#so did anyone actually use these? and if so what made them useful?

[lou-struck]

A Miya Mix-up

Osamu Miya x reader

~ After months of watching you pine over the cute delivery guy, your coworker decided to put an end to it by slipping him your number. 

W.C: 3.4k

a/n: my best friend actually works with a set of identical twins and after a little miscommunication, inspired this fic. Although she will never read this, I would like you guys to know that she told me to write this.

Multitasking is hard.

How are you supposed to get any work done while also watching the door?

All right, maybe you don’t need to be watching the front door of your Workplace. But it’s not like it’s hurting anyone, you’re just waiting for a delivery.

“What are you doing?”

“ Working,” you drone, turning in your swivel chair to face your friend and coworker.

They smile knowingly as their gaze zeroes in on something behind you. “Oh yeah? So is that why your finger has been on the spacebar for what looks like three pages?”

You snort in disbelief, “Nice try, but I’m not falling for that one. Again.”

When their gaze remains firm as they gesture to your screen, and just to appease them, you decide to prove that they are… Absolutely right

“Ugh crap.” You mutter in embarrassment, frantically using your trackpad to highlight all the unwanted spaces from the official document you were supposed to be working on. The screen returns to normal as you flash a guilty smile up at them. “Thanks for catching that, I guess I was a bit distracted.”

“Let me guess, you ordered Onigiri for lunch again?” They laugh. Your cheeks warm as you avert your gaze from the confident woman in front of you.

“I-it's a local business,” you sputter defensively. “ it’s close, it’s affordable, and~”

“And the owner is super hot,” they finish, calling you out like the lovestruck fool you are.

The sigh that leaves your lips is heavy with defeat. “That too, you know me too well.” 

Ever since Onigiri Miya opened up down the street, you haven't been able to get him out of your mind. There is just something about Osamu Miya, the owner and head chef that has you crushing like a highschooler all over again. 

“You know he might not be the one doing the delivery today. After all, he’s the one cooking all the food.” Although their intention isn’t to crush your hopes and dreams, it certainly feels like it. 

“I was being optimistic.” you say with a smile “Either way the food is great and it’s not super pricey.”

Their attention is grabbed by something on your face as their brow furrows. “Were you eating a granola bar or something earlier today?”

“Yeah, just a while ago, why?”

They tap at their front tooth with an acrylic nail. “You got a little something right there.” 

“Thanks for that,” you say wiping your teeth with a clean handkerchief. Something about finding a friend who won’t hesitate to tell you about food in your teeth or toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe is heartwarming. You flash your teeth again and look at them expectantly. “Did I get it?”

They shake their head. “No, actually I think you made it worse. I would go take care of that before Hottie McRiceball comes with your special delivery.” Their tone is softened by good-natured teasing, but you still find yourself on the verge of laughter.

Playfully, you roll your eyes as you quickly stand from your desk. “We never agreed on that name and you know it.”

“Worth a shot,” they shrug as you scurry away to rinse your mouth out with some water.

~

“I didn't know ya still went out on deliveries Samu,” Atsumu Miya says as his brother takes a completed ticket off the countertop and boxes it up to go himself. “Don’t ya have people for that?”

“This is a special occasion.” The grey-haired twin replies. There is an uncharacteristically soft smile on his face as he packages the food with Michelin-level care. 

Immediately interested, the setter reaches for the ticket on the countertop, but it is snatched away quickly. “Oh come on Samu, I’m just trying to see who it’s for.” He says innocently.

“You don’t need to see.” His brother glares, “It’s just going to one of the offices down the street. I’ll run it down there real quick and be back in 10.” Just as the words leave his mouth, a loud crash can be heard from the dining room, both men’s heads turned on a dime as they rushed towards the sound. 

For arms push open the swinging double doors as they stumble across a heartbreaking site. Rice and fillings are scattered like rails over the ground as a frantic server tries to pick up what is left of the serving plate plates. The tipped-over stool sprawled out next to them tells Osamu everything he needs to know. 

And now, he has to remake this order on the fly.

Atsumu watches his brother frown as a deep, tortured sigh flies from his lungs .“I gotta go take care of this.” He casts one last wistful look at the completed mystery order before turning his attention to the mess in front of him. 

With his brother distracted, Atsumu, ever the helper,  decides to help his brother out and take care of the special delivery. 

After all, he has done more than his fair share of deliveries before when his brother was just starting out so just down the street would be a piece of cake. Eagerly, he takes the paper bag of food off the stainless steel countertop and walks back into the dining room. 

Passing his brother as he walks back inside. When he sees the bag, his eyes widen and he holds out an arm. “What are ya doing with that?”

“Helpin' ya out,” he grins, “There is no way you’ll be able to deliver this food before it gets cold. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

With that, he turns and strides away before his brother can object. Pushing open the front doors, he steps out into the moist spring air and takes a deep breath.

Looking down at the bag he spots the delivery ticket taped to the side. Gently, he lifts the ticket, reading the name and address. 

Now that he has started down this path, he’s not gonna stop until he figures out who exactly y/n is, and his brother wanted to see them so badly. 

~

After checking your teeth in the bathroom mirror for the tenth time, you find yourself back at your desk twiddling your thumbs as you wait for your lunch delivery. The clip-on desk fan above your monitor hums on full blast to hide the sound of your growling stomach. 

A familiar figure clad in a black t-shirt enters through the sliding doors and your heart skips a beat. But instead of heading to your office space like he usually does, Osamu goes to the front desk to talk to the receptionist. 

“Hey there, I have a delivery for a y/n.” you hear him say, despite walking right to your desk the last time you placed an order.

You struggle to hide your pout as he is pointed over to your direction. But as he gets closer, you begin to see that something is different about him. 

The man walking toward you does not have the same a different physique. He is pointed in your direction and as he gets closer you realize that something is off. 

Osamu is definitely a fit man, but this guy looks like he lives in the gym, the black Onigiri Miya t-shirt he is wearing seems to be struggling to contain his large arms and toned pecs. It isn't until you see the tuft of blonde hair poking out from under his cap that you realize that this must be his brother he mentioned in passing, the professional volleyball player. 

“His brown eyes light up when he sees you as if he is putting the pieces of a puzzle together, “y/n?”

“That’s me,” you smile, eyeing the food in the setter's hand. “You must be the brother?”

“What? Brother? Nah I just met the guy this mornin’,” he jokes, pulling an easy laugh from you. And you decide right then and there that although he isn't the man you have feelings for, Atsumu Miya is pretty cool. 

But he isn't Osamu

“I didn’t know you worked at the restaurant too,” you ask, hoping to pry some more information from the athlete before he has to leave. 

He sets the take-out bag on your desk, “I help him out sometimes when things get busy. Samu had his hands full today.”

“Oh,” you say simply, trying your best to hide your disappointment, but judging by the way this man is practically looking through you, you are doing a very poor job of it.

A pinging on your screen saves you from the awkward silence. Two sets of eyes flicker to the monitor to see a desperate plea from your coworker on the second floor asking for clarification on an email you sent him earlier. 

“Duty calls?” he asks knowingly. 

“It looks like it,” you answer, casting a longing glance at the lunch you won't get to eat until later. “It was nice meeting you though, maybe I’ll see you around.

He smiles like a jackal. Thoughtful humor aglow in his gaze as he nods. “You’ll definitely be seein me an Samu soon.”

As Atsumu turns and walks away, the little nickname for Osamu he used sends a happy shiver down your spine as your mind drifts to the happy daydream of one day being close enough with the man to use it. 

So lost in the moment, you fail to notice a friendly face intercepting the volleyball-playing delivery boy with a small piece of paper. 

~

For the first time in an hour, Osamu is able to take a calm breath. The spice-fragrant air is warm from the grill and tingles his nose but he is thankful for the peace. Between the influx of to-go orders and the dropped tray in the dining room, he hadn't had a moment to think about anything other than the mountain of tickets he had to climb. 

Until his brother comes through the back door, his presence reminding the Chef what he missed out on today. 

Seeing You.

The joy of getting to make that special delivery is easily the highlight of his week, a highlight that his brother experienced instead of him.  But instead of the triumphant grin he was expecting to see on his face, he finds guilt. 

“What’s with yer face?” he asks nonchalantly. 

“What? Nothin’ Atsumu says flashing a wobbly grin, he has always had a shitty poker face and slides his right hand behind his back. 

“Then what are you hiding?” He steps closer.

“Nothin,” Atsumu says again, taking a defensive step back. 

Not fallin' for that,” He says, lunging for his brother's arm. Both men begin to wrestle childishly. It’s back and forth until Osamu manages to pry a small piece of paper from his twin's sweaty palm. 

“Wait, Samu. Don’t” Atsumu says, but it’s too late. The black ink is smudged, but he can clearly make out the lettering. 

It’s your name and phone number.

“H-how did ya get this?” Osamu blinks, looking over at his brother as he imagines your earlier interaction with his twin. His brother, the professional volleyball player with thousands of fans cheering him on every game, has managed to do in ten minutes what he has been trying to work up the courage to do for months. 

Charm you. 

Atsumu at least has the decency to look ashamed as he casts his eyes to the floor. “Their coworker gave it to me.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They…uhh.” he pauses and shoves his hands into his pockets. “They said that we have a connection and they don’t like the slow-burn romantic subplots.”

“Romantic what-plots?” Osamu blinks, still trying to figure out what the hell is happening to him. “Nevermind that, do you like them?

“Do you?”

“I-i,’ he crosses his arms. “I asked you first.”

“I don’t know,” Atsumu admits, ‘y/n is nice and all but I talked to them for like a second. But you~”

This torturous conversation is thankfully interrupted by a rapid influx of tickets for to-go orders. His heart feels as if it is being ripped from his chest, but he walks away. "We'll talk about this later, I have to get back to work.”

“But Samu, I~”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he says, raising his voice. He reaches into his bowl of peeled and prepped garlic only to find it empty. Turning on a dime he storms into the walk-in and lets the door shut behind him. 

Now alone with the produce, he takes a moment to close his eyes, allowing the fan to cool his overheated face as he imagines his brother making you laugh with one of his stupid jokes.

If he was the one to do the delivery would things be different?

~

Three Days Later…

Your stomach roars as you take your lunch box from the breakroom fridge and place it on the nearest table. A late client delayed your lunch break and has you on the verge of hangriness. You are just about to unzip and dig in when your work friend practically skips inside, with a pleased smile on your face. In a flash, they snatch your uneaten lunchbox from the table and place it back in the fridge. 

“Hey, I was gonna eat that,” you whine. 

“Not now,” they smile. “I took the liberty of ordering us lunch from your future boyfriend's restaurant.”

“Wait, really?” you say surprised by the gesture. “You ordered me lunch?”

“Yes, But I used your name to place the order so we would get the best food.” they laugh, but there is something in their tone that tells you they are hiding something. 

“I’m sure that it would taste the same if you ordered,” you chuckle. “When will it get here?”

“Any minute now. Buttt while we wait, how about we have a little chat?”

“About what?”

They flutter their lashes and smile. “Have you gotten any important calls lately?”

“Lately?” you ask, thinking of the dozens of phone calls you have had to make today. “I’ve been on the phone all morning.”

“No, I’m talking about the cute chef guy. You know, Hottie McRiceball.”

“I never agreed to that nickname~” You start to protest but cut yourself off. “Why would he call me?”

“Because I gave him your number.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Why would you do that?

“I did it because I knew you wouldn't,” they grin, “Look you guys clearly like each other and I’m just helping you guys along. So when you get married I can give a speech at the wedding.”

“There probably won't be a wedding,” you frown. “He hasn't called me.”

Their eyes widen in disbelief. “He hasn't? But I gave it to him three days ago when he came here.”

You stop in your tracks, “wait… what? You gave it to him three days ago? When I ordered lunch from there?”

“Yeah, I slipped him your number on the way out.” They point to the doors and look so proud. Completely unaware of their mistake. When they notice the panic on your face, their brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

Your stomach does backflips as you nervously pace through the hallway. If Osamu thinks that you like his brother, you will have no chance with him going forward. “That wasn’t him.”

“Wait, what do you mean that wasn't him?” they call, following you through the office to the lobby. 

“It was his~” Your words die as you see a familiar head of grey hair standing at the front desk. Dark eyes meet yours and you are rendered immobile from the weight of the sorrow within them. Your stomach thrashes around, and you find yourself no longer hungry. 

He knows.

He blinks, shaking off your gaze as he turns on a dime and starts to walk towards the door, away from you without so much as a hello. Your body moves on its own while your brain is still held captive by your feelings. 

