes to pooja room glass door designs. While glass doors offer a sense of openness and lightness, they can also compromise privacy. Frosted or tinted glass options are ideal for maintaining privacy in your pooja room while allowing natural light to filter through. You can also add curtains or blinds to your glass doors for added privacy when needed.

Incorporating elegant pooja room glass door designs into your Indian home can elevate the ambiance of your prayer space while meeting your privacy needs. Choose a design that reflects your personal style and complements the overall aesthetic of your home. With the right pooja room glass door, you can create a sacred space that is both functional and beautiful.

[rafecameronssl4t]

One Big Misunderstanding || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Tensions rise when an innocent comment about a missing bracelet sows doubt between you and Rafe, sparking suspicions of infidelity.

Warnings: ANGST GALORE

Word count: 2,711

A/n: inspired by the perfect couple on Netflix 😛

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

The sunlight streamed through the grand floor-to-ceiling windows of the drawing room, casting a warm glow on the pristine marble floors. You sat perched on one of the luxurious cream sofas, a curated array of diamond necklaces sprawled elegantly across the glass coffee table before you.

Across from you, Eloise, your private jewellery consultant, adjusted her notepad, a professional yet friendly smile playing on her lips. “Madeline, sweetie, no touching, please,” you gently reminded, catching your daughter’s small hands as they reached out eagerly for the sparkling treasures.

Her curious blue eyes, so much like Rafe’s, widened in innocent protest before she giggled, retreating to your lap with a playful pout. Eloise chuckled softly, waving at Madeline. “Someone has quite the eye for jewels already,” she teased, her gaze fond as Madeline shyly buried her face into the folds of your dress.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing Madeline’s hair back as your fingers glided over the dazzling collection. “I don’t think it’ll be too long before she’ll be in my position,” You softly say. The newest designs shimmered under the light, each more stunning than the last. “They’re all exquisite,” you sighed, lifting a delicate piece encrusted with diamonds.

“But I think I’ll take this one, and…” Your eyes roamed over the display again, settling on another necklace with an intricate design. “This.” “Excellent choices, Mrs. Cameron,” Eloise praised, jotting down notes in her leather-bound book. Her tone brimmed with approval, and her smile didn’t waver as she looked up.

Madeline squirmed in your lap, reaching up to tug at the simple necklace you were already wearing. You adjusted her gently, holding her small hands to keep them still. Eloise glanced up from her notes. “Did you like the bracelet Mr. Cameron gave you?” Her tone was casual, but her words made you pause. “Bracelet?” you echoed, your brow furrowing.

Your voice held a slight edge of confusion as you looked at her. “The gold bangle with the pavé diamonds,” she elaborated, glancing up with a look of delight. “Rafe spent so much time picking it out for you.” Her enthusiasm was almost contagious as she beamed. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, your mind racing.

You had no idea what she was talking about. A heavy silence lingered for a moment, and you felt the weight of Eloise’s expectant gaze. “Oh! The bracelet!” you quickly feigned recognition, a forced smile stretching across your face. “Yes, of course. It’s lovely—he knows me so well.” Your voice sounded light, but your heart sank as the lie left your lips.

Eloise didn’t seem to notice. She rose gracefully, tucking her notebook under her arm. “Well, I’ll be on my way. I’ll see you next month, Mrs. Cameron,” she said cheerfully, giving you a polite nod before heading toward the door. You stayed seated, your posture still and tense as Madeline babbled happily on your lap.

The silence of the room closed in around you once Eloise left, leaving you to wrestle with your thoughts. Rafe had bought you a bracelet? Why hadn’t he given it to you himself? Had he left it somewhere, expecting you to find it? Or had it been an afterthought, something he had no time—or desire—to present personally?

The questions swirled in your mind as you absentmindedly stroked Madeline’s hair, your gaze fixed on the glittering necklaces on the table. As much as you tried to push it aside, the confusion, and a small pang of hurt, lingered.

~

Later that night, you sat before your vanity, the familiar routine of your skincare ritual grounding you in a semblance of normalcy. The soft hum of the bathroom light and the gentle swish of creams and serums felt like a small act of defiance against the questions that kept circling in your mind. The bracelet. Rafe’s strange omission of it.

The way Eloise had mentioned it so casually, as though it was something you should’ve known. You brushed the thoughts aside, telling yourself you were overreacting, but they lingered, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. The bedroom door creaked open behind you, and without turning, you saw Rafe in the reflection of your mirror.

Still in his suit, looking as polished and untouchable as ever. You didn’t acknowledge him, continuing with your skincare, your movements slow and deliberate. “Busy day?” you asked, your voice flat, more out of routine than affection. His response was distant, lost on you as you remained absorbed in your own thoughts, the quiet hum of your routine enveloping you.

The bracelet. “How was the jewelry showing?” he asked, his voice still detached, but something in his tone caught your attention. You glanced up at him briefly through the mirror. His eyes were on you, studying you with a faint trace of curiosity. “It was good,” you mumbled, your focus wavering again.

Rafe’s brow furrowed as he watched you, sensing the lack of the usual excitement you carried after these showings. His fingers paused at the buttons of his shirt as he tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. “Did you… pick anything you liked?” he asked, his tone slower now, as if he was gauging your mood, sensing something was off.

“Yeah, I did,” you replied, your voice empty, devoid of any real emotion. Before he could continue, you stood up abruptly, tightening the robe around your body more than necessary. The familiar movement felt like a barrier, an armour you could slip into. “I’ll just make myself some tea,” you said, the words sounding rehearsed, like you were already running from the questions.

You didn’t spare him another glance as you walked past him, leaving the room without another word. You descended the stairs mechanically, but instead of following the usual route to the kitchen, your feet took you in the opposite direction, towards Rafe’s office. Your heart pounded as you approached the oak door, glancing over your shoulder to ensure no one was watching.

Slowly, you pushed the door open, the room still and quiet in its untouched state. The room was a sharp contrast to the chaos in your mind. Your eyes darted to his desk, and instinctively, you moved toward it. You knew Rafe kept everything meticulously in order, and his drawers were always locked. But tonight, your curiosity outweighed your caution.

You pulled open the first drawer, then the second. It was the third one that caught your attention. As your fingers sifted through papers, your eyes landed on a familiar logo—the jewelry shop. Your pulse quickened as you pulled it free, finding a receipt tucked between papers. The words on the page seemed to mock you as you read, Rafe Cameron, the date, and the item listed: Nature Bangle, Pavé, priced at $18,000.

A photo of the bracelet accompanied the receipt. The image burned itself into your mind—elegant, delicate, and undeniably expensive. Your breath caught in your throat, and your mind spun. You quickly shoved the receipt back into the drawer, snapping it closed. The weight of what you’d seen was suffocating, the overwhelming question taking shape in your mind.

Was Rafe cheating on you? The thought gnawed at you, its edge cutting deep. You had been with him long enough to believe that something like this wouldn’t happen. But the pieces didn’t fit. Rafe had always been… Rafe. He wasn’t the type to hide things, or at least, you never thought he was.

The doubts began to creep in, unsettling your thoughts, but before they could settle into a clear conclusion, you stood up from the desk and made your way out of the office.

~

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. You sat on the plush sofa, coffee in hand, its warmth grounding you as you watched Leo and Madeline play on the rug before you. Their laughter filled the room, a soothing balm to the unease still simmering from the night before.

The sound of Rafe’s footsteps descending the staircase pulled your focus, and soon enough, he rounded the corner into the living room, his presence unmistakable in the tailored suit that hugged his frame. Despite the domestic setting, he still exuded the same composed, businesslike energy he carried everywhere.

“Jordan told me your schedule was clear for today,” you remarked, your voice calm but inquisitive as you tracked his movements. “Hm?” Rafe hummed in response, crouching slightly to press a kiss to the top of both Leo’s and Madeline’s heads. The gesture was effortless, automatic, and yet it made your chest tighten—a cruel contradiction to the doubts swirling in your mind.

“I said, Jordan told me your schedule is clear today,” you repeated, watching him carefully as he straightened, his gaze finally meeting yours. A small, almost nonchalant smile tugged at his lips. “Last-minute meeting, that’s all,” he replied smoothly, brushing off the question as if it were of little consequence. His tone was casual, but it didn’t sit right with you.

You cocked an eyebrow, your expression neutral but sharp enough to suggest you weren’t entirely convinced. “I’ll be back before three,” he added quickly, as though the reassurance might settle you. Without waiting for a response, he stepped closer, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek. The gesture was familiar, practiced, and yet it felt hollow.

You remained still, your eyes fixed straight ahead, your coffee cooling in your hand as his cologne lingered in the air. “Drive safe,” you murmured, your voice even but distant. You didn’t look at him as he pulled away and adjusted his cufflinks. The sound of his footsteps retreated, leaving a subtle void in the room once he was gone.

~

The door to your bedroom creaked open, and Rafe stepped in, his movements deliberate but calm. Your eyes lifted from your phone, following him briefly before drifting back to the glowing screen in your hand. “They’re asleep,” he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with exhaustion. You hummed in acknowledgment, barely lifting your gaze as he moved toward his side of the bed, shrugging off his jacket and placing it neatly on the chair by the window.

Rafe climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He leaned back against the headboard, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt and letting out a quiet sigh. The silence between you felt heavy, the kind of quiet that wasn’t comfortable but wasn’t quite confrontational either. You placed your phone down on the nightstand, your fingers brushing its edge before folding neatly in your lap.

The glow of the bedside lamp softened the room, but it did little to ease the tension you felt knotting in your chest. “Are you cheating on me?” The words left your lips before you could stop them, your voice sharp yet trembling, slicing through the quiet. “What?” Rafe’s hand froze, his body stiffening as he turned to look at you, his tone laced with shock and disbelief. His brows furrowed deeply, searching your face for an explanation.

“Are you cheating on me?” you repeated, softer this time, the vulnerability in your voice stark against the tension building in the room. His lips parted, words stuttering for a moment before he finally asked, “What are you talking about?” You sat up straighter, folding your arms as you exhaled shakily. “The bracelet, Rafe.” The words were laced with hurt as your eyes locked onto his, watching the colour drain from his face.

His expression shifted—confusion, then understanding, and finally a look that you couldn’t quite place. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes began to water, the emotional floodgates breaking against your will. “Eloise mentioned it. She said you spent so much time picking it out, but I never got it, Rafe,” your voice cracked slightly. “So, where is it? Who is it for?”

Rafe ran a hand down his face, the exhaustion in his eyes now replaced with something akin to guilt—but not the kind you feared. He pushed himself up against the headboard, facing you fully. “It’s not what you think,” he said firmly, his voice low, almost pleading, but it did little to ease the storm brewing inside you. “Then explain,” you demanded, your voice trembling with a potent mix of anger and sorrow.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, hot and relentless, and you swiped at them quickly, unwilling to appear completely undone. But your composure was already fractured, and Rafe could see it in your glistening eyes and the slight quiver of your lip. His silence was unbearable. The hesitation hanging between you wasn’t just a pause—it was an admission, a crack that threatened to shatter everything you’d built together.

It cut deeper than words ever could, leaving a hollow ache in your chest. “Explain,” you repeated, your voice firmer now, laced with urgency. “For the sake of our children, for our marriage, Rafe. Tell me what I’m supposed to believe right now.” He ran a hand over his face, his usual confidence, his composed exterior, seemed to falter under your gaze. For once, Rafe Cameron looked unsteady.

“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” he muttered, his voice low. You blinked, your breath catching. “What wasn’t meant to be like this? Stop talking in circles and just tell me.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt your chest tighten with the weight of your fears. Rafe exhaled sharply, finally looking up at you. His eyes locked onto yours, their usual sharpness softened by something unfamiliar—regret, perhaps.

“The bracelet,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, “was supposed to be a surprise. For you.” Your brows furrowed as you tried to process his words, your heart racing. “What?” He leaned back on the headboard, his hands clasped together. "It’s… for our anniversary. I wanted to give it to you then. I even had it engraved.” His voice wavered, and he shook his head.

“I thought I was doing something thoughtful, but I should’ve just given it to you right away. I didn’t think it would—” He stopped, the weight of your reaction sinking in. You stared at him, your mind reeling. His explanation had knocked the wind out of you, leaving you unsure whether to feel relief or frustration. “You… were planning to give it to me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” He looked at you earnestly, his expression softening. “I didn’t realise it would make you question everything. That’s on me. I’m sorry.” Your tears slowed, but the tension in your chest lingered. “Why didn’t you just tell me that when I asked? Why make me feel like I was losing my mind?” Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I thought you’d laugh at me, or brush it off as something meaningless.

You don’t exactly make it easy to do… sentimental gestures.” His voice wasn’t accusatory, but it held a hint of frustration. You exhaled slowly, processing his words. The weight of your accusation settled heavily on your shoulders, mixing shame with residual doubt. “You should’ve told me,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “And you should’ve trusted me,” he countered gently, his tone not harsh but pointed.

“We can’t keep doing this—assuming the worst about each other.” You looked away, your throat tight as his words sank in. Perhaps he was right, but the wounds of mistrust weren’t so easily healed. “I just… I don’t want to be a fool,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “Not for you, not for anyone.” Rafe turned his head, his hand reaching over before settling on your knee. “You’re not a fool,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

“You’re my wife. And I know I don’t always get it right, but I need you to believe that I’m trying.” You met his gaze, searching for any flicker of insincerity but finding none. His blue eyes held yours, unwavering, and for the first time that night, you felt the tension in your chest begin to ease. “I’ll believe it,” you whispered, the words tentative but genuine.

"But you have to meet me halfway, Rafe. No more secrets. No more hesitation.” He nodded, his grip on your knees tightening briefly in silent agreement. “Deal.”

[starlightshore]

trying my hand at some redesigns... i want them to be

Fancy

but not too detailed because that never looks good in my artstyle (and I'm too lazy to ever do that consistently) so here's my balance between the two desires.

under the readmore is some concept art i did when playing around with the ideas

first i played w/ color and the idea that loop would look like a stained glass window. idk everything turned out messy lol

i knew I wanted Loop to not be Nakey but this felt too simple. siff is pretty good here but was rendered a lil off idk

added this late, this is after i settled on the designs but i didn't wanna make a whole extra post for this doodle

[lunaa-runee]

Ryomen Sukuna gets a new nanny for his son.

Minors DNI. WC: 4.9K

CW: Noncurse AU, DILF!CEO!Sukuna, smut, creampie, implied multiple rounds, kinda mean Sukuna, Sukuna is not great with feelings, broken promises, Yuji is Sukuna's son, there will probably be a part 2 to this story

You glanced up from the crumpled slip of paper in your hand, which bore the address of your new employer. The sleek glass building loomed ahead, reflecting the sunlight in a dazzling display. The hum of the city filled the air, heightening the nervous flutter in your stomach. Taking a deep breath, you pushed through the heavy revolving door, entering this new chapter of your life.

As you entered, you spotted a security guard. He was in his 40s, wearing a simple uniform and donning a hat with bits of his salt and pepper hair sticking out at the bottom. The man offered you a slight smile and said, "Can I help you, ma'am?"

You nodded, "Yes, please. I’m here for Ryomen Sukuna.”

"Could I see your ID miss?" You pulled out your wallet, pulling out and handing over your ID to him. He examined the card silently, peering at you occasionally before turning his attention towards the computer. You nervously twiddled with your fingers as you waited. "Thank you miss l/n. You'll want to take the last elevator down the hall to the right. That is the only one that can take you to the penthouse. Mrs. Ono will meet you at the door."

He handed your ID back. "Okay, thank you."

"Of course, good luck miss. You're gonna need it," he whispered the last bit. His words made you hesitate, a sense of apprehension settling in your gut.

You found the elevator waiting for you. As you stepped inside, you pressed the button to take you to your destination. As the elevator began to rise, a wave of anticipation washed over you, and you instinctively rubbed your sweaty palms against the worn fabric of your jeans.

The elevator's ding announced your arrival, the doors opening to a breathtaking atrium. You stepped, your eyes taking in the stunning entry. A lofty ceiling with a domed skylight flooded the space with natural light. Exquisite stained glass cast colorful patterns on the cream-colored walls, creating an enchanting atmosphere like something from a Bridgerton book.

"Miss l/n?" Your eyes snapped to the double doors opposite the elevator. You had become so mesmerized that you hadn't even paid any attention to the large double doors that entered the residence. A sweet-looking woman in her late 40s or early 50s stood in the doorway. Her outfit was plain, with regular jeans and a tucked-in red polo, with black hair and a few white hairs slicked back into a tight bun. Her smile was genuine as she greeted you. "You're here! I was beginning to believe Mr. Sukuna had scared off every possible nanny the agency had to offer!"

You offer a quick bow. Her words remind you of the doorman's comments. How many nannies has this man employed? "Uh, yes. Hello. You must be Mrs. Ono?"

"I am!" The woman ushered you in, "Come in, please. I'm so happy you're here."

Entering the home, you are welcomed by a spacious entryway with high ceilings, similar to those outside. The apartment features a modern design, with a large staircase leading to the upper level on the right. Just beyond the stairs is the living room, which boasts floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the city of Tokyo.

"Welcome! My name is Asami Ono, I am Mr. Sukuna's house keeper," she chuckled. "How about a tour?"

The tour went well, but the condo turned out to be larger than you had expected. It featured a spacious kitchen, living room, and dining room. There were four bedrooms, one of which was yours since you would live there as a nanny. The home was simply decorated and appeared staged, not lived-in. There wasn't even a single photo displayed.

On the tour, you discovered that Mrs. Ono was only meant to be a part-time housekeeper. However, with the sudden departure of the last nanny, she took on the temporary role of caring for Yuji, Ryomen Sukuna's son.

"And here," Ms. Ono paused at a door at the end of the hallway on the second floor. "Is your room."

She opened the door, revealing a spacious bedroom. You entered and placed your luggage by the door, taking in the room's appearance. The room had hardwood floors with a simple gray rug at its center. To the right was a plush queen-sized bed, and to the left was a door that led to a bathroom.

"You have your own bathroom, and Yuji's room is down the room across the hall. Do you have any questions?"

"When will Yuji and Mr. Sukuna arrive?"

"Yuji's at a friend's today. I thought it best that we get you settled in before you meet him," she said simply. "Yuji is a sweet boy, but he can be a handful. As for Mr. Sukuna, his work keeps him busy, but I am sure you'll cross paths with him eventually."

"I see," you hum. This wasn't the first job you had taken with parents that made themselves scarce; it was common in your work.

"Well, if you have no other questions, I will leave you to settle in." She nodded toward the desk in the corner of the room. "Everything you need to know, like Yuji's schedule and food preferences, is on the desk for you. I'll be downstairs preparing dinner if you need anything."

You spent the next couple of hours unpacking and familiarizing yourself with everything you needed to know about your newest client. There was little information about Mr. Sukuna that you didn't already know: he was a single dad and the CEO of a large corporation. Most of the information focused on his son, Yuji. The provided picture showed a young boy with pink hair and a bright smile. According to the schedule and details, he was just your average 4-year-old.

When you made your way downstairs, the sun had begun to set. A delicious and comforting aroma filled the air as you entered the kitchen. "It smells fantastic in here."

Mrs. Ono gave you a warm smile as she continued to stir the contents of the pot. "Good, I hope you're hungry."

"Mrs. Ono, I'm home."

Mrs. Ono wiped her hands on her apron and gave you a small smile before peeking her head around the corner toward the entryway. "Yuji," Mrs. Ono called out. "I have someone I'd like you to meet."

Yuji entered the kitchen, his eyes falling on you with interest. He paused; you could already see the whirlwind of questions he was bursting to ask you behind his bright eyes. "Hello, I'm Yuji."

"Hello Yuji," you crouched down, meeting him at his eye level before smiling. "My name is F/N L/N, but you can call me F/N if you would like."

Mrs. Ono patted Yuji's mop of pink hair as she spoke. "Yuji, this will be your new nanny."

Yuji tilted his head. "Do you like to paint?

"I love to paint," you giggled as you watched Yuji's expression transform into pure excitement, his smile bright as he buzzed with joy.

The evening unfolded smoothly. Mrs. Ono left shortly after dinner, eager to return home to her husband. Yuji was put to bed not long after that.

After spending a few more hours in your room, unwinding and watching a movie, you finally decide to call it a night. You go downstairs to the kitchen for a drink, noticing the light is still on as you go to the kitchen for a drink. Did you forget to turn it off before?

As you rounded the corner to enter the kitchen, you suddenly stopped. Leaning against the counter was a large man. His eyes were closed, and the back of his head rested against a kitchen cabinet. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, as he held a glass of whiskey in his right hand. You could see the black lines of tattoos peeking through his thin dress shirt, and you recognized the familiar shade of pink hair.

Was this Yuji's dad?

