#stylish flooring options | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

usedpidemo · 1 year

Text

Voguish (Itzy Ryujin)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope its to your liking.)

—————

If you had any other choice, you’d rather be stuck at where you were previously: earning a modest income, just enough to get by from job to job, performing straightforward work, and most importantly, friendly clientele to attend to. It wasn’t surprising; you knew this industry was built on the backs of some of the most snobbish, arrogant people you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, but—

“You’re late. Again.”

Shin Ryujin was probably among the absolute worst.

If you’re going to make an honest assessment, Ryujin isn’t that bad. Serving as her head stylist for the better part of a year, she’s by far the client you’ve spent the most time with. She doesn’t talk a big deal about the money she’s making or prattle into a conversation intricately designed to inflate her ego to the moon, unlike some of the other A-listers you’ve had the ‘privilege’ of working under.

However, her attitude is definitely up there.

It’s not even a little over a minute. In fact, you’ve been standing at her entrance door two minutes before the clock hits ten. Doesn’t matter if you’re in the right; her style, her rules. She doesn’t care that you're sweating buckets rushing her newly minted outfit from across the street up to the 27th floor. Any moment where she doesn’t look like a million dollars is a moment wasted.

“My apologies, Ryu—”

Ryujin’s glare puts the fear of God into your soul. “What did I say about using my name?”

You pause. Gulp your throat. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Shin.”

“Hmph.” Grimacing with disgust, she hastily snatches the dress from your possession, proceeds to slam the door on you, tone bordering on shouting, “Come inside. You’re late.”

Entering the door shortly after, you’re welcomed by a film crew in the process of recording her as she struts around the living room suite holding your dress in her hands. If there’s anything you’ve learned from attending to her, she’s as effortless of an actress as she is as a model. The moment her eyes face the camera, she instantly transforms into the picture perfect icon that has all of social media buzzing.

Moving out of the way has become muscle memory at this point. When she’s in front of the cameras, you’re merely an onlooker.

“So this is my outfit for tonight,” she says enthusiastically into the camera, proudly flaunting the outfit—a convincing facade to the untrained eye. For the press, she’s this likable, larger than life figure living her best life, attending all these invitation-only parties and wearing the most stylish dresses.

“It was a risque design, and I wanted to try something bold for once. It was love at first sight when I saw it,” she comments, and you know very well this wasn’t her first choice. They won’t know that this was the 12th option, handpicked just last night after weeks of trial and error, only to be thrown away right after. At her request, you had it ordered on incredibly short notice, and the plan almost fell through. It was hard to deny Ryujin’s wants, no matter how impractical or unfeasible they were.

In a way, this was to be expected. Ryujin emanates this young, it girl energy. Like any aspiring icon, she usually wants to stand out from a usually safe crowd. Not that it hasn’t stopped you from interfering a handful of times, much to her annoyance. After all, you’d assume she was going to a casual party or some red carpet event, not a prestigious gala with some of the biggest people in the world in attendance. You name it: politicians, CEOs of tech giants, industry titans who make the cover of Forbes and Time every other month. There are high standards that must be kept, and she’s doing anything but uphold those standards.

The camera pans away from her, and she immediately tosses the clothing aside with zero regard whatsoever. You manage to save it before it becomes near valueless. No matter how bothersome she acts, you can’t bring yourself to call her out on her antics; not just because there are several careers at stake, including yours, but you know what she’s capable of doing when her patience exceeds breaking point. It’s a firsthand experience to catch Ryujin in a state that isn’t picture perfect.

“Where are you?” Ryujin shouts from the other room, irate. “Slow as ever, my goodness.”

When you approach her, she’s on her phone, seated in front of the mirror with her legs crossed, having commanded the camera crew to vacate the room, leaving you alone with her. It’s only when you are together that she’s her true self, and it’s not far from what you usually experience even with other people around. They understand it’s in their best interest not to interfere.

Turning her eyes, she catches you idling with her sharp stare. “Well? Are you just gonna stand there and look at me all day? You already do that on the regular.”

Her behavior’s something neither cameras nor testimonies will ever publicly reveal: that Ryujin’s practically a spoiled brat behind closed doors. Any attempts to expose her have been silenced by huge settlements, NDAs, and every legal bind in the book. And when those don’t work out, there’s the strangely coincidental disappearance of potential witnesses that read like every tin-foil hat post written by some gullible conspiracy theorist on the internet.

In retrospect, perhaps there’s some merit to the rumor that her father is supposedly the head of some mafia organization, but you digress. She has never brought her personal history up in interviews, other than she’s been adopted by the founder of a relatively unknown investment firm. An elaborate lie.

She’s engrossed on her phone, unable to keep herself still while you struggle to apply makeup on her face. Time’s of the essence, she usually says, but she’s purposeful with how much time is wasted, with the primary objective of finding an excuse to lay on you. It was never going to be fair from the start. All the moments where you were late, in her eyes, were intentionally done to put you in the wrong.

To be fair, the numerous stylists who’ve taken care of her warned you in advance. You couldn’t deny the opportunity for a huge paycheck.

“Miss Shin, please stay still,” you say, carefully stringing your words together, delivered in the least offensive tone possible.

To your surprise, she complies. It’s a miracle. She never obliges with your requests, let alone direct commands.

Applying the rest of her makeup takes only minutes. Usually, you’d be going back and forth, and you’d be in front of the mirror for hours. See how easier everyone’s job is when all parties cooperate and collaborate effectively? You’re doing your part like it’s second nature; you only wish Ryujin was this accommodating more often, and not whether her brain flips a coin to determine her attitude for the day.

“You look amazing, Miss Shin,” you comment, staring at the mirror, her face radiating with the glow of a million bucks.

Taking her attention off the phone, even if it’s only for a second, proves to be a chore, as proven by her particularly grumpy expression. She scans herself, peers through every little detail in the mirror—showing more interest in herself during this brief moment than her dozens of photoshoots over the last month—and gives the smallest of nods. You even see the tiniest of grins escaping her lips, too.

Her steely attitude unwavering, she commands you, sternly, “Bring me the dress. Now.”

A clap of hands and the door opens like magic. Your co-stylist briskly walks toward you, outfit in hand, promptly handing it over before immediately leaving the room. No words are necessary; she makes it clear who’s allowed to touch her, let alone dress her, and it’s only you. Handling Ryujin was as meticulous and methodical as preserving a historical treasure.

She finally gets off her chair, hands prepared to loosen her robe before something catches her attention. “Door.”

It’s common sense. You hurry over to the opened door, slam it shut. Then the magic happens.

Ryujin nonchalantly slips her bathrobe off her shoulders, letting it freely fall to the floor. She’s draped in nothing but the thinnest of underwear, her asscheeks openly poking through the fabric. It’s amazing how she’s allowing you to see her like this, her barest, when most of her shoots and red carpet dresses have been nothing but conservative. Sometimes seductive, but mostly safe. There’s nothing left for your imagination. On the other hand, you’re so used to this vivid sight, it’s almost part of your daily routine. You shouldn’t be fazed, but her perfect figure has you staring, shamelessly, like it’s your very first time seeing nudity.

At times, it leaves you vulnerable. Like now.

“You were doing quite well too,” she comments, snarkily, gazing at your blank expression through the reflection, snapping you from your daze.

Gulping your throat, you find yourself embarrassed, ears flushed red. Even while you go through the methodical process of measuring and dressing her, the shame lingers. You find yourself unable to glance at the mirror. The very few flashes and glints that meet you when you turn you face your reflection, you find her suppressing a tiny giggle.

As you put on the finishing touches on her outfit, she brings the point home, “We’re already late by an hour.”

A quick look at your watch tells you it’s almost eleven. Ten minutes before the next hour. At first glance, it’s still early, but it can be deceiving. Parisian traffic is notoriously unforgiving, event or no event, showing no partiality. Getting from one place to another is a whole day’s work.