The chilly afternoon wind sends a cascade of goosebumps down your arms as you briefly regret leaving your coat draped over the back of your chair. He retreats quickly despite your less-than-quiet movements behind him. 

“Wait,” you call. “Just stop for a second.”

“We’re short-staffed today,” he says faintly, still moving away from you. “I have to get back.” 

“Please, just for a minute.” 

To your surprise, the tall man comes to a halt. His shoulders rigid as he turns to face you, his feet still facing his restaurant as if he would rather be anywhere else at the moment. Although you managed to stop him, you have no idea how long you have to explain the situation without making a complete fool of yourself. 

Balling your fists for courage, you take a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you that what happened the other day was a complete~”

“M’ happy for you,” he says, his tone stiff as he gives you a thin smile. Almost as if he is trying to force himself to believe the words coming out of his mouth. “ I really am, but I was just surprised, I didn’t think you and Tsumu would hit it off like ya did.”

“He was nice,” you say carefully. “But I really only talked to him for a second.”

“That long? Must be pretty serious then.” he chuckles. Sending you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Anyways, I should get back to work.”

Your hand moves on his own accord and grabs his shoulder. Just a little touch is all it takes to send a jolt through your skin and the two of you are frozen in place. “It was a mistake,” you say quickly. “My friend thought she was giving my number to you, not your brother.”

“What?”

“I-it was a mistake,” you with balled fists. The discomfort of your nails pressing into your palm gives you the courage to confess. “She knew that I was too nervous to make a move on my own so she thought maybe she could help.”

He stares at you for a moment, lips slightly parted as he processes your words. Meanwhile, a sickening concoction of fear and apprehension mash together in your throat. Never in your most hyper-realistic nightmares did you imagine frantically confessing to your crush like this. 

Frankly, you feel like shit. 

Even more so when the man you just confessed to lets out a laugh. 

Your cheeks burn with rejection as you cross your arms. “You know, A simple no would have worked,” you mutter. 

“No. God. Sorry. It’s not that.” he says quickly, realizing what you are thinking. “Definitely into ya. I was just actin' like a jerk because I’ve been tryin' to ask you out myself for weeks. I thought that in the ten minutes he spent with ya, Tsumu beat me to it.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel as if you have just won the lottery “Wait, really? You like me too?

His cheeks darken and he rubs the back of his flushed neck. Well yeah, I don’t really make any other deliveries. I was worried I was being too obvious about it.”

“Not at all. I thought you were just being neighborly,” you murmur, suddenly feeling as if there are dozens of eyes staring at the back of your head. Glancing back you see the not-so-subtle faces of your coworkers pressed up against the glass window, watching this entire exchange. 

Apparently, the only one unaware of the chef’s feelings for you in your office was you.

He laughs, for real this time showing his teeth. The familiar sound makes your heart feel as mushy as playdough. “Honestly, I realized that you could’ve ordered from the other side of the city and I still would’ve came up with some excuse to bring it to ya.”

“And I would’ve thought you had excellent customer service.” you chuckle, internally cursing your own obliviousness. “So in a way, this little mix-up saved us some time.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement as he takes your hand. His warm, calloused fingers just fit with yours and you have never felt more alive. “I like that there is an ‘us’ now.” 

“Me too,” you admit. And although the two of you now have to navigate this new relationship of yours, you know you have a hell of a lot of people to thank for setting things in motion.

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @sleepyyshroom, @isaacdaknight @qardasngan

[prettydaisygirl]

can you write an arranged marriage for rafe and fem!reader. reader's family organized the marriage as the reader was getting out of hand (drugs, parties) and they wanted to control her, reader always knew she was going to get married to a rich man to further the families generational wealth so she didnt have a problem but that doesnt mean she was going to be happy, maybe she caused some problems when she met rafe but he put her in her place and she actually become attracted to him and yk the honeymoon smut or wtv lol. feel free to ignore this.

Hello, nonnie! Thank you so, so much for your request! I loved writing this, I have been wanting to write something else for Rafe and this was perfect! I didn't write the honeymoon, but I did get some smut in there for us ;) Hope you enjoy, my love!

arranged marriage AU with Rafe Cameron x fem!reader who marries Rafe against her will (and her better judgment) ✿ 2.1k words

cw: NSFW 18+, arranged marriage, fem reader, abusive parents, drug/alcohol abuse, violence, mention of murder, fingering (f receiving), controlling Rafe, toxic Rafe

rafe cameron masterlist

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You’ve known who you were supposed to be since the moment you took your first breath. Etiquette lessons, private tutors, debutante balls. Your parents always made their rules and expectations very clear to you, especially through punishment. 

When you’re young, it’s all cruel whispers and harsh smacks to your fatty tissue. 

“Don’t you understand how much you embarrassed us today, you ungrateful brat!” Your mother would whisper to you in the church parking lot, hand wrapped around your wrist far too tight. You yawned once during the service and you weren’t given dinner for three nights straight. 

When you were a little girl, you over exhausted yourself trying to keep up with their expectations. You did the best that you could but it was never enough, it was never going to be enough for them, you were always destined to fall short. The goalposts would move, the mood would shift, things would change and suddenly any amount of positivity or support was gone. Only disappointment awaited you. 

As you got older, you found other ways to escape from the horrors of your home life. You joined every activity you could, constantly stayed at friend’s houses, and made plans with almost anyone and everyone who asked you if it meant you didn’t need to see the faces of the two people who are supposed to love you most.

That’s where the problems started.

The relationship between you and your parents got worse, as did the violence, and you find yourself spending time around the wrong people. Alcohol became an easy distraction, and soon it was weed, and then coke. You found joy in dancing with boys and letting go of your mind. 

You didn’t think you were in too deep. You didn’t think it was that bad. Skirts that were too short and your voice that’s too loud and another drink, another joint, another line. It’s just an escape! You need an escape because otherwise you’ll crumble under the weight of rules and demands. Anger and pain and violence, you have to just turn it off. 

But one DUI, one hospital trip for an overdose, and your parents tell you they are putting their foot down. At first, you’re confused. What punishment could possibly be worse than screaming and punching and slapping? 

That’s when they mention Rafe Cameron.

You know Rafe Cameron, of course you do. Everyone does. The son of Ward Cameron, CEO of Cameron Industries, one of the wealthiest and most influential men in the country. Ward is known for his passion for work, his very successful (albeit shady) business dealings, and his previously tumultuous relationship with his son. 

Rafe Cameron, the heir to the Cameron fortune, who made your DUI look like a parking ticket. You remember when his face was splattered across every tabloid magazine and every TMZ article. You were young enough then that you swore you would never turn out like him. Ironically, your path mirrored his quite closely.

Except for the violence.

Everything changed for the Cameron family five years ago when Rafe Cameron was arrested for murder. Ultimately the charges were dropped, though the internet detectives will say he did it without question. No one else was ever arrested for the murder of that young man, so you aren’t sure what to believe. 

Rafe disappeared for a while, some people speculated that he was sent to rehab or some other kind of mental health facility. When he came back into society last year, he seemed to be a changed man. Ward gave Rafe a place on the board, and Rafe has completely stayed out of the spotlight. 

And now, it seems, your two families believe that a merger, and a marriage, are the best way to move forward. 

You aren’t surprised. You’ve known for years that love was never in the cards for you, it never is in a family like this. Marriages for love in a family like yours are considered laughable.

“Just have an affair!” You would hear your mother laugh with her friends after too many glasses of wine, your father out somewhere with his business partners. “Marry for money, and find love on the side! Marriage is just business.” 

This is what you have been taught about love: it’s useless, it’s messy, and it’s better to keep it hidden. 

And so, your marriage arrangements have always lingered in the back of your mind, the knowledge of a future business transaction that would determine your worth to your family. You just didn’t expect it to be him. 

Your first meeting with Rafe and his family goes just about as well as you expect it to. Your dress is itchy and uncomfortable, and your hangover is giving you a headache. Rafe eyes you with a curled lip like he can smell the alcohol seeping off of you from across the table. He’s intimidating, his muscles tense and his jaw clenched as he nods curtly when the lawyers read off your marriage terms. 

No one asks you for your opinion during the whole meeting. No one but Rafe even looks your way. All you can feel is fear that your marriage will turn out to be an extension of your life with your parents. 

Pens come out, papers are signed, and just like that, you and Rafe are engaged.

It’s different from how you pictured it. There is a ring, large and gaudy, that catches any amount of light and has strangers eyeing you with envy. You hate it. 

Your schedule, previously dominated by nights clubbing and coffee dates, is now full of dress fittings, cake testing, and meetings with the wedding planner. To your surprise, Rafe attends all of them. 

You learn Rafe has changed, apparently. He doesn’t put up with your bullshit, he doesn’t think your whining and frustrated pout are endearing. He crosses his arms, and tells you to behave.

But it’s not cruel. It’s not “behave, you’re making me look bad” or “behave, or see what happens when we get home.” Maybe it’s because he is not your father, not even close, or maybe it is because of the way he looks at you when he says it, handsome features stern but not strict, but you listen to him. Your mother notices, and suddenly Rafe is always around.

He’s at the table for breakfast every Sunday morning, he’s golfing with your father, he’s with your family on the yacht. He’s everywhere. And there’s something about his handsome face, his swagger, the way he looks at you like there’s a promise of something hidden deeper beneath the surface… 

One Sunday morning, you stumble to the breakfast table, halfway between sober and still drunk and Rafe asks if he can speak with you privately. Your parents encourage this with a smile, of course, and you find yourself cornered in your father’s office, backed up against his desk.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Rafe asks, voice low and deep, and his face is close enough to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath seeping into your pores. He smells good, and the warmth between your legs and the remnants of alcohol in your system make you more open, more willing to agree with him. He knows that.

“I just… it feels good,” You tell him, inhaling sharply when his hands reach for your hips, lifting you to place you on the desk. He chuckles at your words and you shiver as his fingers brush against your inner thighs.

“I know it does,” He whispers, his hands gently parting your legs as he steps closer to you. “It does right now, but trust me… you want to stop.” Each word is accompanied by his hand sliding just a bit higher, your heart pounding rapidly and lips parting in anticipation. 

“I’ll show you something that feels even better,” He whispers, taking your earlobe into his mouth as his fingers press against your panties, making light circles over your clothed pussy. You moan, and Rafe’s free hand slaps over your mouth to silence you.

“Listen to me,” He grunts into your ear, his fingers sliding beneath the soaked lacy fabric to toy with your clit. Your moans and whines are muffled by his hand, and you feel your eyes roll back as he slides a finger into you, your tight walls clenching around it. He uses the hand that is over your mouth to shake you a bit, grasping your jaw harder. “Look at me.”

Your eyes flutter open and you look at him, your body trembling and your juices soaking his finger. He smirks as he watches you fall apart so easily for him, bend so easily to his will.

“Don’t drink anymore,” He whispers, his tongue darting out to run over the round part of your ear before he attaches his lips to your jaw, using his tight grip to tilt your head for better access. He sucks a dark bruise there. “You don’t need to go out anymore, I’ll help you escape, I’ll make you feel good.” 

He says the exact words you need to hear to fall apart, crying muffled by the calloused skin of his palm and he continues to finger you as you come down. Once your body unclenches, he uncovers your mouth, bringing his dirty fingers to your lips and telling you to suck on them. You do. 

Your parents don’t say anything about the hickey or your disheveled outfit when you return from your “talk” with Rafe. Your politeness during breakfast is enough to have them singing Rafe’s praises regardless of how he “tamed” you. 

Your world shrinks, and even more than before everything revolves around Rafe. He’s always there, always in your space, always touching you. You let him, you like it even though it also feels like it’s hard to breathe, like his presence is a prison. Your engagement ring feels more like a gold handcuff, but every time his hands are on you, you want to throw away the key. It’s a vicious cycle. You lose your friends, but things get better with your family. If you can call moving from hitting you to completely ignoring you and doting on your future husband ‘progress’. 

The night before your wedding, you find Rafe on the balcony of your parent’s home after dinner. You tried to tell him that the groom shouldn’t see the bride the night before the wedding, but Rafe told you he isn’t superstitious and he doesn’t give a fuck about tradition. 

You stand next to him, the two of you illuminated by the pale moonlight shining down from above. There’s a light breeze, the wisps of his hair fluttering against his forehead.

It’s interesting, the way you feel when you’re around Rafe. It’s like a whirlwind of emotion. Lust, love, infatuation, fear, frustration, suffocation… like being too hot and too cold at the same time and the pain hurts but it also feels so good.

“Rafe?” You say softly, placing a hand on his back. He looks at you, his eyes dark in a way that makes your stomach churn. And not in the good way you like. “What’s wrong?”