Lost in thought, you accidentally bumped into the side table by the kitchen entry. The man's eyes snapped to you.

"Who the hell are you?" he snapped, standing to his full height. His beautiful yet intimidating eyes burned into you from across the room. His lips pressed into a tight line as he waited for your response. "Well?"

You flinched at his harsh tone. "I-I'm the new n-nanny."

Setting down his drink, he saunters towards you. His eyes, intense and unwavering, never leaving you. He reminded you of a predator, and you were the prey.

"So you are my son's new nanny," he said, circling you. "Let's hope you're more competent than the last one."

The familiar beep of your alarm jerked you awake. How was it already morning? You had gotten very little rest, as your mind was filled with thoughts about your new employer—some less than pure thoughts.

With a groan, you threw your covers off your body to begin your day. 

The first thing you did was start the coffee. It would be a long day, and you needed every bit of energy you could get. The sound of the front door caught your attention just as you started breakfast. Conflicting emotions of excitement and a tinge of fear struck you at the possibility of Ryomen Sukuna rounding the corner.

“Hello,” disappointment floods you at the sound of Mrs. Ono’s voice. 

You shake off your disappointment, returning to your task at hand, before calling out to Mrs. Ono. “Hi. I’m in the kitchen!”

The older woman walked into the kitchen smiling, setting her bag on the counter. “Good morning, dear! How was your first night? Did everything go alright?”

“Yes,” you replied. “Yuji was perfect.”

“Ah yes, not surprising. He’s a good boy.”

You nod in agreement, but your thoughts wander to your peculiar encounter with Yuji's father. Despite the briefness of your interaction, you couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between father and son. "Mrs. Ono," you start, feeling uncertain. "Could you tell me more about Mr. Sukuna?"

Mrs. Ono raised a brow, “did something happen?”

"No," you replied almost too quickly, trying to avoid eye contact as you pretended to concentrate entirely on the pancakes you were making. "Well, kind of. I met him last night."

The air grew tense. At first, you were worried you had done something wrong.

“What did he do? Did he say something?” Her normal cheerful tone shifted to something teetering on anger. Still, it was clear the anger was not directed towards you. The response confirmed your suspicions of a possible issue between Ryomen and the previous nannies. 

“He didn’t actually do anything,” you explain the brief interaction to her.

“That man,” she huffed. “Mr. Sukuna is a complicated man with very high standards, especially regarding his son. This has resulted in…difficulties in keeping a long term nanny for Yuji.”

“What kind of difficulties,” you inquire. A feeling of apprehension blooming. 

“If one thing goes wrong, the nanny would be out for some of the most ridiculous reasons. Things such as Yuji getting a scrapped knee at the park or Yuji being upset over something the nanny couldn’t control. Some have just quit, too, after meeting Mr. Sukuna. He can be a bit intimidating, as you can imagine, and temperamental.”

You could imagine. “Why is he so difficult then? How do you handle it?”

“Mr. Sukuna didn’t have it easy growing up, I’m afraid, but that’s all I can really say about that,” a pained expression on her face. “I've known him for many years, and I know under his tough exterior he is a good man who wants the best for his son.”

Your thoughts swirled at Mrs. Ono’s words, leaving you more curious about your employer. You peered at the clock; it was well past 7 a.m. now. “I should wake Yuji; I wouldn’t want him late for school.”

“Did you make pancakes?” You and Mrs. Ono looked at the kitchen entryway. There stood a sleepy-looking Yuji, still in his pajamas and clutching his teddy bear.

“We sure did,” you said with a significant smile, holding the stake pancakes. “Hope you’re hungry." 

Yuji's face brightened at the sight, and he rushed to his place at the table, eager to have breakfast.

You had developed a soft spot for Yuji in just two short weeks of working for the Sukuna's. He was a ray of sunshine in your eyes; his contagious optimism never failed to bring a smile to your face. Even at such a young age, Yuji displayed so much selflessness. He became your little helper, always going out of his way to help you with chores, cooking, shopping, etc.

“No,” Yuji laughed as he saw your version of a dog you had painted. 

“What do you mean no?” Tonight, you and Yuji were spending a night in, Yuji begging for an arts and crafts night. You had agreed to set up the kitchen table with paint, crayons, and glitter. The works, really.

“That’s not a dog!” He giggled, bringing his paintbrush to your canvas. “That looks like a yucky blob.”

You fake gasped as you clutched your chest. “Good sir, are you saying I’m horrible at painting?” He nodded, a shy giggle coming from the young boy. In one swift motion, you pulled Yuji into your lap, tickling his sides. The young boy laughed as he wiggled in your grasp. “Take it back.”

“No,” he yelled. 

The exchange continued until the sound of a cleared throat made you freeze. Standing in the entryway was Ryomen. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes had an unusual softness. You hadn't even noticed the door opening; how long had he been standing there?

“Daddy!” Yujji cheered as he sprung from your lap, launching at his father's legs, causing Ryomen to tense. “Daddy, miss l/n, and I were making some art. Can you come paint with me, please?”

“I’m not really a painter, Yuji,” his father responded.

“That’s okay, miss l/n isn’t very good either but she’s still painting!”

“Yuji,” you exclaimed.

Yuji snickered, a small huff escaping Ryomen’s lips. “Please daddy? Pretty please daddy,” Yuji begged. 

“Fine,” he sighed. Yuji cheered as he took his father’s hand, leading him to your table. 

Watching Ryomen Sukuna, a figure known for his massive and intimidating presence, sit cross-legged on the floor was a sight to behold. He was surprisingly gentle as he painted together with his son. This version of Ryomen contrasted sharply with his usual fierce demeanor.

This unexpected moment of tenderness was heartwarming. It took every ounce of restraint not to grab your phone and capture the scene before you.

“What,” Ryomen spat. “Do I have something on my face?”

Heat flooded your face as the tender moment came to an abrupt halt. You hadn’t even realized you were staring. Shaking your head, you said, “No. Sorry, sir.”

His lips moved into a smirk, eyes scanning your own work. “Tch. Yuji was right. You really can’t paint."

Like father like son.

What began as arts and crafts evolved into a movie as time passed. To your surprise, Ryomen chose to join in.

You had made a large bowl of popcorn for the three of you to share. You settled on one side of the couch while Ryomen took the other. About halfway through the movie, Yuji grew tired; it was well past his bedtime, so it was no surprise. He curled up on his side, his head resting on your lap and his feet touching his father's thigh.

As the end credits began rolling, you gently ran your fingers through Yuji's hair. "I guess it's bedtime," you whispered, turning your head to face Ryomen.

Your breath caught in your throat as you noted his intense stare. While there was no warmth in his features, something in his eyes hinted otherwise. “I should get Yuji to bed.”

“No,” he said firmly. You watched curiously as he stepped towards you, bending down to pluck Yuji from your embrace. “I’ll do it.”

You swallowed hard as you watched the two walk away before shaking yourself from the daze. There was still cleanup to do, and it seemed like a good distraction.

You were about halfway through washing the dishes when Ryomen walked in. “He’s in bed.”

“Good,” you spoke, not looking up. 

You expected him to leave, but to your surprise, he walked towards you, grabbed a rag, and began to dry the dishes. You started to protest, but Ryomen quickly hushed you, and a comfortable silence settled between you both.

It felt so domestic.

"Yuji seems happy," he spoke suddenly.

"He's a happy kid," you agree. "A good kid actually. He always wants to help everyone with everything."

"I don't know where he gets that from," Ryomen grunted as he dried the last dish. When you looked at each other, there was a heavy silence as your gazes met. Suddenly, Ryomen reached out, his warm hand cupping his cheek. His thumb delicately brushes under your eye. A surge of electricity coursed through you at the touch.

"You had paint." He pulled his hand back as he spoke but kept his gaze locked with yours. He moved closer to you, his warmth enveloping your body. You craved even more closeness from him, yearning for his touch and the chance to touch him in return. But just when you thought it might happen, he stepped away and cleared his throat. "It's getting late, you should probably get some rest."

"R-right," you agreed, embarrassed at your taboo thoughts. "Goodnight,".You quickly retreated to your bedroom, needing to create as much distance between yourself and Ryomen as possible.

Things changed after that night. Ryomen began to be around more, coming home occasionally in the evenings. Sometimes, he would join us for dinner or a movie. These visits were never planned; he would simply show up. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Yuji as happy as he is now. With each interaction, you see Ryomen in a new light. The man you once thought was intimidating now shows a softer side with his son.

During these times, Ryomen's attitude towards you shifted as well. It wasn't uncommon that you would spy his eyes on you, that devilish smirk gracing his lips. Or when you would pass him something, his touch would linger, leaving you wanting more. And when Yuji was put to bed, Ryomen would always come down and help you tidy up no matter how much you protested.

It seemed so natural.  

As the weeks went by and the seasons shifted, the fall play approached. Yuji proudly announced that he had been cast as the Big Bad Wolf. Yuji was over the moon about it, and the next time he saw his dad, Yuji made him a pinky promise that he would go see him perform.

A few nights before the play, you sat at the kitchen table, putting the finishing touches on Yuji’s costume for the next day while sipping wine. Ryomen had come home for dinner and taken over Yuji’s nighttime routine, for which you were very grateful.

“Yuji’s asleep,” Ryomen said as he entered the kitchen. You hummed in response, watching him grab a glass of whiskey before sitting opposite you. As he sipped his drink, you couldn’t help but secretly admire the man before you. Even in his relaxed state, his presence was hard to ignore. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table while holding his drink in one hand. “The costume looks good,” he remarked.

“It better,” you snorted. “I’ve been working on it long enough.”

He chuckled. “He’s really excited about this play.”

“That’s Yuji for you. Always excited and happy, one of the many things I’ve learned to love about the kid.” You sat back, holding up the costume proudly, “Finished!”

Ryomen whistled, “Guess we have reason to celebrate.” 

You put the costume aside as Ryomen tops off your glass of wine and pours himself another glass of whiskey. You raise a brow as you return to your seat. “So we are celebrating me finishing a costume?”

“Not just any costume, but the most amazing big bad wolf costume,” he emphasizes the words "big bad" as he leans closer to you, bringing his drink to his lips.

"It's late." You stand, a slight buzz from the wine. That was your signal that staying here would lead to nothing good, especially with the hungry eyes Ryomen was giving you. "I should go to bed."

Ryomen grabbed your wrist, giving you pause as you stared back at him. His eyes pleading. "Don't go."

It's unclear who made the first move, but suddenly, everything is happening at once. Feverish hands are roaming over your skin as clothes are hastily discarded, leaving you in only your underwear. Ryomen lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before placing you on the kitchen table.

His lips moved down your body, leaving a trail of kisses from your mouth to your chest. Ryomen pulls down your bra, exposing your perked nipples. As one hand twists and teases one nipple, his mouth eagerly latches onto the other. Your back arches as the sensation takes over your body. Your legs wrap around his waist, forcing his clothed cock to hit your aching core. Your need for release is overwhelming.

"Look at you, already desperate for my cock and I've barely touched you." Ryomen mumbled against your breast.

His lips trailed down your body, leaving a trail of hot kisses and marks in their wake. With each bite and lick, his hunger only grew more intense. He hooked his fingers into the fabric of your panties, pulling them down agonizingly slowly as a twisted smile spread across his face, seeming to enjoy the power he has over you. Subconsciously, you tried to close your legs, only for Ryomen to force them back open.

"Don't," he warned, giving your inner thigh a slap.

Ryomen’s gaze intensified as he took in the sight of you sprawled out on the kitchen table before him. To him, you were like a delicious feast waiting to be devoured. His fingers trailed down your legs, causing your skin to tingle with anticipation before reaching between your thighs. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers ran down your folds.

"So wet," he licked his lips before inserting one of his large fingers. "And tight."

Your head was enveloped in a thick fog as Ryomen’s finger pumped into you at an agonizingly slow pace. His gaze bore into your very soul, from your drenched sex to your trembling face. It was too much to handle; you had to avert your eyes before he consumed you completely.

He withdrew his finger, giving your clit a firm slap that elicited a yelp from your mouth. "Don't look away," he snarled. You turned back to face the man between your legs, his eyes burning.

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

Ryomen leans over you, his body pressing against yours as he stands. His hands are firmly planted on either side of your shoulders, and you can feel his clothed arousal rubbing against your own heat. A strangled moan escapes your lips at the sensation, causing you to instinctively grind yourself against him. His face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. "If you're going to apologize," he murmurs, "do it properly."

"I'm sorry, sir."

“Good girl.” Ryomen’s satisfied grin spread across his face as he drew back, his hand tracing a slow path back to your dripping core. But he granted you no relief, only teasing grazing your clit.

You try to remain calm, but your hands tightly grip the table's edge. You crave more; you desperately need more. "Please," you beg, body trembling. "Don't tease me, sir."

"Hm, you think you deserve more?"

You couldn't believe how desperate you sounded as you replied, "Yes please, I deserve more."

"Since you asked nicely."

He pushed two fingers into you, the sensation flooding your body with pure pleasure. With each powerful pump, his knuckle grazes against your throbbing clit, sending electric shocks through you. Meanwhile, his other hand moved toward your chest, playing with your sensitive nipples. You bite your lip, struggling to suppress the primal moans threatening to escape as the knot in your belly tightens.

You were on the edge of bliss when Ryomen withdrew his hands. Before you could protest, Ryomen listed you off the kitchen table and pressed you against the kitchen counter, Ryomen standing behind you. The rustle of his pants catches your attention, but before you can see what's happening, Ryomen pushes your head down. You uttered a small cry as your face and chest pressed against the cold marble surface.

His fat head is moved up and down your folds. You tilt your head a little, catching a glimpse of Ryomen’s member. "The only place you’re allowed to cum tonight in on my cock," he growls.

Ryomen's throbbing cock plunged deep into your core, igniting a primal fire within you. Your face contorted in ecstasy as Ryomen mercilessly pounded into you with a punishing pace, the force of each thrust causing your hips to slam into the counter you were being pressed against. Pleasure and pain merged into overwhelming bliss.

Ryomen's nails press into the soft flesh of your hips. He adjusts his position, raising you so your feet are no longer touching the ground. Your body responds eagerly to his touch, arching and writhing with each deliberate movement.

Ryomen grips a handful of your hair and pulls you up against his chest, pressing your back into him. He presses his lips into the shell of your ear. "Look at you, completely fucked out. Do you want to cum, my little pet?" His husky voice sends shivers down your spine.

"Yes." You gasped, "yes sir please."

He let go of your hair and stepped back, giving his hands full access to your throbbing clit. His fingers rubbed circles on it as he thrust into you more vigorously. Your screams of pleasure are uncontrollable as he hits depths within you that have never been touched before. You cling to the edge of the counter, your face buried into the crook of your arm, trying to muffle your lewd sounds.

Finally, you were pushed off the cliff. The force of your release almost unbearable as shockwaves rippled through your entire body, causing your cunt to spasm uncontrollably. Through the haze of pleasure, you could hear a string of curses escaping from Ryomen. Still, your mind was too occupied with the overwhelming sensations to process anything else. He continued to fuck you relentlessly, each thrust bringing you to tears from the overstimulation. But just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he gave a harsh thrust, fully pushing into you as you felt his warmth fill you.

You stayed in that position for a moment, feeling Ryomen pull out, his cum dripping down your leg.

Your legs felt weak, making you unsure if you could even stand. But before you could attempt it, Ryomen scooped you into his arms and headed towards the stairs with a mischievous smirk. "You didn't think I was finished with you?"

You felt the ache in your body as you woke up in Ryomen’s bed. The man had fulfilled his promise, and you had spent several hours in his bed before succumbing to exhaustion. The fog of lust and alcohol cleared, and reality hits you like a ton of bricks: you had slept with your boss. A wave of panic overcame you. You immediately slipped out of his bed, fearing his reaction if you had stayed until he awoke.

You sat on the edge of your bed, thoughts swirling about what would happen in the morning. Footsteps in the hallway made you sit up as fear gripped your heart. There was a knock at the door, and you held your breath, knowing who stood on the other side. "Y/n," his voice sounded uncertain.

Sliding off your bed, you moved towards the door, opening it just enough to see Ryomen. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. The hesitance etched on his face was not something you had seen from him before. "Good morning, sir."

"Listen," he rubbed the back of his neck. "About last night-"

"It was a mistake," you blurted without thinking. You didn't want to hear what he had to say, your heart aching at the list of potential things he would say. "I'm sorry; it was very unprofessional of me."

Ryomen's face twisted in pain, his fist clenched tight, knuckles white. "A mistake, right," he said. He turned to return to his room but paused. In an icy tone, he spoke, "Make sure to clean the kitchen before Yuji wakes up."

If it had been two days since you last spoke to him. Two days since you had slept with him. Now, here you sat alone, watching Yuji's play. No sign of Ryomen anywhere in the crowd.

As the final bows concluded, you noticed Yuji scanning the crowd with his eyes. They brightened when he spotted you, but his smile faded as he looked around you. You instantly realized he understood that his dad had broken his promise.

tag: @zezedoesshit

[justatypicalwizard]

Up and under | Jayce

Aracne Jayce x Zaun seamstress reader The relationship went up and under, missed chances and regrettable mistakes. If only Zaun and Piltover were not so very different places. After spending days in that pit Jayce understood that before the upcomming battle he has to make things right with you. Jayce and reader have history before the Arcane plot. This story follows the second season of Arcane but loosely. Word count: 3,5k

He really should have asked you to dance that night. Jayce thought to himself as he laid at the dark bottom, the hole he fell into. It must have been days, weeks even. His hair grew long and messy, beard scratched and muscles ached from the omnipresent cold. The broken bone was nearly mended, judging from his ability to walk.

Thrashing around the dirty floor for hours upon hours Jayce had time to think. It felt like He had never wondered before, not like that. Jayce Talis was hardly a man of overinterpreting and overthinking. He deemed himself sturdy and down to earth. Maybe if he ever took the time to properly gaze upon his doings he wouldn't be here now. Viktor wouldn't be corrupted by the hextech, Sky wouldn't be dead and the whole of Piltover wouldn't be a ruin. He could have been dancing with you, gold and silver lacing the summer night air.

It was hard to remember exactly what charity event they attended. One of the families must have been throwing a ball. It could have been related to academia, that would answer why the heck he was even there.

Jayce was standing in line, a few other men in front of him. There was a multitude of people present in one of the academia rooms that day. Fitting for tuxedos. It must have been connected to his whole year, maybe the whole academia even if so many students were gathered.

Shaking his head he sighed, it felt like ages ago, too far for his mind to stretch. Doesn't matter.

What he did remember was the line he was standing in compared to the queue for your measuring. You were there, a simple yet trustworthy bag on the desk, sewing supplies scattered all around as you were never the type to mind putting tools back on their place when working. Gold seeped through the vast windows bathing you and Viktor in a golden hue, supplying you with the natural light that was best for your work, that you didn't have back home.

Only Viktor, good old Viktor, chose to try on your tuxedo, the seamstress from Zaun. How could he not, the two of you knew each other somehow. At first Jayce thought it was the reason you were allowed into academia in the first place. Later he learned about your standing as a seamstress and a stylist. Back then he didn't give much thought to his mistake, you were a Zaunian after all. He should be ashamed.

The other stylists clicked their tongues and rolled their eyes at you, a dirty intruder in their clockwork golden world, a faulty gear. But after being pushed into a shirt with a lacy ruff squeezing his throat like a bad cold Jayce gazed with longing at your fresh and modern designs.

Viktor looked handsome, turning around slowly on his trustworthy cane. His shirt was white and seemed to be crafted with meticulous precision, from geometric pieces hugging the body of the wearer in every right way. Jayce huffed, looking back at his own yolk yellow shirt and making a mental note to ask Viktor about you later, when no one will be watching.

That's how Jayce knew the way to your workshop. It was not deep Zaun, not slums infected with The Grey nor junkie tent-cities. Yet, it was past the bridge, past what seemed socially acceptable in his cast.

Even now, when the city was half abandoned, everyone preparing for the upcoming battle, Jayce Talis b-lined his past self into your workshop. It looked different than years before. The sign was more devilish, fungi building up on the wood, the original color long gone, the edges daring to leave your fingers full of splinters. The glass was dirty and oily from the bad air. The entry door dark and unwelcoming, not even a flicker of light behind them. Jayce knew better than to turn around, he learned it that day.

Viktor gave him the directions that he followed, finding himself in front of a  small workshop. A hand-painted sign welcomed the patrons. With a little bit of hesitation he pushed the door open only to enter a nearly empty room. Apart from a few mannequins with rather odd looking dresses there was only dust hanging in the air. Jayce took a few steps forward and jumped in fear upon hearing someone's voice.

“What'cha lookin’ here for boy?” An old woman sat behind the counter. She was as still as a sculpture, easily overlooked as one of the mannequins. The tops of her white, rheumatic knuckles visible over the counter. She was clutching something under the surface.