Then you remember the fans and paparazzi congregated at the hotel’s entrance. This crowd that you had to brute force through just to get her dress on time. The hotel security can barely hold them back, and you can hear several sirens screaming miles away, most likely police presence. Many persons of interest will be gathered in one setting, after all.

“How do you feel, Miss Shin?” you ask, taking a step back to let her soak in her meticulously curated appearance.

She blinks rapidly. Then she takes a deep breath.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

—————

Everywhere you look lies nothing but chaos. Chaos and cameras.

Barricade is filled with an indistinguishable mix of both paparazzi and media from all over the world. Lights, whether from above or from cameras, flash in every direction that it’s almost blinding. Deafening shouts pierce through your ears that whispering is impossible. You’ve been to as many red carpet events as these journalists and photographers, but you’ve never attended an event of this magnitude until now.

Left and right, there’s a random celebrity being interviewed by a news junket. The women you spot are dressed to the nines, adorned in colorful and graceful garb, while the men are decked as if they're attending Sunday service. You can see it now: another round of fashion bloggers berating and cursing the men for their simplicity and lack of creativity, but that’s to be expected.

Your phone vibrates from within your shirt pocket. It’s Ryujin, having disappeared somewhere in the crowd.

> Where u at? 😤

You immediately reply back. Your conversations have been practice for your future relationship:

> Can’t find you in this crowd

> Taylor Swift is just across me XD

> Scarlett Johannson too

> And I think I saw Zendaya and Yuna talking with each other, can’t confirm though, they’re far away

To which she answers:

> Stop playing around.

> Get over here NOW

> Do you style any of them?

> You don’t.

> Come here. NOW.

It’s a simple but strong warning. Aside from the fact that you’re there to attend to Ryujin’s needs and not larp as a celebrity, there's a change in her attitude during these events. She becomes strangely more attached. It’s become a byword for you to mention other women around her, yet she interacts with them in a friendly light for the cameras to see.

Ryujin’s preoccupied with what’s presumably the umpteenth interview of many when you finally reunite with her. She takes another moment to pose for the next wave of cameras, picture perfect as always, then after, she finally turns her gaze, meeting yours. It has been ten minutes since her last text, and you have many reasons to say why you’ve vanished.

None of which truly matters.

“There you are.” She says, glaring angrily at you, tone laced with contempt, sounding like you were gone for days.

“I can explain, Miss Shin,” you try to say, but it has no effect as she approaches you, careful as ever to keep a picturesque facade in front of the media. You can see her holding herself back from popping a vein. “Apparently President Biden and his wife are in attendance and we were told to make way for his entire security team—”

The way Ryujin pulls you by the ear while you both retreat from the chaotic crowd is comical. In a sea of cameras and eyewitnesses, some tabloid’s bound to catch you, take the unfolding scene out of context, and write a rushed article that spreads like wildfire, but no, it doesn’t draw an ounce of attention. She's a small fry in a pond of bigger fish, after all. Over your corner, you see a dozen Secret Service slowly guide the president along the carpet, parting everyone around old Joe. In a way, watching him brings you to a strange realization: that you can empathize with the poor geezer. You’re both in the same predicament, being strung along to places you have no zero interest in.

It’s an effective distraction. An air of tense, awkward silence falls upon you both as you stare at each other, your personal conflict hidden away from the public eye. You open your mouth, about to say a word, and—

Whack!

Ryujin hits you with the hardest of palms, all her pent-up frustration released with a single, powerful smack of your cheek. The force echoes throughout the enclosed space like thunder. Your lips draw a little blood. A quick rub of your face reinforces the consequence for your actions. Rough. Still, to say she looks unhappy after enforcing her will upon you is an understatement.

And just when you try to open your mouth (without the intention to complain; you’ve given up at this point), she follows it up with a second slap, with about half the impact of the first. This time, the other cheek. Her gaze is scathing, lethal, hypnotic—as if challenging you to try her already short patience. Say something, motherfucker, is subtly etched on her expressive lips without the need to verbalize them.

Another tense moment of silence. She makes sure your eyes never leave her contact. When it finally breaks, her judgment echoes in your head like the toll of a death bell—a lingering reminder that you’ve truly fucked up.

“You’ll be seeing me after tonight,” she says, each word delivered like an arrow straight to your heart. Before facing the world again, she adds another devastating blow, “My hotel room. Midnight. Sharp.”

—————

For the most part, in the eyes of the public, you seem to have done a fantastic job styling Ryujin for tonight’s gala. Within hours of the event, numerous articles published of the event list her among the best dressed stars, praising the bold nature of her outfit, as she intended in that vlog-style video from earlier. It’s all smiles as you watch her from afar, casually mingling with every celebrity in attendance. In case she needs to remain fresh, have new makeup applied, or change into a new dress for afterparty purposes—sometimes all of the above—you’re closely on standby. Ultimately, she doesn’t; not a single time she has called or texted for assistance. In a way, it’s alarming.

Her reminder sticks firmly on the back of your mind. Every word she says, she means it—no matter how small or big they are. It lingers even as her personal driver and bodyguard messages you with the instruction to return to the car, where she’s mysteriously absent, having been commanded by Ryujin herself to send you and the rest of her personnel home. It’s uncharacteristically strange; either she’s changed her mind and is having a good time at the event, or she’s probably drunk out of her mind, and the latter is typically the norm.

When you retreat to your room, you nervously watch as the clock slowly ticks towards the inevitable. It’s like witnessing your death. You know you can’t stop it, and you can’t look away, either. With the understanding that you’ll likely see the sun rise when it’s all said and done, you don’t even bother to slip into your sleepwear.

The clock turns midnight. Seconds later, you receive a text on your phone. The message. It immediately disproves any theory or hope of meeting her good graces:

> Meet me in my room. Don’t even think about hiding or running, cause I will know

Of course you comply; you really have no other choice.

Five minutes later, you’re at her door again, with nothing but your suit, ready to face her judgment. It swings open of its own accord. Without any formalities, you step inside the familiar living room, now tidied up and cloaked in near darkness—a stark contrast to the mess it looked earlier in the day. Not a sign of her presence can be seen or felt. If you’ve been feeling uneasy before, now you’re straight up anxious, and the terror leaves you pale.

The door slams shut. Now you’re completely in the dark, with nothing to latch or cling to but your own resolve, which is slowly fading too. You want to speak her name, but you know you’ll be trying fate again, and fate has dealt you a cruel hand already. You didn’t want to fall even further.

Your slow breaths are the only sign of life.

And the faint voice in your ear.

Wait—

Before you know it, you feel your throat tense up and your body tremble frantically. Faint shadows coil around your waist and neck, and in that moment, your fate has been sealed.

“At least you’re not late this time.” Ryujin whispers into your ear. Then your eyes snap wide open.

“Agh!”

A powerful surge of pain overwhelms your entire body, renders you weak in the knees. You fall to the ground, barely keeping yourself from completely melting onto the carpet with your hands. Still, the pangs remain too much. You can barely hold up on all fours, let alone move your arms and legs.

It’s not enough. A soft hand hovers across your arched back, brushes through your hair, before it’s immediately followed by a direct blow to your nape. Your shout of agony reverberates throughout the dark room while you’re forced further down on your knees. Nearly forced into a prostrate position, you’re barely holding on. Another hit of this force could knock you unconscious, maybe worse.

“You’re going to learn your lesson today,” says Ryujin, strutting from behind you, cloaked in what appears to be a white gown. She’s holding something that you can’t identify, but you can tell she’s not in the mood to play games. Sparks of electricity flash and fade close to her hand. It was a taser all along. You probably would have guessed that from the intense shocking pain you’re currently feeling.