“Tomorrow you become Mrs. Cameron. My wife,” He turns to face you, leaning a hip against the balcony railing. Your hand slides down his torso and back to your side, taking in the deep, almost gravelly tone of his voice. “I know I’ve already told you that I won’t tolerate your bullshit. But you understand that there will be some expectations, don’t you?”

The word expectations has your mind spinning, but you nod anyway, pushing down the feeling of nausea that threatens to rise up in your throat. 

“There are some things you need to know,” Rafe says, and he grabs your arm, not roughly but not gently either, “And I will tell them to you. But when it comes to anything about me, my family, or my business, you listen to me. Got it?”

You nod slowly again, and the ring around your finger burns where it touches your skin but you don’t move. You hate the way your heart pounds in a different way when his hand slides up your leg. You let him convince you that he knows best, again. And your parents don’t question the way your hair is tangled and your dress is wrinkled when you come back in, again. 

And when you’re standing on the altar in front of hundreds of people, and you look at Rafe like you know there’s something darker to him than he wants you to know… you say “I do.” anyway. 

Just like they all knew you would. 

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© prettydaisygirl

[soulsmangione]

remember who you belong to

luigi mangione x reader

SUMMARY: part two to a short imagine i made, which you can read here. luigi and you had finally broken up after putting up with his toxic behaviors for quite some time. your friends egged you on to posting a tiktok about it, which you obliged to. not thinking he’d even see it, he’s about to make you regret ever hitting upload on such a post.

WARNINGS: dubcon, cnc (?), toxic!luigi, dark!luigi, p in v, slight stalking?, alcohol

the strobe lights pouring from every each direction mixed with the amount of alcohol in your system was definitely not in your favor at the moment.

you were surrounded by your friends, cranberry-vodka in hand, drunkenly swaying to the loud club music. this was your... seventh shot of the night? or was it eight? you couldn't remember.

you also didn't necessarily want to remember, so you continued on sipping bits of your sour-tasting beverage. you didn't care if one more sip is what threw you over the edge into the territory of a blackout mess.

"y/n!" your friend, sophia, shouts your name through the loud thumping of music. "look over there." she cranes your neck to the bar, where a tall, light-haired man stands. his eyes lock onto yours, and you feel your face flush as you look back towards sophia.

"what about him?" you slur, resting your hand on her shoulder for some balance. you were extremely drunk, yet still drinking.

"he's been eye-fucking you all night long, we've been watching," sophia shouts, nudging you to separate from the group. "we couldn't tell who he's been staring at, but it's been you. the entire night!" she exclaims.

"if he's so interested, he can make a move on me." you give her a partial lie. you didn't want to explain how your heart was still in the hands of an italian boy, who used them to crush and destroy it.

"uhh, y/n..." sophia's face contorts with confusion as her eyes look past you.

"and besides, i don't need anyone, soph. i am doing just fine on my ow-"

your voice cuts out just as you feel a light tap on your shoulder. turning on your heels, you are met face-to-face with the man from the bar.

"good luck!" sophia blurts in your ear before darting off to the rest of your friend group.

"what's your name?" the mysterious man grinned down at you, towering over you quite a bit. he wore jeans and a black and white flannel, and had a very pretty smile.

"y/n!" you yell through the noisy music, stood on your tip-toes so he can hear.

"i'm isaiah," he pauses, eyeing you up and down. "do you wanna go upstairs to the lounge? much quieter!" his voice is deep yet loud.

"fuck it," you mumble to yourself under your breath. "why not?" you give the man a small smile.

he turns around, sly grin still spread across his face, as you turn back to see your entire friend group watching the two of you like hawks. they all clap and applaud, cheering you onto this mysterious, but attractive, new man. you roll your eyes playfully at them before following isaiah close behind.

he pushes through a sea of drunken college students, looking back every so often to make sure you're still there.

"i'm gonna hold onto you!" you shout, grabbing a fistful of his flannel as you continued to follow him.

"good idea, wouldn't wanna lose the company of such a pretty girl."

you giggle at him, finally following him up the stairs. once you both arrive at the top, the scenery is much different. it's still a bit loud, but now you can actually hear yourself think. he makes his way towards the bar, sliding a chair out for you, then himself.

a half an hour passes, and you are wasted. you and isaiah spend the time talking, laughing, just casually getting to know each other while sipping drinks. that is until he found his hand rested upon your inner thigh, squeezing you lightly. it sent jolts of electricity to your stomach, and you were too drunk to decide if you liked it or not. you certainly did, but you also certainly only felt nothing but a friendship with this man.

a hookup couldn't hurt, right?

you're leaned back in the bar stool, laughing a little too loud at something isaiah said, when you see him.

a figure dressed in all black is stood just across the bar from you, far away enough that you can't see his facial expression clearly, but you know who it is.

it's your ex-boyfriend, luigi mangione.

his arms are folded neatly against his chest, and he's watching. just watching you, a scowl present on his hollowed face.

your laugh hitches in the back of your throat, blood running cold; your somber expression leaves isaiah laughing by his lonesome.

"i- uh," your voice is small as you look away from those beading eyes, turning your attention back to isaiah. "i've got to go. it was really nice meeting you." you spoke hurriedly, gathering your things and pushing yourself from the bar chair.

"woah woah woah," isaiah spoke, his hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging gently. "did i say something wrong?"

"no—" the corners of your lips tightened into a forced smile. you look back at the spot luigi was once stood, starring at you— but he's gone. there's nobody there. "here, take this. maybe i'll see you around." you sloshed your words rapidly.

you lazily scribble your number on a half-soaked napkin, pushing it towards the man before jerking away at his grasp. he lets you go without putting up anymore of a fight, and you're left stumbling around trying to find the exit.

you could feel your heart fervid in your chest; what the fuck was he doing here? luigi was always one to go out for a few drinks, but he'd never choose to go to a place like this. overcome with turmoil, you finally found the entrance to the stairs. you begin breathing heavy, a panic-attack forcing its way into your system. all you wanted to do was find your way back to your friends to let them know you all needed to leave urgently.

walking— no, more like staggering down the dimly-lit staircase, you're able to contain your heavy panting as you successfully escaped the one who ruined you.

you're about to turn the corner to enter the main floor, where you can hear screams and chants of whatever club-life song is playing.

until you don't.

until, a hand covers your mouth and slams you against the cold, concreate wall of the place.

"what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

it's luigi, and he stares down at you with intense indignation; he gazes at you as if you had just murdered his entire bloodline. deep brown eyes piercing your own, if looks could kill, you'd be a dead woman.

"mmphm," you mumble against his hand, eyes glazed with terror. he drops the hand, but his body is still pressed tightly against your own. "i'm moving on." your voice shakes.

"posting that little tiktok knowing i'd see it, getting all of your friends to rally for you, it's pathetic."

you don't know what comes over you; maybe it's the alcohol or the tumultuous setting, but you are sure filled with rage at the comment. "me, pathetic? look at you, i mean, did you follow me here?" your voice holds more power this time, emphasizing every word to potentially make him feel insane.

to your adversity, it didn't work. or maybe it did, and his reaction was how he camouflaged it.

"don't act stupid, you knew i'd come looking for you. i've been looking for you, sweetheart." his voice booms through the hallway you both are in, completely and utterly alone.

"you're crazy, lu!" you cry over the music, and without warning, you shove him backwards with you're entire force. luigi falters back, catching himself as you turn on your heel to leave. maybe luigi could watch you have the time of your life from a distance.

a hands-reach away from the door, two strong hands pull you backwards, spinning you around shockingly gracefully for how inebriated you are.

he had an insatiable hunger in his eyes this time, holding you in front of him by your shoulders. it wasn't enough to hurt you, but you knew if you tried to move, it would be.

"you wanna see fuckin' crazy?" luigi explodes, tilting his head. "i'll show you crazy." the darkness in his expression sparks something within your chest, and you can't tell if it's terror or euphoria. luigi yanks you behind him, giving you no choice but to follow sheepishly. you can barely walk properly as he lunges for the exit, pushing through the huge crowd of sweaty club-goers.

"luigi! what the fuck are you doing?" you yell over the music, exasperated. he doesn't turn to answer you, only pulls you behind him with much more drive. "my friends!"

finally outside the nightclub, luigi turns to face you, releasing his grip on you. it's like he knew you weren't going to try and escape him.

"good thing we'll have a long enough car ride that you can text them and let them know you went home with whateverthefuckhisnamewas." luigi seethes, furrowing his eyebrows down at you.

"you fucked up!" you scream back at the man in bewilderment. "and now i can't move on? fuck you."

"oh yeah?" he taunts, interlocking his hand with yours and dragging you around the corner of the joint, pinching you between him and the cold wall. much like he did inside, except this time you were outside in an alley-way. "you're gonna want to watch how you talk to me, baby."

excitement, no— you're not sure what it is, but the feeling you have is unlike anything you've ever felt before.

"or what?" you sloshed back at the man, helpless beneath his grip. you wanted things to be different, yet you always found yourself drunk on his persuasion. and at the moment, also drunk with the extensive amount of shots you had taken earlier.

"you're about to find out." luigi spoke solemnly, his voice much more tranquil now that he's got you right where he wants you. 

you open your lips to respond, until luigi's frivolous hands find their way beneath the tight, black mini-skirt you had on. a small gasp escapes from you, eyes widened at the man. he keeps the tiny piece of clothing on, yet eagerly pushes your underwear to the side, his hand sliding against your core. 

this provokes a reaction from you; you try, not very hard, to push his hand away, but to no avail, luigi advances. 

"luigi-- someone's gonna see-" 

"yeah? maybe like that fucker trying to get with my girl?" he hisses, impatiently finding your clit. he uses his long, calloused middle finger to rub circles around your sweet spot, eliciting a moan to escape from your throat. “i hope he sees.”

"i'm not your girl!" you cry out, slowly succumbing to how good his finger feels working on you. it was pathetic; since he knew every exact spot that electrified you, you melted right underneath him. the way your body grinds against his finger defies the harsh words you speak to him. 

luigi removes his touch from you're core, leaving you trembling. "aww," he coos as you look down at your feet, clearly ashamed. "ah, ah." he shakes his head in disapproval as he takes your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, forcing you to look up at him. "tell me you want me to stop." 

nothing. you said... nothing. you blinked up at him innocently, eyes wide as saucers. you take your bottom lip between your teeth and he grins cockily, poking the side of his cheek with his tongue. 

he leans in, his mouth pressed against your ear. "that's what i thought," he growls at you, nipping at the tip of your earlobe with his teeth. it sends shivers down your spine as he plants wet, sloppy kisses down the side of your neck. "come on sweet girl, come home." 

again, you say nothing. luigi appears happy to take this as an invitation to literally sweep you off your feet, bridal style. the motion makes you quite dizzy, making the only thing you're able to focus on is his face. 

"i knew you'd be such a good girl, my bellissima. look at you." he smirked down at you before placing you in the passenger seat of his car, which was parked right out front. it was almost like this was his plan the entire time. 

it all hit you like a truck; you were aware, but not to the fullest extent. beaming car lights flying by you on the busy road all suddenly swirled into a blurry mess. you crane your neck towards the driver seat, an action that costs you the rest of your vision. 

you needed to get it together, to stand up for yourself and march out of this car, but the alcohol had it's claws sunken deep into you. or maybe, it was luigi, as he smoothly slides into the driver seat and clicks your seatbelt over you, then his over himself. 

"l-let me go," your voice quivers, and you're wondering how angry luigi would be if you potentially threw up in his car. 

"you're free to go, pretty girl." 

you look at him, then the sidewalk, busting with drunken and disorderly college students everywhere. you glare at him before sinking down into the passenger seat of the car you knew all too well, eyes fluttering shut. 

good thing you didn't see the smirk apparent on luigi's face as he shifted his car into drive, taking off hurriedly. 

you drifted in and out of consciousness, taking precise notice to every time luigi's hand travels to your upper thigh and squeezes softly. it's truly the only thing keeping you from completely passing out in this man's car, a soft whimper escaping you every time he hits a bump and brushes your heat with his fingers.

after a short drive, you don't exactly remember going inside. you don't remember leaning on luigi for balance, allowing him to escort you to his college apartment, up the stairs and to the right. you don't remember allowing luigi to help you out of your shoes, your socks, and certainly not your skirt. 

at least, that's the story your friends were going to hear after tonight.

"the second i saw you in this," luigi hissed under his breath, his hands roaming the entirety of your body, gripping at the fabric of your skirt. "i knew i was going to be the one taking it off of you tonight, not anybody else." 

you lied sprawled on your back on luigi's bed, letting him touch all over without putting up a fight. as much as you wanted to, it felt so good. 