In a peaceful manner Jayce raised his hands, slowly coming closer.

“I'm looking for a young seamstress. I need a tuxedo.” She looked Jayce up and down with a frown. “If I got the wrong address I'm sorry, I was following directions from a friend.”

“Friend who?” She pestered eying a stopwatch hanging from his pocket on a thin gold chain.

“One Viktor.” Jayce figured giving away his partner's surname to a shady Zaunian old lady most likely clutching a gun may not be the smartest idea. Instead he mimicked Viktor’s cane walk with an awkward smile.

“Down the stairs and to the right.” A clang could be heard from under the counter and a sigh left the man's lungs. As he passed the woman he saw her hungry gaze still zeroed in on the stopwatch. Jayce clutched it tighter descending the stairs.

Your head popped from under a pile of material, gaze surprised. Before you had time to ask who he was Jayce already stated his purpose. The short encounter with the old woman proved him not to test the limit of the Zaunian distrust.

“I'm here for a tuxedo.” He smiled, the atmosphere of the room lighter despite an even thicker density of dust in the air. 

“Of course.” You neared him with a measuring line but halted to gaze at the stopwatch on the thin golden chain. “On second thought, I may not have materials to your liking, sir.”

Sir. A transparent wall grew between you and him. The glint in your eye was gone, replaced with something sad.

“I can bring material, it's the design I'm more hung on honestly.” Somehow Jayce didn't want the fierceness of your gaze to drift away. He wanted to see it when you looked at him. Yet, you still didn't look sure, taking a step back and breaking your fingers. “Viktor said I should visit you, I asked who designed his set.” Maybe bringing forward a familiar name would melt the suddenly arisen tension. 

His small manipulation worked. You seemed to nod at the name, quickly shooting questions about how he knew Viktor. He briefed you on the whole academia buddies, charity event thing and soon he was taking his coat off to give you the measurements.

The dim lights were not the vast academia windows flooding you with sunlight. A cramped room full of scraps to repurpose didn't meet the standards of Piltover designer workshops. A nobody Zaunian seamstress was not a renowned stylist. Yet, Jayce Talis followed every move of your skilled fingers working on his scarcely clothed arms, admiring how small your palm looked in his.

He dragged his tired legs further into the workshop. The odd dresses merged into an odd pile of junk, mannequins arm or headless, scattered on the floor. The man pushed forward, descending the stairs. He'd love for the memories of flickering candlelight, dusty air and your little intimate space to take over him but Jayce Talis was never one to escape his mistakes. So he went forward, taking in the ruin of what was left of your workshop, of your life. These walls remember countless conversation, a multitude of moments spent together. Bits of memories when Jayce missed chance after chance for what might have changed his life.

“I want to make peoples' lives better.” He stated, unconsciously pushing his chest forward, swelling with pride. He was spending, yet another, evening in the underground of your little workshop, your little world. Lately, he could be spotted here rather often, for measuring of course. “Especially the most hard-working ones like the miners - ouch!” A pin scratched him under the shoulder blade. “Was that on purpose?” Jayce smiled, turning his head to the side to look at you, working the material on his back. “What will people think if I leave with so many scratches on my back? Ouch! This one was on purpose.”

“You're being very improper, sir.” You seemed to be controlling the transparent wall, putting it up and tearing down to your liking

“I'm sorry.” He let out a small laugh. “Shouldn't be talking like that to my friend's lady.”

“You got it all wrong.” Jayce crooked a brow at your denying. “Not all Zaunians date each other just because we know one another.”

The strong division between the under and upper city was a constant variable in the chemistry of your encounters. At that time Jayce thought it was something natural, just as the world spinned, just as day came after night, Zaun and Piltover were opposites. Only later did he realise, it was his prejudice that inflicted this schema, that evoked such a defensive mechanism in you.

“Oh.” He breathed, a tint of pink dusting his cheeks at the thought of you possibly being open for options. He caught you peeking a look at him but you turned around.

“So, miners you were saying.”

“Yes.” Coughing awkwardly, he gathered his thoughts. “Just think about all the inventions that could make their work easier. Shorter shifts with the same level of efficiency, less physical labour per hour, safer work environment. With new technology I - I mean we could make Zaun a…” He stopped, red flashing his cheeks. Once again he let his stupid tongue lap uncontrolled.

“A better place.” You defleated like a hot-air balloon after all the tourists were done with their ride. “You don't need to hide your feelings about this place. I'm used to this.” There was a bite towards the end of your words. Used but they still hurt.

“Well, you shouldn't be used to them. Zaun should be just as good a place to live as Piltover.” Then, Jayce really thought so. He looked at Viktor and he wanted the next generations of children to live a better childhood. He looked at you and wished for all the women in the undercity to feel safe and not have to keep guns under the counter of their small workshops. What he didn't see was that it might not have been an issue with Zaun only, rather the exclusivity of Piltover.

“It doesn't matter, really.” The smile was back on your face. More pins poking out of a small pillow strapped onto your wrist. Precisely cut out pieces of fabric in your fingers as you approached him with a soft look on your face. “Stay still.”

Jayce watched as you pinned the back and the front of his shirt together. You worked over his shoulders, the front of his chest, his belly area. You were close, inspecting what would soon be seams, calculating where to put them to squeeze out all the handsomeness he had to offer.

“Look up.” You commanded, putting a finger under his chin to tilt it upwards. Yet, he still looked down as your fingers worked the collar around his neck.

If he would move his head back down Jayce could meet you halfway. It was tempting, he remembered that feeling very well. His fingers itched, hands laying useless on his knees. He wanted to put them around your waist, put his lips to yours. It would be wonderful. Jayce Talis knew he had a small crush on you, a sweet little nothing. Yet, he could change that. Undoubtedly, if he grabbed you here and now, kissed you and told you how pretty you looked when focusing, his crush wouldn't stay a little nothing. It would be hard to stop it if it started. You could do it, here in the workshop. Or he could take you back to his place.

Jayce saw a scar on your forehead, faint enough to go unnoticed unless you moved very close, like he was now. What happened? Did you fall while playing as a child? Did you hit your head in the cramped space that was your workshop? Did someone do this to you? Did Zaun happen?

It was just a goddamned mark on the hairline. You might as well have been born with it, but for some reason the past Jayce felt like this was the hill he would die on.

“A - are you done?” His eyes darted upwards. You caught him red handed as he stared at you and for some time, you also stared at him. Yet, his comment made you both back away.

You nodded, patting your sides, walking away to supposedly look at something in your sketchbook.

What was he thinking? Jayce was from Piltover, a promising inventor coming from a renowned branch of academia. He worked for his success so hard and just now he wanted to get entangled with a Zaun girl just because she came close to his face.

Jayce Talis forgot he had a crush on you, he forgot all the moments he admired your skill, humuor, and person. He scolded himself for thinking with the wrong part of his body.

You guided him to a tall mirror. It was dusty but when Jayce looked into it a handsome man stared back. The clothes on his body looked fantastic, it would only take a good pair of trousers and elegant shoes to make him look like one of the most important people of Piltover. In the back he saw you, breaking your fingers.

“It's perfect.” He said.

That night Jayce left with many regrets, balancing which ones were greater - the missed chance to kiss you or the fact that he nearly jeopardized his own career with a scandal.

He never ever anticipated that Viktor of all people would get interested in his love life. As they met at the academia, moments before entering the charity event, the partners talked.

“I see that you took my advice on a seamstress.” Viktor smiled softly as only he knew how. Both of their outfits, despite obvious differences, held similarities of design. Jayce nodded and wanted to add something but Viktor continued. “You know, I asked her here tonight. Did you bring a pair?”

The other man's eyes widened. Bringing a pair to the ball was not necessary but rather a social norm, unless one was looking for a fiance. Now the ton would think he is either awkward or open for marriage.

“Now this will look funny, me with a lady and you without one.”

It was tough to stay together, the amount of patrons looking for a conversation with the promising inventors overflowing. Jayce glowed between them, starving for the attention. The world was gold with dresses and clocks, tuxedos and flowers, expensive champagne and microscopic dishes. The moon bathed the open terrace with a silvery hue. It felt like hours and millions of polite conversations later when Jayce bumped into Viktor and you.

Of course your dress was perfect. It was hand sewn by you yourself. It hugged you in all the right places, bringing out your beauty. Tonight you didn't look like a girl from the undercity. Yet, there was something off. Like a chameleon you merged with the crowd but it only took a few steps closer to see something was wrong. It may have been the cheapness of the fabric that you crafted your dress from. Obviously you wouldn't have the money to buy equally soft and luxurious material as the one Jayce brought to your workshop days ago. Or your hair, too roughly cut for a Piltover lady. The fact that you looked a bit lost, clutching onto Viktor's arm as if he was a lighthouse amidst a storm. Maybe that's why people left you alone.

You asked for a moment so Viktor promised to wait for you. In the meantime he turned to Jayce.

“Busy night, isn't it?” He started, visibly tired, relying on his cane more and more.

“Yes.” Jayce nodded, whipping his head around to see if anyone else wished to talk to him.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Viktor might have as well grown another head, from how surprised Jayce looked. “You see, I'm not much of a dancer as you could guess.” He tapped the tiled floor with his cane. “Would you mind taking her to the dancefloor, only once. I saw how she looked at the other pairs.”

Viktor wanted him to dance with you. Dance, keep you close while twirling around. Put a hand on your waist and look into your eyes. Lead you into the curious crowd. He was ready to say yes and a split second from running away from his friend. The thought of dancing with you didn't even cross his mind that was too occupied with the opulence of the night. Now, when Viktor planted the image, he couldn't stop his mind from running.

“Hello.” You greeted him politely, coming back from the ladies room. Jayce looked at you and nearly melted like the ice statue some person of doubtful intelligence thought of bringing tonight.

“So?” Viktor pushed, stepping closer, leaning into Jayce's ear so that only he would hear him. “She really likes you.”

There was hope in Viktor's eyes, hope for Jayce being smarter than stereotypes. As a Zaunian himself Viktor knew what it meant to get your strings cut when someone learned about your place of birth, how it felt to get judged solely on the basis of upper or undercity. That's why he hoped that Jayce could put aside such artificial prejudice. Unfortunately Viktor was wrong, it would take years for Jayce to understand his mistake.

“I should really get going, the patrons won't wait for me unless I catch them.” He smiled awkwardly nodding his head at you and turned in his heel to merge into the crowd.

“I see.” Viktor whispered, squeezing your palm just as disappointment squeezed his heart.

For the rest of the night Jayce Talis felt like suffocating. Nothing was the same, the conversations were off, the lights were too bright, the alcohol too light. He blamed it on the late hour, he must have been tired after spending the whole day running around the academia. He really didn't want to admit that what he felt was shame and guilt.

After the ball night Jayce only saw you amongst others. You merged with the background of what created Viktor’s person and stayed there. Only after spending days at the pit bottom of a ruined Piltover Jayce accepted his feelings. They never really died out, he pushed them down his throat forcefully and pretended you never existed. Then came his career that filled in the hole. Later came Mel - a trophy that made him swell with pride. Such a powerful woman chose him out of everyone. Maybe if he wasn't so handsome he would grow out smarter.

After coming back to Piltover Jayce wanted to close many chapters in his book, afraid that soon fate will most likely cut his story short. He wanted to make his wrongs right, to die with a consciousness even only slightly lighter than what he felt now. So he knew he had to find you, to tell you the truth.

It took him past the workshop, past the counter and down the stairs into the room once packed with fabric and sketchbooks. Now it was a ghost town. You most likely gave away everything that you had to aid the upcoming battle. Were you even here? You could as well take the hexgate to a better place, find a new workshop, get a new life, new friends and a new man, one that would be honest with you. Yet, something inside him told Jayce he would find you here, and he did.

Your head emerged from under one of the empty desks. You hid upon hearing someone descend the stairs, but you came out when you saw him. So still, after all these years the betrayed girl from Zaun trusted Jayce Talis.

“Jayce?”

It was a rhetorical question, nonetheless one very appropriate. He looked so different. His hair grew out, he had a beard and a sharp look on his features, nothing like the charismatic, warm inventor-boy. Carrying the hammer, heavy like his guilt, made Jayce bigger, more manly and sturdy, more closed and reserved.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“What are you doing here?” He might as well reverse the question. You should be long gone, not carry his mistakes and risk your life in this burning hole.

“I couldn't leave.” There was anger on your tired face. Jayce always knew what to say to sour your mood.

“Then I guess fate gave me another chance to make things clear.” He said more to himself than to you.

You did not understand his words. You did not understand when he came closer. You did not understand when he sank above you, the guilt and burden bringing his shoulders down.

“I'm sorry.”

Jayce said and kissed you, wishing for all that he meant to echo through his lips. It must have, because you put your palms on his cheeks and pushed into his chest showing that there was still one last person in all of the world who wanted him.

[occamstfs]

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air. 

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.” 

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears. 

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole. 

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right? 

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control. 

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom. 

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view. 

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent. 

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at. 

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

[teliphone]

Neighbors Daughter

Summary: You’re a young adult, a first-time New York Best Seller book writer. This achievement makes you itch to write more, but no significant idea comes to mind. You believe it’s due to the lack of experience. Your hometown is too simple. So, you moved to a new small neighborhood in hopes that the new scenery would bring ideas against your writer's block. Your neighbor's strange family lifestyle piques your interest, especially their daughter. A little sick and twisted, you pick up your pen to start jotting ideas for your new book. 

Warning(s): Smut, Stalking, Peeking Tom, Voyeurism, Fingering

Word Count: 4.9K

-

The box filled with your journals slips from your fingers and falls onto the concrete ground. You grunt and puff your hair away from your face. You ready yourself and bend down to pick up the box again.  You didn’t realize how heavy a box can feel when filled with just notebooks. You follow the pathway and into the doors of your new house in a hurry. Once finally reaching the wooden floors, you drop the box down. You decide to sit on top of the box to take a breather. You’ve been moving heavy boxes into your new house for three hours now. Starting from picking the boxes from your old apartment, to making multiple car trips, til now, where you have finally dropped the last box.

You glance around your home entrance with a small smile on your lips. Multiple boxes lay around and you feel like it’s going to take a while to unload. You do not mind though, you feel like you’re going to love your new living area. You turn your head to look out the door. Your new neighborhood is small and uniform. Every yard has perfectly cut and bright green grass. Every car is polished. Every porch has chairs that feel “welcoming”. This neighbor is something straight out of the movies. It’s a little eerie, but you feel like this setting is the perfect atmosphere to start writing.

As you are observing outside, a bright red Jeep car drives by. It grabs your attention when you notice it turning into the house in front of you. Your new neighbor! You lean your body forward in an attempt to get a better look. You can hear the bass booming from the car. The car engine stops and the music starts to lower. The side door swings open and a young woman steps out. She has a white dress on. Her silky black hair is in a perfect long braid. She looks elegant and innocent. She turns her body back to the car and bends in to grab something. The bottom of her dress lifts a little, exposing her white thighs. You feel a wave of envy as you stare at your new neighbor's perfect-tone body. She straightens up and swings her purse across her shoulders. She reaches to touch the top car door and swings it close. As it shuts, she peers below her hair bangs, and makes eye contact with you. She seems a little shocked. She didn’t realize how soon the house across from her got moved in. You give her a wave, to show a friendly neighbor attitude. She gives back a timid wave and hurries into her house. Your eyebrows furrow at the response. Her behavior was odd. You turn your attention back to the boxes lying all around your floor. You suck in a deep breath and prepared yourself to get to work.

You have finally settled in. Everything you brought is in their designated location. It’s currently 10 am the next day. You take a seat at the kitchen table where your personal writing laptop is. You bring a water glass cup up to your lips. After a few full gulps, you sit the cup down. You turn your attention to the laptop screen. An empty Word document showing clear evidence of writer's block. Your fingers pause on the keyboard. You sigh and turn your head to stare out at the window to examine your neighbor's house. The girls' red car was still parked in front. You haven’t seen the girl's parents yet. Curiosity begins to stir. You want to make new friends, but especially the family in front of you. How many people live there? What do their house decorations look like? Do the parents actually love each other? 

Your fingers click on a search bar. You type “what to bring to your new neighbor as a friendly gesture”. After a few scrolls, you figure out what to do. 

You make sure you look good. Practicing how to smile and what to say. A perfectly baked pie lays on top of your hand. This should be the way to make friends. You leave through your front door, not bothering to lock it. Nervousness pumps in your veins as you walk across the street. You quickly glance at the red car. The inside of the car is too clean, almost as if this is a brand-new car. You look away. Your hands curl into a fist and give the door a good few knocks. You wait, feeling anxious with each second that passes. The door doesn’t open after a minute and embarrassment creeps up your neck. 

“No, there should be people at home,” you think to yourself. You give the door another knock, but this time more firm. Suddenly the door swings open revealing a man about forty to fifty years old. His hair and beard are perfectly groomed. He has on a simple white tee and blue jeans revealing a muscular body underneath. He towers over you due to his height. 

“Hello?” He says unsure. His voice is deep and dry. You quickly blink yourself into action as you lick your lips. With two hands under the pie, you gently push it forward. He stares at it, not moving yet. 

“Hello, I’m Y/n. I just moved into the house across your street and I was hoping-“

“Who is it, honey?” A mature woman with red lipstick appears next to the man. She brings her hands up to rest on his chest. You peek at the ring on her finger. She seems to be around her late thirties. Her visuals make you choke up. She is alluring and sensual. She is wearing a red blouse and black pants. Her hair is perfectly curled. She stares at you between her long lashes. She gives you a friendly smile, but you can feel a slight facade. 

“This is our new neighbor that moved into the house in front of us,” The husband explains. Her eyes widen in surprise. She smiles widely, showing off her perfectly straight teeth. 

“Oh my! I was wondering who got the privilege to move in!” She beams.

‘Privilege? That’s an odd way to say it,’ you think. 

“Did you move in with a husband? Boyfriend?” She questions. A blush appears on your cheeks. You are single. 

“No. I live alone,” You answer. You understand why she asked that. The house you moved in is big enough for a small family and yet you live alone. Silence coats the air. They stare at you with a small smile expression. You can tell they are wondering how you could individually afford it. You didn’t feel the need to reveal more information to them. 

“I am here to introduce myself. I’m hoping to become friends with my new neighbors. I brought you guys homemade pie,” You beam. It is not homemade pie, you bought it several minutes ago at a nearby bakery store. You wanted to play it safe. The wife stares at the pitiful pie that is still in your hands. 

“Thank you! That’s so thoughtful of you…. What flavor is it?” She asks not budging a muscle. You feel dumbfounded. What flavor? Normally, friendly people would just accept it with no question. She catches my silence and straightens her back.

“My apologies. I’m just asking because my daughter is allergic to certain fruits,” She explains with a smile. You feel lies lanced in her statement. But maybe she is being truthful. 

“Apple pie,” You confirm, doubt creeping in. You researched what is the most popular pie and apple pie was the answer. This can’t fail, right? 

“Sorry, our family does not like-“

“I like apple pies,” a soft voice cuts in. Her. The daughter. She’s even more pretty up close. She appears out of nowhere catching you off guard. Your eyes flicker over her features. Her eyes are so soft and calm as they stare back at you. Her plump lips are glossy pink. She’s in blue shorts and a tight black tee. She’s more tall than you expected from seeing her far away. You can finally see all the family members standing next to each other. They are all so beautiful and handsome. The perfect textbook family. You feel so little and unfortunate next to them. 

“Hi, I’m Wonyoung,” She smiles. Before you can say anything back, she brings her hands out to grab the poor apple pie. Her fingertips gently brush against yours. She lifts the apple pie up to her nose and sniffs it. She lets out a soft hum of approval. You feel yourself gaining confidence again. Your lips curl up into a small smile. 

“We are sorry to inform you, but we have plans and we must be on our way. It was nice meeting you…” The husband pauses. He looks at you with an expression of confusion. He already forgot your name. 

“Y/n,” You remind. You glance at Wonyoung who gives you an apologetic look. 

“Ah yes. Thank you for the pie, Y/n. The Jang family welcomes you to the neighborhood,” The husband finishes. 

“Thank you! I hope to meet you all again at a good time,” You turn to leave their porch ground. You hear the door shut behind you and you let out a sigh. You feel like this interaction wasn’t the best. But your heart feels warm that Wonyoung accepted the pie. You smile and cross the street back to your house. 

From behind the doors of the Jang family, Mrs. Jang takes the pie from Wonyoung’s hand.

“Why would you accept this pie? You know our house does not eat these types of sweets,” She grimaces in disgust. She examines the pie as if it were a bug. 