“Bedroom, slowpoke,” she sternly commands you as she saunters toward the room first, leaving you alone to pick yourself up. You’re still reeling from the two shocks of electricity applied to your waist and neck; it stings. Your body struggles, aches, cries out in despair, but you ultimately muster up enough power to follow her minutes later.

What greets you in the bedroom is a dimly lit bed, with Ryujin as its centerpiece, and both ends of her figure bathed in a faint wave of orange lamp light. She’s draped in nothing but the same hotel-issued bathrobe from earlier, her legs crossed, gazing at you from behind designer shades, smirking with malicious intent. It’s regal, seductive, inviting, intimidating. You honestly could stare at this sight all day long.

Before you entertain the thought, she cuts it off. “Strip.”

Her gaze lingers as you quickly bare yourself in front of her. She grins, giggles, adjusts her glasses with each piece of clothing removed. It flashes at her widest when you’ve divested your shirt and your pants, revealing your chest and your evident bulge, unknowingly growing hard behind the elastic fabric. It seems to spark a new idea within her, even though she’s the type of woman who follows through with her plans after they’ve been organized and premeditated.

She hops off the bed, slowly saunters toward you with trained, modellike fashion, using you as a makeshift catwalk. Turning the corner, she retreats behind your back, gripping a hand on your neck, craning the other down your bare chest. Her tongue tickles the back of your ear, which morphs into the smallest of smooches while she drags you to the bed like a hostage. As she hauls you over the mattress, she continues to feel your skin and body, your ears titillated by the gentle moans and whimpers from her sultry lips.

Your bump knees with the bed before she sends you flying over the edge. Temptation comes knocking at the door of your suppressed lips; you’re itching to cry out in pain, pleading for a bit more consideration. You know it’s a futile effort. When it comes to sex, Ryujin was anything but gentle.

“Don’t look. Stay still.”

Following her command is second nature to you; even when your positions were interchanged, it was merely an illusion—you were never in control. Ryujin plants a palm around your throat, forcing your stare against the bedrest. The clanging sound of something resembling a belt or a buckle keeps you curious. Tense, breaths keep you calm. Deep down, you know what’s about to happen; there’s no stopping it, you can only brace for impact.

In the gap between the point of no return, she tells you her mindstate, how her frustration and apparent jealousy never receded. “I hated every minute I spent there. You have no idea how difficult it was to keep a face in front of everyone, especially after seeing Yuna. Fucking. Yuna.”

Your reaction comes out, not through coherent words, but through a labored groan. You feel her finger circle rings around your ass, sticky and wet. Of course she was there, social media couldn’t stop buzzing about her appearance—and she rarely shows up to these galas. Now it’s all making sense. After all, you were Yuna’s stylist before Ryujin snatched you away.

Ryujin continues to apply lube around your sensitive hole, occasionally fingering you. Holding in the groans from the discomfort proves to be impossible, but she prefers to hear you whine, especially when her name is spoken. It’s the perfect reprieve from the evening’s frustrations, keeping her from raising her voice to the ceiling. “She pisses me off so fucking much. First stealing my thunder at every fashion week, now this? I thought she hated art galas?”

It’s evident that she doesn’t like Yuna in any shape whatsoever. If not for the cameras and all the famous people in the building, she’d already be trading blows with her. If there was any one person she wanted dead, it would have to be Shin Yuna. Of course, knowing this, you never included your time with her on your job application, let alone mention the fact you briefly spoke at the event behind her back. She was in an already spiraling mood, and you didn’t need to make it even worse.

“I was thinking of using dildos for tonight, maybe just my fingers even, but I don’t think it’ll be enough. I really hope you understand.” That last sentence—she sounds apologetic, remorseful, but the warning is ultimately shallow; she’ll rough you up, wreck you, ruin you, and enjoy every moment of it. You’re merely a blank canvas to her twisted fantasies.

“Oh, oh–fuck!” She cries out, joining your deep scream in harmony as she plunges the dildo into your warm, wet hole. This isn’t your first experience on the receiving end of Ryujin’s strap, yet every plunge feels as destructive and spine breaking as the first. No pleasantries or formalities, just apply the lube then hit. The idea of teasing you goes against her very blunt, assertive nature.

“Shit—oh fucking shit, you’re so goddamn tight,” she says, snaking a hand around your waist as her plastic dick slowly penetrates your hole, little by little. She has you grasping at pillows, staring at the ceiling then down to the sheets, until you find the twisted image of her hips slowly pounding against your ass, letting the pleasure of pegging overwhelm her. It should be excruciatingly painful, an agonizing reminder to never get on her wrong side, but no, there’s something hot about getting dicked by a tough woman like her that arouses you.

Eventually, she comes to her senses, finds her footing, and remembers that she’s meant to punish you, not reward you. She knows how good you make her feel, even if your cock is meant to be inside hers, not the other way around. You can’t help speaking your mind, and it boosts Ryujin’s ego to the moon. “Please. Fucking use me, Miss Shin. Fucking ruin my hole like how I ruin yours, miss.”

Even upside down, you can see how visibly delighted she is to hear those words every single time. Can’t hide that wide smirk plastered on her lips, no matter how upset she is. It’s intoxicating. No matter how hard you’re huffing, the pleasure she derives from using you keeps you going.

Slamming your eyes shut, Ryujin does what you both want. Fucks you with her dildo hard, clenches and quelches with each careful, intricate stroke. Sometimes you’re in that position, taking her ass and ravaging her body as your own. Now it’s her turn, and she’s been taking after you. Between thrusts, she slaps your cheek, pulls on your neck and hair. You’ve built this alarmingly toxic work relationship, but the sex has never felt this invigorating, so cathartic. The perfect use of frustration to be channeled into something pleasurable and rapturous.

You’ve never seen Ryujin this focused, this committed to wrecking you. She’s using your hole with such ferocity you think she’ll make you bleed out. Behind those glazed, pleasure-filled eyes, she sees nothing but red. Difficult as it is, you follow a string of moans from her lips hidden beneath a continuous echo of groans from your end. It doesn’t help that these walls are thin and everyone on this floor can hear your escapades.

Neither of you care. There’s a good reason as to why she booked the whole floor to begin with.

The bed quakes, and quakes, and quakes—until it doesn’t.

A puzzlingly calm fills the room after countless minutes pass. Ryujin’s frantic breaths close the silent gap, having pulled the dildo from your hole. It’s slick. You realize the change of pace.

“Miss Shin, why did you stop?”

She doesn’t reply immediately. When she does, she’s still catching her breath between spoken words. “I told you—it wasn’t going to be enough. Lay down for me, will you?”

Without a second thought, you comply. This gives you an opportunity to truly see her in the flesh for the first time tonight. She’s wearing a combination of corset and lingerie, her juicy thighs layered with lace garter. Hopping off the bed, she unbuckles the strap around her waist, tossing it aside to the floor. You then focus on her plump ass, accentuated by her slim thong.

Damn, she looks better now than she does naked. You feel proud that she’s wearing your tailor-made lingerie.

Before you entertain the thought of undressing the very underclothes you’ve prepared for her, she slips the boxers off your ankles. She climbs onto the bed, stands atop you. Even with her short stature, in this position, she’s larger than life, a dominating presence that only desires complete control.

“Hmm, I don’t know what I should do. I could let you fuck me, but that doesn’t sound right for a punishment,” she comments, playfully placing a finger on her chin, jokingly thinking. For a brief moment, it does appear that she’s stumped.

When the idea hits her, her eyes widen, and she has this self-conceited look, as if she’s got it all planned out.

She reaches a hand down to her knee, slowly peels one of the stockings down to her ankles. Then she does the same for the other half. The way she positions both legwear on your cock is intentional; it’s to stir the idea of pounding into her cunt a real possibility. Your gaze remains fixated on Ryujin’s face, ever flawless in her scantily-clad figure, being her model self atop you.