"luigi," your voice was frail. "stop, please." you begged, finally mustering some strength to roll out of his grasp and to the edge of his bed.

"uh uh," he shook his head, quick to hover over you. your eyes widened as he leaned in, his warm, pink lips only inches away from yours. he runs his tongue over your bottom lip before taking it into his own mouth, biting down on you softly as if he was claiming you. "you knew i'd come for you, don't play stupid now." 

"we shouldn't, lu," you whine, his lips only persuading you to stay. this time, luigi fully interlocks his lips onto yours, moving at an achingly slow pace. he kisses you so deep, with so much passion, you can't help but dip your tongue into his mouth, fighting against his before hesitantly pulling back. "we're not together anymore." 

"oh, yeah? we're not?" he challenges, licking his lips as if it was an attempt to taste you again. in seconds, luigi's got your skirt and underwear pooled at your ankles, leaving you with just your crop top on. without warning, luigi begins sucking and kissing on the inside of your thighs. "come on baby, i just wanna talk." he mumbles against your skin, tickling you.

you gasp, the motion sending quivers throughout your core. he kisses all the way up to your heat just before abruptly pulling back, leaving his emptiness cold. 

it doesn't take long for him to eagerly put his lips back onto yours, his hands tracing the designs on your shirt. 

that is, until he takes both of his hands, grips the fabric at the top of your shirt, and completely tears it in two, tossing it to the floor. 

"hey!" you raise your voice, sitting upwards and now feeling much more vulnerable with zero clothes on.

"always fuckin' hated that top," luigi growled, ignoring your annoyance. he rests his hand on your stomach, pushing you back so you're lying down again, underneath him. "hated seeing you go out in that..." he trailed, his hands making their way back down to your core. 

"we- we can't do this!" you plead, leading luigi to insert two of his fingers inside of you. your mouth gaped open, and you let out a deep breath as you felt the entirety of his fingers reach deep inside of you. 

"shhh," he purred, his eyes locked onto yours as he slowly pushed his middle finger and pointer finger in and out of you. "how wet you are for me says otherwise, you little slut." his voice is in your ear now, fingers picking up the speed as you squirm beneath him. every so often, he'd curl them upwards, reaching a sweet spot that almost had you screaming his name. “is that guy at the bar gonna make you feel like this, huh?”

"fuuuck," you drag out breathlessly; the overwhelming pleasure of his large fingers is hard to be upset with. “n-no… he’s not, lu.”

“that’s what i thought.” his tone is dark. his motions of in-and-out turn rapid, his hand becoming slick with you. "you are such a little fuckin' slut for me," luigi says arrogantly, and you move your hips to be in-synch with the movement of his fingers. "my little play-toy, all mine." 

"god lu-" your voice hitches for a second. "god, i- fuck you!" you try and hold your ground beneath him, but let's face it, at this point it's worthless. 

"aww, fuck me? your wish is my command." luigi smiles smugly before ridding himself of his shirt, sweatpants, and underwear, his large member springing out of them avidly. he spends no time flipping you onto your stomach, and grabbing you by your hips so they're arched in the air, against him. "god, love seeing you like this, y/n. there's nothing you can do to get away from me, from us." 

luigi aligns his dick perfectly with your slit, dripping wet from his actions previously. he teases you by running the length of himself against your heat before plunging into your core, earning loud gasps from the both of you. 

"ow— fuck!" you scream as his tip barely hits your cervix. he stays deep inside of you, relishing in you, for a second before ramming into you again. "l-lu, it- hurts." you whimper, causing him to grab a fistful of your hair and lean into your ear.

"and i don't care," he snarls, pumping in and out of you steadily. "you're gonna take this dick with no complaints, yeah?" the way he's stretching you feels otherworldly, pressure building within your lower stomach. 

"who's gonna fuck you like this, baby? huh?" luigi taunts, using his other free hand to wrap around your neck. he squeezes and you see black spots, wailing at every spot luigi manages to find inside of you. it sends bliss through your entire being with every pump he takes, every time he manages to hit your cervix. the entire room is filled with the smack of his skin hitting yours and the two of you panting, yearning and aching for a climax.

"fucking answer me." he lets go of your throat, expecting a response. he juts into you deep, lingering for a few seconds.

"n-no one but you." you stutter, choking on built-up spit in the back of your throat. luigi wraps his hand back around your neck, pulling on your hair, hard. 

"mhm, good girl." he praises, and you let yourself become lost in pleasure.

luigi fucks into you like you're the last two people on earth, like he's never going to see you again. your world spins, feeling yourself closer and closer to the edge of what luigi has started. 

"i'm so close— lu." you're practically pleading at this point. 

"not yet, pretty." luigi's fast-paced thrusts stop abruptly. he stops, only to flip you over once again, now facing him. "gonna cum all over you, i want you to watch." 

he's quick to bury himself inside of you again, a deep guttural moan spilling from the man's mouth as he does so. "so good, y/n, how the fuck do you always feel so good?" he grins down at you, beads of sweat running along his forehead as his fast-pace returns. 

"mmm," luigi moans before taking his thumb to your cheek, embracing you. that is, until he tugs at your bottom lip with it and you oblige, opening your mouth. he slips his thumb onto your tongue, and you swirl it around before closing your lips and sucking. "take it baby, take it just like that." he continued. 

it slowly was becoming far too much for you to handle. the pressure building within your lower stomach started to feel like an itch you needed to scratch, a finish line you needed to chase. with every time luigi's dick hit deep inside, you began to feel yourself coming completely undone beneath the man. 

"that's it baby, cum for me, remember who you belong to." 

"i'm gonna— fuck!" you screamed. he knew you so well. how your mannerisms changed just as you were about to finish; your moans got louder and your hips bucked themselves into luigi, like you needed more of him. 

your lower body began to shake dementedly, that feeling in your stomach exploded and reached every other portion of your body, from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. 

as if on cue, luigi's moans picked up as well. his breathing became rapid-- until it hitched completely and he pulled his length out of you, glistening white cum spilling onto your arched stomach. you gasped at the sight, sending you over the edge. your body twitched with glee, your slit left throbbing. 

"fuck." luigi hissed, using his hand to jerk the remaining white liquid from himself and onto you. 

breathing heavy, luigi used what seem to be his last bit of strength to plant a sweet, gentle kiss on your forehead before plopping down next to you on his back.

"let's get you cleaned u-" 

turning his head to the side, you were completely passed out now. on your back, breathing softly as the alcohol took you from cohesion to restful sleep.

not that you were aware, but luigi quietly cleaned you up. he slipped one of his t-shirts over you, careful not to wake you. you looked so peaceful, especially after recent events. 

"sweet dreams, bellissima," luigi cooed, stroking your hair as he draped an arm around you. "we'll talk in the morning." he said to nobody.

[written-in-knife]

Do you think you could write a piece where the reader is a singer, who occasionally works as a lounge singer Mostro in their spare time? A certain Rook Hunt walks in and is very charmed

Rossignol

Rook Hunt x gn!reader, pre-relationship

they/them pronouns, fluff

Word Count: 2608

Yall have the best suggestions, I love getting carried away with these. Sorry this took so long, I got a little stuck. I hardly ever write for Rook despite him being one of the most interesting characters, I hope I did him justice

Working at the Mostro Lounge was not exactly your first choice, but there weren't many choices to be had. You needed the money Crowley wouldn't give you for food, dorm repairs, Grim's surprisingly expensive tastes, clothing... It was either you worked for Azul or you asked Leona if you could take Ruggie's job, which was a slim to none chance.

The contract Azul initially wrote up for you was a typical employee agreement, having you waiting tables on the closing shift and helping them clean at the end of the night for a decent wage plus whatever tips you brought in on Fridays and the weekends. It worked out surprisingly well for awhile, Jade showing you the ropes on the floor, Floyd agreeing not to do anything to sabotage you regardless of how funny he thought it would be. You eventually made enough money to shore up some of the walls at Ramshackle. With the fear that the roof may collapse in on you finally lifted off your shoulders, you actually relaxed enough to enjoy yourself. You had gotten into the swing of waiting tables and dodging Floyd, you thought you were doing really well, until Azul asked you into his office at the end of a shift. You shuffled in place nervously as you waited for him to finish up his paperwork, knowing he was taking his time just to make you squirm.

He stamped the last paper and set it aside before looking up at you, weaving his fingers together under his chin. He didn't say anything for a moment, just sizing you up, before giving you a sly smile. "You didn't tell me you could sing, Prefect."

"You didn't ask." You shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. You hadn't realized anyone had heard you. The more you were enjoying yourself, the more you caught yourself singing quietly as you wiped down tables or did dishes at the end of the night.

"Perhaps I should have." He said simply before opening a drawer in the desk and pulling out a contract on top. He flipped it around and slid it to your side of the desk to examine. "I've taken the liberty to write up a new contract for you, if you're interested."

You looked at him suspiciously, his expression not betraying any of his thoughts, before picking up the contract. Better pay, still keeping any tips, more hours. "As a lounge singer? This place has a stage?"

"Yes and no. We renovated it slightly to make space for more tables when we couldn't find a replacement for our last singer." He explained. "He's a senior this year, and thus sadly couldn't come back to sing for us. We held auditions the first week of school but no one could measure up."

"And you think I can?"

"You have the potential. Of course, I would need to hear you sing into a microphone. If you sound as satisfactory over the speakers as you do over the sink, the position would be yours. If you want it."

Your audition was the next day before the lounge opened, microphone on a stand hooked up to the speakers on the edge of the raised section of private booths. Now that you knew what to look for, the platform had definitely been a stage at one point. Tracks of spotlights on the ceiling overhead, stairs off to either side, the large windows showcasing the ocean floor behind creating almost a dome. Singing for Azul, Jade, and Floyd was not nearly as nerve-wracking as you expected it to be, especially since they were milling around getting ready to open. You knew they were listening to you sing a song from your world as they occasionally glanced over to watch you, Floyd bouncing along with the music as he moved around behind the counter, Jade stopping more than once to just watch, and Azul's smile just getting ever so slightly bigger every time he glanced up from what he was doing. The three of them clapped at the end of your song, prompting you to give an exaggerated bow before hopping off the stage.

"Shrimpy!" Floyd nearly squealed as he vaulted the counter to throw an arm around your shoulders. "Where've you been hiding that this whole time?!"

"Not much of a stage presence, but you'll develop one with time." Jade mused from where he was setting out menus. "You'd have plenty of time to as well, seeing as you're a freshman."

"The voice alone is a worthy investment." Azul agreed, rising from his spot at one of the tables. "We will need time to turn the stage back into a stage, and we'll need to get you an assortment of songs...” He trailed off into muttering plans behind his hand for a moment while he pushed up his glasses before looking back to you. “How does two weeks sound?"

The two weeks following you signing the contract went by in a blur, Jade and Floyd whisking you away after classes every day to the Mostro Lounge, much to your friends' dismay. They had set you up in Azul's office to practice songs by yourself for a few hours, Azul occasionally popping his head in to check on progress. And every day you got to see their progress on the stage; removing the tables, putting the curtains back up, adjusting the lights, and so on. A few days ahead of your first performance, Jade came into the office during your practice to take your measurements, Azul explaining from his desk that he couldn't just have you in your lounge apron when you were going to be up on stage. What came back was actually stunning, the blacks and purples and grays reminiscent of the Octavinelle dorm uniform with a faint shimmer across the fabric to catch the lights. When you tried it on for size, Floyd joked that you kind of reminded him of a cutlass fish with the way the fabric was shining.

The night of your first performance was actually nerve wracking. Azul had put out an announcement that the lounge was going to have live music on weekends again and the student body showed out, wanting to see who was on stage. The place was absolutely packed but you weren't about to back out now. It went by in a flash of spotlights and accompaniment and applause, and you only realized you had done it when the curtains closed around you. It was exhilarating. When you finally calmed your racing heart down enough to exit the stage, your friends were at a nearby table, waiting for you. They congratulated you when you approached, Ace taking a moment to complain that you didn't tell them sooner.

"So, you're gonna keep doin' this instead of waitin' tables?" Epel asked.

"Yeah... It was fun, actually."

Rook had heard about the performances at the Mostro Lounge, of course. Epel came back from the first one gushing about how good you sounded and how he couldn't believe he was friends with someone who was probably going to end up being famous. Vil took mock offense to this and Epel shot back that he was already famous before they met and "that doesn't count." With how Epel was describing your performance, Rook's curiosity was definitely piqued. He was disappointed, however, to find that he just didn't have time to see any of your shows that first weekend, he’d committed to too much with Vil to wander off to Octavinelle to see a performance. He spent most of the following week apologizing to Vil, claiming he made arrangements for that Friday after classes and would be unavailable for a time. Vil continuously assured him that it was fine, knowing exactly why he wanted to keep his Friday open but not choosing not to say anything about it.

When Friday finally rolled around, Rook finished up the little work he had for the day early and hurried over to Octavinelle. He didn’t have many opportunities to visit the Mostro Lounge, but it wasn’t hard to follow the groups of students headed for the café. By the time he arrived, the music was already in full swing over the usual chatter of the lounge. He could practically feel the captivating lilt of your voice tugging at his legs to bring him further inside, and he found himself chuckling at the irony of your siren song dragging him further into the depths of the underwater dorm. He found himself a decent spot at a table not too far off from the stage and just watched. The way the lights shimmered off your outfit making you look very much like a beautiful gem on the ocean floor, the backdrop doing wonders for the illusion; he was completely entranced.

"Very impressive, aren't they?" A voice popped up from beside him as the song wound down, snapping him out of it to see Jade bent down to his level.

"Oui, très impressionnant!" Rook glanced back to the stage as applause signaled the end of the song. You didn't miss a beat as the next song started up, your smile dazzling to behold.

"As impressive as they are, our establishment is a one-drink minimum to remain on the premises." Jade flashed a sharp smile at his classmate as he caught his attention again.

"Ah, of course." Rook agreed, trying not to get distracted by you again as he ordered. It would be a hit to his wallet if he kept coming back, but even judging by what little he'd seen so far of your performance, it was worth it to come back again.

After your final performance on Sunday night you returned to Ramshackle, your throat a little sore and your legs a little tired, but your wallet significantly fatter. At the rate you were making money under the new contract, you could look forward to finally replacing some of the old floorboards in your dorm. You got lost in the fantasy as you approached the building, almost glancing over what was waiting for you on the steps. There was no way you could've missed it, however, the large vase holding a completely over the top flower arrangement would've been damn near impossible to miss. Purple and white flowers spilling over the sides of the decorated porcelain nearly dwarfed the stair it had been set on, an envelope nestled between the blooms. Confused, you pulled the letter out of it's spot to examine, thick parchment with your name scrawled in beautiful handwriting on the front. You sat down on the step next to the arrangement to pop open the actual wax seal someone had used to close this thing, little flakes of red falling into your lap. The letter itself was also written on some extremely nice paper and contained a message that read more like a poem. The sender praised your singing in the lounge, remarked on the beauty of your outfit under the soft spotlights, the spell they'd been put under by your performance, signed simply with the letter R.

"Huh."

After almost every performance for the next few weeks, Rook would leave a bouquet on your doorstep along with a letter containing a new poem detailing his love for your singing voice. He was careful not to fully give himself away in his writing, enjoying the idea of simply being your secret admirer, the concept alone setting his heart aflutter. There was a swell of emotion in his chest when you showed up to your performance one day with a flower from his arrangement pinned over your heart, urging him on even more. And again when he heard you in the cafeteria one day talking to the other freshmen about the flowers, explaining that you didn't know who had been leaving them but that you thought it was very sweet. Epel caught on fairly early, only because he caught Rook in his room arranging and rearranging flowers in a vase, humming one of your songs blissfully. He promised not to tell you, finding it especially amusing since you'd confided in him once that you may have been into his vice housewarden. It was nice to be the one in the know. Ramshackle was dense with flowers after just a few weeks. Every time you received a new vase, you brought it up to your room to decorate your dresser, the one from the previous week going back down to the main living areas. It seemed like every available surface of the dorm had at least one vase on it. You kept every poem in a drawer in your desk, occasionally going through them to admire the fact that the writer found something new to write every time.

It had been a good handful of weeks since he started leaving flowers for you, still stopping by to listen to your singing every day he could get time, even if it was only a few minutes. He jotted down notes in a small book to reference for his next poem as he listened, this time working on the poem itself. He got so distracted trying to craft a perfect sentence, he hardly noticed that your set had ended as the instrumentals kept going without you. He was embarrassed to say he didn't notice that you sat down across from him until you spoke up.

"Hey Rook," you greeted him, snapping him out of his writing stupor, "glad I caught you this time."

"Ah, bonsoir Trickster!" He quickly tucked the book away, giving you a bright smile as he did. "What a performance! Merveilleux!"

"Thank you." You chuckled lightly, propping your chin up with your hand. "You know, you're the only one left that comes every single time I'm up there."

"Truly?"

"Mhmm. Most of my friends are too busy or don't have enough money to come every week." You explained casually as he pressed a hand to his heart in shock. "I really appreciate you coming out so often."

"Bien sûr! I wouldn't miss it!" As much as he wanted to gush about everything he loved about your performances, he worried he would have nothing left for his poem.

"All that to say," you continued cautiously, unpinning the sprig of bellflowers from your chest, "I also appreciate the flowers but... I don't have any more room."

He stared blankly at you for a moment as you smiled warmly at him, a heat rising to your cheeks. "Ah, you've found me out then?"

"You're the only one who would." You laughed before leaning over the table. You reached up to his hat, tucking the little purple flowers into the band next to the feather as you spoke. "They're all beautiful, Rook, and the poems are wonderful, and I'm so extremely flattered..." you sat back down, "but I don't want to start putting them on the floor, that doesn't seem right."

He reached up to feel the delicate bloom in his hat, bouncing back with a large smile. "Then what am I to do, mon Rossignol? Your performances are all so exquisite, every song itself deserves its own flowers!"

"This is you restraining yourself?"

"Oui!"

Your laugh filled his heart with a joy he hadn't known from anyone else, the sound floating more wonderfully through the room than your singing did. You held your hand out over the table, your infectious smile still gracing your blushed cheeks.

"Maybe we find another arrangement." Your eyes softened a bit as he took your hand.

If this was the result of following a siren song, Rook was more than happy to get swept away by it.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[drdemonprince]

I'm writing this after reading the ask about redditors who hate you, which made me realize that maybe I shouldn't just quietly consume and love your writing without ever interacting with it and show some actual gratitude.

I was traumatically and forcefully institutionalized at a very young age and on some level I understood even as an 11 year old that what made that systemic abuse possible were the ways people view children as lesser and undeserving of self-determination and the attitudes the psychiatrists had to their patients, as well as their power over us. Long before I ever learned the words child liberation and anti psych, I knew for a fact that these systems were bullshit.

When every single person in my life told me that I deserved what was done to me, I still, somehow, knew that I didn't. But for 16(!) years afterwards I never had the language to explain it nor any evidence that anyone else in the world thought the same, not even in communities that I considered pretty left wing.

Only in these last few months did I finally come across some real neurodivergent self advocacy and first and foremost you. I really can't begin to describe what some of your substack posts mean to me, how much I could finally feel things clicking into place. It feels to me like between finding your work (and some others) I am for the first time building a world view for myself that ACTUALLY explains my experiences.

You've changed my life and I almost would have never let you know, so just think how many people your writing must have helped who'll simply never mention it!

wowww, oh my goodness thank you for this kind message. I often feel that I was just at the right place at the right time, in being introduced to the right confluence of influences to start to figure out systems that had confounded me all my life. a lot of people have been anarchists and liberationists their whole life long but I was late in getting into some of them and I'm just thankful I was able to find my way.

[greeniscosmic]

MY UNORGANIZED THOUGHTS ON THE TOMMYINNIT SURVIVAL TOUR:

⚠️ SPOILERS BELOW ⚠️

before the show, i saw a technoblade cosplayer walk in!!! they weren't part of the show or anything, they were just an audience member, but, GOD it was awesome. i just wanted to give a shout out to them bc i genuinely thought their cosplay was really cool :)

someone held up a schlanket, some other people held up rammies, and other people held up tommy's merch. we all cheered when this happened. peace and love on planet mcyt ❤️

now onto the show itself:

tommy had a fake invisible girlfriend throughout the whole show. i think it was actually a commentary on The Voices in Le Head, but my friend thinks it was more of a spongebob bubble buddy scenario. (now that i think about it, i feel like she might be right)

a lot more audience interaction than i was expecting!!! i was half expecting tommy to walk around the auditorium and quip with people individually, but i was SO FUCKING GLAD he quiped with the audience as a whole. i would've killed myself in front of him if he ever even attempted pointed a microphone in my face.

(he did quip with people individually, but only with the people in the very front. everyday i thank the Lord.)

"im half white. other half? also white." PEAK CINEMA ✋️😑🤚 WORLD CHEERS 👏👏👏 EVERY DISASTER ENDS

"i'm asain. caucasian!" WHITE BABY YOU CANNOT BE SAYING THESE THINGS

side note, getting a crowd of people to cheer for a white boy on the second day of AAPI month is crazy fucking work. sick and twisted of tommy for stealing the show and we should cancel him immediately. slash j as the kids say.

DEAFENING CHEER FOR SCHLATT HOLY SHIT (im guilty of this too lmao)

schlatt repeatedly called us all gay and woke. baseball, huh?

the guy that shouted "bababooey" and got noticed by schlatt himself 😭😭😭

speaking of heckling, THE ACEDENTAL MINOR JOKE??? DID ANYONE CATCH THAT ON CAMERA OR IS IT DOOMED TO DETERIORATE SLOWLY IN MY BRAIN

here's what i remember about that joke specifically: tommy asks something (i forget what). someone in the crowd shouted "MINORS" and tommy goes "ye- NO 😨". crowd laughs, and tommy says something like, "that's gonna make this next part real awkward lmao"

schlatt flirts with a chair. i'm sure some people in the audience creamed their pants.

tommy made schlatt do what was essentially The Pacer Test on stage. go white boy go!!! (i have footage of this btw. i heart watching him suffer for my entertainment ❤️)

that's all i remember for now. i'll post more if i remember anything else!!!

at one point in the show, schlatt and tommy just started chugging water bottles and popping the caps off while the whole crowd cheered them on??? that wasn't even in the script btw. they just started doing that shit 😭😭😭

[fascinatedscrawls]

Whatcha Got There, Danny?

It was an average school day. Starting too early for any teen to truly enjoy, the majority of students made their way to first period with all due enthusiasm.

Surprisingly, Danny was one of them.

"You're on time?" Sam looked to the window and squinted at the sky as Danny took his seat, rolling his eyes. "I don't think the world is ending, it's a bit too sunny for that."

That got Danny to pause as he reached into his bag. "Actually, it's pretty likely the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs burned off whatever weather pattern-"

"Hey, Danny," Tucker cut in a little nervously. "Did you forget to give Dorathea something back?"

Pulling his hand all the way out of his bag, Danny met the eyes of the small, vaguely transparent dragon that was clinging to his thermos and smothered a sigh before turning back to his friend to give the wrong answer on purpose.

"I don't think Dora likes my coffee, man."

"That is not what I meant and you know it. Is that her kid?"

Uncapping the mostly normal thermos and not even blinking as the little guy scrambled up his arm to sit on his shoulder (a little difficult as those tiny claws were sharp), Danny slurped a sip of his coffee just to be annoying only to choke on it a bit when Sam jostled his other arm trying to hurry along an answer. He managed to swallow the mouthful before coughing around his surrender.

"Alright, alright!" He coughed again. "It's not Dora's kid."

"Is it," Sam grimaced as she stopped mid-sentence, clearly unwilling to finish the thought of Aragon having a kid.

"It's mine." Danny assured her quickly, trying to keep his voice down so the other students in the room wouldn't start looking their way. Maybe too quickly as he heard it aloud and had to correct himself to his friends' shocked looks. "My dragon! Not my kid!"

The little guy sat up tall and proud, little wings flaring out as he gave what he probably thought was a mighty roar. Danny was too busy trying to not get smacked by the unfortunately tangible wing smacking his ear to snicker at the squeaking noise like his friends were.

"That's cool," Tucker managed to compose himself enough to look over his shoulder past some of their now curious classmates to check if Mr. Lancer was on his way. "But school doesn't seem like the best place to bring a dragon."

"It's better than leaving him at home."

"Your parents know about him?!" Sam leaned in to hiss, already looking ready to throw down if anyone hurt the foot long, ghostly lizard currently playing with his hair.

"He won't leave me alone," Danny explained, exhausted by having to go through this for Ancients who knew how many times since last night. At least he wasn't having to twist the story around like he had to do with his parents. "Did you know that all of Dora's Knights are dragon knights? Because I didn't."

He waited a moment as they both did their best to imagine the dragon turning into a similarly sized knight. Or, that's what Danny assumed they were doing as he tried to do the same when Dora first explained this, but it wasn't a transformation like she and her brother could do.