“I was just being nice. She baked it just for us. The least we can do is accept it,” Wonyoung explains, shrugging her shoulders. She watches her mom dump the pie into the trash can. She dislikes how strict her mother is when it comes to food. She rolls her eyes and plops herself on the couch. She pulls out her phone to go through her social media. Mrs. Jang and Mr. Jang prepare to leave. 

“We are going to be gone for a while. Don’t stay out too late. Don’t do anything stupid,” Mrs. Jang warns as she puts on her jacket. Wonyoung hums, not looking up from her phone screen. She hears the door click behind her and the house is silent again. Her eyes linger towards the trashcan where the pie lays. She starts thinking about you. She remembers the way your face expressed pure joy as she accepted the pie. A smile appears on her lips. 

“Poor girl. She doesn’t know how toxic my family is,” She whispers to herself. She returns her attention to her phone. She sends out a message to her friends to see if anyone is free for lunch. 

-

Several days go by and you are sitting by the opened window with your journal in your lap. This summer has reached one of its highest heat. You can feel your face starting to sweat, but luckily there is a light breeze that comes by a few times. You stare at the house in front of you again. It has become a routine. You mentally take note of what time each family member leaves and comes back. Mrs. Jang leaves early in the morning and comes back in late afternoon. Mr. Jang leaves around the same time as Mrs. Jang but arrives late at night. For Wonyoung, her routine is interesting. There is not a constant pattern. She leaves whenever and comes home whenever she wants. You start to wonder what she does during her day-to-day life. It seems like she has no job and would rather spend time with her friends. 

A sudden movement from the house catches your attention. A window that usually has its curtains closed is suddenly opened. You narrow your eyes to make out the figure behind the window. It's a slim figure wearing a white cropped top, trying to yank the window open. You realize you’re staring into Wonyoungs’ window. The heat must have finally gotten to her which is why she is opening the window. She successfully opens it and returns to her vanity. She puts her hands into her hair and runs it into a high ponytail. You can’t believe how easy it is to look into her room. It’s not your fault… her window is just so big. You watch her put on white headphones and turn on her computer. You examine how straight her posture is and how she slightly fans herself with her hands. You start to wish you could hear her. Is she complaining about the heat? What song does she like to hear? What mood is she in? She slides her hand down her neck. You click your pen and start writing ideas. Ideas where the main character is looking a lot like Wonyoung. The main character in your next book. You struggle to figure out if you should make the character sweet or bratty. This won’t work. You need to know her more. 

-

You walk past the Jang family house and see Mrs. Jang struggling to bring all her groceries in. Of course, you are quick to offer help. One reason: you are being nice and friendly. Two: you will be able to enter their house and look at their layout… but they don’t need to know the second reason. 

“Would you like some help?” You call out, approaching her from behind. She gets taken by surprise and nearly drops the bag, but you are quick to reach the bottom of the bag. You look up to see how close her face is to yours.

“It’s okay dear. I can handle this,” She laughs it off. You shake your head, refusing to take a no. 

“I know you are more than capable enough to do this alone, but please allow me to help,” You give her a sweet smile. She stares at you in shock at how nice you are. Her guard visibility lowers and she lets out a gentle sigh. 

“Okay… Thank you Y/n. Just these two bags,” She instructs. You feel pride soar in your heart from hearing her say your name. She remembers! You lift the two bags and secretly gasp at how heavy they are. You peek into the bag to see all the fresh produce. Very healthy food choices. 

“I see you're making dinner tonight,” You decide to start a small conversation as you walk behind her. She laughs again and pushes the front door open. You didn’t hear her response. You were too busy analyzing the interior. Everything is white, polished, sparkly, and clean. There are a few family pictures hung up. You look at the frames closer and note how the father is always in the middle, the wife is to the right and Wonyoung is to the left. You look around more to conclude the lack of comfort or character. Everything is too perfect and… bland?

“You can place the bags on this table here,” Mrs. Jang says. You place the bags onto the white marble table and look out to their backyard. There is a swimming pool which causes you to widen your eyes. There is no swimming pool in yours. They must have installed that after moving in. As you stare at the water you notice a figure floating. You gulp. Wonyoung is floating on a tube with her eyes shut in relaxation. She is wearing a white two-piece which reveals her milky-tone body. Her hair is wet and it sticks against her skin. She has a pleasing smile on her lips. 

“I see you noticed our pool,” Mrs. Jang brings you back. You snap your neck to her with an innocent smile. You hope she didn’t notice you eyeing her daughter. 

“Y-yes I did. It’s amazing… I wish my house had one,” You slightly giggle. She hums and walks to the backyard door to slide it open.

“Come here and check it out. I love to brag about this pool to my guests. Oh and my daughter is currently in there, but that's okay. We’re all women here,” She chuckles. She walks out and you follow behind. 

“This pool took about…” Mrs. Jang continues talking but you were busy analyzing Wonyoung. She opens her right eye to peek at who ruined her peace. She was about to complain to her mom til she made eye contact with you. She rolls off the tube and into the cool water. She swims up and lifts her head above the water. Her wet black hair is perfectly silked behind her back. She walks to the edge of the pool and rests her arms there. She stares deep into your eyes between her long lashes. 

“Mom…” She complains, “You didn’t warn me that we had a guest,”

“It’s fine. Y/n is here to look at the beautiful pool I installed,” Mrs. Jang explains. You nod your head to seem nonchalant. 

“Sure…” Wonyoung hums with a tint of teasing. She rests her chin on her arms, not looking away from you. You become nervous, nearly tripping over a chair. She softly laughs while biting her bottom plump lip. 

“Oh shoot! I left my iced coffee in the car. It’s probably melting so fast in this heat. I will be right back!” Mrs. Jang gasps and rushes out. This leaves you awkwardly standing still with Wonyoung staring. She pushes herself by the edge to go deeper into the pool. She picks up a beach ball and gently plays with it. She bumps it back and forth between her hands.

“So… you’re Y/n right?” She starts. You try not to smile but fail. For obvious reasons, hearing her remember your name is much better than hearing it from Mrs. Jang. With confidence, you walked over to sit at the edge of the pool. Wonyoung finds you more interesting and drops the beach ball. She walks against the water til she is underneath your gaze.

“Yes…You’re Wonyoung right?” You lie as if you don’t remember. She cutely tilts her head to the side. She playfully narrows her eyes at you. She lifts her finger and pokes your leg. Such a small touch, but it makes you blush. 

“Yes. Jang Wonyoung. Drill that into your head,” She pouts. You couldn’t help but giggle at her cuteness. 

“How do you like the new neighborhood so far… enjoying the view?” She asks with a low voice. There’s a slight glint in her eyes. You furrow your eyebrows. You didn’t quite understand the deeper meaning of her tone. Suddenly Mrs. Jang returns, stopping the conversation. You turn your attention to her and Wonyoung secretly rolls her eyes. Her mom ruined the fun. She goes back to playing with the beach ball. 

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” Mrs. Jang apologizes.

“No, it’s okay,” You smile. From the side of you, you can hear Wonyoung getting out of the pool and it took every muscle in you not to look. Mrs. Jang looks at her watch and lets out a gasp. 

“Goodness! It’s getting a bit late. I need to start preparing for dinner,” She hints for you to leave. 

“I understand. Thank you so much for allowing me to see your beautiful pool,” You thank, taking a step forward to the screen doors.

“I think we should invite Y/n for dinner,” Wonyoung beams. You turn your head to look at her. Your eyes secretly look to see her body wrapped in a white towel while you wave your hands timidly. 

“No, that's okay. I really don’t want to bother your guy's family time,” You reject. She frowns and glares at you. She doesn’t take no for an answer. She looks at her mom with a desperate plea. She picks up the cue. 

“I agree with my daughter. You helped me earlier and as a thank you, I would love to invite you for dinner,” Mrs. Jang convinces you. You think about how this would be the perfect opportunity to make friends and study them. 

“In that case… I would love to take your offer,” You admit. Wonyoung smiles brightly as she plays with the heel of her foot. Mrs. Jang states at her wristwatch again. 

“I believe dinner will be ready in about an hour. You should head home and come back after an hour-“

“I can text you to come when dinner is ready” Wonyoung chirps in. She brings out her hand in front of you. Her eyes curve into a crescent moon. You stare at her hand like a fool. Your mind races. Is she asking for your phone number? 

“…Your phone?” She hints. Bingo. You quickly reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. Once you unlock the phone, you hand it over to her. You watch her quickly type down her number and shoot herself a text. Her thumb is moving fast. She lifts her head and gives you another charming smile. 

“There. Look forward to my text,” She bubbles as she hands your phone back. You stare at your screen. She placed her contact name as normal. Jang Wonyoung. But the message she sent made your cheek turn red. 

Neighbors Daughter

You love the sound of it. You definitely will be adding this to the book you’re currently writing.

-

The text Wonyoung sent wasn’t crazy. A simple “Dinners ready. You can come now” was all she sent. So here you are, sitting at the dinner table with the Jang family. You try to be polite and have manners as much as possible. You sit in front of Mrs. Jang while she sits next to her husband. Wonyoung sits to your left. It sucks how you can’t really see what she’s doing. From your peripheral vision, you can see her slightly poking her food with the fork. Mrs. Jang takes a sip of her wine and gently places it back down. 

“You are quite young. How did you manage to get a house on your own? What’s your job?” She starts the conversation. It is clear that she is very interested to know you. You swallow the food in your mouth and take a sip of water. 

“I am a writer,” You reveal. The parents stare at you and Wonyoung stops poking her food. Mr. Jang places his fork down. He clears his throat. 

“I’m sorry if I sound harsh but I didn’t think writers make enough money to get a house in this neighborhood,” He chimes in. You let out a soft laugh. You get that a lot and honestly, you are surprised too. 

“I am not offended. I started by writing a lot for many popular websites, almost like a journalist. Later I decided to start writing books. I’ve released a couple so far…” You start to linger off. You didn’t want to brag about the successes you received from the books. The sales from the books are the reason you were able to afford the house. This stirs Wonyoung interest. 

“How do you find a subject to write about?” She questions. You turn your head slightly to look at her and she copies. Her bangs look really cute. 

“I find things that interest me,” You answer honestly. The corner of her lips turns up as she slowly nods her head. 

“If you ever need help with finding something to write about… I want to help. I have many ideas,” She says. She slowly blinks while you stare at her. Her characteristic is just so hypnotizing. How can you write her into words? You fear your main character can’t capture the real charms of Wonyoung. 

“Thank you. I would love the help,” You agree. She is the first to break eye contact and returns to playing with her food.

“You must be successful,” Mrs. Jang adds. She takes another sip of her wine. You awkwardly laugh, not agreeing or disagreeing. The rest of the dinner continues as normal. You take note of each person's characteristics. Mr. Jang rarely talks and keeps to himself. He tends to stare. Mrs. Jang loves to talk about anything and took up most of the conversation. She’s expressive with her facial. Wonyoung adds to the conversation when she wants to. She’s very gentle with how she eats and speaks. She likes to take small bites. Whenever you said something she found funny, she would cover her mouth while laughing. It fills you with so much joy that she finds you hilarious. 

Dinner ends and you can’t stop thanking Mrs. Jang for the meal. It was nice to have a home meal from someone else other than yourself. It has been a while. Mrs. Jang tells you how nice it was to have you as company and orders Wonyoung to walk you to the door. Wonyoung leans against the door frame with her arms crossed against her chest. Her perfectly curled hair rests on her right shoulder. You shyly give her a goodbye wave.

“Good night Y/n,” She hums. 

-

That night you couldn’t sleep. You roll over to your phone and tap the screen. It’s 1:45 am. You sigh and sit up from your bed. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t sleep. You decide to get up and get a cup of water. As you stand up, you get distracted by a light coming from the Jang family’s house. It’s Wonyoungs’ room. Her curtains are pushed to the side revealing her whole room again. You furrow your eyebrows.

“What is she doing this late at night?” You think to yourself. 

You walk closer to your window to stalk her. There’s no way she could see you. Your room is dark. Wonyoung lifts her shirt above her head and your heart stops. Her long hair drops past her shoulders as she lowers herself to take off her shorts. This is wrong. You shouldn’t watch, but you couldn’t take your eyes off her.  

She observes her body in the mirror. She turns her body around, slowly sliding her hands across her smooth skin. Her rear is facing the mirror. She turns her head to watch. She sticks her butt out as she bends over. Her finger hooks on the hem of her panties and she tugs it down. Her eyes are heavy and she bites her bottom lip. Your breathing becomes shaky. You take a seat by the window and open your journal. You start jotting down notes. Wonyoung smiles cheekily at herself and turns around to face the mirror. You study how she lets out a laugh as she unclasps her bra. She pulls her bra off and tosses it to the side. She cups her boobs and squeezes it. Her thumb rubs against her nipples as she plays with her chest. Her head tilts back slightly and her mouth opens revealing a moan. She stares at herself a little more before she has had enough of teasing herself. She walks to her bed and lays down. You watch as she runs her fingers across her lower stomach. She lifts her legs and spreads them apart. You feel your body starting to heat up. One of her hands grazes her neck while her other hand starts playing with her cunt. Her middle finger rubs her clit which causes her to gasp. 

You squeeze your thighs together and grip your pen. You are getting turned on by just watching her. She swirls her clit for a couple of minutes before she inserts a finger into her wet cunt. It causes her to arch her back. She feels the silky wet substance coat her digits. You suck in a deep shaky breath. You can feel your cunt pulsing and clenching painfully.

She increases her speed and a few cute moans spill out. She had to cover her mouth with the back of her free hand so that her parents couldn’t hear her. Her hair starts to stick against her forehead. She pants hard, her chest going up and down. Her cunt chases after her own two fingers. She tilts her head back as she forces her fingers to go deeper. She then curls her finger to hit her gummy walls. Her legs shake as she feels herself getting close. Your handwriting against your journal starts to get more sloppy. She lets out a soft cuss and a dirty laugh. She feels too good. She goes a little faster and harsher with her fingers. After a few more deep thrusts she reaches her high. Her mouth gapes open and she lets out an embarrassing squeal. She immediately shuts her mouth with her free hand as she twitches against the other. You nearly came in your pants when watching her orgasm. You shift uncomfortably against your seat. You blush from feeling the wetness in your cunt. 

Wonyoung gets out of her high and takes her fingers out. She lifts it into the air and examines how her juice coats her two fingers. She chuckles and rolls off the bed. She disappears and you assume she went to the bathroom to clean herself. 

You lower your head into your head. You feel so dirty and guilty. You toss your journal aside and return to your bed. Shoving your face against your pillow, you silently replay the scene again. Suddenly your phone buzzes. You lift your head and expand your hand to search for your phone. Once you feel the cold surface you bring it to your face. It was a text message from Jang Wonyoung.

“I hope that gave you more ideas to write”

[cailinsblog]

Café Moments | Quinn hughes

Quinn hughes x reader

Super cute and long just for you guys!

Masterlist

Quinn Hughes had heard all about Vancouver’s charm, but it wasn’t until he found himself on the ice against his brother, Jack, that he truly got to experience the city. Jack had been raving about a little café he’d discovered one morning before a game—a small, family-run spot tucked away on a quiet street.

“You’ve got to check it out, Q,” Jack had said over the phone the night before. “It’s cozy, good coffee, and the best part? There’s this really cute barista. You’ll love it.”

Quinn chuckled, knowing his brother’s love for a good cup of coffee—and the cute barista wasn’t a bad bonus either. But Quinn had been focused on the upcoming game. He didn’t have much time for distractions. Still, after his team’s practice the next day, he decided to take a walk around the city, just to clear his head before the big match. And Jack’s café recommendation was still lingering in his mind.

The little café was nestled in a quiet corner of the city, away from the usual tourist spots. When Quinn walked in, he noticed the warm, inviting atmosphere—old wooden tables, soft lighting, and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee filling the air. There was an elderly couple sitting at a table by the window, chatting quietly as they sipped their drinks, creating an aura of comfort that was rare to find in a city full of hustle.

And then, there was *her*.

Behind the counter, a beautiful girl stood, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing glasses that framed her face perfectly. She had on a work apron with the café’s logo, a simple design of a steaming cup of coffee and a swirl of cream, that added to her effortless charm. She was focused, stirring something in a cup, but when Quinn approached the counter, she looked up. Her eyes met his, and for a second, the bustling café seemed to fade into the background.

“Hi, are you ready to order?” she asked, her voice soft and warm as she gazed at him through her lashes. There was a slight hint of curiosity in her smile, as if she was used to customers but maybe not one who looked like a hockey player.

Quinn blinked for a moment, still processing how pretty she was. He quickly shook himself out of it and cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll take an iced coffee with caramel,” he said, his voice coming out a bit more casually than he meant. He couldn’t help but glance at her, a little flustered by the instant connection he felt.

She gave him a smile, nodding. “Okay, great. Would that be all?”

Quinn hesitated for a moment, wanting to keep talking. There was something about her—something that made him want to know more. He leaned in slightly, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“What’s your name?” he asked, before realizing how forward that might have sounded.

She raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m Y/N,” she said, then added, “What about you?”

“Quinn,” he replied, his nerves fading slightly as he relaxed into the conversation. He was so used to being recognized for his hockey career, but in this moment, Y/N didn’t seem fazed by who he was. She was just... *Y/N*, and he liked that. A lot.

“Well, Quinn, your iced coffee will be ready in just a minute,” Y/N said, her tone light and friendly. She busied herself with his order, and for a moment, Quinn just stood there, watching her with a smile.

He had so many questions—about the café, about her, about how someone as charming as her ended up working here—but before he could think of what to say next, another customer walked in. Y/N greeted them, her attention shifting away from him, and Quinn realized that he had been caught up in the moment more than he had realized. He should’ve asked for her number, but before he could work up the courage, his iced coffee was ready, and he found himself reaching for it, a little disappointed.

“Thanks,” Quinn said, giving her a smile. “I’ll, uh, see you around.”

Y/N smiled back, her eyes twinkling. “Enjoy your coffee, Quinn.”

He turned and left, walking back down the street, but the encounter lingered in his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it had felt to talk to her, how natural everything had been, even though they were complete strangers. But he’d forgotten to ask for her number, and now it seemed like too much time had passed.

The next few days were a blur of games, practices, and the excitement of being back in Vancouver. But no matter how much he tried to focus on hockey, he couldn’t shake the thought of that café—or Y/N. He found himself wondering if he’d ever see her again. A week passed, and Quinn didn’t get a chance to go back. He kept telling himself that he was too busy, that he had other things to focus on. But the nagging feeling that he’d let something slip through his fingers refused to go away.

Finally, after a game against his brother and a long night of reflecting on the loss, Quinn decided to make the trip back to the café. It was his last day in Vancouver before heading back to his own team’s city, and he couldn’t leave without trying to see her again. The moment he walked through the door, the bell above it jingled, and Y/N looked up from behind the counter, a welcoming smile appearing on her face when she saw him.

“Back for more coffee?” she asked, her voice light and teasing.

Quinn stepped up to the counter, his heart racing. He didn’t want to be awkward about it, but he’d regretted not asking for her number the first time. This time, he wasn’t going to let that chance slip away.

“I was actually hoping you could help me with something,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing. His fingers drummed on the counter nervously.

“Oh?” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Quinn took a deep breath. “I, uh, wanted to ask you if... you’d like to grab coffee sometime? I know we just met, but I’d really like to get to know you better.”

Y/N smiled, the kind of smile that made Quinn’s heart do a little flip. “I’d like that,” she said, her eyes softening. “You can, uh, give me your number and I’ll text you.”

Quinn laughed, relieved. “I should’ve done this last time,” he admitted, pulling out his phone. “I’m kind of bad at this.”

Y/N just grinned, taking his phone to put in her number. “It’s okay, Quinn. I’m glad you came back.”

As she handed his phone back to him, Quinn smiled. He’d finally done it—he’d finally asked the question that had been on his mind all week. And maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new. Something he was excited about.

With a small wave and a promise to text her soon, Quinn left the café, a smile on his face as he walked down the Vancouver streets. Maybe hockey wasn’t the only thing he’d been destined to find in this city after all.

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[helplesslypurple77]

Day 6-Cumming in Pants-Illumi/Reader

Notes:  I have never actually sewed a mens suit, because 1. Tailoring is REALLY FUCKING HARD and finicky as hell 2. I'm a woman who has no need for one, and 3. I hate sewing mens clothes their boring

Anyway, enjoy. Also btw 70,000 jenny is about 700 usd

also title is from 'English Love Affair' by 5sos

...

As a seamstress located in Yorknew city, you got a large volume of clientele. Be it wealthy businessmen wanting a high quality suite or spoiled princesses shopping for their next dress, you pride yourself in your high quality work and your range of designs. You made sure to treat each and every patron of your business with respect, even the strange characters you often received. Because of course, as the wealthy clients wore their clothes to gatherings, you gained a reputation for your quality and openness. And of course, the odd ones took notice.