As she tugs on the lace of her panties, you start reacquainting your mind with the image of her tight cunt. She lowers it, barely down her thighs, enough space to tease, enough to make your heart race. Her attention is nowhere close to you; she has other priorities, and fingering herself is one of them. She rubs a digit around her heat, moans out in ecstasy with the same energy as getting fucked. The trembles of her body send aftershocks that reverberate all over the bed.

It’s already hot enough to get fucked by Ryujin’s strap, but this—the sight of Ryujin pleasuring herself, mouth gaped wide open—is a hundred times better. This is the same reaction she has shown throughout the numerous times you’ve railed her, even though you’ve seen that face during sex. Against the mirror, against the water’s reflection, against the tinted windows of her cars—her face serves as motivation that keeps you hard whenever she demands it. Your hands begin to move on their own, reach down to the groin unknowingly, unsure of whether she’d want you to masturbate or not.

You feel your hard cock, already partially soaked with precum, dripping on her garter. As much as you want to keep them on, you can’t go against the deep seated urge to masturbate with her. Her foot begins to lean against your waist, right as you begin to stroke your shaft with your fingers. Moaning alongside her, you thrust your hips upward, passionately murmuring her name, with nothing but a singular thought: her pussy.

It’s etched on your needy lips. “You’re so sexy, Miss Shin. Please let me fuck you, God—”

She whines as though your hot breath is against her neck, growling a tone higher than normal. Her left foot is slowly clenching around your balls, the other at the bridge between your thigh and your crotch, gently nudging your free hand to move aside. She’s beginning to apply pressure on you, perhaps a subtle gesture to make you stop and give way for her feet to take over, but you’re engrossed in the moment to fully realize. Then again, subtlety isn’t her speciality.

It’s only when her foot presses down on your active hand that you slow to a complete halt. You gently rest her soles on your shaft, slowly wrap her soft toes around your tip. For the most part, their grip is shaky, but when they stick, they feel so slick, so warm, and significantly better than whatever effort your fingers can muster. She can’t wear heels without a few kisses placed on them, you recall; something about being Cinderella growing up, how she prefers to be treated, to receive nothing but showers of praise and attention, and you’re doing just that.

Her digits seemingly acknowledge what they’re stepping on, and soon enough it becomes the perfect makeshift ring to stimulate your cock. Her toes just feel the best, most direct spots around your sensitive shaft, gradually building momentum for when you eventually paint her pretty feet. At least, that’s the goal. You’re both drowning in pleasure, chasing separate highs, but using each other’s bodies as conduit for your own personal gain.

And it’s not that she doesn’t know; she knows. You’ve caught a glimpse of her half-lidded eye peeking down. She sees it, merely chuckles at the notion, and continues to finger herself atop your helpless body. Mutual trust brings you together; she won’t stop you as long as you won’t do the same to her.

“Yes, fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard,” you say, breaths hurried, and it isn’t a matter of if, but when. “Every part of you feels so good, Ryu.”

You’re past formalities at this point. She’s too far gone to care that you've called her by her casual name. Her fingers, both slick and warm at once, are catching fire from the frenzied pace she’s rubbing her clit, certain her dripping juices will find solace on your splayed figure. Racing with her orgasm, her underwear is halfway down her meaty legs, her very foundations shaking. Inadvertently pressing her foot tightly on your cock, she’s holding on for dear life, and it threatens to steal your soul before you reach that immaculate high.

With friction at an all-time high, one rough, slippery slip between her toes, all while your loins burn , moving as if you’re burying yourself deep in her cunt, eager to fill her with seed. The thin thread snaps. Sends you careening over the edge.

Your fall is accompanied by the endless scream of her name. To have your cock be graciously drained by her feet, it would be disrespectful not to. She’s still going, chasing that high even as your cum geysers all over her feet, spills over your knees, your belly, on the sheets, as if her own slick didn’t already make an utter mess of this five-star bed. You’re mentally cheering her on, distracting yourself from the endless cascade of seed gushing beneath you.

This disastrous mess finds you again, this time in the form of Ryujin’s orgasm. She orgasms, cries her loudest cry, her features at their most corrupted. Her pussy gushes like a rushing waterfall, completely soiling her legs and panties with her slick juices. Your groin manages to salvage whatever her thighs haven’t absorbed, and it’s a sticky pool that latches onto her dainty feet. When she steps off your cock, the squelch of wet seed splatters on the sheets until she touches the ground.

You both take some time apart, let the aftermath of your orgasms fizzle out. Ryujin assesses the damage to her body; she’s still a model, after all. She hastily rids of the soiled underwear, treating it like some kind of contaminated object that can only be cleansed by fire. From the looks of it, she’s committed something dangerous, and you’ve done something scandalous.

“Shit. We got carried away,” you say, lifting your head from the bed, panicked.

“No. You got carried away,” she replies, facing you with that familiar icy gaze. The honeymoon period is over. “Did I allow you to plant my feet on your cock? Huh?”

Swallowing your throat, you understand that she’s technically right, but also, she most certainly enjoyed the feeling of stepping on you—something you can use against her. Still, Ryujin’s word overrides all reasoning, no matter how logical they are.

You see her facade fall apart when she approaches you again. She climbs onto the bed like a cat, arches her back, and sends you back down to the mattress when she pounces on you. On her lips is the widest smirk you’ve ever seen on her.

She wants more.

Rising to her feet, she plants her toes directly on your chin, oozing with the remains of your cum mixed with hers. “You did this, now you’ll clean it up.”

As your tongue laps it up, she occasionally disrupts your rhythm by kicking you several times. Not that you’re hurting her (you couldn’t even if you tried) but for the delight of bringing you misfortune. It’s completely in line with the typical abuse and inhumane treatment you face from her during work hours. You won’t complain, but that was never in the cards, anyway.

“I can’t believe my stylist is a complete freak. Fucking hell,” she comments, glaring you down as you give her toe the occasional kiss. She’s visibly disgusted by the realization sinking in, but deep down, she knows you’re the exact stylist she’s been looking for.

—————

And as if that’s not enough, she’s found a punishment perfectly suited for you.

“Just so you know, you’re not getting paid after the stunt you pulled on me today,” says Ryujin, in reference to your accidental disappearance during the red carpet. You’re laid out on the floor, prone, your groans stifled by the living room carpet. Meanwhile, her feet tread all over your bare back at a steady tempo, leaving what could have easily been hickeys red marks and footprints on your skin.

“How long do I have left, Miss Shin?” you ask, voice almost indiscernible.

“About ten minutes,” she replies, looking out the hotel room window, watching dawn slowly break over the Parisian sky. “Don’t ever disappoint me again, do you understand? Freak.”

——————

(A/N: First commissioned work complete! Definitely exploring elements out of my specialty, did you expect her to peg OC? Fun dynamic to write, thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can send me a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #itzy #ryujin

757 notes · View notes

stevebattle · 9 months

Text

Explanation Komachi (Information Robot) by Hiroshi Sasaki and Hiroshi Fuji, Namco, Tokyo, Japan (1984). "This is a robot that provides product PR and in-store information at stores and on the sales floor. Both arms and chest move, and combined with the included color TV monitor, gestures and voice convey information to customers in an interesting way. Since images, gestures, and audio are pre-programmed, it's easy to create a simple show. Additionally, a software editing system is available as an option that allows users to easily program them. The design is in the image of an elegant woman, suitable for showrooms and high-end stores."