"So, it's protection?" Tucker asked, baffled.

"No, it's my dragon." Danny pointed to himself. "I'm the one who got knighted, remember?"

The dragons were companions.

"Honestly, not really. Too much stuff happens to you, dude."

"Fair." Danny didn't always believe he went through all of that either.

"How'd you get him past your parents? Do you need a place to stay?" Sam pressed, still focused on the biggest problem.

"I told them he's a blob ghost." He watched them both stare at him, then look to the little dragon that was determinedly reaching the peak of mount Danny via the footholds which usually found use as his nose and ear, then back. "I know, I'm not sure how I managed it either. Something clicked with them about 'post-human consciousness', ghostly shape shifting, and how I really liked dragons as a kid. After arguing about it for practically the whole night not going to question it. Hopefully, the little guy can learn to go invisible before they move on to experimentation instead of just observation."

"That almost explains how you can keep him at home, but what about-"

"Dragonriders of Pern, Mister Fenton!" Mr. Lancer sounded somewhere between aghast and resigned. "What is that?"

"It's my, er." Frowning, Danny put one hand up to keep the dragon from falling and reached down to pull out the form his parents filled out for him this morning to ensure the school wouldn't stop this 'experiment'. Holding it out, he read the reason off the page, "my emotional support ghost-dragon. I need him. For reasons. Sir."

Mr. Lancer's sigh was almost as long as Jazz's was when she heard.

Well, that was settled. Now he just had to figure out how to explain why the dragon was going to follow Phantom too.

Wes was going to have a field day.

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

Sooo I missed all of Phic Phight due to personal, real life reasons (most good, some not) but the ideas I started cooking up in that first week still need to be written down before they eat me from the inside lol Also, I guess this could count a little bit for Dannymay day 1, though I'm late for the dragon prompt there too haha

I maybe made the dragon a little younger and less capable of speaking than the prompt called for, but I like him anyway. Even if Danny refused to name him.

I hope you like this interpretation!

Uploaded to AO3

[fern-thefox]

hello people, ive noticed that people actually have liked these headcanons and someone might actually draw one of mine! it made me very happy so in honor of that more two time headcanons! including some extras of other characters! (theres quite a bit so hope you enjoy!)

two time has cat eyes, theyre very cat coded in general but sometimes their eyes are just a black abyss and other times theyre slits, and almost non existent

whenever two time killed azure, they didnt know what to do since azure wasnt respawning, so in desperation, they kept stabbing them. over, and over, and over again. azure didnt look like himself anymore. (dear spawn that got dark quick)

two time has attempted to rip out their own heart before, it was during a match when azure was the killer. they already had the hole in their body from being stabbed, so they attempted to rip their heart out and give it to azure to pay for their actions. azure was very confused, very angry, and also concerned

elliot and guest 1337 stuck around two time more, not only because they just cared about them but because they were scared two time would attempt to tear out their heart again or something else

whenever two times wings started growing back (call back to an earlier post i made. go check it out its awesome sauce) two time tried as much as they could to tear a hole in their head to stop the pressure and pain of sharp bone stabbing scar tissue. this was after the wings had started trying to poke out and they begged for a knife to free the wings so they wouldnt be in so much pain. they didnt get their knife tho

two time has many scars on their body, some that were self inflicted, some were accidents, some were to show their loyalty to the spawn

the cult two time was in required you to brand yourself with an image of the spawn to show your loyalty. it was either burned, froze, or carved into your skin. two time had theirs burned into the back of their neck. they didnt get to choose, their higher ups did

two time is actually a pretty good cook, but their skills have decayed over time since they no longer can use a knife without the voices commanding them and arent allowed in the kitchen due to listening to said voices

two time actually has been allowed in the kitchen after their ban, but it is always with extreme supervision and it had to be cleared of all things that can be used as a weapon first

they have super quiet footsteps, you cant hear them coming at all and they have scared people so many times. they have also been punched many times because they keep scaring guest. two time now has a bell attached to them at all times but its taken off during rounds

guest 1337 isnt two times only father figure, 007n7 is to, while they dont interact as much two time enjoys 007n7s company, also he works as a great pillow.

the survivors obey cat laws when it comes to two time, if they lay on you, you cant get up until they do. it is the law (its because if two time lays on you theyre going to fall asleep, and they are severely sleep deprived.)

two time will sleep under peoples beds, the survivors and even killers have to do the two time check before they go to bed and after they wake up. no one knows why two time does it especially to the killers but it hasnt harmed anyone and the killers dont really care outside of rounds

now for some other survivors.

guest 1337 is a father figure for everyone but 007n7, thats the co parent that relives guest of his duty of making sure the children dont do something that ends badly

builderman is the exception, he isnt another co parent hes more of the uncle that gives you free stuff (everyone has little trinkets that builderman made for them)

noob has super bad anxiety but its gotten better with the survivors, itll always be bad but everyone else (except the killers) help make it easier

while elliot is the main person who cooks, guest 1337, 007n7, and shedletsky can cook and sometimes do if elliot is too tired or they just want to for the day

shedletsky is a cannibal towards his chicken brothers (hes half chicken because why not). the survivors dont even know where he keeps getting chicken he just spawns in the kitchen sometimes and makes his fried chicken for himself and others, although its rare he shares because that man is a fattie.

007n7 only ever remembers c00lkidd during lms. the song that plays (plead) is 007n7 to stop killing everyone. if he survives, he convinced c00lkidd to stop his murder spree (or friendly game of tag as thats what c00lkidd things), if he dies, he failed to convince c00lkidd in time

although whenever 007n7 convinces c00lkidd to stop killing everyone, the spectre wipes it from both their minds, so the cycle continues no matter what

007n7 was a very good father. c00lkidd was a good kid too. he almost never acted out but did silly kidd stuff instead. the only reason c00lkidd is how he is after being forsaken is the spectre. and c00lkidd doesnt think hes doing anything bad, just playing with all his friends and dad

taph definitely gossips with dusekkar and noob. i feel like they would. and no one suspects them because theyre so nice. but they know everything

speaking of dusekkar, he likes vocaloid. i just know it. that mans loves vocaloid and attends every miku concert before getting forsaken

c00lkidd finds noli super funny due to the fact theyre a walking gallery of memes. noli makes it a mission to make c00lkidd laugh at something

despite the fact 1x is made of hatred, theyre a relatively fun person to hangout with, theyre one of c00lkidds father figures

john doe doesnt really do anything. he just kills people, hes far too corrupted to think of anything other then his own bloodlust.

the spectre had to make it impossible to die and make healing go by fast due to the sheer amount of times the killers have attacked eachother and the survivors doing the same. although it is entertaining that means the rounds dont have many people left

anyways that is all i have! ive been working on all these for about 2 hours now so i hope these are up to your likings :D

[hearts-hunger]

oh my god what the FUCK was that

okay, the two things i liked first. pros:

surprisingly, being a game truther, i liked the changes made to the tv station. having the soldiers strung up in the dark with the floodlights and thunderstorm gave that scene a brutality and scariness it doesn't have in the game, and dina and ellie having to sneak out like they did was very high-stakes and suspenseful.

ellie's "i would die for you. i would. but that is not what just happened" whole bit was so good i went back and rewatched it. her admission about her immunity and the dialogue in that moment felt true to ellie's character. isabella and bella did a great job with that scene. of course it makes no sense that ellie is surprised that dina is pointing a gun at her, but whatever. for the most part, that scene was done really well.

okay, now for the cons. buckle up, because there's a lot of them.

why the fuck are the making dina and ellie a happy little couple? "i'm gonna be a dad" give me a fucking BREAK??? i can't even express how antithetical to the story of the game this is. because ellie is not happy about this baby, she's horrible to dina, she's so wrapped up in revenge that she can't think about anything else. making them like...... dream up a baby registry is SUCH a mistake. and having dina go with ellie? this is supposed to be the part where ellie goes truly unhinged. she loses every shred of morality. not even dina and her baby can bring her back from the precipice, even all the way to the bitter end when she's built a life with them. she goes alone, to plow through all of seattle, to become a cold-blooded killer, to kill abby at any cost. but nope! now here comes mommy and daddy on a fun little killing spree while they think up colors for the nursery. what the fuck, genuinely.

like, not to be dramatic, but it's...... completely shredding the most intense and important character development in the story. tonally the game makes a very clear divide between jackson and seattle, and the show is forcing warm, intimate, loving moments into what is supposed to be a cold, gloomy, numb-feeling section of the story. ellie doesn't respond well to dina being pregnant. this is the moment where she really shows a side of herself that is so steeped in anger and fear and grief that she almost never gets over it. whether she will ever get over it is, like, a major question the game leaves us with. why are they screwing with that? why are they making ellie more palatable? let her be fucked up!!!

as for dina, what in the chappel roan comphet coming out trauma is going on with her. i actually hate how they've turned the confident bisexual woman from the game into...... whatever this dina is. i'm just personally not that interested in "my parents didn't approve, i was confused, i'm not brave, i tried to force it with a guy" whatever kind of bisexual storyline this is. maybe some people are. but i liked dina how she was in the game: simply, unapologetically, confidently bisexual. we don't have to have trauma in our coming-out stories. we can just be bisexual.

also, it's weird that they made dina and ellie's first sexual intimacy be some weird trauma-bond, heat of passion, right after a near-death-experience kind of thing. dina and ellie sleeping together in the game felt sweet, tender, flirty, warm, safe. this felt rushed and strange and insincere. it felt cheap, maybe. i can't really describe it. it was like it was written for straight men. like, graphic, rain-soaked, sloppy, hair down and makeup smudged. maybe i'm in the minority on this but it didn't feel good to me. i'm interested to know what people thought about it.

i think we're spending way too much time on isaac. perhaps if we hadn't wasted so much time in jackson in therapy we'd have time for development on isaac, but we don't really have time now.

anyone holding onto the "here's how tommy can still kill all of seattle" dream can put the tin hats away. it's not happening. and it sucks and it's a waste. but it's clearly not happening.

also, these are maybe nitpicky and not really story related, but:

didn't love the graphic content this episode. maybe that's a me thing. but the stupid josh peck gratuitous vulgarity, the full nudity in the torture scene, the straight up sex with dina end ellie - i know that's hbo's style, but i think we've maybe lost the art of subtlety.

everybody's said this but their clothes look brand new even after they've been crawling through mud and rain and whatever. it looks fake and weird.

in that same vein, ellie's bite marks have all looked super clean and not gnarly as if she's almost gotten her arm gnawed off. also she gets bit every other tuesday so it's lost its wow factor.

okay, i know i said a lot but that episode truly was a lot. come talk to me here or on my tlou blog @ellies-miller about your thoughts on this episode! i want to know what everyone thought and discuss it!

[theshiniestgemstone]

jealousy, jealousy- fem!actress!reader x gideon gemstone

Gideon huffed, turning in the wooden chair uncomfortably, the legs creaking against the studio floor. His arms were crossed so tightly across his chest he could feel his own pulse in his elbows. The bright lights overhead made his skin itch, but it was nothing compared to the slow burn spreading across his jaw.

“Steven, hand on her rear. Just enough for us to get a shot.”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed. The director’s voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

And then—your voice. Calm. Professional. Too soft for a scene like this, and somehow that only made it worse.

“I’m fine, Steve.”

That should’ve settled something in him, but it didn’t. If anything, it made him scowl harder, his already clenched jaw ticking to the side. He shifted again, trying not to look like he wanted to break the chair in half.

From his spot behind the monitor, he had the perfect view. You, in nothing but a pair of lacy underwear and a silk camisole, crawling across rumpled sheets toward a man with perfect cheekbones and the kind of tan that made Gideon want to hurl a protein bar at his head.

He hated how natural it looked. Hated that the guy playing your love interest had the nerve to smile a little between takes, like he didn’t care that your actual boyfriend was sitting right there, being forced to watch this.

Gideon muttered something under his breath, too quiet for anyone to catch, but it had the same tone he used when someone cut him off in traffic or tried to flirt with you at the grocery store.

The director clapped once, loudly. “Good! Real good tension. Let’s go for a close-up.”

Gideon let out a dry, bitter laugh. Tension. Yeah, no kidding.

He dragged a hand down his face, silently swearing to himself that if Steven’s hand wandered even an inch off mark, they’d be holding auditions for a new actor by tomorrow.

He chewed the inside of his lip raw, jaw locked as the scene played out in front of him like a goddamn car crash he couldn’t look away from. You were straddling him now. Steven looked way too comfortable with your hands in his hair. You leaned in close, lips hovering near his, whispering something meant for the camera. Meant for drama.

But Gideon knew that whisper. Knew the exact cadence of it when you used it on him. And now it was being piped through high-end studio speakers and dissected by a roomful of strangers.

You were seducing a man who, not that long ago, was your boyfriend. The same guy whose face had been plastered beside yours in every tabloid and entertainment article for the better part of a year. Engagement rumors had followed you like shadows, even after the very public “amicable split.” And now, with the two of you sharing screen time again, the rumor mill was in full throttle. Whispers. Speculation. Headlines like “Old Flames Reignite On Set?” or “She’s Wearing His Jacket Again!”

Gideon had read them all. He didn’t want to, but they were impossible to avoid. People talked. Twitter talked. Studio interns left magazines in the break room like landmines.

But what most of those articles missed, what they all missed, was that you were already taken. Happily. Loved deeply.

Some of the gossip sites, the more careful ones, made vague mentions of a “long-term boyfriend,” or “an off-camera partner she keeps private.” The kind that sound more like a decoy than a person. Those that did include him barely spared a sentence. “Her rumored boyfriend, a stuntman.” No name. No picture. No acknowledgment.

Just a footnote.

And maybe he shouldn’t care. Maybe that was the price of privacy. But sitting there, watching Steven’s hand curve around your thigh, watching the way your lips hovered inches from his, even though it was fake, he couldn’t help the flare of something sharp and sick in his chest.

Possessive. Ugly. Real.

Because you were his. And the world didn’t even know his name.

When you finally hopped off of Steven, the director called cut and the room relaxed, scattered claps and murmurs filling the space. You didn’t look back at Steven. Not once. Just held out your hand and took the robe from a waiting production assistant with a soft, tired, “Thank you.”

Your arms were around Gideon before he could even finish standing.

You didn’t care that he was tense. Didn’t care that his jaw was locked or that he hadn’t said a word since the first take. You just pressed your face to his chest, nose brushing the soft fabric of his shirt, and let your weight lean into him.

“After this,” you mumbled, voice muffled, “I never want to look at his smug face again.”

That broke something in him. The tight coil in his gut snapped a little, replaced with a flicker of relief that you weren’t pretending it was easy. That you weren’t pretending he didn’t matter.

Gideon let out a breath, long and shaky, and wrapped his arms around you. He kissed the top of your head, not caring who saw.

“Then let’s wrap this up,” he muttered, chin resting on your hair, “so I can take you home and make sure you forget every damn second of it.”

You smiled into his chest. “Promise?”

He pulled you in tighter. “Always.”

[forsaken-fates]

A SHORT(?) VISIT

"I'm so going to regret this..."

>[Elliot muttered to himself as he stepped through the portal presented in front of him, feeling the shift in temperature as he entered the new limbo. The grass crunched softly underneath his feet as he slowly walked towards the only prominent house, looking as familiar as ever. He hesitantly raised up his hand, curled up to a fist.]

>[...Knock knock knock.]

>[...]

>[The former employee let out a sigh of relief, quickly turning around and walking back towards the portal.]

"Well, looks like no one's home!-"

"Hello?"

>[Elliot froze in his spot as he heard the door opening, feeling the blood drain from his face as his smile dropped.]

"Oh, Hi Mr. Elliot!"

"Fuckkk..."

>[He turned around to see a short, red child standing in the doorway, his smile too wide for comfort.]

"Dad! Dad, Look! Mr. Elliot came by to visit!"

"Wh- huh?"

>[c00lkidd quickly ran back inside the house, before coming back and dragging 007n7 out of the kitchen, pointing at Elliot, who stood a bit confused in the doorway.]

"Mr. Elliot visited! Hi Mr. Elliot!!!"

>[The child waves at the pizza man who ignored him, staring at the ex-exploiter with a clear hesitance on his face. The other one seemed... Happy. Happy to see him. Elliot couldn't help but feel suspicious.]

"Uh... H-hi, Elliot! I didn't think you'd come by...!"

"Yeah well, I did. Didn't want to, but someone wouldn't leave me alone if I didn't come by."

>[Awkward silence filled the two before a clawed hand held onto Elliot's, dragging him inside the house.]

"Ow-! Hey!"

"Come in! Come in!"

"Careful, kidd. I still haven't filed your claws down."

>[c00lkidd lets his grip on Elliot go before running inside, heading to the kitchen.]

"I'm... sorry about him. We haven't had anyone visit, so he gets pretty excited whenever someone comes along..."

"...It's fine. I understand."

>[A long pause came between the two men, leaving them in an awkward silence, avoiding each other's gaze.]

"Anyway.... I made lunch. Would you like to um... come in? Maybe eat with us?

>[Elliot paused, looking up at 007n7 for a moment. He could see a faint glimmer of hope in the other's eyes, the sheepish smile on his face pairing with it.]

"Sure."

>[007n7's eyes lit up at Elliot's words, a spark of hope igniting within him.]

"R-really? U-uh, okay! Good, that's good. You can, uh, leave your shoes at the door."

>[007n7 sheepishly laughed, trying to ease his own racing heart. It's been a while since he's seen the other, after all.]

>[Elliot nodded at the ex-exploiter's words, slipping off his shoes and neatly setting them beside the ones that were already next to the door. Even as he took notice of the other's extremely awkward and hesitant stance, he still couldn't help but feel a bit wary and cautious.]

>[As 007n7 lead Elliot into the kitchen, a faint smell of spices and cooking floated in the air. It could easily be identifiable as curry for the former employee.]

"So... what made you decide to visit now, out of all times?"

>[The father asked, going to the cupboard and taking out a few plates. Elliot shrugged, sitting down at the dining table.]

"Some Anons kept bugging me about it. They wouldn't leave me alone until you'd... y'know. Open up your mailbox."

"Ah... I'm sorry about that. I'll have it open as soon as possible, I promise! I just... needed some time for a while."

"Uh huh."

>[Elliot watched as 007n7 scrambled around the kitchen, hastily grabbing things as adrenaline seemed to course through him. ]

"You, uh... need some help over there?"

>[He asked, standing up and slowly walking towards where 007n7 stood, looking as tense as ever.]

"Are you sure? I-I don't want to trouble you or anything-"

"It's fine, you're not troubling me. What troubles me more is you scrambling around and pretending you're fine."

>[Elliot seemed genuine. Like he actually did want to help out. Except, everyone knows he's just doing this to not get in 007n7's bad side.]

"...Alright. You can, uh... help by setting these plates on the table. c00lkidd's is the smallest one, and... you can pick whichever plate you want."

>[The former employee nodded as a small stack of plates was handed to him, taking the plates to the table, where c00lkidd sat.]

>[As the plates and utensils were finally gathered on the table, Elliot made his way back into the living room, leaving behind a small basket filled with the snacks the other Noob had given him. He went back into the dining room and took a seat, keeping his hands to himself.]

"Finish your food, okay kidd?"

"Okay!"

>[Elliot was lost in his head for a moment before he noticed his plate being taken away and given back to him filled with white rice and curry. There were vegetables, yes. Maybe a few carrots and potatoes, but the majority of it was meat.]

>[...Shit, it looked good, too.]

>[...He's gonna have to be here for a while, is he?]

[lyragrayson4ever]

Daven and Catalina (Lyra x Grayson)

The fire was still burning.

From across the water, Hawthorne Island lit up the sky in orange and black, a blazing silhouette against the night. Smoke smeared the stars like charcoal streaks across velvet. It should have been beautiful.

It wasn’t.

“Fun fact,” I muttered, soaked, breathless, and huddled in the back of a stolen fishing boat. “I’m not actually an arsonist.”

“Noted,” Grayson said dryly, gripping the oars like he’d done this before. “Though it’s the kind of crime I’d expect you to commit stylishly.”

“I was wearing my running clothes, Grayson.”

“You made them look like Armani.”

That earned him a glare. “So just to recap: somebody set an actual fire. I get blamed for it. You and I are presumed dead. Everyone thinks I finally lost it and torched the island. And our best plan... is to flee on a boat like we’re in a badass Netflix thriller?”

Grayson didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, eyes locked on the dark speck of land ahead. He hadn’t said much since we escaped the fire. Since he carried me through smoke and heat and leapt off a flaming balcony with me in his arms. Since we realized someone had set us up. Framed me. Tried to kill me.

We didn’t talk about that part yet.

We didn’t talk about how I almost hadn’t made it out.

We rowed away from it.

Hours passed. I didn’t know how many. We washed ashore on some tiny, empty island with one broken dock, no phone signal, and zero chance of rescue. So we did what anyone in our position would do.

We made s’mores out of expired granola bars. We laughed too loud. We didn’t sleep.

And then we ran.

**

Two days later, we were at a train yard that looked like it had never heard of cell reception. We’d hitchhiked, hiked, and hidden our faces for forty-eight hours straight. No phones. No IDs. No plan except: Get to a place that doesn’t think we’re dead.

Which sounded easy—until we got caught.

“Hey!” A flashlight beam caught us mid-sneak.

We froze. A security guard, built like a fridge and just as friendly-looking, stalked toward us. “You know train-hopping’s a crime, right?”

I opened my mouth. Grayson beat me to it.

“We’re eloping,” he said dramatically, like we were auditioning for a soap opera. “I’m Daven. This is Catalina.”

My mouth fell open. Daven and Catalina?

“Our families disapprove,” he went on, voice shaking like he’d practiced this. “We had to run. It was her or nothing.”

I turned slowly. “Her?”

He squeezed my hand. I got the hint.

“Catalina ,” I said breathlessly. “My father—he said if I ever saw Daven again, he’d disown me.”

Grayson turned to the security guard, gripping his heart like he was catching a faint. “But love… love doesn’t listen to bank accounts and last names.”

“We climbed into a freight car,” I added, trying to look tragic. “Because if we can’t be together, what’s the point of anything?”

The guard blinked. “You two… ran away? Together?”

“We chose each other,” Grayson whispered. “Against the odds.”

I couldn’t help it. “I almost got hit by a raccoon to make it here.”

That was true. Also beside the point.

“You kids remind me of my wife,” the guard said, sniffling. “We eloped too.”

Grayson nodded solemnly. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Damon.”

Grayson turned to me, eyes so serious I nearly burst into flames again. “Damon,” he said. “That’s the name of our first-born son.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from cackling. “Daven,” I whispered. “Please.”

The guard was full-on tearing up. “Go. Just… go. Be happy.”

We bolted before he changed his mind.

**

The train rattled beneath us, loud and rhythmic. We were tucked into the corner of a freight car filled with bags of rice, because this was apparently our life now. Grayson leaned against a crate. I was sprawled beside him with a snack-sized bag of pretzels and a thousand emotions.

“So,” I said, popping a pretzel in my mouth, “Damon?”

Grayson shrugged, smug. “It sealed the deal.”

“You named our hypothetical baby after a guy you just met.”

“He had kind eyes.”

“You’re unhinged.”

“Strategic,” he corrected. “Emotional manipulation is a tool.”

I tossed a pretzel at him. He caught it. Ate it.

“I swear,” I muttered. “Next time we get caught, I’m naming our fake dog Carl.”

“We can do better than Carl.”

“Carl’s a good name.”

Grayson smirked, not his usual half smile, an actual smirk. “Only if our hypothetical second-born is named Martha.”

“Stop. You’re already insufferable as a hypothetical fiancé.”

“Hypothetical husband, technically. We eloped, remember?”

I blinked. “Do I get a ring?”

Grayson looked down at his hand, then pulled off the expensive corded bracelet around his wrist. “Here.”

He tied it around my finger like it was sacred. “Boom. Married.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re laughing.”

I was. I hated how easy he made it. How even when we were running for our lives, with dirt still in our hair and an entire world believing I was a villain—he could make me laugh.

I glanced at the makeshift ring on my finger, then at Grayson. An idea sparked.

“Wait here,” I said, rummaging through my backpack. I pulled out a small, worn leather cord—one dad had given me years ago. It had a tiny, carved wooden charm attached, shaped like a ballet shoe.

I held it out to Grayson. “Your turn.”

He looked at me, puzzled. “What’s this?”

“Our hypothetical wedding exchange. You gave me a ring; I give you this.”

He took the cord, fingers brushing mine, and examined the charm. “A ballet shoe.”

“So you can always dance your way back to me,” I said, half-joking.

Grayson’s eyes softened, the usual coldness replaced by something more vulnerable. He tied the cord around his wrist, the charm resting against his pulse.

“Now we’re officially hypotheticaly married,” I declared.

He chuckled, a faint blush coloring his cheeks and ears. “Guess we are.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the rhythmic clatter of the train filling the space.

“How long do we stay dead?” I asked softly.

He looked at me. “Until it’s safe.”

“And then?”

“We go home.”

Home. I didn’t know what that meant anymore. But I did know this, it would be wherever Grayson was.

“Hey,” I said after a beat, teasing. “If Damon finds out we didn’t actually name our hypothetical baby after him, do we go to emotional jail?”

Grayson grinned. “We’ll say it was short for Damonious.”

“You’re so bad at this.”

He leaned his head back against the crate, looking up at the roof of the freight car like it held the answers to everything. “We’re alive, Lyra. They tried to burn us down. But we’re still here.”

Still here. Still fighting.

Still laughing.

And, apparently, fake-married with a fake son named Damon.

[lostcatinthedark]

I think you can tell a lot about what Jimin thinks based on what he doesn't say. He's too polite to publicly have beef with anyone so he's more the type to ignore someone instead. Jimin not talking about someone it's very telling because he's a very loving person who always makes sure to be very clear and loud about his love and respect for others. We all know he's always been the best about supporting the other members but it's not just them because even with his producers he gives them way more credit them most artist do. He had them show up everywhere in Face and Muse content and he even created a band just for the 4 of them and named a song after it (he was going to name the whole album sgmb actually). So considering all of this if Jimin is avoiding and not saying anything about someone or something then it's probably because he at the very least doesn't care about them because if he did he would've made it very clear.

This 💯

I agree anon! And sometimes that kindness and cordial nature makes people distort what he really means (the same way some armys say that because he never asks for awards, he doesn't mind giving them up in favor of the members). I think he threads carefully the way he expresses himself not just because he's considerate, but also because he is in the public eye in a wild industry where things can be misconstrued. His silence is what speaks volumes. It's what he chooses as a way of rebelling. When he was told he was going to be kicked out at the beginning , he worked tirelessly in silence to prove them wrong. When solo era started, he moved in silence to work on his art as a soloist. When he is against something or someone, most probably he'll turn away and do the opposite in silence. If he has nothing good to say, he'll simply stay quiet. If he doesn't like a place, he simply won't be there, even if he doesn't complain about it, he also won't speak favorably about it because he's sincere.

Assuming that he's OK with everything because he doesn't say anything bad about it is the WORST we can do. Because we already know that's not how he rolls. So the best for us is to understand when he takes a step aside and he stays quiet to get a glimpse of how he might be feeling.

And just wait for his actions, because that's where he let's people know his stance.

[padawan-snack-packer]

Hullo my fren 👀🔔 Loving your clone trooper rants! Do you have anything about the Delta Squad, maybe some headcanons of a scenario where the reader is being bullied? Thanks! 💛

💥 Delta Squad x Reader — When You’re Being Bullied (and They Find Out)

OH MY GOSH!!!🧡 absolutely @orangez3st !! I adore Delta Squad, and this idea was SO fun and cathartic to write — thank you for sending it in!!💥💛 Our favorite murder commandos would absolutely ride or die for you, no questions asked, and now you’ve unlocked the feral protectiveness I’ve been keeping in my brain. Hope you enjoy the chaos and comfort, fren!! 👀🔧🧡

Hope you like it!!!😇

🟠 Boss (RC-1138)

You don’t even have to tell him. He sees it once — the way your shoulders curl in, the too-quiet “it’s fine” — and that’s it. His tone goes flat.

“Who did it?”

You say it’s not worth it. Boss says that’s not your call.

If you're with him during the moment? He steps in with zero hesitation. Calm, commanding, terrifyingly collected.

“You’ve got three seconds to walk away. I only need one.”

The bully runs. You shake a little. Boss just gently sets a hand on your back and murmurs, “Don’t let anyone talk to you like that again. Not when I’m here.”

He stays with you afterward, silently watching you breathe until the tension leaves your shoulders.

…Also might send an anonymous military complaint to their superior if they’re Republic-affiliated. No one traces it back.

💚 Fixer (RC-1140)

Fixer has a detailed file on this person within 20 minutes. He doesn’t even look at you when he gets up from the console.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

He’s the quiet, vindictive kind. Files misconduct reports. Has screenshots. Logs audio. Turns the bully’s security clearance into vapor. They’ll be lucky if they can access their own email next cycle.

Then he comes back and sits by you and — awkwardly — hands you a stimcaf.

“Here. Sugar’s set the way you like.”

He stares ahead.

“Don’t let them get in your head. You matter more than they ever will.”

You cry a little. He pretends not to notice, but one of his hands stays lightly touching your sleeve the whole time.

🔴 Sev (RC-1207)

”Who hurt you?”

You try to joke. You should not have joked.

Sev disappears for three hours. When he comes back, he’s got blood on his boots and a smile that makes Fixer actually look up.

“It wasn’t their blood,” Sev adds dryly. “Probably.”

You: “...WHAT did you do?”

“Don’t worry. They’ll live.” He leans in, voice lower. “But they’ll think twice before opening their mouth again.”

Then this chaotic horror show just sits beside you like some sort of a good therapy dog, crosses his arms, and grumbles, “You’re one of us. No one gets to treat you like you’re not.”

…It’s the most heartfelt thing he’s said all month.

💛 Scorch (RC-1262)

“WHO—WHAT—WHO AM I YELLING AT?”

He’s immediately at full chaos mode. He wants names. Spelling. Descriptions. Their whole astrological chart.

“I will EXPLODE something in protest! Not THEM, obviously! Because that’s illegal! I will explode… THEIR TRASH BIN. Yes.”

He brings you your favorite snack, a blanket, and five bad jokes in a row.

“Hey, did it hurt?”

“When what?”

“When they made fun of you? BECAUSE I’M ABOUT TO MAKE THEM CRY LIKE A WET SOCK IN A VENTILATION SHAFT.”

But real talk: Scorch is the one who stays up with you later. Makes you laugh when you feel gross.

“I know I joke a lot, but... you matter to me. A lot. And if anyone ever makes you forget that again, they’re gonna find out what I keep in this satchel.”

You do not ask what’s in the satchel. You do not want to know.

[foreverabby]

Abby Anderson from a comphet perspective:

Hey guys. First off, I want to say that this isn’t my headcanon of her necessarily, but that the possibility has absolutely crossed my mind. I wrote a cute piece about it on my previous account that you guys enjoyed, and I wish I still had it to link here.

I could argue for it either way, if I'm honest. But let’s explore it, yeah?

I guess if we’re deep diving this, it’s important to have some idea of what compulsory heterosexuality really is. Which, of course, I can’t possibly summarize in one paragraph.

Every queer person has their own story and experience. But in essence, it’s a combination of society and circumstance convincing you of what you’re supposed to want. And it’s not always a conscious lie. Think of it as spending your whole life mistaking admiration and safety or even fear for attraction. As someone who lived it myself, I’d describe it as a deep, gnawing sense of something broken, like a hollowness left by relationships that just felt kinda wrong.

The next point I want to make, is that people often argue that Abby wasn’t capable of letting herself reach for happiness after grief overtook everything in her life. While this is totally possible, as someone who lives with PTSD myself, it’s not the only outcome of trauma.

In fact, often times, it can be the opposite. Grief doesn’t always shut people down. Many trauma survivors actually seek out sex and intimacy as a means of coping (hi, Manny, I see you, good sir) and it’s entirely possible the loss she endured could’ve intensified her need for affection.

But if what is being offered does not feel right, it gets complicated.

Grief definitely made her rigid, but I don’t want to ignore the flickers of queerness that shine through in some of her scenes.

Again, this is my personal interpretation, not fact.

But it’s interesting to me that after five years of life threatening raids, violent patrols, confined quarters and messy high adrenaline camaraderie, she’d never engage in any form of attachment outside her adolescent relationship with Owen. No casual lovers, no drunken kisses, no flings. Maybe there were, and we just didn’t hear about it. But it’s heavily implied otherwise.

It’s intriguing to me also, that her roommate is arguably one of the most sexually active people in the apocalypse, and her reaction to it is rather indifferent. Proximity and trauma bonding often lead to blurred lines. Manny is flirty, shamelessly horny, and chasing tail at every outpost (we love a romantic King) and Abby lives with him. This man is throwing sexual energy into the air like confetti.

Comphet can sometimes include trying to feel something with people who are safe and trusted, but Manny is loud and flamboyant at times. A relationship with him wouldn’t fly under the radar. She’s private and hyper disciplined. Also, they’re so platonic it’s unbelievably sweet. But why?

She trusts him more than anyone else. He supports her and sees her in ways she doesn't find elsewhere.

Food for thought.

Isaac, being the militant ex-marine he is, placing them together in shared living quarters always had me curious.

I wonder if it would've been different, if she had a queer, female roommate.

Also, to say it’s because she was in love with Owen, feels a little disingenuous. Sure, that may have been the case, but again, when has that ever really prevented humans from seeking companionship in times of immense stress? Especially at her age. She's beautiful, warm and funny, and the WLF is full of strong, attractive people. She’s one of the toughest, most respected and capable soldiers. Nobody made a move on her? I doubt it.

But did women feel comfortable reaching out? I genuinely wonder. Would she have even entertained the idea in the absence of safe queer attachment? Or would she have defaulted to the only thing commonly modelled to her? Conversations surrounding queerness would’ve been so much different for them than it is for us.

Something to consider.

Anyway. If you’d like me to go deeper with this, I’m absolutely down to do it. It’s a fascinating topic for me and I really cut out so much from this one, just to keep it from being too exhaustive.  

No matter what, this girl deserves boundless, gratuitous amounts of love. I adore the thought of her with a woman because she's such a softie and it just fits her so well. 💚🩷💚

[growth-opportunities]

My boss is an absolute bimbo. She's never actually done the job or managed anyone. She just giggles and shakes her tits or bends over a lot. She started as a temp and bounced her fattening tits to the top. And I do mean fattening. Every promotion they've gotten bigger. Not just her tits, but them especially. She is always looking for the next boss to shake her tits at in her tight "office" attire. Now the whole department is tanking in productivity after her recent promotion and holding together as well as the buttons on her blouse. And now she just walked in with the CEO who can't take his eyes off her newest "qualifications".

You kept bracing yourself for the day that you came into the office and everything would be painted neon pink. You kept wondering when they'd announce that the company would be rebranding to become the "Big Serious Business-Place, LLC" with a kiss mark as the new logo. You kept thinking about how all of your Christmas bonuses for the last six years had been paid to you in stock and every day you thought about calling your broker and telling them to dump the stock the minute it began to drop.

But as days turned to weeks turned to months, none of those things ever came to pass.

The moment the CEO handed over the keys to the castle, "Cassie", the ditzy bimbo who pouted and bounced and sucked and slept her way to the top, became Cassandra, stone cold business bitch. She still bounced, but with the air and confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, her heels clicking as she marched through the hallways. The sneers and derision that used to follow her around quickly dried up, her perfectly manicured iron fist rooting out anyone who disrespected her.

You wouldn't have known it with the way she giggled and let her coworkers fawn over her, but Cassandra had gone to business school and graduated top of her class. She had her sights set on the highest corner office she could find, but when she entered the business world and saw first-hand just how cruel and unfair it could be to women, she hatched her plan. She dyed her hair blonde. She spent hours watching makeup tutorials on the internet, replacing her wardrobe one piece at a time to make sure she could hold the attention of her more weak-willed colleagues. With every promotion, she funneled a bit of her new paycheck towards her curves, making them bigger and rounder and more obvious. Key milestones were rewarded by getting bigger lips and a butt lift to make sure that no man could resist her. Sure, she had to suck a few dicks along the way, but that was a lot better than grinding out 70-hour work weeks for years on end. Cassandra did feel the tiniest hint of remorse over firing everyone in the organization that had given her a promotion, but the hard reality is that anyone who makes business decisions based on their dick has no place in Cassandra's new company.

And things worked out alright for you, too. As she sucked and grew her way to the top, she got a taste for every level of the company. She actually had more thorough knowledge of the day-to-day than anyone who has ever sat in the board room. By the end of her first year as CEO, shares were up more than 30% and several of the complaints you muttered quietly about had been addressed. You got promoted, too, when Cassandra's position was vacated, and the results were hard to argue with.

She kept the curves. People learned quickly that they had to take her seriously after all, and if they used her overinflated, borderline spherical tits as an excuse to not do so, well, her pink lipstick matched the color of the slips they found in their inbox a week later. Besides, Cassandra had come to enjoy them. Watching the grow made her impatient for the next fill up, honed by her hunger for success. And the company was doing so well... She began to wonder just how many CCs her end-of-year bonus could get her.