The first hunter you had ever tailored clothes for had been kind of normal, only requiring a special waterproof fabric. But the weirdness had increased and increased and now you regularly got a parade of weird guests after weird guests.

From simple garments that required special skills or fabrics, to gravity defying outfits that any designer would turn down, you took them all. At a handsome price, of course. 

It was raining. Thunder rattled the glass windows of your shop, rain hitting them so hard you worried for a moment they might break. It was dark outside, the blackness only momentarily illuminated by flashes of lightning. You hummed along with the headphones in your ears, carefully cutting the black fabric laid across your cutting table. Cutting was probably one of your least favorite parts, but it was ok right now, the music in your ears and the rain a faint lovely sound on your windows. 

Your shop and studio were the same, situated in a nice part of town. Your shop was in a pleasant little street, filled with mom and pop shops and cafes, and off the beaten path far enough that you might half to know where to look. You weren't looking to incur any damages, and you especially didn't want robbers or crime near your precious creations. You did have a hunter's license, in order to hunt certain types of hides, and you were moderately powerful and would be able to protect yourself in a bad situation, but you didn't like fighting. You would prefer it if you didn't have to defend yourself at all. 

Rain hits the long windows of your shop with a loud pattern, thunder cracking in the background. You humm, a calm russian pop playing through your airpods, dancing around your cutting table. You have certain songs you like playing during rain storms, just to give the right vines. Right now your favorites are В последний раз, and Goodnight Moon—

Your front door opened with a slam. You jump, one of your airpods falls out of your ear and onto the cutting table. A figure stands in your doorway. The figure is tall, with long flowing hair flipping wildly in the wind. Rain hits the hardwood floor a few feet in front of him and you push your shock and fear away and glare at the stranger.

“Can I help you?” You say, standing tall and crossing your arms. “You're getting rain all over my floors.”

The man tilts his head, backlit by the lightning, but you can kind of make out his face. He has pale skin, and big dark eyes, as dark as the night behind him. After a moment of consideration, he steps forwards into the light, letting the door close behind him. 

You bend down, picking up your airpod and carefully putting both of them away before you can lose them. 

The man in your doorway doesn't attempt to shake himself dry or remove the wet hair soaking water on the princess sleeves of his odd green outfit. It takes you one careful look over him to realize he's a hunter. The one lesson you’ve learned in your work with hunters over the years is not one of them dresses normally. Fastest way to spot a hunter in public is to look for the person wearing a discount spirit Halloween jester outfit or wearing what could only be described as a tree cutout robbed straight from a middle school play.

 The man in the doorway tilts his head. 

“You are a seamstress.” He says. It takes you a moment to realize that was a question. “You were recommended to me by my father.”

“I am a seamstress, yes.” You say, eyeing him carefully up and down. “But I'm closed right now.”

“Oh,” The man says, and then continues to stand still as a statue a few feet in front of your door. He looks a bit like a drowned kitten with big black eyes, surrounded by long black hair that sticks to his face, his clothes, his arms. He looked uncomfortable.

“I have a shower,” You say, trying to sound inviting. “You can use my dryer as well if you’d like.”

The man tilts his head slightly, black hair cascading in a wet curtain down his back. You wince as water hits your previously clean hardwood floor. He looks a bit like a porcelain doll, his face mostly eyes and confused blank expression. Finally, he speaks.

“Yes, that would be nice.” He says, stepping farther into your room. You hold out your arm to stop him.

“Stop, you're gonna get my fabric wet,” you sigh, motioning for him to stand still by the door. “Just wait here, I'll be right back.”

The man looks down, lifting his arm experimentally, as if he just remembered he's soaking wet at all. Water cascades off his arm, forming a small puddle beneath him.You sigh, massaging your forehead as you go and fetch some towels from your linen closet. When you return, the man is still standing still by the door. You hand him the towels, trying for a friendly smile. You're very tired. 

“Try to dry off as much as you can,” You say, turning back to your cutting table. No reason not to get some work done. You're almost done cutting out the mock up when you feel a tap on your shoulders. 

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to finish cutting out the piece you were in the middle of cutting. 

“Where is the shower,” The man says from behind you. 

“Oh, I'll show you.” You say, turning around. The man has rolled his long hair up in one of the towels you had handed him. In his hands, he's holding a bundle of green and yellow fabric. Fabric the almost exact color his clothes had been. You drop your scissors with a clatter, abruptly closing your eyes.

“Why are you naked?” You ask, trying to remain calm. You had only gotten a glimpse but the man looked pretty built. 

“You told me not to track water on your fabric.” The man says, sounding very confused. You take a deep breath and massage your temples, keeping your eyes closed.

“I didn't mean–you know what, never mind.” You say, turning back to your cutting table and opening your eyes. In the foggy reflection of the window opposite you can catch some glimpses of skin and muscles, but you do your best not to look.

“Follow me,” You say, moving towards the back stairs, the ones that lead up to your small flat. The sound of wet feet hitting your hardwood floor follows you, so you assume the man is following you.

“Are you afraid of the human form, Miss…” The man asks. You scoff. You would assume he was mocking you, but the total lack of emotions in his voice gave away the fact that it was a genuine question.

“Name, and no, obviously not.” You say, “I just didn't expect you to be naked. What's your name again?”

“Illumi,” The man, Illumi says. “I apologize for startling you.”

You sigh, opening the door to the back stairs and starting up. Illumi follows you.

“It's fine, Mr Illumi.” You say, reaching to the top of your stairs and opening the door of your small apartment. “You can leave your clothes on the table. I'll put them in the wash.”

Illumi doesn't say anything, but you assume he nodded. The door closes behind him, blocking out the sounds of rain. You flip on the lightswitch, and golden light floods the small living room of your apartment. You slip off your shoes, and move deeper into the apartment. 

“You have a nice house,” Illumi says, and you hear the wet slap of his clothes hitting your kitchen table as he continues, “although your security is poor.”

“Thanks, I guess.” You say, choosing to brush off the last comment. “The bathroom is this way.”

You walk past your open bedroom door, silently praying Illumi does not see what a mess it is, and open the small door of your bathroom, switching on the lights. 

“Here we are,” You say, turning around and abruptly being reminded that he's only wearing two towels. You yank your eyes from his abs and stair at his drowned face. “You can use whatever you want in there.”

Illumi nods his head up and down, the towel on his air bobbing comically. He blinks his big eyes slowly looking at you with what can only be categorized as curiosity.

“Why did you help me?” He asks. You frown in confusion.

“What?” 

“Why did you let me into your home?” He asks again, tilting his head. He really does look kinda sad and pathetic, if you ignore the rest of his mostly naked body.

“Uh…” you say, thinking for a moment. “I felt bad for you? You look like a drowned kitten.”

“Oh,” Illumi says, frowning. Then after a pause, “thank you.”

“Your welcome,” You laugh, leaning past him to grab a large towel from your upstairs linen closet, and pass it to him. He takes it and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

You're digging through your clothes drawers for some of your ex-boyfriend's clothes you know you kept when you hear the shower switching off. You hurry, grabbing some soft gray sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts and knock on the bathroom door.

“Illumi? I have some clothes for you to borrow.” You say, folding them and stacking them neatly into a pile. The door flips open and you avert your eye, shoving the clothes in his direction until you feel them leaving your hands. The door doesn't close though, and you close your eyes as clothing rustles, until the rustling has stopped for at least ten seconds. Only then do you open your eyes. Illumi looks much less drowned rat now, his pale skin still a little pink from the shower. His hair is wrapped up in a towel, and you're happy to note your ex-boyfriend's stuff fits him fine. 

“Your stuff will be done in about ten minutes,” you say, turning away and leading him back down the small hallway and into your living room as you continue. “You mentioned you had business with me?”

“Yes,” Illumi says as you move into your kitchen, starting the kettle. He's still standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room like an odd statue when you turn around. You giggle.

“You can sit down,” You say, urging him into motion. He obeys, sitting upright in one of your armchairs, hands folded neatly in his lap. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes,” Illumi says, and you pull two mugs out of the cabinet as he continues. “I was told your work is excellent.”

You select a chamomile tea out of the tea cabinet and put a tea bag into each cup. 

“It is,” You say. “Who said that though.”

“My father,” Illumi says. You scan your brain for anyone he could possibly be referring to and come up empty. 

“Did you need something made?” You ask instead, pouring the hot water into the mugs and putting a plate over them to let them steep. “I'm a bit swamped right now with an unusual request, but if it's easy I can totally make something for you.”

“Mother told me my suit is too small.” Illumi says, still sitting stiff and unnatural on one of your cushy chairs. You grab both of the mugs, placing one on the coffee table in front of Illumi.

“A suite, huh.” You say, taking a sip of your chamomile tea and letting the warmth sooth your bones. As far as normal garments go, Suites would probably be one of the hardest garments ever. Making a suite was one thing, making a well tailored suit in a small time frame without five hundred fittings was quite another. But, in your profession you had long ago learned that there were worse things you might be forced to make than a suite. This one time, this guy had shone up and requested to have a ball for a waist, and be able to use it in combat. You had done it, somehow. At least he had been hot, if very fucking weird. You shake your head, taking a ship of your tea.  

“I can make you a suit, yeah.” You say as you place your cup on the coffee table. “Let me get my schedule book and I'll write you in.”

“Im busy,” Illumi replies, sitting bold upright in your chair, tea clutch between his pale fingers. “Can you do it now?”

“Sew a suit, right now, while you're here?” You ask incredulously, sitting back into your chair. 

Illumi nods jerkily, taking a robotic sip of his drink and setting it on the table.

“Please,” he says.  The room sinks into silence for a moment as you take a few deep breaths, holding back a laugh. 

“I have inconvenienced you.” Illumi says, and you decide to take pity on him. 

“Is there a specific time frame you need to suit?” You ask, reaching forward to pick up your tea. “I can schedule you as soon as possible.”

“Mother says in two weeks,” Illumi says, a few strands of hair falling from the towel turban he put his hair in. in the distance you hear your dryer beek aggressively, signifying Illumis clothes have finished drying. You stand, moving towards your small laundry room, shouting over your shoulder as you continue.

“You said your father recommended me, right?” 

Illumi nods, taking another sip of camomile tea. “He said he gets his work clothes from you. He said your work holds up under extreme stress.”

“I make a lot of specialty clothes for hunters,” You say, bending down to pull Illumis dry clothes out of your front loading washer. “So it kind of has too. Is your father a hunter?”

“Assassin.” Illumi says. You nod, holding his warm clothes and slamming the laundry room door with your foot.

“Ah, you must be Silva’s son then.” You say, handing Illumi his warm, staticky clothes. He takes them, tilting his head to the side.

“How did you know?” he asks, big eyes blinking slowly. 

You giggle, taking his empty cup from the coffee table and putting it into your sink, along with your own half full one. 

“I don't get many assassins for clients.” You say, running water into the cups and putting them into your almost full dishwasher. You make a note to start it after Illumi leaves.

“You know, your dad has a fitting in a couple days.” You start, grabbing your appointment book from the countertop and moving back into the small living room as you flip through it. “ How about you come with him and I'll take your measurements? That sound good?”

Illumi sits still, head tilted as he blinks slowly, considering. 

“Alright,” Illumi finally answers, and you nod, writing it into your book. 

His clothes are still resting in his lap and you hop up, grabbing a bag from your closet. It's an old plastic take out bag. You take his clothes from him again as he thinks, putting them in the bag and handing it back. 

He looks at it in confusion. You smile, handing him a paper bag filled with the weird pins that had been stuck in the front of the clothes, and what looked like an id of some kind and a phone. 

“That way your clothes wont get wet,” You say with a smile, glancing at the clock. It's getting pretty late at night, around ten forty five. The sound of Illumis phone ringing cuts through the silence, and you jump. Illumi pulls an archaic looking flip phone out of the paper bag, flipping it open with a satisfying snap.

“Yes?” 

Someone's voice can be heard on the other line, yelling rather loudly. You pretend not to pay attention out of politeness, but strain your ears to hear something. Unfortunately you can catch anything and Illumi hangs up, rising to his feet abruptly.

“I have to go,” he says, “where should I change?”

“No knead,” You say, standing up and getting your appointment book on the table. 

“But your clothes,” He says, gesturing down on himself. You smile. 

“Dont worry about it, there my ex boyfriends old things.” You say, moving towards the front door. “I was just gonna donate them anyway.”

Illumi follows you, silent but for the rustling of the bags you had provided him. His footsteps made no noise, you hadn't noticed before because of the rain. Opening the door of your flat you step into the much colder stairwell and shiver. 

“I'm sorry i don't have a jacket for you,” You say, bare feet padding down the concrete stairs. “It's quite cold out.”

“As an assassin, I was raised to withstand below zero temperatures,” Illumi informs you blankly as you reach the button of the stairs, opening the door into your shop. 

“Well that's good.” You say, holding the door open as Illumi steps through, into the barely illuminated back room of your shop. A few mannequins standing in the corner look threateningly like real humans, and you giggle as Illumi stops still, staring at them before moving on.

“Jump scared by the manquines?” You ask. Illumi frowns, shaking his head. 

“No.” He says, walking a little faster. You giggle, he must be embarrassed. 

“So, you’ll be back in a few days for our appointment, right?” you ask, standing a few feet away from the front door. Illumi, holding two plastic bags of clothes and nicknacks against his chest, nods.

“Yes,” He says, and then a second later, “I apologize for inconveniencing you.”

You giggle. He's a bit cute, in a wild animal kind of way. You move closer, reaching up to yoink the towel from his head, watching his long hair tumble over his shoulders. He shakes his head like a dog, his long silky hair falling into place. His ears are red as he opens the door, stepping into the rain. You wave, and he nods in response as the door shuts with a heavy clunk. 

You smile all night as you lock up your room, shutting the doors and securing the windows and waving goodbye to the threatening dress forms in the corner. 

Tonight certainly was interesting. 

🪡🪡🪡

The sun is shining across your floors, when Illumi and Silva arrive for their appointment. The door opens with a chime of bells, and you look up from your design sketchbook and grin.

“Ah, there you are.” You say, putting your sketchbook and the table and rising to greet the men touring by the door. “I almost thought you wouldn't show up.”

“I apologize, Miss Name,” SIlva says, smiling down at you. He really does tower over you, in stature and height. “Be polite and apologize for the inconvenience, Illumi.”

Illumi, standing a bit behind his father, nods. 

“I apologize Miss Name,” He says, looking somehow both lost and sincere at the same time. You laugh.

“It's no biggie, you guys were only a few minutes late,” You say, leading them both into the main area, and grabbing the outfit Silva had requested. “I made the alterations we talked about last time, so hopefully everything fits this time!”

You hand Silva the formal suit jacket he had requested, and motion for him to change. He nods. 

“Where can my son sit while we finish this up?” He asks. You nod, turning to look at Illumi who has been standing awkwardly in the middle of your studio with a laugh.

“Illumi, you can take a seat over there if you like.” You say, gesturing at the comfy chairs off to the side of your studio. Illumi nods, moving towards the chairs and sitting down with a thump. His hands fold over his lap and you giggle.

“Your son has great manners,” You whisper, leaning over in Silva's direction. The large man chuckles, brushing his long hair out of the way as he slips the black suite over his white button down. 

“My wife has taught him well in that department,” He grins as you survey the fit of the jacket. “Although we have our concerns.”

“Oh really?” you ask, probably more interested than you should be. “How is the fit?”

“Good,” Silva says, raising his arms above his head. “Well as Illumi has gotten older, Kikyo and I worry he'll never marry.”

You stifle a giggle, subtle looking at Illumi as he sits still in your chair, looking around at the framed sketches on your wall. You frame designs you were especially proud of, with proof pictures of course. You turn back to Silva, a little confused.

“Really? He's quite handsome,” You say, checking the back seam as Silva flexes his muscles. The suite stays intact, not even straining. Silva looks at you oddly.

“You think,” He says, smiling slightly. “Well, lately he has expressed interest in a certain woman. Kikyo and I are thrilled.”

“Oh, really?” You say, your heart sinking in your chest a little. When had you even realized you were attracted to him? Maybe you were just disappointed that a handsome man was off the market. “That's just great.”

Silva nods, smiling a secretive smile as he sheds the jacket, handing it back to you. 

“The fit is lovely,” He says, “I'm quite satisfied.”

You smile, your heart feeling a bit odd, and turn to grab a bag, packing his suit jacket up carefully and neatly, tossing in a free sample handkerchief as you usually do, all the while feeling a bit sad. You don't quite want to admit why as you hand Silva the package, turning to Illumi sitting in the armchair with a sigh.

“Alright Illumi, let's get those measurements done.” You say, turning away to grab your measurement book and your tape measure. When you turn back, Illumi is standing a few feet in front of you. You hadn't heard him move at all. But you supposed that was expected for an assassin. 

“Your shop is nice,” Illumi says, voice stilted as you move closer, wrapping the tape measure around his chest. You ignore the beating in your heart as you take the measurement, noting it down in your book. 

“Thanks,” You say, turning back around to take the second measurement. “I try.”

Silence falls as your slightly trembling hands take the waist measurement. Illumi shifts slightly as you turn, noting the measurement in your book. Silence falls as you take the next few measurements, careful not to touch his body more than necessary. The shoulder, arm, and back measurements are all taken in awkward silence, until Illumi speaks again.

“The designs on your walls,” he says, “I recognize one.”

You have your back turned, writing down measurements and you turn to follow his pointing finger. He's pointing at a design you're rather proud of. The man who had decided he wanted a ball for a waist. You grin, proud of it as you turn back.

“Ah, Mr Morrow's design, one of my favorites.” You say, leaning down a bit to wrap the tape measure around his hips. “That design was a pain in the ass but it turned out so well.”

“You have sewed for Hisoka?” Illumi asks, shifting slightly as your hands pass over his hips, taking the measurement down mentally and turning around to write it on the page. 

“Yes!” You say with a grin, “Pain in the ass design, but he was handsome and so I guess it was worth it.”

Illumi frowns slightly, shifting as you drop to your knees, taking the length of his legs. Faintly in the background, you hear Silva muffle a cough. You had forgotten for a moment he was there. 

“You took his measurements?” He asks, frowning down at you. You look up in confusion, still on your knees with a tape measure in your hand, poised to do the inseam measurement.

“I take everyone's measurements?” You question, confused. “I had to do some really finicky stuff for that outfit, and it involved some odd and somewhat emberassingmeasruments.” 

You explain, knees still firmly planted on the floor as you lower your tape measure. Illumi frowns, hands falling over his chest. 

“I hope he did not inconvenience you.” He says, blinking very slowly. He sounds almost upset, but you shove it aside with a grin as you pick up your tape measure again.

“Oh, it wasn't too bad,” You say, gently taking the inseam measurement, careful not to brush any sensitive parts as you continue. “The costume was a pain, but he was very lovely to work with. His pretty face definitely helped. And the money, obviously.”

Illumi shifts slightly as you carefully take the inseam measurement.

“You guys friends?” You ask, finishing your inseam measurement and turning to write it in your book. Illumi coughs, shifting behind you with a rustling of fabric.

“I guess,” he says, a certain malice in his voice that you can't place.

“How nice,” You say, turning to write your final measurements, your heart feeling a bit heavy.

🪡🪡🪡

Silva and Illumi pay the whole 70,000 jenny upfront. You protest, but Silva waves it off with a grin, as he and Illumi disappear into the sunlight.

You hate to admit that you're really attracted to Illumi. You're not sure why. Maybe it's the whole wounded animal thing he was going on, or maybe it was his awkward nature and stilted conversation, but you were quite enamored with him. 

But thanks to Silva, you now knew you had no chance with him. 

The next few fittings with Illumi were an awkward mix of attraction and arousal on your end, and awkwardness at his end. He tried to make small talk with you, and you replied, but every conversation made you more and more sure he would never be attracted to you. 

He was even kind enough to bring you a lovely bouquet of red roses and white baby's breath, and apologize for the night you had first met. Every kind gesture made your heart hurt, but you accepted them with a smile. Every time you saw those roses, your heart hurt.

🪡🪡🪡

It was around seven when the events started. You were bone tired, body flopping onto the bed after a long day of standing over a table. Your back ached as you sighed, closing your eyes. 

Your phone lay beside you, digging into your back slightly as you relaxed. But you couldn't quite relax. There was a familiar, thrumming energy running through your body. You were horny.

Sighing, you stroked your nipples gently through your thin shirt, already having shed your bra as soon as you entered the room. Your other hand slowly winds down, stroking your pussy gently over your panties.

You're so horny. Maybe it has something to do with Illumi’s fittings. Having your hands all over him in a professional manner was too much. He had such a fit physique, you longed to grip his muscled shoulders, free of the fabric between your skin. You whimper, pressing a finger knuckle deep into your pussy with a sigh. You roll over slightly, back pressing into your phone. 