"Although the color and some functions are different, the appearance and approximate specifications are almost the same as the current reception Komachi. It has functions that give it a somewhat old-fashioned feel, such as VCR playback. About 10 units were produced, and recently it could be seen in Yubari City, Hokkaido [The silver Komachi was on show at the Yubari Robot Museum until it closed in 2008] … The Reception Komachi was created by making improvements on the explanation Komachi. The design was handled by Mr. Sasaki and designer Hiroshi Fuji (character designer for the Valkyrie series, etc., currently a manga artist), and they came up with a number of color variations. The concept is "a stylish robot in the near future." I didn't add any three-dimensional objects such as eyes, nose, or mouth because I wanted the viewer to imagine a petite woman." – Pepper's senior robot, completed with the recklessness of the president of Namco!

#cybernetics #robot #humanoid #1984 #namco

293 notes · View notes

kekeyw · 1 year

Text

baia dell'amore restaurant.

hi everyone, this is the baia dell'amore restaurant!

gallery id: kekeyw

packs used: seasons, dine out

watch youtube video here

download tray files here

cc list below the cut

little Dica - Rise&Grind Cafe, Modern Kitchen

Felixandre - GROVE Pt 1, 2, 4, Paris Pt2, Colonial Pt2, ShopTheLook2, Chateau Pt3

heyHarrie - Brutalist Bathroom, Spoons Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, ShopTheLook 1&2, Coastal Pt2, Pt3, Brownstone, Kwatei Pt1

charly Pancakes - Precious Promises, SOAK, Lighthouse

pierisim - MCM Pt1, Pt2, Oak House, Precious Promises

House of Harlix - JARDANE, BAYSIC BATHROOM, Harluxe, ORJANIC Pt1

sixam - Stylish Wood

max20 - Poolside Lounge, Cozy Bathroom Kit

plumbobTeaSociety - Cottage Garden

tuds - Ind, Wave

peacemaker - Creta Kitchen, Lenox Dining

syboulette - Crossfit Reborn (Optional: Uses the floors for the roof)

#the sims 4 #sims 4 cc #sims 4 build #sims 4 maxis match #sims 4 builder #sims 4 creator #sims 4 wedding stories #sims 4 tartosa #sims 4 restaurant #sims 4 lot #builds

540 notes · View notes

simmervlogs · 5 months

Text

Reine & La Rue

Hello Simmers, have a drink and wind down at Reine & Rue Lounge in Sah Myshuno.

Reine & La Rue is slick lounge and a famous spot in the bustling city of San Myshuno. Sitting alongside the waterfront docks, this luxurious lounge offers you the escape you need. A long, sleek room, its curved ceilings are adorned with taxidermy beetles, making for an eccentric, stylish space. The drinks offering is unique, as rather than a menu the team offers a 'Cocktail Concierge Service', meaning your bartender will talk through your likes and dislikes before designing a bespoke drink just for you. There’s a light and airy central public bar, sky-high ceilings and indoor and outdoor seating options — including a rooftop dance floor and chilling area with panoramic views of the city skyline. A modern theme continues throughout with warm interiors. If you are looking for something more intimate, a private room awaits you on the second floor. This property is perfect for a girls night out or a date. There are many spots guaranteed for the perfect Simstagram shot.

Please note almost everything is CC and the items were not created by me! Please do support and directly download from all the creators mentioned! I have attached the CC folders convenience ONLY.

Get together required for Dance floor to function.

Do check out my Tiktok, live almost everyday building!

Note: Some of the cc could not be shared- please download below separately

Wicked whims (pole)

Nickname (Bar drinks from the Bar set)

Afrosimtricsimmer (Alcohol bottles, free on their Patreon)

INSTRUCTIONS

Please directly move all the files in CC zip folder to your Mods folder.

Please move Tray files (Tray files folder) to your Tray folder (enable bb.moveobjects on).

Gallery ID- SimmerVlogs (Enable CC)

TikTok- simmervlogs

Note- I have placed this down in San Myshuno (multi use lot) 30X30

Thank you once again to all CC creators!

DOWNLOAD (Patreon)

63 notes · View notes

kpop---scenarios · 1 year

Text

Linked (1)

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun x Y/N

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Eventual Smut, Mean people, Language.

A/N: I'm back baby! I hope you all enjoy the first chapter!!

"Miss Y/N?" A woman says, breaking you out of your concentration of looking at tikok’s.

Startled, you look up and standing before you is a very pretty, well dressed woman holding files between her petite fingers. "Are you ready for your interview?" She asks.

Taking a small breath, as you nod your head and smile at the woman. "I'm Ava, and I'll be conducting your interview on Mr. Byun's behalf." She says, walking through the office hallways. It's so plain, the white walls just dying for at least a pop of color, or even a picture of some sort. Ava leads you into a plain white room, nothing in it but the necessary items. Did you really want to work somewhere so boring? You were lost in your thoughts again after answering only a few routine questions.

"I think you'd be a perfect fit for this job." Ava smiles. You'd only been talking for 15 minutes before she decided.

"Thank you." You smile.

"I'd like to offer you the position as the Senior Data Analyst. You'd be working directly under Mr. Byun." She tells you.

"Sure. Yes, thank you so much." You say. One thing checked off your list. Find a job, find an apartment, and get settled in this new town. Luckily you had an apartment view right after this interview, and considering you were hired on the spot you had an extremely good feeling.

The apartment sucked, but you took it anyway. You would try your best to make the small studio apartment feel like home, but you weren't quite sure how. You weren't the most stylish, if you really had to describe yourself, you were quite bland. You knew the clothes you wore were a size or two too big, but you had no urge to change yourself. For what, or for who? You had no one in your life to care about, you didn't even care about yourself.

You laid in your bed that night, staring at the popcorn ceiling, as you remembered why you moved here in the first place, and your heart broke all over again.

Slowly and quietly you pressed your ear to the bedroom door at this party.

"Stop telling Y/N she has a chance with me. Please, it makes me sick to even think about it." You hear Hongjoong laugh loudly. "I can't even listen to her talk for more than 30 seconds at a time. I don't know how you do it. Her voice is so fucking annoying."

"Right? I swear to go sometimes I feel like my ears are bleeding. And you should see her when she cries. So fucking ugly." You hear Maya giggle.

"And is it just me or is she fucking dumb? How could she love me for all these years and not realize how repulsed I am by her?" He asks.

Ouch.

“I know math isn’t her best subject but Christ, can't she add up all the things you don’t do around her and see you’re not into her, and never will be? I mean, you try to leave the room whenever she enters." Maya laughs. "So there's no chance of you leaving me for her?"

"You think I'm gonna leave a goddess like you, for that thing? Come on, baby, you should know me better than that. Plus, she doesn't have a set of tits like these." He laughs.

As quickly as the hurtful words began, they stopped. You weighed your options of what to do but your body still felt too numb to move.

You stood there, your ear pressed against the door feeling your stomach sink. You wanted to run away but it was like your feet were glued to the floor.

The floor that made your knees feel weak as you turned the door knob and pushed the door open to see Maya, on top of Hongjoong.

The music that was once pounding in your ears was now quiet. It was so muffled as you began to only hear your own shallow and fast breaths. You could hear and feel your heart pumping at a pace you were sure was off the charts, while also slowly ripping into tiny pieces.

You felt like you couldn't breathe as his hands gripped her body. They hadn't heard the door opening.

The walls were suddenly caving in as he slowly slid his fingers up and down her curves moving over her ass to squeeze it.

Tears fell from your eyes as you watched him touching her in ways that you had once dreamt about.

Your face begins to burn in complete embarrassment. The fucking betrayal you felt from someone who said they loved you. Maya was supposed to be your best friend. She was the one who was by your side when you cried, wondering why he didn't love you back. She held you as you sobbed into her lap, she wiped your tears away and always had comforting words for you. She would laugh at his Instagram page with you and acted as if she didn't even like him.

But here she was ripping you apart with him for their own enjoyment.

Tears streamed from your face as you rolled over in your bed. You hated remembering that day. The day you lost your best friend. It hurt so bad and you know you needed to move on but that's always easier said than done.