You can't be bothered to take it out from under you, even when you hear a faint click.

Illumi happens to be near your shop when his phone rings. He answers it quickly, holding it up to his ear as he stands in the middle of the darkened sidewalk a few miles from your shop. 

“Name?” He asks, standing a foot away from the ring of light cast by the sidewalk. The sweatpants he's wearing hang low on his hips. The sweat pants you had given him. They still smell like you still, and Illumi is ashamed to admit how hard he gets when he takes a whiff of their scent. Re refuses to relieve himself, as not to sully your name. It's become hard as of late, with your figure plaguing his dreams, your careful professional fingers brushing his skin. Illumi sighs, taking a deep breath.

You don't respond, the only sound he hears is a faint groan. Illumi starts moving towards your shop, worried.

“Illumi?” You say over the phone. Your voice shakes, sounding a bit odd. “Oh god Illumi!”

Illumi frowns, moving faster and faster towards your house. You sound like you're in some type of distress. 

“Name,” He asks again, “are you alright?”

No reply, only a faint groan leaking through the phone. Illumi’s dick twitches in his pants as he races towards your shop.

“Oh Illumi, you’ve got to help me!” You exclaim through the phone. Your voice shakes lightly, heavy breathing coming through the speaker as Illumi picks the lock to your shop.

“Are you ok, name?” He asks again. You groan, and then the phone disconnects with a click. Illumi dashes through your darkened shop, up the concrete stairs, and opens your door as quietly as possible. If someone is hurting you, he’ll kill them in an instant. 

You have two fingers shoved up your cunt when the door opens with a slam. You shriek, trying to hide the evidence of what you were doing as illumi stares down at your mostly naked body in shock. He's standing in your doorway, wearing the sweatpants you had given to him and a black muscle tea, and staring at your body in shock. 

He looks so delicious, as he takes you in, his face looking a bit bewildered. You trace his body, your eyes catching on the obvious bulge in his pants, and grin.

“Illumi,” You coo, spreading your legs with a grin. He visibly gulps. “I need something from you.”

This all feels so sudden, the tension hanging in the air between you, the way his expressions of lust spell so plainly on his face. How could you have missed this. You wonder if you had missed other signs.

Illumi moves forward slowly, the door closing softly behind him, feet making no sound on your bedroom floor. He stands at the end of the bed awkwardly, dick twitching in the gray sweatpants he wears. You gulp down saliva, scooting a bit farther onto the bed. 

“I want you to eat me out,” You say, bringing a hand down to spread your pussy lips. You watch Illumi gulp, want him crawls towards you on the bed until his head is positioned over your dripping pussy, his hair tickling your knees and thighs as he leans down. 

“I apologize if this is unsatisfactory,” illumi says, his voice still as robotic and clinical as ever, even as his eyes tremble with arousal. “I lack the necessary experience to—”

You interrupt by gripping his hair, and shoving his face into your pussy. His body collapses on the bedspread, hands winding around your hips and waist, as your hand winds into the base of his long hair.

You groan, your back arching as he licks a long strip along your pussy, tonge passing gently over your clit. 

You reward him with a tug on his hair, and he muffles a small groan into your pussy. The resulting jolt of pleasure runs through your spine, and his name escapes your mouth.

“That's good, so good.” You pants into the air, the hand not tangled in Illumis long hair notting into the white comforter around you. Illumi whimpers quietly, his own hips grinding into the carpet as you moan.

He's showering you with pleasure, his mouth going to town on you as your back arches, and your orgasm threatens to overwhelm you. You whimper, tugging at his hair.

“Oh god, I'm gonna cum.” You shiver, body jolting and jerking and Illumi fucks your whole with his tongue, his thumb drawing circles on your clit. 

“Me too,” he murmurs into your pussy, and you watch as he grinds helplessly into the comforter, completely occupied with driving you mad with pleasure.

It's that sight that pushes you over the edge. His hair tangled on your legs, his hands gripping your body like you’ll disappear in an instant, the desperate thrusts of his hips into the comforter.

Your body tenses as you cum, back arching and hand pulling the hair knots in your hands. His voice is on your tongue as you orgasm, stars bursting in your eyelids, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Illumi also tenses under your grip, muffling a faint moan of pleasure into your pussy, only prolonging your orgasm.

When you open your eyes, hazy from cumming and take him in over you, you feel more arousal running through your body.

He's looming over you, big doll eyes filled with lust, clothes long discarded. His hair falls over the two of you like an intimate curtain, hiding the outside world from view. His dick is bobbing back to life, big and ready to be inside you. A small, nervous smile is curing across his lips.

“Be my wife,” Illumi says, eyes darting anywhere but you. You grin, a feeling of elation running through your body as you reach up, gripping his face with your hand and looking deep into his eyes as you reply.

“Yes,” You say, and Illumis mouth devours you in a kiss so full of happiness you almost cry. Almost, until you feel that hardness pressing against your stomach and you reach down, storking it gently. Illumi moans into your mouth, choking slightly and you grin.

“You aren't busy, right?” You coo into his mouth. Illumi shakes his head.

“Good,’ You say, body twisting into his. “Because I think I'll have you occupied for the next couple hours.”

Illumi responds by kissing the breath from your lips. 

...

Endnotes:

I HATE SCHOOL I HATE SCHOOL!!! I HATE SCHOOL I HATE SCHOOL!!! 

Anyway, If you cant tell i would love to be a tailor/seamstress for a living, but alas my parents unfortunately raised me to have expensive taste and it's just not sustainable as a career. So it's a hobby for now.

[jeonjcngkook]

˚ ༘♡. 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 ೃ࿐

a 7 part jjk drabble series based on the explicit version of ‘seven’.

part 1: 1. monday: sęx in the workplace • - “got you skipping work and meetings”

pairing: seven!jungkook x f!reader (afab) genre(s)&au(s): pwp, non idol, slice of life, established relationship, smut, fluff, minor tiny angst warnings & smut warnings: swearing, nicknames & petnames (f rec - sweetheart, slûût / m rec - sir) , mäking out, bigdicc!jungkook 🍆 👅 , dôm!jungkook, sùb!reader, bossy jungkook, petting (m rec), slight vôyêürism, slight exhibitiønism 🫦🫦, neck kisses, fingëriñg (f rec), orãl sêxx (m rec), dïrty talk, office sēx, desk sęx, window séx 🪟, nīpple / tït play, mild strêngth kįñk, śîže kîñk, brêáthè płâŷ / äsphyxätįøn, hâîr tûggïñg, unprotected séx, mentions of safe words / tapping out, koo wears pretty necklaces that hypnotises oc 😩, he cüümms on her bøøbssgdjsn 🫂🥵🫠 w/c: 4.6k rating: 18+ banner: @caelesjjk

taglist [open]: - COMMENT ON SERIES MASTERLIST OR SEND AN ASK! - empty blogs will not be included & minors will be blocked. AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE IGNORED

note1: sorry, life got in the way a little but here we go - this is part 1; monday of 'seven ways to sunday'. note2: thank you to @tattookoo for looking over this ♡

Your heels click against the hardwood floor as you make your way down the hallway towards your small office. Behind you, your boyfriend Jungkook laces his fingers with yours and keeps up with your pace, his heavy boots making just as much noise as your heels.

Eventually, you both make it to the end of the corridor and you halt to rake through your bag for the key. As he waits, Jungkook turns back down the walk space which is filled with cubicles for interns and other members of staff — looking to make sure nobody watches you both enter together. Confirming that the coast is clear, he is quick to press himself up against you, his lithe fingers circling around your waist as he dips his head down to your neck and lavishes you in sweet, tiny pecks.

With your key now retrieved from the dark bottomless pit of your handbag, you insert the key with a shaky hand, twisting once, twice and at all long, the door swings open.

The second you both make it through the entrance, Jungkook kicks the door shut with his heavy boot and clicks the snib from the inside, locking it indefinitely from any possible intrusions.

Jungkook is all over you not even a moment later, hoisting you up into his arms and you instinctively wrap your legs around his delicate waist. His hands rest underneath your ass as he starts to squeeze your ass through the fabric of your skirt.

There is no time to waste as you lower your head towards his own to press your lips against him with urgency. Your tongue skirts along Jungkook’s pillowy lower lip and immediately he grants you access and your tongues are dancing a wicked fiery dance. The kiss is hungry and carnal; lips and tongue and teeth fighting against one another.

A low guttural growl sounds from Jungkook as he walks you both towards the grey marble desk in front the large glass panes inside the office and you swallow his sounds with your mouth, grinning into the kiss at his reaction.

Swiftly, he sits you down on top of your desk and positions himself in between your legs giving him the opportunity to press himself into your core, his hardening length underneath his blue jeans giving away his lust for you.

You break the kiss and pull away from him for just a moment to take him in and my god he’s a sight to see.

His outfit for your lunch date is casual. A simple white tee with a heart design etched into the fabric in your favourite colour — blue. The shirt is tucked into a pair of loose fitted low-rise blue denim jeans and fastened by a leather black belt with a large silver facing which you can’t help but grab onto to pull towards you with every chance you get. The outfit itself is completed with a black figure hugging leather jacket, that gives his body that broad, built effect which in return makes your mouth water for the man.

There’s always something about Jungkook that makes your heart race in your chest every time you lay your eyes on him. He’s sexy and his aura is filled with confidence and he knows it and yet he is still so humble and down to earth. He never fails to make you feel like you’re the greatest, smartest and most beautiful person in any room. Jungkook would bend himself backwards to make sure you know how incredible you are. His priceless prized possession.

“Thank you for lunch, it was delicious,” you praise his choice.

He leans back into you and closes the gap, his lips lingering teasingly but not quite making contact. “It was definitely delicious,” he pecks you on the lips. “Although, there is something else that I’ve been very ravenous for.” Jungkook confesses against your lips and his words fill you with warmth as he smirks and places his hand at the back of your neck to keep you in place as he bites down on your lower lip. “Been wanting to fuck you in this office for months now.”

You, on the other hand, shiver at his words and try to ignore just how much that one comment turns you on. What Jungkook doesn’t know is that you have also had the exact same wish.

“Unbutton my blouse, Jungkook,” you instruct and he doesn’t need to be told twice. He shuffles you further onto your desk so he can use his hands to reach the small buttons.

Jungkook takes one step back and you watch with blown out eyes as Jungkook’s nimble fingers start working on the buttons of your blouse, from bottom to top. 

A gust of cold air is all you feel against your skin before ‘click click click’ on the hardwood floor beneath you both is heard. Looking down, your blouse buttons scatter around the office as Jungkook tears the material straight down the middle.

“You tore my shirt!”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” his palms move underneath the chiffon material at your shoulders and shimmies the blouse to your elbows before he roughly tugs the cups of your lace bralette down, exposing your nipples to the cool air of your office.

Jungkook’s lips latch onto your neck and licks a wicked stripe from your collarbone to the middle of your throat. You’re hyperfocused on the wet warmth of his tongue and nip of his teeth at your skin and the pressure along the column of your throat where he paints your body in beautiful blossom marks. His teeth nibble into your flesh before his soft tongue lavishes the swollen skin, inciting a hiss from off your tongue.

“Fifteen minutes,” you whimper, “I’ve fifteen minutes before…before the s-staff meeting, oh my god.”

Your hand hurriedly finds their way to his hair, giving it a forceful yank as his mouth marks your neck as his. At this, Jungkook growls and the sound immediately travels south to your core, lifting your hips to chase any friction that will help alleviate the pressure in between your legs.

Jungkook detours towards one of your tits, leaving kisses and a trail of his saliva down the valley of your breasts. Jungkook palms your right tit roughly as his mouth brings your nipple in between his teeth and pulls at it gently. He looks up at you and watches as your chest rises and falls with his ministrations. You sharply pull once again at the roots of Jungkook’s lavish onyx locks and he releases your nipple with a wet, glistening sheen of his spit on it before giving the other nipple the same attention and repeating this over again.

Once more, Jungkook brings his lips to yours and kisses you bruisingly, his tongue sweeping over your lower lip as soon as he makes contact with you. Jungkook trails away from your lips, leaving you breathless and gasping for more as his tongue drags over your jawline and begins kissing his way down to the marks he previously left on your throat mere moments ago.

Warm huffs of air are felt against your skin as he follows a trail to your ear, sending chills over your body. “How about you skip work and your meetings and let me fuck you senseless right on this desk and call that overtime,” Jungkook concludes his statement with a buck of his hips, causing his clothed cock to grind into you harder.

His words stir something deep within you at his proposition, your heart racing and a quiet hum of approval leaves your mouth as you grab at his belt loops and drag him towards you.

Quickly, you rid Jungkook of his jacket, the heavy outside wear landing at his boots in a heap. Your hands bunch the fabric of his t-shirt at his hips before they glide up his sides and up and over his raised arms to display his beautifully flourished body. With the removal of his t-shirt, your eyes drift to his delicate decolletage where sits two thin stunning chain necklaces clasped around his neck.  

Your hand gently touches him through his pants and you feel him twitch against your palm as you give him a tight squeeze. The most beautiful airy moan falls from his parted lips and you feel your cunt clench at the sound. As you continue to squeeze, Jungkook shudders at your touch and his eyes darken and become lust filled as they flutter closed. 

"Fuck sweetheart, all the way through lunch, all I was thinking about is how good your mouth will feel sliding over my cock, the load I have to give you is going to linger on your tongue and remind you of me all damn day," he purrs, nipping at throat. "Take it out,” he refers to the bulge in his trousers.

“What if… — someone could walk in at any moment,” you tell him yet the lust filled thought of getting what you want clouds your moral sense of judgement as you watch Jungkook walk behind your desk. 

“Don’t you like that though? Knowing we have a live audience?” Jungkook sits himself down in the office chair that you occupy days in and days out. “Come on, get on your knees and take me into your filthy mouth.”

You do as you're told, lowering yourself onto your knees in front of your desk chair that Jungkook occupies and you work to undo the button of his jeans before deftly grasping the metal zipper and slowly pulling it down — the procedure comes to you so easily having done this act countless times. Jungkook lifts his hips and helps you tug the denim down his legs, not bothering to take them all the way down, instead opting to leave them half way down his legs.

You palm him one last time through his underwear before you lean your head down to lick a wet stripe over his clothed cock. His hips buck towards your mouth at the contact as a small hiss falls from his lips. Your smirk is playful as you reach for the waistband of his boxer shorts, pulling them to join his jeans and releasing him.

“I thought you were scared someone would walk in and see us?”

His dick springs free from the clothed confines and slaps against his toned tummy and you relish in the sight of cum smearing across his skin as it continues to twitch. His cock is as gorgeous as the rest of him. Deep set veins run along the underside of his length, flesh warm and responsive to your touch. His head is glistening with a soft flow of precum that pools and threatens to dribble down the valley of veins.

“I guess I don’t care as much as I thought,” you smirk salaciously.

Jungkook hums in response. “That’s fucking right, sweetheart — because then everyone inside of this building will know you only belong to me.”

With a bite of your lip and a teasing raise of your eyebrow, your hand tightens around his shaft and you watch his head lul back. You're left breathless as the sun casts a halo over Jungkook from through the bay windows behind him. His skin is blissfully golden and a sheen of light sweat is beginning to coat his skin — and you know that you’re the one causing such a reaction which spurs you on further.

“Kiss the tip,” Jungkook negotiates with you like he’s leading this one to one meeting. “With your tongue.”

Obediently, you give the tip of his hard cock a couple of seductive kitten licks and light pumps before sealing your lips around his pretty mushroom head. Your actions elicit Jungkook to open his mouth in pleasure as he lets out a throaty whine as your mouth takes him in a few more inches.

"“Open your mouth and take me deeper." He watches you between his legs, as you lap obediently at his cock.

Your lips part further, warm breaths of air fanning over his flushed head. Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, you take as much of his thick cock as you can in one go, jaw fully slacked open to accommodate his size.

“You can't go one minute without my cock inside you, can you?" Jungkook says through gritted teeth. He reaches down for you, his ring clad fingers tracing down your cheeks and back again before tangling his hand into the roots of your hair, twisting the strands around his fist and guiding your head back.

When you eventually get used to his size, you start sucking him off with intent. Every ridge and vein on his colossal cock is felt as your tongue swipes over his length, hollowing your cheeks to take him further down to his base. You use your hands to stroke the remaining length of his dick that your mouth can’t reach. Every lick and suck of your mouth on him results in obscene, wet noises, gagging filling the empty spaces of your office.

“Good fucking girl, take it, fuck, your mouth was made for swallowing my cock in this office huh?” Jungkook soothes, fucking his hips up every few words to emphasis you being a cockwhore for him and him alone.

You hear the sound of his desk chair sliding across the floor as he gives you your next order. "Stand up."

"Yes, Sir."

You rise on shaking legs, the expectancy of what’s about to come causes warmth to bloom in your chest. You’re aching for him in every manner of the word. A whimper passes your lips as you stand still in front of Jungkook, watching as he stands in front of you and towers over your frame.

The title of being called sir in your office goes to his head and he doesn’t try to hide the estranged moan at your submissiveness towards him. Jungkook roughly grabs at your hips, pulls you towards the window overlooking the city skyline and turns your body so your back presses into the cold glass.

Delicately, he noses at your shoulder and lowers his hand to your thigh through the slit in your midi length pencil skirt and traces his fingers across your skin. Seconds later, Jungkook reaches the apex of your thighs and cups your cunt in his hand and applies the faintest pressure over the material of your underwear.

“Try and keep quiet, unless you want your boss to hear you begging to be fucked during work hours,” Jungkook articulates with a slap to your exposed ass before caressing the searing skin for a brief moment only to land another slap directly on the same spot.

You can hear the rush of blood in your body loud and clear in your ears as your arousal for Jungkook builds like a wildfire inside you. You love it. “Wan’ everyone to know I’m yours…” you mumble weakly.

Jungkook lowers one hand down your body until he reaches your pussy. With skillful fingers, he immediately dips two long slender fingers inside your hole and fucks into you with precision — hitting that sensitive spongey spot over and over perfectly as you bite back a foul moan before the working environment outside hears you from inside your office.

“Why am I not surprised? My filthy slut getting off on being fucked senseless in front of her subordinates, now who’s really in charge.”

Wet slick drips from your cunt, running rivulets down his fingers and into the palm of his hand. The wet sounds Jungkook coaxes from your core is lewd but is simultaneously music to his fucking ears. The feeling of being stretched open and wrapping around him causes your eyes to roll back as your orgasm approaches and teeters on the edge of washing over you.

“I’m about to let everyone in this establishment know who it is you belong too, who it is you submit yourself too every fucking night, who’s really the boss in this building.”

Jungkook tears his fingers out of your cunt and your mouth opens in a ‘o’ and your eyes widen as your orgasm is ripped away from you. But before you’re able to scold and cry at the loss, Jungkook lifts you up into his arms and your legs wrap around his waist on their own accord.

He reaches a hand in between both of your body, grabbing at the base of his cock and slaps his cock against your clit, once, twice, thrice. Your body jerks in his arms at the sensation and arousal floods your cunt once more. Noticing, Jungkook places his cock in between your lips and rocks his hips back and forth to collect your arousal as lubricant on his cock, spreading it with his hand and lines himself up at your entrance.

“Please… please Jungkook, please, I wa — I need you,” you all but beg, your head falling back onto the glass behind you, exposing your neck to the man before you who leans down and kisses at the column of your throat.

“So fucking wet.” Those are Jungkook’s last words as he pushes himself past the clenching muscle, breaching you so deliciously. You can’t help but claw your nails at his shoulders, watching as tracks of red fiercely contrast against the blackened design of his upper arm tattoo.

“More, give me more, Jungkook,” you whisper.

“You’ve always been so hungry for me,” Jungkook praises behind gritted teeth as he pushes himself further into you until he bottoms out without resistance.

Both of your breathing becomes shallower as Jungkook stills inside of you. He leans in to you and kisses your lips tenderly, a juxtaposition to the previous roughness he’s bathed you in for the last ten minutes. Your tongue sweeps over his lower lip and plays with the duel rings that sit against his plush lower lip and Jungkook opens his mouth and lets you slide your tongue with his to explore each other's mouths.

You’re both sweating now, you can feel it against the window behind you as you find it becomes easier to slide against it as Jungkook begins to rock his lips into you against it. Jungkook on the other hand looks devastatingly gorgeous — perspiration clinging to his shoulders and chest, glistening like the most expensive jewel you had the pleasure of retaining. 

“Hold on to me,” he orders into the kiss and your arms that are wrapped around his neck tighten as he lifts you both away from the window and turns you to sit you down on your desk as he keeps him sheathed inside of your snug cunt.

You lean yourself back onto your palms, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist to keep him as close to you as possible. Jungkook looks down at you from above as he begins to thrust into you languidly. With every thrust, the necklace around his neck swings back and forth towards your face and back into his chest like a metronome hypnotising you under his spell.

“Tell me, who owns this pussy, huh?”

Jungkook hits all of the right spots in you with such pinpoint accuracy that all you can do is cry and beg for more, begging him to not stop. “Answer me when I’m talking to you.” His strokes turn punishing as if his cock can force the words out of you.

“M’all yours, Sir,” you choke as your body dissipates into sheer pleasure, blinding you and causing words to die on your tongue.

He’s not done yet though. The word ‘sir’ drips from your lips, bathing the small office space in honey and he’s bathing in your sweetness. It goes straight to his dick and drives him to fuck you the way that you deserve. Hard, fast, mercilessly. You cry out as your boyfriend fucks you like his favourite toy that he owns and feel yourself tightening around his hard length.

The room becomes littered with the scent of sex, sweat and perfume, knowing that the minute the door opens, it’s going to be evident what’s played out.

“I have a m-meeting in 5 minutes!”

Jungkook grabs at your lingerie underneath your shirt and pulls the cups down and watches as your tits spill out just for him. He leans down and latches his mouth onto a nipple, grazing it in between his teeth and pinching the other with his thumb and forefinger. “That’s bold that you think you’re walking into that meeting,” Jungkook sneers. “Nobody but me gets to see you like this.”

Knowing he’s right, you don’t push the conversation any further. Instead, you sit up onto one of your palms once more and use the other to press against Jungkook’s sweat glistening chest and he slows down as you reach for him.

“Are you okay?” He asks with slight concern, coming to a full stop but keeping himself inside you. “Do you need a minute? Was I too rough?”

Your fingers nudge at Jungkook gently and he moves back from you to let you stand up. As he does, his cock is unwrapped from you and slaps back against his stomach and coats himself in a mixture of your slick and his pre-cum.

As you stand tall in your heels, your hand reaches for Jungkook’s hand and you turn your back towards him and rest your head into the crook of his arm before bringing his hand to your throat.”

“Not rough enough, Sir,” you jest, teasing and testing him.

The raven haired man’s fingers twitch around your throat at your words. He uses his other hand to guide himself back to your entrance from behind this time.

“Need you to take a big breath, going to hold your throat right tight, sweetheart,”

“Yes,” you nod your head the best you can considering the position you’re in, words breathless already. Jungkook does as he says and untightens his hold and lets you take it a large gulp of air to your lungs,

“Ready?” He makes sure that you’re comfortable. “Tap out if you need to, remember?”

Once your consent is given, Jungkook makes do on his promise and tightens his hand across the sides of your neck, restricting the airflow in the most pleasurable way.

Breath play isn’t something that you’re shy too, having both done it numerous times with each other in the bedroom, but right now is one of the wildest you’ve taken it.

Turning your head the best you can, you face him and Jungkook uses this moment to tighten the hold on your throat and he eagerly fucks into you harder than before and pulls you up towards him. Your back arches deliciously into him and his fingers can’t help but squeeze at the sides and then let go in tiny increments — teasing and testing you this time.

Vision blurs as his thrusts turn fierce and wild and his hand remains stiff around you. You try to ignore the throb of your clit in favour of redirecting your attention to the drag of Jungkook’s cock inside of you, setting you ablaze with every swift fuck. Every time he reaches deep within you, your nails dig crescent moons into his wrist as you continue to breathe through your nose for limited air.

Jungkook stares down at your kiss bitten, swollen lips as you take the skin in between your teeth to try and conceal the plethora of moans that threaten to fall from your tongue, holding back on letting the office know that the highly respected head of finance is currently being used as a cock sleeve for her boyfriend behind closed doors .

He smirks at your pout and takes your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger. “Tighten yourself around me.” Jungkook, nearly out of breath, wraps a hand around your leg and props it onto the desk, opening you up like a flower and watching as your sweet white nectar flows coats his cock in the new position.

Jungkook looks like a sin-incarnate. Head thrown back in pleasure as you continue to tighten and clench around him. The sun still casts a crown of light over him as the muscles in his upper arms swell under his tattooed skin when he pulls you into his cock. His abdomen shines with the sweat that he worked up fucking you like a wild animal who is desperately trying to be tamed by the alpha male. 

“Are you almost there?” Jungkook sounds fucking done, his hips jerks and his jaw clenches; a sign you know all too well that he’s so close to finishing.

You nod desperately. You’ve been waiting for this moment since you both walked into your office twenty minutes ago. Your body shakes and your tears build up in your eyes. It’s all too much, too consuming and yet not enough either.

“Good fucking girl, all mine. Come for me,” Jungkook insists as he unwraps his hand from your throat. Your high hits you all at once as your body sucks in as much air as possible and your body falls forward on shaky legs, your desk breaking your fall as you limply set your body down.

“Jungkook!” You sob his name over and over like a filthy prayer. Your cries pierce through and you both know that everyone within on the other side of the walls has heard you shriek for your boyfriend. If they didn’t know what was going on before, they do now. Not caring who hears you, you continue to scream as your orgasm ripples through you, tears spilling out from the corners of your eyes.

“What do you say?” “Thank you, Sir,” you give up being quiet and scream out the title having earned it.

Jungkook’s breath is laboured as your pussy continues to suck him in, becoming harder for him to move as the tightening from your orgasm wraps around him which only makes Jungkook fuck into you harder, the force of his hips snapping into you causing your desk to screech under the wooden flooring. You feel his hips thrust against you in a broken rhythm, his own pants begin to turn into soft whines.

“Fuck, get on your knees, I’m gonna come…” Jungkook snarls as he pulls out of you and watches you lower yourself onto your lower half for him. Jungkook wraps his hands around his cock and uses your cum to aid him in jerking himself off. Darkened eyes stare down at you as you bat your lashes at him, your tits rising and falling with every breath you take.

Hot, white, sticky ropes of cum shoot from his reddened cock as he releases himself all over your chest and watches as it pools and slips down towards the valley of your chest, your clavicles and neck. Some of his seed soaks into the material of your blouse.

After what feels like thirty seconds, Jungkook’s cock stops twitching and begins to soften in his hand. He takes a step over to you and rubs his cock through the messy concoction on your skin, smearing it all over your skin, watching it glisten under the lights of your office ceiling.

Jungkook reaches for your hand and you gladly accept it, letting him guide you over to the sofa at the side of the office where today's sextivities had first taken place.

You laugh as you both set yourself down, you curlling into the warmth of Jungkook’s body.

“What’s got you giggling?” Jungkook questions with a smirk, lifting a hand up to his hair to run through the strands, ridding them from his sweaty forehead.

“Nothing… I really did just skip out on this meeting to have sex with my boyfriend in my office,” your laugh picks up.

This time it’s Jungkook’s time to laugh as he takes in your words. “Yeah, you did,” he agrees. “After this, be prepared to skip out on more meetings because this dick is the only appointment now in your calendar for the foreseeable.” 

[doing-something-unholy]

The basics of care for Catholic Priests

(this probably won't read as horny to anyone who isn't into a very specific kind of casual degradation and objectification ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Most people are familiar with Priests as collectively church-owned working class pets, but they can make wonderful single-owner pets as well! Here you'll find some of the basics of caring for these unique creatures.

Appearance

Priests are usually known for having black coats, with high contrast white markings around their necks known as a "collar." A few different morphs do exist however! Mostly these consist of small markings in either gold, red, or a liturgical color, but one morph includes a bright red coat known as a "cardinal."

Curiously, both young and very old priests tend towards white coats. The priest pups are referred to as "seminarians," and they grow in dark coloration as they get older. Very old priests slowly get lighter with age, eventually ending up with white coats. Priests from tropical environments may also have white coats at any age!

A healthy priest's markings, especially the collar, should be in high contrast with a deep, saturated black coat. Dull, or desaturated colors can be a sign of chronic stress or illness. No need to panic however, sometimes it is as simple a fix as a vitamin supplement at meal times. You should consult a vet to find out.

Diet

Communion wafers of course! But mostly as treats, priests love them but they have surprisingly little nutritional value. All forms of bread or crackers are acceptable (though your milage may vary with a picky eater) and any kind of grapes. Many enjoy other fruits as well. Priests are capable of eating meat, especially fish for lent, but often prefer it only for special occasions. They often will refuse large meals entirely during lent, which can be concerning for beginner owners, but this is normal behavior. Try breaking it up into snacks throughout the day if you're concerned about your priest not eating enough. Often times pets will lose track of how many snacks they've had and eat regularly.

Priests need access to fresh holy water. Contrary to popular belief, it is easily made at home, although some picky pets may prefer the kind found in churches. Priests are capable of injesting weak alcohol like wine with no problems, anything higher than around 20% may cause some illnesses over time. Wine is actually an important enrichment treat for them, in the same vein as wafers, it allows them to follow their natural behaviors.

Housing

Anything that mimics it's natural habitat works, luckily churches come in a variety of ways! Priests are safe to allow full range of you home but having a dedicated room or partitioned space specifically designed for them is very rewarding for both you and your pet. Stone and wood facades are preferred, as are stained glass coverings over windows. Have an altar space available for your pet, and allow them to maintain it themselves. Priests naturally like to maintain an altar and their church space. Provide clean cloth in both white and the appropriate liturgical color. Real altar sets can be expensive, but any kind of durable cups and plates will work. Your pet may prefer different materials, but typically wood, pewter, or brass is used. Observe the decorations in churches and add as much as you'd like! It is not recommended to use real candles without supervision, you may provide them while someone is home and switch to battery powered lights while away.

Behavior

Priests are surprisingly intelligent, being a working breed means that they take well to structure and training. Priests have a wide range in personalities, but tend to be reserved, neat, and polite, especially around strangers. They tend to be early risers, but some can be persuaded to sleep in and begin their rituals later in the day. Priests love a structured routine, and will often become upset by interruptions that don't allow for them to perform their usual rituals. Typically they will play act at least one “mass” a day, and love to see their owners participate. They will also frequently “pray”, making repeated vocalizations and playing with beads (be sure to provide some!)

They may also exhibit a few behaviors that might greatly concern new owners. “Guilty” behaviors are normal and common for priests, and may include increased “prayer” both in frequency or intensity, skipping large meals, or putting themselves in uncomfortable situations. Some priests may also self-flagellate, but this too is normal as long as it does not cause lasting harm. Excessive “guilty” behavior may indicate a stressful environment, so look out for potential causes like broken altar pieces, missing communion wafers, or even engaging in too much “sin”. Your pet will have a strong sense of morality, and will certainly let you know about it! Priests often have strict internal rules, but they will frequently accept new ones from their owner with training. You may have to correct your pet's internal rules if they have deemed something you normally do as “sinful”. Luckily they respond well to firm training and positive reinforcement.

These little guys are extremely unique pets, and make a great addition to the home for owners willing to put in the time for them! Please do further research and consider if owning a Catholic Priest is right for you.

[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: what's your ideal bedroom like?

once upon a time (a year ago) i spoke of using your house rulers to deep dive into the story of the houses. i did a hypothesis about money and another about careers - but what about your home? for that take a look at your 4h and the persona chart of its ruler (ex: my 4h is in gemini, i will be looking at my mercury persona chart NOT my ic persona (thats more family and childhood dynamics in my opinion)).

today i want to focus on somewhere critical to all of us - our bedroom. you can look at the 12h and/or the moon in this chart to get a better idea of what your ideal bedroom looks like or should be like to feel most rested and comfortable.

why?

the 12h rules over solitude (where you might go to escape everyone else in your household), the subconscious (where we supposedly go in deep sleep), etc.

the moon rules over comfort (what we find comfort in), the subconscious (which connects again to deep sleep and dreaming), cycles and rhythms (hi sleep cycle and circadian rhythm), etc.

so here are some observations of what i believe to be important to a room based on these factors in your 4h ruler's persona chart.

a capricorn (10°, 22°) moon / 12h saturn / capricorn 12h / moon aspecting saturn person likely wants a minimal room. they don't what a lot of clutter - if their room is cluttered they might be experiencing a lot of waking/life stress/anxiety that is effecting their sleep. they like neutral and natural colors in a room - beiges, "agreeable grey", dark green, and dark blues in particular allows them to feel calm and as though they are able to relax. arctic white paint or cool white light may trigger them into feeling like they are in work mode instead of relax mode. they seek quality furniture that is timeless - they don't want to constantly have to replace the pieces they have in their room because they don't last or no longer fit the style. they don't want to have to think at the end of the day that something broke or they hate a piece because it doesn't fit the trend anymore and they now have to replace it. they don't want another thing they have to do, they just want to crash. organization is key - everything in their room should have a spot. they want everything that belongs in there to have a place (books are organized by author/series, clothing is color/season organized, glasses have a spot on a side table, jewelry has an organizer that rarely changes, etc). there is often a very refined and elegant feeling to their room. the sheets have a classic design (they are white or white and grey), the mirror is elegant yet classic, the bed is simple yet fits and fills the space well, etc. and most importantly room darkening curtains and lots of blankets (no capricorn/saturn person wants to be awakened by the sun or because they are too cold at night)!!!

a gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) moon / 12h mercury / gemini 12h / moon aspecting mercury person might have a rather eclectic style in their room. it might feel like they are testing out a look or like they have a lot of different vibes that don't necessarily fit one another. color finds its way into this room no matter what and it is often multiple colors at once that draw a person's attention. its very strange because this space is never just a sleep space for them often its multi-functional in some way shape or form like they have the ability to have a sitting space for others... could be a chair or a window seat or a desk... speaking of desks - books, vinyl, cds, gadgets, etc are a big part of the gemini/mercury vibes in a space. often their media have a spotlight moment in a room. lastly this space has an air of awareness in it - its not totally sleepy vibes, you know for sure when you see this space its not just for sleep. this is a place of study, reading, music listening, etc. it might just feel like not much sleep occurs in the space at all!

leo (5°, 17°, 29°) moon / 12h sun / leo 12h / moon aspecting sun rooms are warm and inviting. there are likely gold elements or warm paint colors used in the room. luxury is a must - the bed is likely memory foam or plush - the pillows are probably hotel/high quality. the comforter is down feathers and/or a fluffy/fuzzy blanket is present. it is very likely that stuffed animals are present too or at least one that is too adorable not to be there. there is some sort of central piece in this room - a giant mirror, a big art piece over the bed, a grand wall of books, etc. something in the room is guaranteed to always get a compliment from people who peak in during a house tour. it is also rather common especially in younger years for these people to keep their awards/trophies on display in their room as it fills them with a great sense of pride. windows are very important to this person's bedroom too as they tend to enjoy natural light when they can get it.

aries (1°, 13°, 25°) moon / 12h mars / aries 12h / moon aspecting mars people love a bold look in their room. its the energy of platform beds, industrial metal frames, etc. if they can use an "aggressive" color (red, orange, yellow, etc) in a bedroom they will... however they like a modern and sleek look despite their bold color schemes. they also like a minimal room - the bedroom is for their bed - point, blank, period. it's about having the essentials nothing more nothing less. they won't being using decorative pillows they have to remove every night or a decorative blanket that just hangs over their footboard. heavens forbid a decorative ladder with a decorative blanket that's not for use but for the eye. if they can't use it, they don't need or want it in the space it will just make them annoyed and cause them to feel like everything is in the way of them getting to the relax/wind-down portion of their day. now strangely enough, they often workout in their bedroom, so it wouldn't be shocking to find a pull up bar in the doorway or a peloton bike in the corner of the room. and 10/10 they will be getting up using an alarm - but it is rather unlikely they will need multiple alarms to make them get out of their bed in the morning.

likely more to come on home hypotheses, as i look to make renovations to my own home despite/because of being creatively burnt out. thank the heavens for astrology doing the leg work.

-a.d.

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© a-d-nox 2024 all rights reserved

[sinstear]

ㅤ❝ 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 ❞

designer!abby spends all her time, or as much time as she possibly can in her shop, making sure everything is perfect, nothing out of place, or untidy that will annoy her and send her into a spiral of stress. her blue bright eyes always doing double glances at the mannequins in the window and around the room, displayed with old and new designs. some that took her hours, meanwhile some that she spent months perfecting. the small details that had her hands hurting and fingers cramping with the amount of patience and time she spent crafting what was once a rough sketch in her many books, to real life. 

the lights make it more beautiful as she just leans her body on the counter, and takes everything in. this was her life. something that started out as a hobby one day in her childhood, and has become her job. small diamonds embroidered around the waistband of the new design she came up with, a slim silk dress, that sparkles when the light catches perfectly, her lips curve up into a smile and she can’t help but giggle. she did that. 

designer!abby completely spaces out during measurements. her fingers work delicately against the fabric, her glasses slip down to the bridge of her nose, flyaway hairs sticking to her forehead, skin glistening with sweat, and a sweet hum of something she hears on the radio fills the subtle silence. too into making something new that she didn’t even register the ding of the bell above the door ringing when someone walked in. didn’t even feel the cold rush of air as her brows furrowed and tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth, deep in thought. 

well, that was until the soft sound of someone clearing their throat behind her made her turn around.

turning around … more like dropping her scissors and holding her chest in panic. not aware anyone was in here. the glasses on her nose slip more as she pants like she just ran a fucking marathon.

“sorry, sorry! i didn’t mean to scare you. you just looked really focused, didn’t want to ruin it” they apologized quickly, holding a hand over their mouth to stop the giggles that came out when abby slumped against the counter with a small nod. “m’sorry”

a crimson blush coats the apples of her cheeks before she can stop it, the warmth in her skin is so hot that she feels like she’s going to burst into flames any second. “s’okay” the blonde giggled nervously, pulled her glasses off and slipped them into the pocket of her jacket before clearing her throat. “can i help you with anything?”

“i’ve always been too scared to come in here”

she knows, she sees you looking through the window everyday, or mostly everyday. she doesn’t have to ask to know who you are. you’re all over the tv, the internet, with your gorgeous dresses and different pieces of jewelry at each event you attend. but she doesn’t say anything, she just politely smiles and tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “you’re always welcome to come in, you know?”

“everything in here is just so pretty, and you are precise with everything. quite perfect” you whispered, too scared to say it louder in case you scared her.

“it’s not, m’not that good” abby stammered, cheeks flushing a darker red at the praise.

“bullshit, i’ve seen what you do. read every article about the new designs you’ve come up with. everything you make is perfect. m’too scared to buy anything because your designs are so detailed, so creative and beautiful. i admire them. i admire you”

turning around to hide her blush, the blonde cleared her throat again and carefully placed her scissors and measuring tape back in her small sewing kit. your words had her feeling like a teenager, too scared to say or do anything that might make her make a fool of herself. so she stuck with simple, “is there anything you want to try on?”

“i noticed your jewellery. i really like the silver diamond necklace you made” 

“oh?” her voice cracked slightly, suddenly too nervous. her body turned around slowly to find you a lot closer than before. “do you want you try it on?”

“yes, please”

you studied abby as she made her way behind the counter, huffing and grumbling under her breath about something along the lines of i really need to tidy up around here before looking up, a silent okay for you to come over. thankfully you haven’t noticed the deep blush she’s been sporting since you opened your mouth and watched you place your purse on the glass and looked at all the jewellery with wide, yet sparkly eyes.

“people tend to go for the clothes, the necklaces? not so much” she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders lightly as she carefully placed the necklace on the counter beside your purse. eyeing you up subtly.

before you could pick it up, abby was already sighing and shaking her head. “what’s wrong?” your voice soft and sultry like honey. 

“sorry, i just don’t think silver would work”

“why?”

“i think gold would suit you better. it brings out the brightness of your eyes, and it would look really pretty on you” abby really? she scolded herself while you looked away with a shy smile. “m’sorry, i don’t usually tell people what they should and shouldn’t wear” 

“do you think so? the gold?”

“of course” 

the next few minutes slowed down for you both, one minute she was admiring you from behind the counter and the next she was standing right behind you, placing the necklace around your neck and clasping it together. her blush returns quite quickly at the sound of your breath hitching in your throat once her fingers graze your skin, soft and gentle to the touch.

“how does it look?” you asked, breaking the utter silence that surrounded you both. her eyes were glued to the necklace around your neck when you spun around to get her opinion. this time you spotted the blush on her face and giggled at her. “does it look okay?”

“s’really pretty” abby nodded quickly, unaware of the way you were smiling at her. “it suits you much better than the silver. it goes really well with your eyes, like i said, gold brings out the brightness of them” she smiled, fumbling with the fabric of her jacket sleeve. 

“thank you. how much is it?”