The next morning you woke up, exhausted and not ready for the day but you had your first day of work. You'd tried to look up Mr. Byun last night, but there were no pictures of him anywhere. You thought that was a little odd, but didn't chalk it up too much. You got ready for the day in record time, putting on your too big skirt, with your too big shirt and oversized blazer. You put your hair up the best you could and avoided all makeup.

Slowly, you walk into the building, making your way to the 35th floor, where your office was supposed to be. The entire floor was empty when you arrived. Just the way you liked it. You popped in your airpods, started your music and got to work organizing the 5 items on your desk. It took you roughly 3 minutes. You glanced at the clock, 6:55am. You still had 35 minutes until you were technically supposed to start, but it never hurt to get a head start. You worked for a little bit, listening to your favorite songs before you barely noticed a few people entering their cubicles. You mostly ignored them, offering a small nod of acknowledgement before getting back to work. You hadn't noticed anyone walking into the all glass office in front of you, until you felt your heart tug. A feeling you had never once felt before. You looked up and saw the most handsome, stone-cold looking man you'd ever seen. You couldn't take your eyes off of him, it was like you were drawn to him.

"Handsome, huh?" You hear, breaking you out of your trance.

"Who? What?" You say, looking up. Standing in front of you is a thin, blonde bombshell with a smile that could make you forget any worry in your life. “Hi. I’m Y/N.” You cough. She was so beautiful, it made you extremely nervous.

"Hi, I'm Lisa, I work in that cubicle to your left." She says with a smile. “I just wanted to bring these over for approval from you, and introduce myself.” She explains, showing a small pile of papers in her hand. You were listening to her, but you had a hard time keeping yourself engaged in the conversation. Your eyes continued to dart towards the man who took your breath away and Lisa definitely noticed. She let out a small giggle to regain your attention. You swiftly looked back at her, giving her an apologetic smile.

"That's Mr. Byun.” She tells you. “Do your work, don’t get in his way and don’t question him and you’ll be just fine.” she tells you.

“He looks mad.” You say, taking a quick glance at him before looking back to Lisa.

“That’s just his face I think. He always looks like he’s got a painful stick up his ass." She whispers.

"Why did you start whispering?" You asked.

She sets the pile of papers on your desk, looking back towards Mr. Byun's office and looking back at you. "He hears everything." She whispers again, walking out of your office with a smile.

Your eyes turned over to Mr. Byun, you were having a hard time turning your gaze somewhere else. There was just something about him that was driving you crazy. You watched as he shouted at someone on the phone, the veins in his neck and hands popping out intensely. His dark brown hair flowed perfectly on his head. His suit fit him perfectly, you could see the muscles all over his body.

Suddenly he slammed the phone down onto the receiver, you were surprised it didn’t break with the amount of force he used. He rubs his eyes before running his fingers through his hair. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours without hesitation. Your heart pulls toward him. You wanted to get out of your seat and slip your tongue into his mouth. You wanted to be near him, holding him and you didn't know why. His eyes are still on yours as he walks out of his office, heading straight for you. Your heart begins to pound as he gets closer to you.

"Who are you?" He asks, abruptly. You're looking directly in his eyes, you can’t help but almost get lost in them. They’re so dark, like they're filled with pure hatred.

"Uh, I'm L/N Y/N. I'm your new Senior Data Analyst. " You respond. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Byun."

"We’ll see about that. Get to work Miss. L/N." He says, walking out of your office and back to his. Your eyes meet again as he brings down his shade, his eyes still glued to yours.

The rest of the day, you couldn't get him off your mind. You had a hell of a time trying to focus on any of your work. You just wanted to see him again. Anytime you let your mind wonder, it went to him immediately. You felt like you loved him but you didn't even know him.

After you had finally finished all your work, it was dark outside. You let out a big, loud yawn as you stretched your body from your desk. You gathered all your belongings and turned the lights out to your office. As you walked by Mr. Byun’s office, you noticed the lights were still on. You peaked in through a small patch of glass that was uncovered from the shade and saw him sitting at his desk with another extremely handsome man, sitting across from him. You knew you shouldn’t have been peaking in, but your curiosity got the better of you. Within seconds, Mr. Byun’s head whipped around, his eye’s shooting daggers towards you.

You let out a small screech before you quickly take off to the elevator, hoping that either it comes fast or he doesn't come out of his office after you. You get onto the elevator and press the close door button as quickly as you can.

You made it home that night without incident and without Mr. Byun yelling at you for being nosey. You just needed to mind your business and not do that again.

You dreamt of him that night. His hands gliding over your body, his tongue licking you everywhere, how he tasted, how it felt to have him on top of you. You woke up in a puddle of sweat the next morning. You had so wished it was real.

The rest of the week went by, and he paid you no attention at all. He didn't even bring up your little snooping issue. Whenever he had a request from you, he sent Ava to ask you. Obviously he couldn’t be bothered to do it himself. You hated that. You wanted to see him again.

He kept the shades of his glass office down, further avoiding any contact with you. It wasn’t until the next week that you’d finally be able to see him again. Lisa had ever-so apologetically placed a stack of papers on your desk, minutes before 5pm. You weren't one to just leave the papers for the morning, and honestly, you had no one waiting for you at home so why wouldn't you stay late and do them. Around 8pm, you’d finally finished and you were carefully planning Lisa’s murder for the next day. You were exhausted. You grabbed your coat off the back of your chair and rubbed your eyes while you walked towards the elevator. You were so tired you didn’t even look in Mr. Byun’s office as you passed it. You had expected him to have left hours ago anyways. You pressed the down button on the wall and waited silently. It wasn't until a few seconds later you felt someone standing behind you. The doors to the elevator ding, sliding open. You turn around and see him standing there, an unimpressed expression plastered on his face.

He looks at you and at the open elevator doors, motioning for you to get in. your brain finally clicks and you get on as he follows behind you. You press the button for the first floor and prepare for an uncomfortable and silent ride down 34 floors. Mr.Byun takes a deep breath as he stands next to you, your arms just almost touching. “Why are you here?” he murmurs under his breath. You barely didn’t quite catch what he had said.

“What was that?” You ask, turning your head to look at him.

He sighs. Turning towards you, taking a few steps until you're backed into the wall. He places his hand next to your head, leaning himself in closer to you.

“I said.. Why are you here?” he whispers, his lips so close to yours. “Do you have any fucking idea what youre doing to me?” he asks, breathing heavily. His head moves closer to you, his lips narrowly escaping yours as he places his head onto your neck, inhaling deeply. It was like he couldn't get enough of your smell. Before you could say anything the elevator dings, and he moves away from you as fast as he can, walking out into the lobby, leaving you there wondering what the fuck just happened.

Over the next several weeks after that incident, he kept trying his best to ignore you. Everyday. Occasionally you’d catch a glance of him, and the eye contact was so intense you could feel heat running through your entire body. Everyday that you didn’t see him, your heart hurt more and more. You couldn’t explain why but it felt like it was breaking you. You knew it was ridiculous, he was your boss, how could you love him?

You didn't have an answer to why you did, but you did and you really didn't want to.

After working at your office for a few months, you decided you needed a change. You were tired of looking frumpy and exhausted while everyone around you looked bright and amazing. You needed to reinvent yourself, and spice up your life and you needed to do it now or you wouldn’t do it at all. That weekend you took the plunge.

You went to the salon first. you got your hair done something that was better suited for you, a new style and new color. You went to the mall, and completely changed your wardrobe from the baggy clothes you were wearing to things you normally would never wear. You bought outfits that actually fit you, and showed off your body instead of hiding it. You bought proper bras and sexy panties. You felt good and different, but a good different. You couldn't wait to showcase the new you. You had never felt so confident in yourself before, and you loved it.

Monday morning, you strutted into the office, your dress hugging your curves, your hair bouncing as you walked. You could feel all eyes on you as you walked to your office. You had never felt everyone watching you in a good way before and it felt amazing. You placed your jacket on the hook and sat in your chair to get to work. Lisa walked into your office with her mouth hanging wide open.

“Girl.” She squeals. “You look phenomenal!” She eye’d you up and down, admiring your outfit.

You could feel your cheeks get hot from the compliment. “Thank you.” you laughed. “It feels weird, but good.” you tell her.

“It should feel all good, girl. You look great.” she smiles. “Also Ava is out today, so i've been instructed to tell you that Mr. Byun needs to see you in his office.” She says, side eyeing his office.

You try your best to swallow the lump in your throat as you nod your head. You hadn't seen him when you walked in, and you anxiously wondered what he would possibly think of your new look. You stood up, smoothed out your dress before heading towards his office. You stood in front of the door, breathing heavily as you knocked lightly on his door.

“Come in.” you hear from a gruff voice.

You turn the handle to his door and walk in and it’s like you can’t breathe. He sits there, his hands in his lap, leaning back in his chair. Fuck he looks so good.

“You wanted to see me?” you ask.

“You changed yourself.” he points out. His eyes trail your body up and down as he admires you.

“Just a few things. What did you need to see me for, Mr. Byun?” you ask. You wanted to get out of there as fast as you could. Your heart was racing, you could feel the sweat covering the palms of your hands.

“Call me Baekhyun.” he says, getting out of his chair. He walks towards you, almost in slow-motion, like he was gliding towards you. You step back as he gets closer to you. His head reaches out, caressing your face.

“It’s getting too hard to fight, Y/N.” he whispers, looking deep into your eyes. “I don’t want to want you.”

“I don’t want to want you either.” You admit.

“You feel it too? The pull, the urge, the desperation?” he asks. You can’t speak, you can only nod your head. “Then it’s true.. You are my mate.”

“I'm your what..” you ask. Before he can answer, his door swings open. Baekhyun backs away from you and in walks a brunette bombshell. She was absolutely stunning and you’d never seen her before.

“Jennie.” Baekhyun says, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Poor girl looks frightened, Baeky.” she smiles. “I hope you're not scaring your staff too much.” she giggles.

“Who are y..” you begin before she cuts you off.

“Oh!” she laughs. “I’m Jennie Kim.” she announces, moving closer to Baekhyun, wrapping her arm around him.

“I’m his fiancee.”

#baekyhun #exo smut #exowritersnet #baekhyun smut #byun baekhyun #exo #exo writing #baekhyun writing #kpopscenarios #kpopscape #noonasinnetwork

195 notes · View notes

smeraldo-heart · 2 months

Text

My Jedi Survivor Deluxe Art Book arrived today!!!

I love it a lot

The man himself, with some gun designs (my favourite has always been the middle gun design- it’s so retro-futuristic!! So pretty and reminds me of Padmé’s blaster). Love the funny little helmets and mysterious wear they keep exploring into with Cal, wonder if they’ll use this kind of concept in the third game?? (I personally hope for longer hair options but that’s just me)

Some really cool Cere outfits that I absolutely love, may take inspiration from them for future Cal designs. Just love the whole yin and Yang thing going on. Also a Greez because he makes me laugh 😭 his concepts are so funny but it fits. Love the captain’s hat though!!! Might steal that for my own designs…

Merrin, my love. She is so stylish!!! Holy shit! What she didn’t tell Cal in the game was that in those years she spent travelling alone, she was actually in charge of styling for 4 separate Galaxy drag race shows.

I adore her cute little haircuts like I actually need her to have her hair even shorter

Doma!!!! And why did they make Ashe so cute?! Absolutely killing it with their style

Fun little floor design I found, which is so pretty, and the Anchorite’s designs. I do really love the whole spiritual, sort of bandaged together, aesthetic they have

Hoping my Fallen Order art book comes soon too!!!

Cal Kestis come back to me

#cal kestis #jedi survivor #nightsister merrin #cere junda #greez dritus #ashe javi #doma jedi survivor #anchorites jedi survivor #I Just think it’s neat!!!#sorry for the poor quality #I cannot scan these so only shoddy pictures #if I think about all the mantis crew being so far apart from eachother do a second I will explode. so

27 notes · View notes

hb-writes · 6 months

Text

Frostnip

Summary: When Charlie wears her very stylish, but not very well-insulated, boots to play in the snow with Marcus and family, she has to end her play early because of frozen toes.

Prompt: "Get off! Your feet are cold!"

Characters: Harvey Specter & Charlie Specter (OC)

Content Warning: Nothing, really. Medical-ish stuff, I guess.

Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist

Charlie flexed her foot as she toed off her boot, a quiet hiss coming from her lips as she set the foot on the floor, bracing herself against the wall to work the other boot off. It was nearly silent in the house, the quiet punctuated only by the shouts and laughter accompanying the snowball fight happening just out back between Marcus and the kids.

Dumping her coat and gloves and hat beside the door, Charlie shuffled across the kitchen, her feet feeling heavy and stiff as she went.

"You're still working?"

She stopped to lean against the wall, her face turned back towards the door and the yard beyond it as she heard their niece let out an infernal screeching that had Charlie wincing.

Harvey didn't so much as flinch. How he was working over all the noise, Charlie didn't know, but he was still planted at the same spot at the dining room table where he'd been when the rest of them headed out into the snow nearly two hours ago. And he still didn't pull his eyes from the laptop to look at her now.

Charlie eased down onto the end of the bench and pulled her feet up, peeling off her wet socks, once again hissing as her hands ghosted over the chilled skin.

"Are you almost finished?"

Charlie hugged her knees to her chest as Harvey's eyes kept skimming over the screen as if he hadn't heard her.

"Hello? Harvey?" Charlie reached out down the bench, waving a hand at him. "Can you hear me? Harvey Reginald—"

Harvey's eyebrows raised as he continued reading whatever was on his screen, considering that answer enough since Charlie stopped herself from saying his full name.

As far as Harvey was concerned, he didn’t need to explain that what he was doing was important. Charlie knew he wouldn't be camped out at their brother's table during their visit if it wasn't, but she’d already interrupted him with three questions in a row and Harvey was starting to wonder if she was ever planning on stopping.

"What happened to you playing in the snow and leaving me alone for a few hours?"

Harvey finally pulled his eyes from the screen to look at his sister. Charlie's cheeks were still flushed and her hair was a tangled, snow-dampened mess. And Harvey was partially grateful he'd been caught up with work, trapped inside rather than rolling around in the snow with his siblings, niece, and nephew.

"I was cold. And unlike some of us..." Charlie rolled her eyes as she released her legs, stretching them out down the bench. "My auntly duty quota has already been fulfilled so—"

"Goddamn it, Charlie! Get off," Harvey shouted as Charlie tried to fit her frozen toes between his leg and the bench's cushion. "Your feet are cold!"

Cold was an understatement. Charlie's feet were freezing, the touch of her skin cool enough that Harvey could feel their deep-seated chill straight through the fabric of his jeans.

"All of me is cold," she answered as she pulled her knees back to her chest, hugging them there. "And they're kind of tingly." Harvey watched as his sister poked at the skin of her feet, watching them intently before wrapping her hands back around her toes and raising her gaze to meet Harvey's. "I guess leather boots aren't the best option when it comes to insulation."

Harvey huffed, tension creeping into his shoulders. "Tingly, Charlotte?"

"Yeah." Charlie shrugged. "Maybe a little."

"And were you limping over here just now?"

Charlie opened and closed her mouth in quick succession, not quite sure how he'd managed to notice that when he'd very clearly been focused on his computer and ignoring her.

"Let me see," Harvey said, and he held out a hand, enduring Charlie's delaying for only a moment before he grasped both of her legs around the calves.

"Harvey, stop!" Charlie shouted, grabbing the table edge for support as Harvey hauled her down the bench, placing her feet in his lap so he could take a better look.

"Christ, Charlotte, I told you to stop wearing those goddamn shoes," he said, his own fingers gently testing the cool skin.

She had complained about cold feet just about every time they'd gone out in the city during the last few weeks. They didn't keep her feet warm on the snowless, and slightly-warmer, streets of New York. He didn't know why she'd think they'd be enough to keep her warm while traipsing through a foot of snow for over an hour. Why she hadn't just worn Katie's old snow boots, especially after Marcus went through the trouble of digging them out for her.

Harvey's lips pressed into a straight line as his fingers continued assessing the bone-white skin of Charlie's toes, transitioning mottled pink just beyond. There were no blisters and no swelling. No hardened skin. Thankfully, she had come inside when she did. Harvey glanced at her. "Does it hurt?"

Charlie swallowed, shaking her head, quickly, almost as if the answer was a reflex. A lie, Harvey figured, and he waited for her to elaborate, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them.

"I don't think so. I…I can't really tell."

Charlie couldn't feel any pain. She could tell her feet were cold because the skin had felt cool against her fingers, but aside from that, there was only the tingling sensation. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but Harvey eased her feet off his lap and stood at the admission, lifting her from the bench without warning.

"Harvey, I can—"

"Walk?" Harvey asked as crossed the kitchen and eased her onto the counter. "I don't think so, Frodo, you barely made it across the Shire."

Harvey turned on the faucet, one hand held under the water for a few moments to gauge the temperature as the basin started filling.

"Is this really necessary?" Charlie asked.

"Would you rather we amputate?"

"I don't think you're really qualified," she answered, muttering to herself about Harvey not being capable of healing, like Aragorn.

Harvey glared at her, and Charlie held his stare. He was the one who had started the Lord of the Ring references.

"And it's not really—"

"Is there tingling anywhere else?" Harvey asked, interrupting Charlie before she could insist that his efforts were unnecessary. "Your fingers? Are you cold?"

Charlie shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, part of her determined to be fine, even as the hairs on her arms rose beneath her shirt.

"Yeah?" Harvey tilted his head. He hadn't missed her shivering or the way her hands kept rubbing at her arms...the way her cheeks were still bright red with cold. "You're telling me the truth?"

Harvey slipped out of his sweater before Charlie could answer him, wrapping it around her shoulders. Charlie was poised to fight him, to point out once again that he was being over the top—first, by carrying her around and now, by playing mother hen—but the weight and warmth of the knitted cardigan felt nice so she didn't complain. Charlie twisted in her spot at the sink's edge, fitting her arms through the sleeves as Harvey eased back against the kitchen island across from her. Once she settled, he grasped her cold feet once again, giving them a second once over.

He glanced up at her. "Can you move your toes?"

"Yes, Harvey," Charlie groaned, wiggling them for emphasis, though the movement was somewhat less enthusiastic than she intended, her toes stiff and heavy.

Charlie swallowed, avoiding her brother's gaze. So what? Her feet were cold and they were tingly. And maybe she'd been stupid to wear the boots, as Harvey had suggested, but...

"I'm—"

Harvey cut her off. “If you tell me you’re fine, I’m gonna—”

"You're gonna what? Yell at me?" Charlie scoffed, waving a hand. “Be silent. Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth."

"What did you just say to me?"

"I said...Be silent. Keep your—"

Harvey gave her a look before releasing her feet. "You're really still quoting Lord of the Rings to me right now?" He stepped forward to turn off the faucet, dipping a hand into the water to test the temperature once again, ensuring it was warm but not too hot. "You probably have frostbite. You think this is some sort of joke?"

"I don't have frostbi—"

"Enough." Harvey cut her off, his voice rising just enough that Charlie remembered herself. "Get your goddamn feet in the water."

"Fine, fine." Charlie held up both hands in surrender before leaning down to start rolling up her pant legs. She twisted on the counter, lifting her feet above the sink and hissing as she eased her toes below the waterline.

"All the way," Harvey prompted when she held her feet just an inch into the water, the sensation already uncomfortable.

"I'm doing it!" Charlie scrunched up her face, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation as she complied.

"Wiggle those toes."

"I am!" Charlie grit out and Harvey glanced into the water to confirm.

"How long do I have to—?"

"Until the color comes back to normal and the tingling goes away. Or thirty minutes—whichever's longer."

"Hmph," Charlie answered, wrapping herself tighter in Harvey's sweater. "It's starting to burn," she told him, the tingling in her feet giving way to a searing pain.

Charlie started to lift her feet, but Harvey set a hand on her leg, stopping her.

"It's supposed to," he answered.

"How do you know?"

"Boy Scouts," he answered, holding up three fingers in salute. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

Charlie rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone as Harvey left the room, doing her own internet search for frostbite and scrolling through the results, only to find that Harvey was basically right.

Do not allow them to walk if it affects their feet.

Submerge the body part in warm water 15 to 30 minutes.

Pain is common during reheating.

"According to this, I maybe, might have a very mild form of frostnip, not frostbite," she said as he came back into the room with a towel and some other supplies. She held up the phone for Harvey to read, and he took it, scrolling through the article.

"Frostnip: a mild form of frostbite," he said, reciting a direct quote from the article as he handed the phone back to her. "Anything else you want to say, doctor?"

"Well, here..." Charlie scrolled further "...right here, it says you're supposed to give your child warm drinks." It also said to cover them with a blanket, but Harvey had as good as done that already by giving up his sweater.

"And a second breakfast," Charlie added, nodding toward the blueberry muffins leftover from breakfast that still sat on the counter behind him.

"Is that so?" Harvey snorted. "Boston Children's Hospital recommends second breakfast as a cure for frostbite?"

Charlie shrugged. "It says to make sure they're comfortable, and I think another muffin would make me comfortable. Warmed up with some butter...and maybe some hot chocolate..." Charlie pointed to one of the end cabinets where she knew Marcus kept the almost sickeningly sweet chocolatey powder. "Please? Pretty, pretty, pretty pretty—"

Harvey shook his head, cutting her unrelenting pleas off with the gesture, before going through the motions of making her hot chocolate. Harvey presented her with the drink a few moments later without a word.

"My precious!" Charlie hissed. The steaming mug felt deliciously warm against her still chilled fingertips. Harvey turned from her to retrieve the muffin.

"You know, that's funny," Harvey said as he set the muffin down beside her on the counter, "because you kind of look like Gollum."

Charlie set the mug down, deciding to let it cool for a moment to avoid burning her tongue. "Jokes on you then, Harv—" Charlie picked a piece of the muffin top loose and popped it into her mouth. "—because people keep saying I look just. Like. You."

Charlie smiled sweetly at her brother as she picked up another piece of muffin, her attention spared to him long enough to realise that he had no intention of responding.

"After this can we—"

"After this, I have work to do and you're not leaving the couch. You—"

"Alright, alright," Charlie interrupted, sensing by Harvey's tone that he was preparing to go off on a lecture-y tangent. "We will sit on the couch."

Harvey raised an eyebrow at her 'we' even as she continued on.

"We can watch Lord of the Rings while you work," she offered, "Haley and Lucas have never seen it so we can fulfill your uncle duty while I rest my feet and you work and..." Charlie shrugged. "It's practically the perfect solution."

It was only half an hour later when Harvey had to admit he agreed with her because while Charlie, Marcus, and the kids lay passed out on the couch, all of them exhausted by the cold, Harvey finally had a chance to wrap up his work all to the film score of Lord of the Rings.

Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist

#harvey specter #harvey specter fanfic #suits usa #suits tv #specter!sister #charlie specter #lines to live by #lovefest2024

47 notes · View notes