“oh, no. consider it my gift to you” the blonde choked out, were you really doing this, abby? pushing your purse away when you went to grab it. “please, take it”

looking at her for a few seconds, you nodded reluctantly with another shy smile. “okay, thank you. really. i promise to keep it safe”

“you’re welcome, and i hope you do” abby smiled, palms suddenly sweaty as she watched you slip your bag over your shoulder and brush your hands down your dress. “i hope you have a really good day” really?

“thank you,” you laughed and held your hand over your mouth. “i hope you do too, abigail”

designer!abby who can’t help but blush and giggle like a goddamn teenager, finally, when that same night you post a picture of the same necklace she gave you, with her account tagged on your social media. orders upon orders coming through her emails quicker than she could keep up with.

[lennadanvers]

Winter back home

Simon Riley x Reader

He has a problem.

He’s had problems all his life. He’s got a lot of experience in dealing with problems, really. The ones that can be solved with bullets, anyway.

This is not that kind of problem. Well, maybe a bullet could take care of this. But he promised himself he would never take that path. So, he suffers.

His problem is the dichotomy. His problem is Ghost, months of suffocating under a stale mask, the orders, the blood, the uniform. His problem is Simon, weeks of nothing, the silence, the civilian comfort, being a person.

He’s gone. Somewhere between base and “home”- a cold, dark flat in the outskirts of London-, he lost his soul. Now he isn’t here nor there. None of his names fit him.

He is just a being, two legs on top of two feet that can’t stand the feeling of dry, clean socks inside of simple sneakers. A head, a neck, on top of a pair of shoulders too wide to fit the door of normalcy. A back too tight to bear the weight of actual life. Hands too strong to hold reality without breaking it, skin so rough it tears instead of caressing. A pair of eyes that do not know where to look if not for threats.

He's a storm waiting to happen. Too dark to be a person, too broken to be a man. Too heavy for a ghost.

The flat feels wrong. Especially the first few days. He has to open the windows to let the fresh air in- more like freezing air. It’s okay, he’s used to dealing with the cold. It’s actually being comfortable what makes him uneasy. The fact that he has so much space for himself. He doesn’t have things. He doesn’t own more than a couple changes of clothes. His sofa looks new, even though he bought it years ago. His bed is soft, his bedside table is empty. He owns a table, two chairs and headphones. One bottle of water. Four glasses, a cheap six-piece cutlery set. Some plates he bought on sale. One rug he doesn’t step on. A broom. Shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste are in the bag he brings from base. Even his bike just takes up half his designated parking space.

Other than that, he has nothing.

The other thing that bothers him is the silence. He should be able to sleep in the quiet- he’s fallen asleep in active bombing zones, for God’s sake. But the white noise of the cars, the soft humming of the refrigerator- all they do is keep him awake. It’s always too quiet, too… Too safe. He knows it’s a trap. It always is.

That’s why he checks the windows.

Like now, when he enters the apartment in silence. The lights stay off until he’s cleared every room. Then he turns them all on. His duffel bag goes into the wardrobe, still closed. The boots under the bed. He changes into civilian clothes, checks the pantry- empty, always empty- and starts his rounds.

He checks the three windows: the small one in the bathroom, the one in the bedroom that looks over the neighbor’s rooftop, and the one in the living room. Usually, the last one is his favorite. The view lets him keep an eye on the street, alert in case there’s something suspicious lurking down there.

This time, though, he can’t look down.

He’s stuck in the window in front of his. The apartment building across the street is nicer than the one he’s standing in. By his standards, anyway. That means it looks warm and worn down. Brick walls instead of grey cement, wood stairs instead of metal. It has pots with flowers and an old mirror in the entrance.

There’s only one apartment with the lights still on. It’s late, he reminds himself, for normal people. Most of them are asleep at two in the morning.

You’re not. Through your open curtains, he can see your tired face. You’re curled up on a desk chair, with messy hair and reading glasses on. Your pajama is cute, it looks soft and a little too big. It fits you perfectly. You’re holding a steaming cup and frowning at the pile of papers on top of your desk.

When you fix the -presumably hand-knitted- blanket on top of your shoulders, he frowns. Aren’t you cold? You should close the window.

And go to bed, while you’re at it. What are you doing up this late, anyway? Working? He hopes not. A cute little thing like you should have a quiet job, with stable working hours and low stress. But you look very stressed. Maybe you’re studying. That’s it, probably. You don’t look his age, but he’d bet you’re in your late twenties, maybe thirties.

He pictures you getting a degree. It’s easy, you look smart. Oh, you must have a degree already. Surely, he decides, you must have one. You’re getting a doctorate now, aren’t you?

It’s a silly question, of course. He knows nothing about you, except that you should be sleeping instead of munching at a cookie. But it’s a relief to pretend he does. To believe he can see life through your window. If he had to guess, that’s what living looks like: a woman in the room, plans for the future, eating homemade treats and knowing you’ll survive the upcoming test, even if you don’t pass.

For the first time since he bought this place, he’s actually there. As if taking a deep breath, Simon is suddenly aware of his body. The t-shirt he’s wearing is soft, a little too thin for the weather. The place smells like leather- must be the sofa. Was the ceiling always this high? Simon makes a mental note to buy air freshener and a blanket.

It takes him a couple of days of staring out the window to realize what happened.

It’s Friday, and he’s checked your closed blinds for the third time this afternoon. Simon hasn’t seen you today. He sighs and turns around. He goes to open one of the kitchen drawers when it hits him.

There are cookies in there. Two different kinds. And he’s wearing slippers- they were on sale at the supermarket, and he didn’t even think about it. But he’s thinking about it now. Simon looks around. One of his jackets is hanging by the door. There’s lint on the rug. The cushions on the sofa are out of their place. He left a mug on the counter.

He's living again.

It a crushing discovery. Once he saw it, it’s impossible to miss. He made plans. He has tickets to watch a movie next Tuesday. When was the last time he planned something other than a mission? And cookies? Simon hasn’t eaten cookies since he enlisted. Maybe longer. His clothes are comfortable. Actually comfortable, he doesn’t need to ignore the fabric irritating his skin. The windows are closed: he’s not cold. It’s quite nice, honestly. And the place smells like someone lives here. A mix of cologne, tea and leftovers from lunch.

The flat doesn’t feel empty. Simon doesn’t feel empty.

His muscles give out. It’s not a dramatic fall, more like an extreme relaxation. It hurts a little; like clenching your fist for hours and then letting your hand open. The blood starts flowing back with a tingle. The oxygen gets where it is supposed to go. There is a strange open space in the palm of your hand.

The relieved smile is a side effect.

He still wears it when he settles back down on the couch. Someone is playing music outside, and the plants on your building’s hall are blooming. What a weird time to bloom, in the middle of the cold.

Simon understands, though, when he sees you finally open your blinds.

Yes, he gets the desire to be alive now.

A/n: I sat down to write and four hours later I'm posting this. It is not proofread and I'm a little too tired to care. Maybe I'll fix it later. Also, my anxiety has been a bitch lately (that means I freeze instead of being able to reply to messages and asks- my poor friends have the patience of a thousand saints stacked on top of each other), so I won't reply to the asks today. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see. In any case, I hope you're all having a great weekend, full of flowers and treats <3

[uniquexusposts]

The politician's daughter (3)

Main characters: James Beaufort x reader Genre: fanfiction, fluff, TV show  Word count: 2973 Requested by: @marjoriesemente

Summary: What will happen when you put the rich against the rich and suffer the one in between?

Click here to go to part 2

“Wait!” James said when he saw a maid walking up the front door. The woman stopped walking and looked questionable at James. “I will get this. It’s okay,” he smiled and jogged to the front door. Through the glass, he saw Y/N stepping out of a car, looking bewildered as she glanced around. Her eyes met his, and she raised an eyebrow in surprise. James opened the door. “Hey, welcome,” he said and stepped inside. 

“Hi,” Y/N replied and stepped inside. “Long time no see,” she smirked, looking around the hall. 

“How have you been?” James went along. “We need to catch up, I suppose.” He squinted his eyes, but cheekily smiled. He invited her to the living room. 

“Hmm-hmm,” she hummed and playfully gave him a nudge. She stopped walking when they stood in the living room. “Holy shi…” Y/N mumbled and turned around to have a complete look at the living room and entrance. “This is like Buckingham Palace. At least, that's what I think it looks like,” she added. “Or Windsor Castle. A royal residence.”

His eyes were resting on her face. A grin came on his face. “That is… too much?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

Y/N turned around and rolled her eyes. “Not everyone is that rich. It’s a compliment, though.”

James chuckled. "I'll take it as one," he said, uncrossing his arms and motioning for her to follow him. "Come on, let’s get started on that project.”James led Y/N through the grand corridors of his home, their footsteps echoing softly on the marble floors. They paused in the kitchen, where the gleam of stainless steel appliances contrasted with the warm wooden cabinetry. James grabbed a couple of bottles of sparkling water and a plate of assorted snacks.

"You have people who work here, right?" Y/N asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"That's right," James replied cautiously, unsure of her reaction.

An impressed look crossed her face. "Hah," she mumbled. "Just interested." They resumed their walk, heading up the sweeping staircase, Y/N's eyes darting around, taking in every detail; the intricate railings, the family portraits lining the walls, the luxurious carpet beneath their feet. "It's like walking through a museum," she remarked, her voice a mix of awe and amusement. “Sorry, I am just impressed.”

“I noticed,” he smiled. 

They reached the first floor and entered a room: James’s bedroom. The room was spacious, with large windows allowing natural light to flood. Y/N placed her bag against the enormous wooden desk across from his bed. This room smelled like him. A small smile came on her face. 

James set the snacks and drinks on the desk and motioned for Y/N to take a seat. "Alright, let's dive back into the project.”

They settled in, opening their laptops and notebooks. Their ideas flowed more freely as they brainstormed, the initial awkwardness dissipating. They discussed their concept for ‘Sub Coffee’ in detail, planning the marketing strategies, target demographics, and potential partnerships. At some point, they were designing the logo and deciding their corporate identity. They moved from the desk to the floor, laying out some designs and ideas. Y/N was sitting against his bed, and James was lying on his side next to her. 

“I don’t see it anymore,” Y/N mumbled and threw her notebook next to her. “You picked out a logo.” She sighed and let her head lean on the bed. 

James, lying on his side, propped his head up with one hand and glanced at the scattered designs. He picked up one of the logos they’d sketched. “How about this one? Simple, clean, and it gets the point across.”

Y/N lifted her head and looked at the design he was holding. “It’s decent,” she admitted, a small smile on her lips. “Maybe we could refine it and add some colour or texture.”

James nodded. “Yeah, that could work. But it’s not wow.”

“We need that wow factor.”

At that moment, there were three knocks on the door. The door flew open, and Lydia stepped into the room. “James…” She didn’t know he had someone over. Especially not the politician’s daughter. “Oh.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Lydia.”

A warm smile came on Y/N’s face. “Hey.”

Lydia’s eyes shot from James to Y/N, and back to James. It was a weird couple to see together, and she had no idea what it meant. She blinked several times, clearly trying to process the scene before her. “Hey, Y/N,” she said, her voice tinged with curiosity. “I didn’t know you were here.” It wasn’t like Lydia didn’t like Y/N, but Y/N was an attention seeker. She had a name. She was in the middle. It was kinda like there was a battle going on between them: Y/L/N versus Beaufort. 

James sat up. “We’re working on a project.”

“The company project?”

“Yes.” 

“The deadline was Friday evening,” Lydia mentioned. 

Y/N’s smile dropped, and her eyes shot to James. James’ jaw dropped, and he looked at Y/N. 

“But the presentations are tomorrow,” James said while looking at Y/N. The corners of his lips curled up, mirroring Y/N’s smile. 

Lydia nodded slowly, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “Yes, but the deadline to submit everything was Friday evening. I guess you two missed it?”

The two on the floor began to laugh about their failed planning. 

“Y/N is new at school. They probably will condone it this time,” James confidently said. 

“Yes, but James is not new. Be prepared for the worst,” Lydia smiled. “Anyway, I am going to the golf club. See you later. And good luck,” she said and walked away. 

Y/N and James exchanged a glance, their laughter subsiding as the reality of their situation set in. "We really messed up," Y/N said, a mix of amusement and frustration in her voice.

James shook his head, still smiling. "We'll figure it out. We have to.”

Just seconds after Lydia left, the door opened again. This time it was a maid. Y/N eyes shot to James, not knowing how to act. James showed an emotionless smile. It was shocking to Y/N how quickly James could switch between his own personality and a business personality. Or his act. 

“Mary,” he greeted the young girl. 

Y/N wondered how old she was. Maybe their age. How did she end up here? 

“Mr Beaufort, Miss Y/L/N,” the girl nodded. “Mr Y/L/N has arrived and is here to pick up Miss Y/L/N.” 

A thin line appeared between Y/N’s eyebrows, and she looked confused. “My father?” How did he know that she was here? She didn’t tell her mum or brother about it. “How… What… Huh?” 

“He is waiting in the car for you,” the maid mentioned. 

“Oh. Okay. Thank you,” Y/N politely smiled. The maid left the room. “What is my father doing here? I wasn’t supposed to see him for another week. And now he has time?” Y/N mumbled to herself and sighed. She looked at James, who didn’t answer her rhetorical questions. “I am afraid we must finish it alone, at home.”

“Sure, that’s not an issue. We’re almost done anyway. Only the corporate identity. I will work on it and send it to you,” he offered. 

“Really?” 

He nodded. “You were the brain behind all of this. Now it’s my turn to put it on paper.”

Was this the same James Beaufort I met last week? A grateful smile came on her face. “Thanks.” She got up and collected her own stuff. “Do you take everything with you to school tomorrow? Or do I need to bring something, too?” 

“I’ve got it covered,” he said, his tone reassuring. “Just bring yourself. We’ll nail this presentation.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and curiosity. “Okay, thanks, James. I appreciate it.”

James gave her a small smile. “No problem. See you tomorrow.”

Y/N turned to leave but hesitated momentarily, glancing back at him. “You know, you’re not as much of an asshole as I thought.”

James chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Thanks, I guess.” He was holding some papers in his hands. “You are not as much of a bitch as I thought.” 

An amusing smile came on her face, and she shook her head. As Y/N went downstairs, her mind was a whirl of thoughts. She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around that her father was here, unannounced. The maid’s announcement had thrown her off balance, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

* * *

The following day, Y/N arrived in a sleek black car at school, and the family chauffeur opened the door for her. She stepped out with an air of confidence and a stern expression. Dressed in a tailored blazer and heels, her demeanour was unmistakably authoritative. She thanked the chauffeur with a curt nod and walked towards the school entrance.

As she moved through the hallways, students parted to make way for her, sensing the change in her presence. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, ignoring the whispers and glances that followed her. She rounded a corner and nearly bumped into James, who was on his way to class.

A soft smile came on his face. “Y/N,” he said. “Good morning. Are you ready for the presentation?”

Y/N avoided his eyes without breaking stride, but her expression was cold and distant. “Excuse me,” she said icily, not acknowledging his question. She brushed past him and continued down the hall.

James stood there, momentarily stunned by her demeanour. The warmth and fun they had shared while working on the project seemed to have changed overnight. Confused, he watched her retreating figure, trying to make sense of the sudden change. He turned to his friends, who all looked impressed and bewildered. Cyril somehow looked amused. James raised his arms and looked as confused as them. 

Y/N entered the classroom, her posture straight and her face set in a mask of willpower. She sat and began setting up her materials for the presentation, her movements precise and deliberate. James entered shortly after, his expression still reflecting the shock of their brief encounter. He placed beside her, trying to focus on the task at hand.

The class settled in, and the teacher called for the presentations to begin. Y/N and James were first. They stood at the front of the class, their professional demeanour masking any personal tension. The synergy they had developed while working on the project was evident as they went through their slides. Their presentation was polished, and their ideas were well-articulated. Despite the cold shoulder, Y/N had given James earlier, their professional collaboration was flawless.

When they finished, the class erupted in applause. The teacher nodded approvingly. “Excellent work, both of you. Your proposal is innovative and well-thought-out. You’ve set a high bar for the rest of the class. However, you did not upload your documents on time. An explanation?”

“Regrettably, we experienced a delay in uploading the documents due to unforeseen challenges in delivering the results at that time,” James answered. "Y/N was unfamiliar with the process as it was her first time working on this project.”

“My apologies for that,” Y/N went along. 

The teacher nodded slowly. “Since it is your first project and your third week at this school, it’s fine for now. But the next time, there will be consequences.”

Y/N and James returned to their seats, the tension between them palpable. James couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. He had hoped that the presentation would help bridge the gap that had suddenly appeared between them.

As the class moved on to the next presentation, James leaned over to Y/N and whispered, “What happened? Why are you acting like this?”

Y/N kept looking in front of her, her expression unreadable. “It’s nothing, James. Let’s just focus on the project.”

He nodded slowly, knowing that pressing her further would be pointless. Business partners… James changed the look on his face to authoritative. She wanted to be a business partner, and then they would be business partners and nothing more. 

As the day went on, James resolved to find out what had caused the shift and, if possible, to mend whatever had gone wrong. He opened up to her, and they shared some jokes and laughed a lot. She took advantage of his weakness. There was a reason why James was extremely selective about picking his friends or partners. He let go of that once, and he was shown the exact reason why he was that selective. 

The day's last class ended, and Y/N was the first to leave the classroom, even leaving Amelia behind. James quickly grabbed his stuff and followed Y/N. He had to talk properly to her. He quickened his pace and grabbed her arm when he was close enough. “Don’t,” he mumbled, and she was trying to snatch her arm back. James led her to an empty classroom and closed the door behind him. “What was that?” 

Y/N sighed, walked to a table, and sat down. She crossed her legs. Her face straightened, not looking forward to talking to him. “What was what?” 

James took a deep breath, trying to control his frustration. “You know exactly what I mean,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Yesterday, we were working together just fine. We had a good time, even. Then today, you act like I don’t exist and give me the cold shoulder. What’s going on?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her expression remaining impassive. “James, don’t make a big deal out of this. We finished our project. It’s done. That’s all there is to it.”

“So… You used me.”

“I did not use you.” 

“Hah,” he breathed and nodded. He stepped to her, noticing she didn’t care to look him in the eyes. “Why…” The word sounded harsh between his lips because he didn’t understand her behaviour. He saw her eyes flutter because of his town. “Why are you ignoring me then? Acting like I’m your business partner that you can’t stand but must work together.” James kept looking at her; her eyes had a mixture of frustration and something else he couldn't quite place. Yet she still wouldn’t look at him. 

“James, it’s not like that,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” James challenged, stepping even closer. “I want to understand.”

Y/N sighed, crossing her arms defensively. “Because it’s easier this way. It’s easier to keep you at a distance. Yesterday was… it was a mistake.”

James shook his head, a pained expression on his face. “So you’re just going to shut me out? Pretend like we didn’t connect?”

“We didn’t connect,” Y/N said sharply. “We worked on a project. That’s all it was.”

“That’s not true,” James insisted. “We talked. We laughed. I saw a side of you that you don’t show to anyone else. And now you’re acting like it never happened.”

Y/N looked away, her jaw tightening. “Because it can’t happen, James. My life is complicated. I don’t have room for...”

“For what? For friends?” James interrupted; his voice was harsh.

For a moment, she broke character. Her eyes softened, and her shoulders hung low. She looked down, hoping she could blink the forming tears away. “I am not allowed to be friends with you,” she whispered. “Not even be project partners.” She slowly looked up. And for the first time today, their gaze met. 

“What do you mean?” James’ eyes shot from her right to left eye. The entire time, it was an act. And he fell for it. “How are we not allowed to be even project partners?” 

She was fighting between her own emotions and her father’s values. “Because of your scandals,” she mouthed. “I can’t be seen by you because it will damage my father’s reputation.” The words rolled over her lips like her father instructed her to. It wasn’t her words. 

James’ lips parted. “What?” He stepped a few steps back. “But your father literally wears our suits and compliments them during a public appearance. He is a loyal customer of Beaufort. He is literally wearing Beaufort, he is Beaufort.”

Even her father prepared her for this sentence. Her lip started to tremble, and her blood was boiling and freezing simultaneously. She sniffed. “I don’t want to do this, James,” she said, not following the script. “But I have to pick my father’s side-“

“Sure. No problem. It was a nice project, Y/N. Hopefully, we will get a good grade because I will never work with you again. Good afternoon.” 

James turned on his heel and stormed out of the classroom, leaving Y/N standing there, feeling a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. She wanted to call out to him, explain, and apologise, but the words caught in her throat. Every word she said didn’t make sense to her, and it was a mess. She had betrayed James and herself, all to be forced to protect her father's reputation.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she realised the depth of the mess she had created. She had lost a friend, maybe even more than that, all because she was forced to be loyal to her father. It was either that or her life would be ruined. 

Money is power, and power is ego; ego is arrogance—even when it comes to your own family. 

Taglist: @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess