#you know what they'd think of you if they didn't know you... or if you ever stop being friends... you know how they'll talk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shehungers · 1 day ago

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FATHOMLESS

eldritch detective x reader |18+| 2.1k

you'd never noticed detective arsenè in the precinct before, even after a number of years working in the office. when you start to ask around about him, they confirm that he's always been there, but you're more worried that they're not mentioning that he has no face...

story warnings; dark content, dubcon leaning sort of noncon (blackouts and spotty memory), sexual content, grotesque + horrific details, this leans more mystery and uncanny valley than anything else, mentions of mc being a drinker, smoking, roughly proofread.

reposted from my deleted blog: theoxenfree.

please share your thoughts with me + reblog!

this is possibly a concept piece to a much larger supernatural, psychological piece. if you'd like to see that, let me know!!

Everyone at the precinct called him Detective Arsené, but they never said anything about his face.

It was simply that there wasn't one there, not that you were able to discern in any instance you'd seen him wandering the floor. You had blamed the long hours, glowing blue screens, useless eye prescriptions, corporate greed, and mixing alcohol with allergy medicine before you finally accepted what you were seeing was real, yet no one else noticed it apart from you.

“What's wrong with his face?” you'd ask anyone with the time to spare to listen.

“Who? Arsené?” they'd laugh, whether in disbelief that you were speaking about Watt City’s genius detective in such a fashion, or that they thought you were the funniest person in the office. “What are you talking about? He's always looked like that! Lay off the booze, yeah?”

Those responses had never been satisfactory enough, going as far to set you ill at ease for the remainder of your shift, sufficiently distracting you from furthering your workload because your mind always came back to the detective and his non-existent face.

“He looks pretty normal to me,” said a senior member in your division. An older man you'd come to know as forthright and virtuous with a history showing that integrity. He had taken eyes off his computer screen, bifocals aside, and pinched the high-point between his brows. “What's this about, really? I've worked with Arsené for years. You know that. He's been here since before I started. Good guy. Hard worker. Drinks too much, though. Just like someone else I know.”

But, this was the first time you had heard he'd worked with Arsené, let alone acknowledged his existence at all. There was no reason for him to lie; he had spoken without inflection, warily, almost accusatory towards the end when he mentioned the alcohol.

“Detective Arsené? Well, I think he's really handsome. He just has that look about him, y'know?” The next person you questioned was a junior at the precinct. A pretty woman who was all silky black hair and long, blunt nails that never touched a surface where they'd be put in peril.

She always used her knuckles type on the clunky keyboard, and did so as she went on, “I've heard he has a really specific type, though. I've also never seen him take anyone out, or take a partner on cases, now that I think about it. Isn't he just a stand-up guy? I'd say he's the sort to bring home to mom and dad, but I hear he's got a drinking problem. Why do all the hot ones have vices like that?”

She particularly enjoyed her gossip, especially if it involved the detectives at the precinct. You were positive she'd never mentioned Arsené before now. As smart as she was, she didn't look below the surface very often when it came to men, so for her to say nothing at all of the detective’s smooth face was mystifying.

After that, you started paying attention to Arsené in a way you convinced yourself was discreet, which meant slowly peeking your eyes above your computer screen to observe his movements across the floor. Always in motion, he stalked around the place with undaunted familiarity, maneuvering the razored corners of desks and blockades from doors and walls, and languidly sidestepped the oncoming traffic of bodies in such a way that seemed premeditated.

Practiced.

Rinse and repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

This staunch dedication of yours lasted well over a week before anything came of it until one morning you found him waiting in your seat, teetering a bloated manila folder on a thigh while bouncing it impatiently. A very real sensation of unease took hold of the back of your neck, like a cold hand stroking lightly at the downy hairs there until they stood straight.

You thought about pretending you hadn't seen him, swiveling around, and leaving in a burst of urgency. It'd be easy to call in to say you had a personal emergency or became suddenly, very viscously ill and wouldn't be able to handle staring at a screen for twelve hours. No one would ask questions because you were exemplary, always on time, and seldom took time off as you couldn't afford to do so.

Arsené’s head slanting sideways and the waxy, flat face pointing directly towards you prevented you from acting on that impulse, however. He gestured you over with a lethargic wave, though the jitteriness in his leg seemed to worsen from impatience into sheer excitability.

“Clocked in early, aren't you? You have quite the habit of doing that, I've noticed.” He greeted, voice simultaneously undefinable and velvety. It wasn't so deep that you felt like it was gravelly or reverberated in the same way a baritone would, but there was a heftiness to it that weighted in your mind, as if it were possible for someone to reach through all your blood, tissue, and bone and press down directly on your brain. “I've seen you come in a few times, hours before anyone else. And you know what I think? I think, ‘That’s the kind of person who keeps a place like this running. That's the kind of person we want here in this precinct. That's the type of person who believes in the work that we do and who I’d want as my partner’.”

As much as you wanted to get away from the horrid sight before you, the no-face and potent voice wriggling around the wrinkles in your brain, you couldn't bring yourself to do so just yet. Not while you had questions you couldn't find answers to, not while you needed to sedate yourself at night because they ruthlessly endangered your dreams and were thieves of peaceful slumber.

“I've never met you before,” you said, giving a cordial handshake when he had offered it to you. The skin of his palm was warm and humanlike, though his grip was all wrong and entirely too firm. You didn't convey this dissonance to him, though. “I've seen you around, though. Were you transferred from a different department or precinct? Everyone says you've been around for a long time, but I find it hard to believe I've noticed.”

“Oh? Well, they'd be right.” Arsené said, finally releasing your hand to take up the thick folder. “I've always been here, and I'm always here. Now, that aside, I've cleared it with the Chief and I'd like you to help me on a case that I'm stuck on. If I've read right, you're the most recent person who's looked through everything to update the records, correct?”

“Probably.” You didn't move when he rolled up another chair from a desk nearby. “I'm a Recorder. It's my job to go through files and periodically update them. I'm not qualified to help detectives on their cases, though. You'd need to speak to the Chief about getting an Assistant for that.”

“Ah, didn't you hear me? That's all been handled. Sit down. Sit down.” He waved you close, then took you by the arm to sit you in the chair next to him. “We have a lot to cover. I think we should start from the beginning and work our way through the evidence list, and then the interrogation tapes. After that, it'd be a good idea to revisit the site of the crime. Don't worry about clearances, I've got everything we need.”

It wasn't often that you saw the inside of the precinct after that day as Arsené particularly enjoyed his busywork and bringing you along for it.

Most days you simply operated as a Field Recorder by transcribing statements into the handheld device provided by the precinct to maintain a digital trail. The work wasn't especially difficult, but it did take a level of skill and technological literacy to be able to do effectively, more so to be the sort allowed to tail after a detective on his cases and still maintain an overall ninety-eight percent accuracy.

Despite your job dictating it as such, Arsené never allowed you to fade into the background or stand around as a fancy accessory to go with his title. Oftentimes, he utilized you as his sole confidant as he worked through evidence and suspects, waiting in revered silence for you to offer your insight (however weak it actually was), and afterwards only let you bask in a glow of confidence through streams of unending praise.

“Egads! Eureka! Genius! How is it that it never occurred to me that way? Truly, you're spectacular! You're divine! Who knows how long I’d be running around in circles if I didn't have you as my partner.” They were all slightly variating compliments, though essentially all the same at the core and all very untrue.

You'd never forgotten about the things your colleagues had said about him, of his unrivaled prowess and veneration as the best detective Watt City had ever come to witness. He didn't need you. He had never needed you to solve a case, so you had learned to take his praise in the same vein as you did the silky-haired woman’s comments on men: uninspired and shallow.

When your disinterest became palpable, he seemed to only rely on you more as though he couldn't stand to be burdened with the idea of a rift. He had started calling you late at night about cases, going as far to come knocking at your door and walking inside reeking of stale smoke and a haze of booze, neither of which you could comprehend as possible considering he had no face.

“I just don't get it. I just don't get it! Where am I going wrong?!” He said so wretchedly, sides of his head cradled in his hands that were tucked between his legs. “This case, it’s getting to me. It's getting under my skin. I can't figure it out. Have I finally met my match? Have I finally been defeated? You! You’ve got to help me. It can't end like this.”

For all his dramatics, there was something obscenely cruel behind his words. Perhaps he thought you wouldn't have caught onto it because you simply a Field Recorder, just a person at the end of the day.

“Why haven't you mentioned anything about the victim? You're acting like they don't exist, Arsené. Is this about solving the crime so they get justice and the family gets closure, or is this for your reputation?” you asked.

He immediately stopped complaining and jolted upright, taken by surprise like he had realized this oversight and wasn't sure how to navigate around it. On that glossy slate of a face, one you knew was piercing deep into you despite a lack of hollow sockets and rolling gelatinous orbs within, you could tell he was now thinking of an answer.

“Neither,” was what he gave you. “It's neither of those. Come here. Sit down and talk to me for a while. I can't go home like this.”

The pitying part of you usually won in those moments where Arsené presented himself as his weakest. There was a part of you that believed he was taking advantage of your feeble heart, your kindness, your blind generosity because at his worst, he'd find a way to strip you down and fuck you.

At least, that's what you assumed happened. You never really could remember as the memory was pitch black, his body was unfathomable above yours, but you were sure you felt his cock penetrating you, his hands desperately fondling your flesh and fat like there was too much to touch yet too little time to feel it all. He said things to you inside your head, words that you couldn’t seem to piece together yet ignited the tension between your legs, lit your skin on fire, and delivered lewd, high-pitched sounds to his ears that he reveled in.

He never left you a mess and he never spoke about those times after they happened. Since you were never sure of them yourself, they suffered the same indifference as his praise and the days simply moved onward in a similar way.

“Another case solved!” Arsené cheered, lifting a stout mug in the air for you to reciprocate with the long stem of your wine glass. It was a fragile tinkling sound, a gentle vibration up your fingers and into your wrist as you toasted his success. “I couldn't have done it without you, my beloved partner! If it's you and I, I could do this forever.”

You swirled the liquid inside; a light and dry, raspberry and vaguely earthy smell wafted up your nostrils before you tasted it and let your cheeks pucker. As you drank, you watched as Arsené lifted the stout towards the expanse of taut, clear skin that should've been his face, and saw liquid inside empty into nowhere.

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kamospeach · 2 days ago

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if you love me won't you let me know .ᐟ

plot: fratboy!choso who can't help but let his guard fall for you kinda.

content warning: angsty, softdom!choso (ofc), alcohol and drug use, black coded, intoxicated sex, dry humping, piv sex, fingering, handjob, cowgirl, missionary, degradation (reader is called a bitch, slut, and a whore) ;P

peachy's yap: wc 4.4k .ᐟ based off my chats with this c.ai bot and this choso fanart. this is a pt.1 so there WILL be a 2nd part whether you like it or not :3 ! and maybe even a third? pt. 2

"c'mon y/n... you know we're not goin' in without you!" your best friend groaned as she stood with you by the car. you had agreed to drop your best friend and your extra friends off at this week's frat party. you didn't want to go knowing you were in for sweat, weed, and must.

"i'm not goin' in there, it probably stink," you said and your other friend rolled her eyes. really you were avoiding running into any of the frat guys. truth be told you were a sucker for em' and you knew if you went it was all over. and that's how you met him.

your friends promised they'd stay by your side the whole time. so how did you end up sitting on a dingy couch next to choso? who was drinking out of a red solo cup and a blunt perched behind his ear. he looked at you smiling at your awkward smile. you had no idea who this man was other than you'd seen him around campus once or twice.

"here alone?" he asked sitting the cup down on the table and you shake your head. you couldn't deny that he was very very good-looking. his hair in two buns short bangs in his face that he had to keep moving. his natural dark circles around the eyes gave him a tired and nonchalant look.

"nah my friends around here somewhere..." you tell him and he nods fixing his shirt that was practically begging for mercy around his large biceps.

the shirt wasn't long enough for his long torso, so every time he lifted his arms to fix his bangs his happy trail showed. his baggy jeans hung low on his waist displaying a part of his white boxers. he wore white air forces that tied the whole fit together. not only was he attractive, he could dress and that only pulled you in even more.

"you must like bein' alone?" choso questioned removing the blunt from his ear. he lit the blunt letting the smoke fill his lungs and looking you up and down.

"yeah, i was forced to come in here. i'd prefer to be asleep in my bed right now," you chuckled getting more comfortable in your seat. it was going to be a long night, might as well settle in.

"agreed..." he huffed out not only from releasing the smoke but from exhaustion. you raised a brow now interested in this mysterious-looking man.

"so why are you here... go home and sleep." you laughed looking at him as if it was common sense.

"this is my home... plus i’m on cleanin' duty." he smiled and your frown dropped, he... lived here? your eyes ran over him one last time before you noticed the wristband on his wrist. the exact same greek letters printed on the outside of this frat house were on his bracelet.

"you're in this frat?" you asked with a raised brow and he nodded with a laugh.

"that unbelievable?" he asked and you frowned looking him up and down. truthfully you took him for the emo type one of those guys who found frat life corny.

"now that you mention it... not really," you admitted thinking about how he wore the shirt. yes, most of the frat men had no shirts on and were screaming in the backyard of the house. you guessed that he wasn't a frat boy because he was quietly sitting here smoking.

"what's your name?" he asked looking at you with a glance and you smiled.

"y/n? and you're um..." you racked your brain for his name sure you've been told it.

"choso..." he laughs at your thinking face and you nod. "nice to meet you y/n." he smiles.

"nice to meet you too choso," you repeat back just as one of your extra friends flops down next to you sighing. she giggled hitting your leg and getting your attention (you definitely weren't staring at choso who talked to satoru while smoking his blunt). you turned away looking at her, her lip liner and gloss smudged an obvious sign she kissed someone.

"who did you kiss?" you asked furrowing your brows and she giggled. her and your three other friends were off their asses. your best friend seemed drunk too but not insanely drunk.

"m' not tellin' you." she slurred laughing knowing you'd tell her off. judging by her reaction you knew it was her ex and you laughed. ryomen stumbled in pink lip gloss covering his lips.

"you ashamed of me?" he slurred looking down at your friend who just giggled. the second hand embarrassment was kicking in and you grabbed her pulling her up.

"c'mon time to go," you said and all your other friends helped you carry her.

"i can get your number?" choso asked watching you walk away with your friend's arm thrown around your shoulder.

"maybe another time... gotta make sure my girls get home safely." you smile small and walk away carrying your friend who fell limp.

when you went home that night you thought about choso. something about him being in a frat made him even more attractive. after your shower and your night routine, you sat in your bed going to the frat's instagram. just your luck the most recent post was of choso, satoru, and suguru. you clicked on his tag opening up his instagram and your jaw dropped.

although he was a sweet and soft person from what it seemed like his instagram was full of thirst traps. every post except one he had his shirt off, two at the pool, and three dripping in sweat at a party. you were hypnotized by the dragon tattoo that ran down his ribcage and below the band of his sweats.

he had a tattoo on his pecks that moved down to his arm that looked as if his sleeve wasn't completely done. then there was the tattooed stripe across his nose that you didn't completely understand. honestly that added to the appeal it was different and even this far away you were eager to run your fingers over it. he was the exact opposite of what you expected, he was actually slutty and outgoing.

you and your friends sat around a table looking at your phone. they were fangirling over satoru while you couldn't stop staring at choso in every picture. you didn't make it obvious just watching them school and focusing on a specific pigtailed man.

"what're y'all lookin' at?" satoru asked trying to lean over the small huddle y'all had going on. you quickly cut the phone off seeing a lot of the frat here. aside from suguru satoru and choso, there were about 6 other guys.

"none of your business," you said looking away from gojo and diverting your eyes to choso. he stood at the back of the crowd quietly waving you over. you giddily stood up walking over to him enjoying the different style on him.

he wore a black sweatshirt and a beanie his hair was down and some was even in his face. his jeans were baggy with a chain hanging from his belt look. he finished the outfit with black timbs and the same chains from last night.

"hey," you smiled looking up at choso who sent a warm smile back to you. you couldn't get over the sheer beauty of this man.

"hey, what're you up to this weekend?" he asked and your brow raised shrugging. you were curious as to why he was asking. your mind ran through many different scenarios. he could be asking you out or he could be trying to get you in his bed. although both sounded good it didn't mean that's what you wanted from him.

"nothin' what's up?" you asked batting your lashes and looking up at the man who was insanely taller than you. something you weren't able to tell sitting on the couch with him last night.

"we're having an invite-only party. gojo was gonna invite you, but i wanted to personally invite you myself," he smirked down at you and that was the choso from the pictures. it scared you just a little how quickly he flipped from nice to fratboy choso.

"we'll be there." you give him a small smile before heading back to your friends. the fratboy clique made their exit as if they were in a romcom. it was a little corny for you but watching choso leave made a small frown come on your face.

"gojo invited us to the party, we know you don't want to go but can you just drop us off?" your friend asks and you laugh shaking your head.

"no, i'm going this time," you say and the group falls silent looking at you. the party yesterday was only the 5th party you have been to in your whole college experience. in all of your 4 years in college, you had never willingly gone to a party. all 5 you had gone to you were forced to attend by said friends who are shocked by your compliance.

"why?" your best friend asked, eyes squinting and examining your face. your face was hot thankfully your brown skin didn't make it obvious. you didn't want them to think you were only going because of choso. but you couldn't hold in your attraction you just had to tell your friends.

"well you know choso?" you say and they all nod.

"the emo one?" one of your friends frowned up in disgust and you shook your head vigorously.

"i mean emo looking yes, but he's a slut on insta," you say pulling out your phone and showing them his page. they ooo'd and awed at his socials where he obviously had no restraint. "he personally invited me to the party, i can't disappoint my man." you laugh looking down at your nails 'need to get those done' you thought to yourself. meanwhile one of your friends snatched the phone from your best friend and they accidentally clicked on the follow button.

"um, y/n..." she mumbled and your head whipped to look at your phone seeing the once blue bottom now gray saying 'following'. your glare became intense and you looked at your friends who averted your gaze.

"are you guys kiddin' me!" you yelp grabbing the phone to quickly unfollow him only to see a notification pop up saying 'chosoxkamo followed you back'. your friends' jaws were dropped looking up at you and you swallowed your spit hard.

"okay see that went well... no need to get angry." your best friend said as you breathed in and out. "woosah, woosah. see everything's... oh." she trailed off looking at the phone. not only did your friends accidentally follow him, but sometime while passing the phone back and forth they liked a photo of him from 2022... 3 years ago.

"so if i kill you all..." you said and they all jumped up trying to get you to calm down once again.

that day choso liked every one of your posts. even the latest one from 2020 which made you feel even better about the situation. he replied to your close friends story of you standing in your mirror in short shorts and a crop top. even flirted with you telling you that you couldn't even imagine the things he'd do to you.

you thought about it every day even though the conversation lasted all of 10 minutes on the first day he followed you. the week had passed and now you were pregaming. shots after shot and you were so drunk before you could even climb into your best friend's cousin's car.

you giggled waving to your friend to pass her wax pen taking a hit from it. you needed to be intoxicated you needed to be off your ass to even face choso. you had made up in your mind that you were going to give him what he wanted.

of course, you wanted it too, you wanted him to do those unimaginable things to you. you knew you wanted him this whole week so no matter what happened tonight you would have him.

the car stopped and you quickly got out of the car eager to go inside. as you walked in there were at least 60 to 70 people there. nothing compared to the almost 200 the first time you came. you stumbled around until you ran into gojo who you scoffed at.

"don't act like that with me... you've been so mean to me bunny." the nickname rolled off his tongue like honey which wasn't a surprise since he always used that same tone to say your name.

"i'm telling you these two have been so mean lately." geto grumbled arms wrapped around your best friend who squealed. they were always the cutest couple ever since your last year of middle school. you four grew up together a group of troublemakers really. even resorting to going to the same college to never break up the friend group.

"well gojo's been a little fuckboy since you guys got in this frat, haven't seen him since," you say arms crossed and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders hugging you tightly.

"no i haven't been a fuckboy i've only been fucking that one girl with the big ass." he smiled and you gasped trying to fight your way out of his grip. "someone's jealous," he whispered and you looked around not knowing who he was talking about.

he grabbed your jaw facing you to look directly at choso who was looking at the both of you. his brows pulled as he watched gojo arm wrap around your waist. he squeezed your cheeks making your lips squish into a pout.

"hey quit." you snap swatting his arm to get him to let go of you. gojo waves at choso and you look at choso giving him a shy wave. he got up from the barstool making his way over as gojo playfully pulled you towards the couch. it almost felt as if choso was chasing you as gojo's hand wrapped around your wrist.

as you got to the couch there was only one seat left. 4 couches and all 4 were full. some people were lapped up and others sat on the floor between other's legs.

gojo pulled up the same girl he spoke about earlier (the one he has been fucking for years and has yet to make it official) slipping under her and kissing her cheek. you felt uncomfortable standing in front of everyone who seemed to be looking at you. you felt someone walk up behind you and you turned seeing choso.

"you comfortable to sit on my lap?" he asked and you nodded shyly as he gripped your waist. your body was pulled into his as he sat you in his lap. you were stiff at first feeling more and more comfortable as his hand massaged your thigh. you sat sideways on his lap engaging in conversation. your friends giving you knowing glances although you looked comfortable.

inside you were a ticking time bomb. you needed choso really bad right now and your lower areas were getting hot. time passed and you were getting hotter and hotter thinking about all the nasty things the two of you could be doing in this position.

"i'm ready to leave..." you mumble to no one in particular. people were leaving and the party was getting drier by the minute. only one of your friends was left and she was waiting for you.

"i can take you home." choso offered and you hummed. you really wish you could leave with him but there was no way in hell you were leaving your girl behind.

"i'm not leaving without my friend," you said shaking your head not even contemplating the idea.

"you live in the same dorm building yeah? i'll take you both if she doesn't mind," he said and you shrugged one thing you noticed about your college self was that you didn't care who you were getting in the car with. if someone had a car and somebody knew them even a little you'd hop in.

you asked your friend if she was ready to leave and if she minded riding with choso. she said she didn't mind so the three of you left out of the frat house. you sat in the passenger of the car he played music so it wouldn't be as awkward.

choso kept trying to touch your thigh but you swatted it away. he was embarrassing you and your friend was in the back. you gave him a stern look that only lasted on your face for a little while as you laughed. he finally stopped trying as you pulled up to your dorm.

your friend left out thanking choso for the ride and you turned to look at him. it was your only chance to ask, not really but you'd never be as bold as you are right now. never again in your life would you have the guts to say what you just did.

"want to stay the night?" you asked his eyes widened at your suggestion not expecting that. he nodded as you both left out of the car and went upstairs to your dorm. luckily you had the dorm to yourself since your cousin was at the frat house with geto.

choso took off his jeans and shirt leaving him only in a wife beater and basketball shorts. you had changed into your pajama set that left little to the imagination. you turned on the tv before setting the remote next to the bed. once again liqour courage clouded your better judgment as you climbed onto the bed straddling his waist.

"you're bold tonight." choso said as you smirked at him. not much else was said as you shrugged slowly leaning into choso. he got the hint and met your lips with his. the kiss was rushed and sloppy your tongues sliding along each other as you kissed nastily.

your hands wrapped around his neck as you played in his hair. his right hand found solace on your ass cheek and his left arm wrapped around your waist. your hips ground into his, your clothed clit rubbing against his clothed dick.

"wanna fuck that pussy so bad," he grunted helping your hips move faster. the friction giving the both of you immense pleasure. "fuck this shit." he huffed lifting you and moving you next to him so he could pull down his shorts and boxers in one go.

you didn't think choso would be big and he wasn't huge. a solid 7 and a half inches but he was so girthy your hands almost didn't fit around him. you jerked him as his hips bucked in your hands. you moved your hands slowly and sensually as choso let out a guttural sound at the feeling.

choso head was leaned back as he looked at you with half-lidded eyes. he watched your legs rub together as you got needier and needier. to quench your thirst he reached out yanking your tiny shorts down and moving your thong to the side.

"wet all for me?" he asked and you nodded whining as his fingers swirled around your clit. you hips rocking against his hand forgetting all about giving him a handjob. "keep going mama you can't be the only one gettin' something here." he tells you and you listen without hesitation going back to stroking him.

he slipped two fingers into your drenched pussy not giving you time to process. he finger fucked you quickly watching your body fall forward at the feeling. you were moaning uncontrollably trying to keep up the pace for choso but you couldn't.

"ch...choso i c...can't." you moaned your words being broken up by your moans and jagged pants.

"can't what?" he asked grabbing your neck and pulling your face closer to his. you were forehead to forehead as your hips rolled against his hands. he pecked your lips looking into your eyes and he smiled at your eyes rolling back in your head. "can't wait for me to stretch that pussy?"

"mmmmmhm." you hummed now riding his fingers and choso laughed at how needy you are.

"you want to ride my cock? huh, you needy bitch?" he said and the dirty talk flying from his mouth only turned you on more. usually, if a man called you a bitch it was wraps but something about it coming from his mouth made it okay. you reached into your nightstand grabbing a condom.

"why do you have that?" he looked at you and you shrugged.

"health center meeting." you smiled sheepishly and choso snorted at your shy smile.

he grabbed your wrist taking the condom from you and tearing it open. he handed it back to you letting you roll it on. you watched how intensely you looked down at what you were doing as if it was an exact science.

"c'mere," he said moving you back to straddling his waist your essence dripping on his lap. choso wasted no time grabbing your hips and sliding you down onto him. the stretch was immaculate as pleasure coursed through your body. his head instinctively thrown back as the warmth and grip overwhelmed him.

"ughh w...wait." you moaned out stopping before he was all the way in. this position already made him feel deep in you but his thickness was overwhelming.

"i'm almost all the way in just let me... fuck." he grunted as you sat all the way down on him. you ground your hips into his enjoying the friction but choso was too eager. he pulled your shirt down and your breast fell out in his face. once you felt ready you planted your feet next to him and began to bounce.

moans and groans flew around the room as the two of you basked in each other. he grabbed one of your breasts taking it into his mouth. tongue swirling around your nipple biting lightly enough to make your body flinch at the pinch.

even though your pace never faltered and choso loved every minute of it. eventually, your legs were getting tired and choso felt like he was getting bitched. he didn't mind not being in control but he was getting tired of it, and fast.

without warning he flipped you too over and your legs wrapped around his waist. his eyebrows knitted together as he felt your cunt clench around him. you unlocked your ankles allowing him to begin his assault on your cervix.

"you like that huh? being fucked like a slut." he groaned as you screamed out pushing his hips. the feeling was too much and you were coming up on your climax quickly. "yeah... you're such whore aren't you?"

"mhmm." you hum not even paying attention to his words. not because you didn't want to but because you were so cock drunk you couldn't even think. your walls were tightening around him the dirty talking making it worse.

choso pounded into you, your twin xl banging against the wall. you knew someone would be complaining in the dorm group chat. but right now you're in bliss loving the way choso was fucking you to your climax.

"shit mama i'm close. you gonna cum with me?" he asked as he quickened his pace knowing you were getting closer and closer.

"fuckk yes yes... wan' cum with you," you babbled as each stroke fucked every thought out of your brain.

"such a good girl... cum with me." you both moaned as you came together. he stilled inside as you tried to catch your breath. he pulled out taking the condom off as you lay there. he got up to throw away the condom and clean you off.

there wasn't much that happened after that honestly. once you both got cleaned up you put your clothing back on. not one word was exchanged after that. the air was thick and it was very awkward.

you started to regret it, you had known him for only a week. how could you. a frat boy at that he'd never take you seriously. but he came back to bed and laid next to you. wrapping his arms around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. the only thing that was said between the two of you was 'good night'.

the next day when you woke up you expected to be wrapped in choso's arms. only to feel nothing wrapped around you and your bed was empty. no note, no chain left, no text on insta, and no indication that he was ever really here. it was almost as if he was just a figment of your imagination.

you had to go about your day so you got up. got ready for class and made your way to campus. you kept checking your phone hoping for a text from him something to let you know he still fucked with you. but as the day went on you were feeling sick in your stomach. there was no way this was happening.

you sighed as you walked into the library looking for a book you needed for your class. as you were looking for the book you spotted two pigtails knowing who it was.

"choso?" you asked rounding the corner only for him to look up at you. he blinked a couple of times and looked back down at the book he was holding. he walked down another aisle and you followed him there. "what the fuck is your problem?" you asked stressed about the whole situation.

"do i know you?" he asked and your jaw dropped in shock... no way he was acting like that.

"you can't be serious." you laughed looking at him as he still avoided your eye contact. he huffed running his hand down his face.

"you can't take a hint can you?" he shook his head closing the book and finally looking at you. "it was a one-night thing, don't get your feelings wrapped in it."

"you're a bitch, you have to act like a player because this is the first time you got pussy for real," you whisper yelled throwing the book at his chest. walking out of the library... that might have been the cringiest thing you've done. and you cussed yourself in your head, you actually needed that book for class tomorrow.

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rcmclachlan · 1 hour ago

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely @beanarie!

Here's a snippet of something I started writing yesterday. It hit me out of nowhere, and once I came out of the fugue state, I discovered I'd written 4,000 words.

The premise: Buck is in the middle of making room for his stuff in Tommy's closet when he finds an old phone hidden in a shoebox. Unexpectedly, it starts ringing.

"Sorry, but I don't negotiate with terrorists," Tommy says, then chucks the hornworm into the bucket by his feet. It lands inside with a muted thunk. There must be a bunch more of the little bastards in there.

"USA! USA!" Buck chants, pumping a fist into the air as he gets closer.

Cracking up, Tommy dashes the back of his gloved hand across his forehead. All it does is smear dirt and make him look rugged and disgustingly sexy. Buck wants to lick every drop of sweat from his body.

"Done already? Please tell me I got to keep at least three hangers."

"Is there a henley shortage coming that the rest of us aren't ready for? Jesus." Buck holds up the Nike box and says. "I, uh, found this. Or it found me? It started ringing out of nowhere and scared the living shit out of me."

The moment Tommy claps eyes on it, something fascinating happens. Every muscle in his body visibly tenses, like a wave that starts at his jaw and washes its way down, leaving quiet devastation in its wake. In a single almost fluid motion, he straightens up from his lean and folds his hands at the small of his back. Shoulders back, chin up, feet apart. Parade rest.

Buck's eyebrows hit his hairline. "Tommy?"

"It started ringing." It's not a question or even an accusation. Tommy says it like a simple statement of fact, his voice is flat as a board, the edges sharp enough to draw blood. "It just... started ringing."

"I, uh, yeah?" Buck holds out the box to him, jostling the phone inside, but Tommy doesn't move to take it.

In fact, Tommy does nothing. Tommy says nothing. Buck has to squint to confirm that he's even breathing.

After the most terrifyingly silent thirty seconds of Buck's life, Tommy shifts his gaze from Buck to, oddly enough, the sky.

"Did you answer it?"

"No, of course not!" Just because they're on rock solid ground now doesn't mean there aren't still fault lines beneath the surface. He at least thought he knew most of them. "I-I wouldn't, I swear. I just let it ring."

Tommy's nostrils flare. If his lips were any thinner, they'd probably disappear.

"Um, I'm sorry. I know you said I could have free rein, but I didn't mean..." He has no idea how to end that sentence. He didn't mean to do what? Dig up something that Tommy obviously tried to bury? Make room for himself in Tommy's closet? Make room for himself in Tommy's life in the first place?

A moment passes, and then the statue that was once his boyfriend shivers back to life. Tommy closes his eyes, exhales, and steps forward to take the box from Buck's trembling hands, tucking it under his arm. He wraps the other around Buck's waist and draws him close for a kiss. Buck pushes into it gratefully.

"Sorry," Tommy says against his mouth, then pecks it again before drawing back. "Sorry, I'm being an asshole. Get that look off your face, you did nothing wrong, okay? I was just... surprised to see it. I forgot it was even in there."

"What is it?" Buck mentally slaps himself. "I mean, I know it's a phone, but who was on the other end of it?"

Tommy doesn't answer right away. Instead he looks up at the sky again for a long moment, a strange smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. When he looks back at Buck, his pupils have shrunken to pinpricks. "Think of it like, uh, an old war injury acting up. It's nothing for you to worry about."

"Is it something for you to worry about?"

No pressure tags: @dadvans, @liminalmemories21, @screamlet, @setmeatopthepyre, and @leashybebes

#wip wednesday #bucktommy

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iamquiantrelle · 2 days ago

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THURAM'S NO. 1 ANGEL (chapter 1) ────iamquaintrelle

# pairing: marcus thuram x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# wc: 4.5k

# tags: @irishmanwhore @sucredreamer @coffeevacation @hopefulromantic1 @jessnotwiththemess

# summary: shanice carter-ricci didn't expect to become part-owner of inter milan at forty, but here she is - fresh off a divorce from her italian ex and ready to shake up serie a. she's got plans to bring some much-needed diversity and fresh energy to those stuffy executive boxes. what she doesn't plan on? getting tangled up with marcus thuram, the team's star striker who's fourteen years younger and infamous for his rotation of gorgeous girlfriends known as "thuram's angels." soon shanice is finding out that age ain't nothing but a number… and maybe it's time for this angel investor to shake up thuram's roster. masterlist.

# a/n: this will be a mini fic series with thirteen parts unless there's no engagement.

Shanice pulled her Hermes scarf tighter as she walked through the VIP entrance of San Siro. Even after six months, it still felt weird being part owner of Inter Milan. Like, how did her ex-husband's obsession become her fresh start at forty? The divorce from Alessandro had at least given her this, along with keeping her sanity intact.

The players' tunnel was empty and quiet since practice ended hours ago. As the new VP of Community Relations, she told herself she needed to know every inch of her investment. But honestly? She just loved how the place felt when no one was around.

That's when she heard it - deep laughter and rapid French echoing off the walls. Before she could place where it was coming from, she literally walked right into what felt like a wall of muscle in Inter training gear.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" Marcus Thuram's face broke into that infamous grin of his as his hands steadied her shoulders. Behind him, three gorgeous women watched the scene unfold, all gorgeous in that Instagram-ready way. So these were the famous "Angels" everyone gossiped about.

"Mrs. Ricci," he said, recognition lighting his eyes. "I didn't expect to meet our new owner like this." His English was good, touched with just enough French to be straight up dangerous.

"Just Shanice now," she corrected him. "The divorce was finalized in June." Why the hell did she share that? There was just something about his open, playful expression that made you want to spill your whole life story.

"Ah, fresh starts," he nodded sagely, though his eyes danced with mischief. "I'm somewhat of an expert in those. New club, new city…" He gestured at the women behind him. "New friends."

One of the Angels - this tall drink of water with honey-blonde weave - cleared her throat like she was tired of waiting.

"Speaking of friends," Marcus said with an apologetic grin, "we have dinner reservations. But maybe we could discuss community outreach programs sometime? I have some ideas."

Shanice found herself nodding before she could stop herself. This man's charm should be illegal for real. "My office is always open to players."

"Good!" He was already backing away, the Angels falling into formation around him like they'd rehearsed it. "Though fair warning - I might try to convince you to sponsor a sneaker design competition for local kids."

She watched him disappear down the corridor, her daughters' voices already playing in her head. Thirteen-year-old Dream would absolutely lose it if she knew mom had just met her favorite player. And nine-year-old Heaven would've been all over his shoes, trying to figure out if they were some limited drop.

Pulling out her phone, Shanice added "look into sneaker comps?" to her notes. She tried to ignore how her skin was still buzzing where his hands had been.

She had way too much on her plate to be thinking about a fine as hell 27-year-old footballer with a rotating cast of girlfriends. Even if his smile could probably power all of Milan.

Shaking her head, Shanice continued down the tunnel, her heels clicking against the concrete. Football had always been Alessandro's thing, not hers. Every weekend for years, he'd take Dream and Heaven to the matches while she built her empire hosting events and securing those luxury brand deals. Not that she minded - somebody had to be the practical one, the hustler making things happen while he played football owner with his rich friends.

But now? Now she owned a piece of one of the biggest clubs in Europe. The irony wasn't lost on her. She might not know every player's stats like Dream did, or care about formation tactics like Alessandro had, but she knew business. She knew how to make things grow. And honestly? Serie A could use some diversity in the owner's boxes - not just on the pitch.

"Time to make some noise," she muttered to herself, running her hand along the tunnel wall. Dream had screamed for ten minutes straight when Shanice told her about the divorce settlement. Not because of the divorce - they'd all seen that coming - but because her mom now owned part of her favorite team. Heaven had just rolled her eyes in that way only a nine-year-old could and asked if this meant she could players’ shoe collections.

Back in her modeling days, Shanice never imagined she'd end up here. But that hustle had never left her blood, even after she'd transitioned from walking runways to running events. Her network was crazy - fashion houses, celebrities, influencers, business moguls - all on speed dial because they knew she could make magic happen. Alessandro might've laughed at her "little parties" at first, but he shut up real quick when her connections started bringing serious money and clout to his business ventures.

She pulled out her phone again, scrolling through her contacts. Maybe it was time to bring that same energy to Inter. These stuffy old Italian football clubs needed to wake up and realize the game was changing. Social media, fashion collabs, global branding - that's where the real money was. And with her connections? She could open doors these men in their expensive suits hadn't even thought to look for.

The image of Marcus Thuram's smile flashed through her mind again. She had to admit - at least the view at work was going to be nice. Real nice. Even if he was young enough to make her feel like a whole cougar for even thinking about it.

Her phone lit up with a message from Dream: "MOMMM did you see any players today? 👀"

Shanice grinned, deciding to torture her daughter a little. "Maybe. Just walked around the tunnel a bit."

"OMG WHO???"

"Nobody special. Just some tall guy. French, I think? Had a few girlfriends with him..."

"MARCUS?!?! YOU MET MARCUS THURAM AND YOU'RE JUST NOW TELLING ME?! I'm literally dying. Did he do the smile? You know the one. Heaven says you better have checked his shoes!"

Shanice laughed out loud in the empty tunnel. Trust her kids to have their priorities straight - Dream thirsting over that smile and Heaven focused on the sneaker game. Like mother, like daughters - she hadn't missed those Jordan 1s he was wearing either.

"You're supposed to be doing homework," she texted back. "And yes, he smiled. No, I didn't catalog his shoe collection. I was kind of busy being professional."

The string of crying emojis that followed made her shake her head. She'd created a monster when she agreed to let Alessandro take Dream to that Inter Milan match three years ago. Now her daughter's room looked like a shrine to them - posters, jerseys, the works. Heaven wasn't much better, except her wall was covered in pictures of players' rare sneaker collections that she'd printed out.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was her assistant reminding her about tomorrow's marketing meeting. Right. Back to reality. She had actual work to do, strategies to plan, a whole department to run. She couldn't be out here acting like her teenage daughter, getting flustered over a pretty smile and some designer kicks.

Even if that smile did make her forget she was supposed to be a whole grown woman with responsibilities.

"At least tell me if the Angels were as pretty in person as they look on Instagram!" Dream's next text popped up.

Shanice rolled her eyes. "Goodbye, Dream. Do your homework."

But as she headed toward her office, she couldn't help but wonder exactly how one got an invitation to join Thuram's Angels. Not that she was interested. At all.

She was way too old for that drama.

Probably.

*********************************************

Shanice's office was her sanctuary in the chaos of training days. Up here in the executive level, she could see the players running drills on the practice field below. Not that watching was doing her any good right now - she'd been staring at the same sponsorship proposal for twenty minutes straight.

Her phone buzzed. Dream again, probably spamming her with more TikToks of Marcus's training highlights. Her teenager had been insufferable since finding out mom was technically her idol's boss. Heaven was slightly more chill about it, but only because she was more interested in his sneaker collection than his football skills.

But it wasn't Dream. It was an Inter Milan internal number.

Marcus? Why is he calling her?

"Shouldn't you be training right now?" Shanice answered, trying to keep her voice professional despite the smile tugging at her lips.

"Water break," Marcus's voice was warm through the speaker. "And I hear you have an excellent coffee machine in your office. Much better than the one in players' lounge."

"Are you really trying to schmooze the boss for better coffee when you should be hydrating?"

"I would never," he gasped in mock offense. "I'm trying to schmooze the boss for both better coffee AND funding for my sneaker competition. I'm an excellent multitasker."

She shouldn't find that as funny as she did. "Fine. After training tomorrow? And yes, the coffee is excellent."

"Perfect. I'll bring my presentation. You bring your coffee machine's A-game."

"Get back to practice," she said, but she was grinning like a fool.

"Yes, boss," he chuckled before hanging up.

Shanice leaned back in her chair, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. This was business. Just business. Even if his voice did things to her that should be classified as a cardiac event.

Her phone buzzed again - Dream for real this time. "Mom mom mom did you see Marcus's new training pics? His fit is actually insane!"

Shanice glanced down at the practice field, where she could just make out number 9 jogging back to rejoin his teammates.

Just. Business.

The rest of her day was a blur of meetings and calls - sponsorship negotiations, community program reviews, endless emails about jersey designs. She was good at this part. Numbers, strategies, making shit happen - that's what got her here, not knowing the difference between a free kick and a corner kick.

On her way out, she nearly ran into Simone Inzaghi, Inter's manager. He'd been trying to get her to actually watch a match from the owner's box instead of just handling the business side.

"Shanice! This Saturday, yes? You'll come?" His English was getting better, but his hopeful expression did most of the talking.

She adjusted her Birkin on her shoulder. "Still not a football fan, coach."

"I will change this," he declared, shaking his head with a laugh. "I will beg if needed."

"We'll see," she smiled, already knowing she wouldn't. She had enough football talk from her daughters - she didn't need to add live matches to the mix.

The drive home to her Lake Como villa was usually her decompression time. Twenty minutes of pure luxury car silence, winding along the lakeside, watching the sun set behind the mountains. But today, that peace was shattered by the sight of a familiar Maserati in her driveway.

"What the fuck, Alex?" she muttered, pulling her Porsche in beside it. They had a custody arrangement for a reason. Wednesday wasn't his day.

Sure enough, when she walked in, Alessandro was in her kitchen like he still owned the place, stirring something that smelled suspiciously good while Heaven played sous chef. Dream was sprawled on the kitchen island bench, scrolling through her phone like this was just another regular Wednesday night.

"Ooh! Mama's home!" Heaven squealed, abandoning her post to launch herself at Shanice.

She caught her baby girl, hugging and kissing her while pinning her ex with a look that could freeze the whole lake. "Alex, a moment please."

Alessandro had the nerve to look completely unbothered as he handed Heaven the wooden spoon. "Keep stirring the sauce, tesoro."

Shanice led him to her home office, shutting the door with maybe a little more force than necessary. The room was her space - all clean lines and modern art, not a single piece of football memorabilia in sight. Unlike the rest of the house, which had slowly been taken over by Dream's Inter Milan shrine.

"What are you doing here, Alex? It's not your day."

He leaned against her desk like he used to do when this was their house, not just hers. Still fine as hell in that tailored suit, still wearing that Rolex she'd given him for their tenth anniversary. Still irritating as fuck.

"The girls called. Said they missed my cooking." His accent got thicker when he was trying to charm his way out of trouble. "You know how Heaven loves my pasta alla vodka."

"They have phones. You have a phone. A heads up would've been nice."

"Ah, but then you might have said no." He flashed that smile that used to make her weak in the knees. Now it just made her want to throw something at him. "Besides, I heard through the grapevine that you met our new striker today. Thought you might want to... compare notes."

Shanice's eyes narrowed. "You're here because of Marcus Thuram?"

"I'm here because of pasta," he corrected, but his eyes were laughing at her. "But since you brought him up..."

"Don't start, Alex." She moved behind her desk, putting some space between them. "I had one conversation with him about community programs. That's it."

"Mhmm. And tomorrow you have coffee." He examined his nails like this was casual conversation. "In your office. Alone."

"How do you even-" She stopped herself. Of course he knew. Half the board was probably still loyal to him. "It's a business meeting."

"With the guy Dream has plastered all over her walls?" His smile turned knowing. "The one with the harem of models?"

"The Angels," she corrected automatically, then wanted to kick herself.

"Ah, so you know about that." He pushed off the desk, moving closer. "Listen, tesoro-"

"Don't 'tesoro' me. We're not married anymore."

"Fine. Listen, Shanice." He held up his hands in surrender, but his eyes were still dancing with amusement. "I just want you to be careful. Marcus is... how do you Americans say it? A player. On and off the field."

She felt her temper rising. "Are you seriously in my house, uninvited, trying to warn me about a man like I'm some teenage girl? I'm forty, Alex. I own half your shares in Inter. I think I can handle a meeting with a footballer."

"Of course you can," he said smoothly. "You can handle everything. Always could. Just..." He paused at the door. "Maybe wear something less..." He gestured vaguely at her outfit.

"Get the fuck out of my office."

"Mama!" Heaven's voice saved Alex from whatever Shanice was about to throw at him. "The sauce is bubbling!"

"We're not done," Shanice warned him as she brushed past.

His low chuckle followed her down the hall. "We never are, bella. We never are."

In the kitchen, Dream had finally looked up from her phone. "Did you really talk to Marcus again today?" Of course, that's what got her attention.

"She did," Alex answered before Shanice could, stirring the sauce Heaven had abandoned. "And she's having coffee with him tomorrow."

The shriek Dream let out could probably be heard all the way in Milan. "OH MY GOD MOM! You have to tell me everything! What was he wearing? Did you see his sneakers? Was he nice? Were the Angels there? Is he even hotter in person? Can you get me his autograph? Or better yet, can you–"

"Dream." Shanice cut off the stream of questions. "Homework. Now."

"But Mom-"

"Now."

Heaven giggled at her sister's dramatic sigh. "I just want to know if his shoes were limited edition."

"Both of you, homework. Alex-" She turned to her ex, who was now plating pasta like he belonged there. "Next time, call first."

"Of course," he said with that infuriating smile. "I wouldn't want to interrupt any... business meetings."

Shanice decided right then that she was absolutely wearing her tightest dress tomorrow. And those Louboutins that made her legs look like they went on for days.

Purely for business reasons, of course.

Shanice stood in front of her closet the next morning, eyeing her options like she was planning a battle strategy. And maybe she was. That Roland Mouret dress had been collecting dust since Milan Fashion Week - the black one that hugged every curve like it was painted on, with that strategic slit that made her legs look endless. Perfect for making a point to her ex-husband about exactly what she could and couldn't handle.

"That's the one," she muttered, pulling it out. The fabric alone probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, but that's what you got for twenty years of fashion industry connections. She paired it with those red-bottom stilettos that had their own insurance policy - six inches of "fuck you" to anyone who thought forty meant invisible.

Her reflection in the full-length mirror had her feeling satisfied. The dress did everything it was supposed to do - snatched her waist, highlighted those gym sessions she'd been religious about since the divorce, and made her ass look like it was advertising something exclusive. Her hair were swept up in a French roll showing off the diamond earrings Alex had gotten her for their fifteenth anniversary. Petty? Maybe. But she wore divorce well.

"Damn, Mom!" Dream's voice made her turn. Her daughter was standing in the doorway, already in her school uniform. "Is this what you're wearing to meet Marcus?"

"This is what I'm wearing to work," Shanice corrected, but she couldn't help smiling at Dream's knowing look. "Don't you have a bus to catch?"

"Can't you just admit you're trying to get his attention? I mean, I've seen the Angels, but they don't have anything on you in that dress."

"Everything’s packed?"

Dream rolled her eyes. "Yes, but-"

"Bus. Now."

But as she walked into Inter's offices two hours later, the click of her Louboutins echoing off marble floors, Shanice had to admit her daughter might have had a point. This wasn't just a work outfit. This was a statement.

She just wasn't sure who she was making it to.

Maria's eyes went wide when she walked in. "Ms. Carter, the coffee machine is ready and-" she paused, taking in the outfit "-Mr. Thuram called to confirm he'll be here after morning training."

"Perfect." Shanice tried to ignore the little flutter in her stomach at his name. "Any other messages?"

"Mr. Ricci called." Maria's expression was carefully neutral. "Twice."

Of course he did. "Any actual emergencies?"

"He said something about wanting to make sure you got his advice about appropriate business attire."

Shanice's laugh was sharp. "I bet he did." She strode into her office, the dress moving exactly like it was designed to. "Hold my calls unless it's about the sponsorship deal. Or Mr. Thuram," she added, because Maria would assume anyway.

Her office was ready - coffee machine prepped with those specialty beans, a view of the practice field below (not that she was looking), and enough actual work on her desk to remind herself why she was really here.

But when she caught her reflection in the window, all dangerous curves and boss energy, she had to smile. Alex always did hate it when she dressed like this for business meetings. Said it was distracting.

That was kind of the point.

The sound of cleats on marble made her pause in reviewing contracts. He was early. She could hear Maria's professional greeting, followed by that deep laugh that somehow managed to sound like trouble even through walls.

Shanice stood, smoothing down her dress.

Game time.

Marcus didn't even try to hide how his eyes traveled up from those Louboutins when Maria showed him in. She caught his muttered "good damn" before he switched to that media-ready smile.

"What was that?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Nothing," he recovered smoothly, but his eyes were still taking in the dress like he was memorizing it. "Thanks for making time for me."

"Coffee?" She gestured to the machine, using the moment of turning away to hide her smile. That reaction had been worth every euro of this dress.

"Please." He settled into one of her visitor chairs like he owned it, all long legs and easy confidence.

"Should we be expecting any other visitors today?"

The question was casual, but he caught the underlying meaning. She'd seen the Angels in their usual spot during morning training.

"Just us," he replied, grabbing the cup from her.

"Your... friends are otherwise occupied?"

His chuckle was low and knowing. "They're... back at home." The way he said it made it clear 'home' was a loose concept.

Shanice pushed away thoughts about how weird it must be to just be cool with being one of many in a rotation. Not her business. Not her place to judge anybody's sex life, especially not when she had actual business to discuss.

"So," she sat behind her desk, crossing those Louboutin-clad legs deliberately. "Tell me about this sneaker competition for local kids."

Marcus set down his coffee and pulled out an iPad. But instead of launching into some formal presentation, he leaned forward with that infectious enthusiasm she was starting to realize wasn't just for show.

"Look, these kids in the local neighborhoods, they've got crazy talent. Not just for football - for design, for art. But nobody's giving them a platform." His French accent got thicker when he was excited, she noticed. "I want to do something that combines both. Get them designing custom football boots, have them pitch their ideas like it's Shark Tank or something."

"And the winners?"

"We produce their design. Limited edition. Split the profits with them and their schools." He grinned. "Plus they get to see a professional wear their creation in a match."

She had to admit, it was good. Combine Inter's community outreach with actual entrepreneurship opportunities, get some good PR, maybe even discover the next big thing in design...

"My daughter Heaven would lose her mind over this," she said without thinking.

His eyes lit up. "The sneakerhead? Dream mentioned her yesterday."

Shanice blinked. "When did you talk to Dream?"

"Instagram. She slid in my DMs like 'my mom's gonna be your boss now so we're basically family.'" He laughed at Shanice's mortified expression. "Don't worry, I kept it professional. Told her to focus on school and that her mom seems cool."

"Seems?"

"Well," he stood, and somehow the office felt smaller with him up. "That was before I saw you in this dress. Now I'm thinking 'cool' might be an understatement."

He was at the door before she could process that. "Think about the proposal? The kids would really appreciate it."

Shanice managed a nod, proud that her voice stayed steady. "I'll review the numbers."

"Looking forward to your decision." That smile again, the one that probably got him everything he wanted. "Boss."

The door clicked shut behind him. Shanice let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

So much for keeping it professional.

Saturday came too fast. Shanice had successfully avoided matches for months, but Dream and Heaven had formed an unholy alliance. Their combined powers of teenage begging and nine-year-old puppy eyes were apparently her kryptonite.

"You're an owner, Mom," Dream had argued. "You have to at least pretend to care about the actual games."

So here she was, in the owner's box, wearing weekend casual. Heaven was pressed against the glass, documenting every player's footwear choices in her little notebook. Dream was... well.

"OH MY GOD HE WAVED AT ME!"

Marcus had paused his warm-up routine to wave at Dream, who was now literally squealing and clutching Shanice's arm. Her daughter - usually so cool, so above it all - reduced to a giggling teenager. Which, fair enough, she was.

Shanice's eyes scanned the stands automatically. No Angels in sight. Interesting, since the gossip blogs always said they never missed a match, always in their usual section, always dressed like they were at fashion week instead of a football game-

Nope. She wasn't going to go there. That was the least of her worries. Besides, she wasn't about to become some cougar chasing after a 27-year-old footballer. What could he possibly do for her? He probably couldn't even satisfy a woman properly, especially not a woman like her who knew what she wanted and-

Marcus dropped into a stretch on the field below, and Shanice's brain short-circuited. Those thighs. That ass. The way his kit stretched across-

Well. Maybe he could do a little somethin' somethin'.

"Mom!" Heaven's voice snapped her out of it. "Are those the new Nike Zoom Mercurial Superfly 9 Elites he's wearing?"

"I have no idea what any of those words mean, baby."

But she knew exactly what those thighs meant, and it was trouble. Pure trouble.

The match kicked off, and Shanice tried to look interested in whatever was happening on the field. Heaven was still cataloging shoes, but now she was comparing them to some spreadsheet on her tablet. Dream was providing commentary that might as well have been in Chinese for all Shanice understood.

"Did you see that run? The way he just- Mom, are you even watching?"

She was watching something alright. Just maybe not the same thing Dream was excited about. Marcus moved like water on the field, all power and grace. The way his muscles flexed when he sprinted, the focus in his expression when he had the ball...

"Signora Ricci." A smooth voice interrupted her definitely-not-thirsting. One of the other board members - some old money type whose name she should probably remember. "So nice to finally see you at a match."

"Couldn't disappoint my girls," she smiled diplomatically. These men still weren't used to her being here, being part owner. Still called her Ricci even though she'd gone back to her maiden name.

"You've met our new striker, yes? Quite the acquisition."

Oh, she'd met him alright. Met those chocolate eyes and that devastating smile and that ass that should be illegal in those shorts-

"We had a meeting about his community outreach proposals," she said smoothly. "Very impressive."

"His proposals or his-" Dream's comment was cut off by Shanice's warning look.

The crowd suddenly roared. Shanice turned just in time to see Marcus breaking free, the ball at his feet. The defender didn't stand a chance. One move, two, and then-

GOAL.

The stadium erupted. Dream was screaming. Heaven had abandoned her shoe documentation to jump up and down. And Marcus... Marcus was running toward their end of the field, sliding on his knees in celebration.

He looked up at the owner's box. Straight at her.

And winked.

"Did you see that?" Dream squealed. "He winked at us!"

Sure, baby. At "us."

Shanice took a long sip of her champagne. She was going to need something stronger than this to survive the rest of this match.

Shanice was on her second glass of champagne when Marcus scored again. This time his celebration was all swagger - that signature dance that had Dream and her friends making TikToks for weeks. The stadium was going crazy, and even Heaven had abandoned her sneaker documentation to cheer.

"He's so good," Dream sighed dreamily. "Like, is there anything he can't do?"

Keep his shirt on, apparently. The heat had several players stripping down to their undershirts, and Marcus's clung to him like it was painted on. Those training sessions were clearly paying off because what the actual f-

"Mamma mia, he's really showing off today."

Shanice didn't need to turn around to know that voice. "Don't you have your own box, Alex?"

"Can't a father watch with his daughters?" Alessandro dropped into the seat next to her, looking irritatingly handsome in his weekend casual Brunello Cucinelli. "Though I see you're watching... something else."

"The match," she said firmly. "I'm watching the match."

"Of course." His knowing smile made her want to dump her champagne on his designer sweater. "That's why you haven't blinked since Thuram took his shirt off."

Before she could respond, the final whistle blew. Inter 3, Juventus 1.

"Can we go down?" Dream was already gathering her things. "Please? Dad always takes us to meet the players after home games."

"I don't think-" Shanice started.

"Excellent idea," Alex cut in smoothly. "The owner should congratulate the team on their victory. Especially the man of the match."

Heaven's eyes lit up. "We can see the boots up close!"

Shanice was outnumbered. Again. "Fine. But ten minutes max."

The tunnel to the locker room was crowded with families and staff, the air thick with victory excitement and expensive perfume. Dream was practically vibrating with anticipation. Heaven had her notebook ready.

And then Marcus emerged, still glowing from the win, that undershirt still clinging to every muscle like it was doing the Lord's work. His eyes found their group immediately.

"The Carter-Ricci family!" His smile could power half of Milan. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"You were amazing!" Dream gushed. "Those goals were insane!"

"Can I see your boots?" Heaven was already crouching down with her notebook.

Alessandro's hand found the small of Shanice's back - a move that used to be possessive but now just felt like him marking his territory. "Incredible performance today. You must have been... inspired."

Marcus's eyes flicked to Alex's hand, then to Shanice's face. Something flashed in them - too quick to read. "Very inspired," he said, but he was looking straight at her. "Sometimes you just want to impress the right people, you know?"

Heaven was rattling off questions about his cleats. Dream was trying to casually get a selfie. Alex was doing that alpha male thing Italian men loved.

And Shanice?

Shanice was thinking about exactly what else those thighs could do.

"Yo! Big bro!"

A younger version of Marcus strode up, already changed into Juventus casual wear. The family resemblance was strong - same height, same build, same dangerous smile but instead of a cropped fade, he wore his hair in dreads.

"Little bro!" Marcus pulled him into one of those complicated handshakes that looked rehearsed. "Tough luck today."

"Whatever, you were showing off." Khephren's eyes landed on Shanice. "Who's this?"

"My new boss," Marcus said, and something in his tone made Shanice's skin tingle. "Shanice Carter, meet my brother Khephren."

"Damn, if I knew Inter's management looked like this, I might've signed with them instead." Khephren's grin earned him a solid smack to the chest from Marcus.

"My apologies," Marcus said to Shanice, but his eyes were laughing. "My little brother hasn't learned manners yet."

Alex cleared his throat loudly. "Girls, come on. Time to go."

Dream and Heaven reluctantly said their goodbyes, leaving Shanice standing there like an idiot, trying not to stare at Marcus's abs through that sweat-soaked shirt that was doing entirely too much.

"I should go too," she said, snapping out of it. This wasn't right. She needed to put up a wall between them right now. She was his boss, for fuck's sake.

She pivoted on her heel, but his hand caught her wrist. Warm. Strong. Trouble.

"The proposal - did you read it?"

"Yes."

"Great. Can we talk about it more? Go over the plan of action?"

"Sure, schedule with Maria for an appointment."

His face changed, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't want too many ears in this situation." He tilted his head toward where the board members and her ex were speaking in low voices. "Maybe dinner?"

"That's not–"

"My treat."

"Marcus. That would be inappropriate."

"Then a business lunch," he countered, "still my treat."

Shanice pulled her wrist from his grasp, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't miss how his eyes followed the movement, lingering just a beat too long.

"Do you think I'm dumb or something?"

"Far from that, Shanice." He straightened up, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. The move was sexy as hell but she kept her face neutral. "You're one of the smartest women I know."

"You don't know me."

"Yet," he added, and they stared at each other for what felt like forever.

"Whatever you think you're playing at, I'm not one of your little friends... or Angels for that matter. Like I said, schedule an appointment with Maria." She turned to leave again.

"So make a call?" His voice was low, just for her ears. Thank goodness no one else heard that.

She paused, glancing back. That smug look on his handsome ass face should've been illegal.

"I'll call you then. To set up the lunch," he said with absolute confidence.

Shanice just scoffed and continued down the tunnel, feeling his eyes on her the whole way.

That man was going to be the death of her career. Or just the death of her, period.

"Mom! Wait up!" Dream's voice echoed down the tunnel. "Why'd you leave so fast?"

Because your favorite player was looking at me like I was dessert, baby girl.

"Time to go home," Shanice said instead, fishing her car keys from her Bottega purse. "Where's your sister?"

"Still with Dad. He's taking us for gelato." Dream studied her face. "You should come."

"Pass." The last thing she needed was to sit across from Alex while he made smug comments about her "meeting" with Marcus.

"Is it because of Marcus?" Dream's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I saw how he was looking at you. And how you were looking at his-"

"Dream. Don't."

"I'm just saying, Mom. The Angels are pretty and all, but you're like... you're you. And he definitely noticed."

Shanice stopped walking. "Listen to me carefully. There is nothing between me and Marcus Thuram except a business relationship. He's your age, for God's sake."

"He's twenty-seven, Mom. That's not my age." Dream rolled her eyes. "And anyway, age is just a-"

"If you finish that sentence, you're grounded."

Dream threw up her hands. "Fine! But for the record? I wouldn't mind. It'd be kind of cool actually. Like, my mom and my favorite player? That's some Wattpad level plot twist."

"Go get your gelato," Shanice laughed, pulling her daughter in for a hug. "Love you."

"Love you too. Even if you're in denial."

Shanice watched Dream skip back to where Alex and Heaven were waiting, then headed for her car. Her phone buzzed before she even reached it.

Unknown number: Lunch tomorrow? For the proposal.

Her heart definitely didn't skip. Nope. Not at all.

Another buzz: This is Marcus, by the way. Your daughter gave me your number.

She was going to kill Dream.

Third buzz: For business purposes only, of course. 😏

That damn smirking emoji. She could see his face when he typed it, all cocky confidence and knowing looks.

Shanice: Schedule it with Maria.

Marcus: Come on, boss. Let me take you to lunch. Professional lunch. Very proper. Very appropriate.

Those three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

Marcus: Unless you're scared...

Oh, this little boy thought he could play with her?

Shanice: Fine. One lunch. Professional. And you're not getting my coffee ever again.

Marcus: We'll see 😈

She dropped her phone in her bag like it was burning her fingers. What the hell was she doing? This was beyond stupid. Beyond reckless.

But as she slid into her Porsche, all she could think about was that damn smirk and those abs and the way he'd said "yet."

She was so screwed.

........................tbd

#quainwritings #quain’s masterlist #footballer x oc #footballer x reader #marcus thuram #marcus thuram x oc #marcus thuram x black oc #marcus thuram x reader #marcus thuram fanfiction #marcus thuram fic

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sparrow-and-seed-scrawls · 24 hours ago

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She folded her hands to hide their shaking. "You can't marry a man you just met," she said. She kept her voice cold, her eyes icy.

The prince didn't flinch. In fact, he even offered a sardonic smile. He had Anna on his arm, the favor of the cabinet, and the love of the kingdom. The queen was merely a pest to squash.

Elsa couldn't breathe as the tension in the room turned sharp. The prince's invisible sword against her throat.

"You can if it's true love!" Anna said.

True love?

Anna knew nothing of it. She knew nothing of the Southern Isles, nothing of the man at her side.

Elsa hadn’t extended an invitation to their kingdom. Of course, though, they’d sent someone anyway. She couldn’t exactly tell them no without confirming what they already knew.

Ladies in long dresses and men in decorated coats spun around them, as though there was nothing wrong at all in the room. Bright music echoed through the ballroom. A steward offered Elsa a flute of some sort of drink.

Bile burned at her throat. She didn't take the flute. This was a game. Perhaps everything in this room was a game, set up by Prince Hans to reveal everything.

He had to know. His kingdom must have briefed him. Why else would he take advantage of her sister? He played the part well, but the coolness of his eyes was what gave him away. Barely noticeable to anyone else, but Elsa had grown skilled in reading people.

He didn't love Anna. He loved the idea of taking the throne and combining their kingdoms into one. He'd have control of the fjords, and that meant control of major trade routes and other kingdoms. He'd have control of Elsa.

His family had already staged the death of her parents. Why not use this chance--the first one in years--to take what they'd been after all this time?

The royal family of the Southern Isles knew of her magic. They'd been waiting for this opportunity since Iduna and Agnarr had died so conveniently in that shipwreck.

So why not send their youngest assassin now? He’d be reckless, perhaps, but he’d also be ruthless. Unyielding.

That’s what scared Elsa the most.

"Anna, what do you know of true love?" she asked softly.

"More than you." Anna stepped back, her cheeks flushing the way they always did when she was upset. "All you know is how to shut people out!"

A few dancers glanced their way.

"You asked for my blessing, and my answer is no. Now,” she steadied her emotions, “excuse me."

“Your Majesty, if I may—” An arm caught hers. His voice tremored slightly. The perfect anxious lover.

Her blood went colder than it already was. “No, you may not. I think you should go.”

A veiled warning, but a warning nonetheless. If he didn’t take it, then it was up to her to decide if she wished to engage him.

He didn’t say a word.

“The party is over, close the gates.”

“Elsa, no, no, wait—” Anna’s voice, her hand on Elsa’s. She turned to admonish her, and her glove came off in her sister’s hand.

Her breath stopped. She tucked her hand behind her, beneath her cloak, nails digging into flesh. If she created even a single snowflake, this carefully crafted illusion would come crashing down. “Give me my glove.”

“Elsa, please. Please.” She clutched the glove between pleading hands. “I can’t live like this anymore!”

Her face began to crumple, and tension’s sword was digging into Elsa’s throat as more eyes fixed on the display in the center of the ballroom.

Shut everything out. That’s how she kept things under control. Shut her sister out, and that would protect the both of them. Anna would forget about Hans.

“Then leave.” The facade of indifference began to collapse inside of her as she moved towards the door. Anna stepped back, eyes wide.

“What did I ever do to you?” she snapped.

“Enough, Anna.”

The music had stopped. Everyone was watching now. Too many eyes, too much expectation, too much fear—

“No, why? Why do you shut me out? Why do you shut the world out? What are you so afraid of?!”

“I said, enough!” Elsa spun. Anna didn’t know. She didn’t know of the magic, she didn’t know of the pressure, she didn’t know of the prince’s true intentions. If she was so set on naïveté, then—

“Sorcery.”

The sword finally stabbed, blade deep in her chest when the room came back into focus.

Sharp, dangerous icicles—a cage and a defense against those around her. Deadly tips preparing to cut into anyone who dared approach.

Because of her.

Prince Hans caught her eye, approval flashing across his face.

She choked.

This wasn’t—this wasn’t—she couldn’t even think. She shoved the doors open, instead, and ran from it all. Protect Arendelle by protecting it from herself.

Shut everything out, and nothing bad can happen. Conceal it.

Let Hans come after her, and leave Arendelle and her sister alone.

That’s what needed to happen.

You are the elder sibling of the Hero. They want your blessing to marry the Villain they originally set out to destroy; now sitting across from you at the same table.

#writing #frozen #frozen elsa #queen elsa #prince hans #hans #frozen anna #princess anna #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writblr #writers #writing community #writerscommunity #writing inspiration #writing prompts #writing prompt #scrawlsbysparrow

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revvethasmythh · 21 hours ago

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you know, comparing imogen and laudna with caleb and veths dynamics and joint backstory, something i've thought for a while is that imogen and laudna having 2 YEARS of time spent together pre-stream actually rather hamstrung their story. like, veth and caleb's backstory feels significantly more lived in as a 6-month period of time probably because it's way easier to fill in the details of what happened for a limited amount of time than it is for years of backstory. i genuinely think if they'd shortened the amount of time imogen and laudna were together to less than a year, it would have made a significant difference in the dynamism of their relationship because there would still have been new things for them to discover about each other. instead, we enter their story at a point where they simply know everything there is to know so they don't have to poke and prod and uncover new information or deepen the relationship. that's boring! it left the relationship the same practically the entire time! tighten up the time frame, add a couple of specific events/cities they stayed to give some depth to their background and flesh out the "we got run out of cities b/c laudna" thing, and make sure they didn't know absolutely every detail of each other's lives beforehand and we might have been able to light a fire to cook with

#cr tag #i remember when laudn.a's backstory first came out on stream i was unsure if imogen was aware of it #and honestly i think she shouldn't have been. i think it should have been a secret that got revealed to her on stream #getting that info for the first time would have been a STELLAR character moment for them as friends #realizing they didn't know everything about each other that would have added a LOT of interest to the relationship #and potential to build something that felt more earned on screen #anyway

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httpsminsgirl · 1 day ago

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๋࣭ ⭑⚝ bonedo and their campus crush ⚝๋࣭ ⭑

contains: fluff, bonedo being down bad, non-idol! bonedo, OT6, campus crush bonedo ! (members are not referred as ''his members'' but ''his friends'') gn! reader (i'm pretty sure) a/n: I have dyslexia so sorry if there are missing punctuations or grammar mistakes, also english isn't my first language!! hope you like it! ^^ requests, feedback and opinions are always appreciated ! <3 warning: none

๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑

Jaehyun: (wc: 258)

you'd only have one class with Jaehyun, but he was friends with your friends, so sometimes you'd have lunch together or walk around together, somehow he always had a cute natural blush on his face.

He'd take every and any chance to stare at you, and everytime you'd notice and stare back he'd just avoid all eye contact and hide his face, sometimes his face just would fall straight onto the table and his arms would cover him as he acted tired

all your friends would say he's always really talkative and confident, but with you he was barely able to form sentences that made sense or barely able to talk without stuttering at times, just causing you to call him cute and making him blush more

his friends would love teasing him nonstop, making fun of him every chance they got, specially when you walked in front of them and waved your hand at Jaehyun making him get all flustered but also as excited as a puppy with a ball. As much as they loved teasing his friend, they'd encourage him to ask you out.

You'd end up catching on his little (BIG) crush on you as he was painfully obvious, so you would just make your mind up about asking him out, but that same day he'd come to you with a flower he picked up, face as red as a tomato and unable to look into your eyes as the words ''do you... want to.. maybe go.. hm- on a date with me?'' left his mouth slowly but surely.

Sungho: (wc: 250)

Sungho thought he wasn't obvious at all but his gaze would be following you everywhere you went, even if you were just sitting down doing nothing his gaze was fixed on you and that's when Myungjae had to intervene hitting his elbow ''stop staring so much, weirdo'' his friend said making him get out of his trance ''oh? oh'' he muttered to then focus on class

after that Jaehyun would tell the whole group about it and they'd start to make fun of him but he wasn't paying attention, you just entered the lunch room and that made him get lost in you once again.

The guys would have to help Sungho on this one, he wasn't one to be shy, but he was just mentally blocked this time. The guys would accidentally push his friend towards you causing you both to crash onto each other as Sungho apologized nonstop and you just gave him a reassuring smile to then leave hearing how he cursed his friends afterwards

next day he'd wait for you at lunch just to apologize once again, and maybe even take a chance? as soon as he saw you he walked to you, blushing and scratching his neck as he apologized, after that was done there was silence for some seconds, until he build up enough courage ''I- I think you're really.. p-pretty'' he said a bit unsure and flustered ''would you like to have lunch with me?'' he asked now as you smiled and nodded, hearing what you supposed, were his friends cheering in the background

Riwoo: (wc: 259)

Riwoo was really quiet about it, no one knew about his crush on you. He kept it completely buried, or so he thought until he had to do a project with you and he didn't know how to even articulate a single word causing him to blush embarrassed and for you to look at him worried.

Next meeting Riwoo would be more prepared, but he'd still be quiet, he wouldn't talk much, but he'd steal glances at you and maybe even slowly start a conversation as he warmed up to you and tried to break out of his introvert shell

He'd usually bring snacks, coffee or sweets to have as you worked on your project, and he'd always bring you the best, your favorite things, if you weren't onto sweets like him, he'd make sandwhiches just for you, excited to see you try it and get opinions on it, he'd be really attentive and warm to you. a lot of heart fluttering moments just catching him stare at you and smile or listen to you and agreeing to whatever you say.

As the project was done and you wouldn't have an excuse to see each other anymore, he'd have to prepare himself and tell his friends about it, just to get them to encourage him and prepare him for the big moment. he'd just give you a cup of your favorite drink next day before class and a little note that said ''meet up at 7pm? I'll pick you up... if you want to'' making you chuckle and nod

Taesan: (wc: 265)

Taesan was one to look at you at all times, or most of the time trying to play it off, only thing was that his facial expression was so neutral and unreadable you didn't know if he looked at you cause you had something on your face or just because

He'd never get close to you but he'd look at you from the distance, just secretly admiring you, his friends knew about it and even though they wanted to tease him they knew better than to mess with him about his feelings, something he was quite sensitive about.

As he'd keep an eye on you he'd learn your habits imitating them at times, he'd know what you liked and what you didn't, when you didn't do your homework or if you were awake the whole night.

He'd veeery painfully slowly get close to you, offering you some candy, water, or snacks he had in his bag if he felt you were hungry, even letting you copy his homework if he saw you didn't do it

You slowly got more used to him, his coldness, the distance he'd always keep and how he wasn't someone that talked a lot, but it was fine. you started talking with him at class, just making up for everything he missed, whether it was talking, warmth, initiative, you took it all, and started getting closer but he never really seemed to be interest or attracted to you, until one day he asked if he could walk you home and in the way he held your hand for the first time.

Leehan: (wc: 270)

Leehan and you shared classes together, but not like it mattered, you never talked anyways. he caught your eye, and you had a crush on him, but just something you used to have the will to go to class. until one day you found out you both have some friends in common

at first he was quiet, he never really talked to you or looked at you so you'd think he disliked you or just found you annoying, until your friends started teasing you ''he always looks at you when you're not looking'' they said and that made you feel just a little bit crazy

as the group got closer and closer you slowly started talking too, your friends mostly led the conversation but the only answers he'd pay attention to were yours. One afternoon at the hangout you weren't feeling really well, but no one noticed, or so you thought, until he asked you if you were okay.

You took a walk together as you got some fresh air and he got you a sugary drink to help you feel better, as you did, you both were walking back to where your friends were, but you didn't want to go with them, and Leehan didn't either. ''what if we hang out together? let's do something more relaxing... just- you know... so that you don't overwork yourself?'' he said and you smiled nodding, after that night you'd always sit together in class and talk, have lunch together and he would always make you feel almost crazy as he stared at you attentively with his beautiful brown eyes and a soft smile.

Woonhak: (wc: 181)

Woonhak was also one to be painfully obvious, but also painfully cocky. You would see him sometimes in the hallways, lunch room, or with your group of friends, he was always looking at you with a smile, waving at you like an excited puppy that just met eyes with his owner after a long day of not seeing them

he'd get closer and closer, ask you about your classes and without even asking you if you wanted to or not, he'd walk you to your class and wait for you after if he could. His friends would tease him non-stop, maybe even say he seemed like an stalker or a bit too over the top, so one afternoon he asked you if you thought he was annoying. You hated to admit it, but his cockiness, warmth and attentiveness got to you, you loved the attention he gave you and how smiley he was always specially when looking at you

after a lot of teasing and dares he ended up asking you to date him with a bouquet of flowers one day as you were walking back to your dorms together

๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑

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stringofswineteeth · 2 days ago

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I wasn't going to respond because I wasn't confident in my previous response so didn't that adding on to whatever response anyone had was going to be helpful, wasn't much to add that would be worth disagreeing with whoever responds, they'd have it handled.

I'm responding because I don't think your addition is worth disagreeing with. But, you said you can't wrap your head around it, so I am going to explain my concerns because I think they're important to understand.

There ARE people impersonating legitimate researchers right now for nefarious purposes. And it's not about it not being the "perfect time" it is about it being outright terrifying time, where I'm not even convinced getting gender related healthcare from verifiable organizations is safe. This isn't something I'd advocate against doing because there's a lot of complexities to personal situations and everyone must take calculated risks.

There's plenty of links I wouldn't trust and risks I wouldn't take that I wouldn't get in the way of others' decisions surrounding, at least without verifying that it is ONLY dangerous.

Basically, I don't think my response should've been what it was, but I also think it is worth considering why I would respond that way. The level of danger related to all things being openly queer, especially getting entered into a database as such, is unprecedented in my lifetime, not just imperfect. On top of that, the people involved are very young, and the economic situation might encourage making rash decisions when money is involved. Also ig worth noting that the dangers of unknown links have only grown.

Again, I think I probably should've minded my own business, or spoken in less definite terms, especially if I'm not willing to do research into the organization I am concerned about or click links provided. I also think what I was advocating for, hiding, can be damaging because part of the goal is not just to kill us, but also to make those of us who remain invisible, and I hadn't thought through the implications of that.

I'm editing in an addition because I'd rather be done with this, but I am still thinking about it. All the above that I said holds true, but I don't feel right about leaving it there. Yes, we need to be loud and make sure our voices and history is not erased. At the same time, it is extremely important to be aware of the risks you are taking and make your choices very intentionally. If you have investigated this source and have decided they are trustworthy and contributing to their study is important enough that it is worth the risk, absolutely be brave and go forward with that. I don't want your voice erased, I just don't want you to put yourself in danger that isn't balanced out by the good it does. please be extremely careful. I wouldn't feel okay about leaving this up without really making that point clear. Especially under unverified links to the same type of content we KNOW is being imitated by people who wish us harm.

I am not encouraging you to roll over, I am encouraging you to tread extremely carefully while acknowledging that there are some risks worth taking. It is up to you to decide what those are.

Researchers at the Lyda Hill Institute for Human Resilience with the University of Colorado Colorado Springs are recruiting LGBTQ+ teens (ages 15-18) and their caregivers for a study of an online group program.

Parents and teens can EACH earn up to $160 for their participation.

Click the link below to learn more!

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sol-consort · 2 days ago

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pt.1 - pt.2

Between all of the available options, the one person I think Commander Shepard would fall in love with the most—time after time after time, no matter if renegade or paragon—is the player.

In a self-aware kind of sense. Shepard knows you're there, felt your presence fade in the aftermath of the last battle in ME1, a part of themselves evaporating into thin air, an inexplicable feeling of losing something they can't being to describe. Like an invisible limb amputated in plain sight.

Everyone can see that, the way Shepard acts differently, lacking that defined edge that having your guidance during the game offered.

Only for your presence to re-materialise at the intro of ME2. Shepard felt your soul breathing life into their body again, but circumstances didn't allow the time to dwell on it nor question this rejuvenating limb they thought was long gone. They had to act fast and get everyone out of the ship. Even if it spelt their own demise, suffocating in the vacuum of space, they'd die peacefully knowing they're never truly alone, that they're whole again with you swimming through their veins.

Three years in a coma, on a deathbed, reconstructed from the atom up. Three years of having you by their side, a comforting presence that anchored Shepard and pieced together their sanity whilst the doctors pieced their physical mind. Three years passed in the blink of an eye for the player, but felt like an eternity for the commander you're puppeting around.

And just how attached Shepard would be to you, to the faint voice urging them towards certain dialogue options, the subtle nudges to move in certain directions, the twitch of their finger as if your hand is brushing against theirs to select a specific planet you had in mind on the galactic map.

They trudged through this journey filled with both unfamiliar faces and changed-beyond-recognition once familiar ones. Endured the hardships, the deception, the belittling, and dismissal attitude of the council. No matter how many people had gotten close to them, caressed their body, and shared their warmth, none of them could truly reach within Shepard's heart.

At first, they thought they were crazy. Maybe a screw or two were loose after the reconstruction surgery. Maybe the doctors did put them back wrong after all. For how could someone fall in love with themselves? And not even themselves but a very specific part of them, a vague presence constantly hovering around.

Shepard came to the revelation that you weren't part of them, not natively, at least. You were an outside influence, something��someone that held the potential to become part of them at given instances, only to depart just as suddenly, leaving them feeling hollow as their world becomes a little bit more cold and grey.

That realisation only served to further their infatuation, to resonate within their mind how justified their feelings are. It's not something they could explain. Where would they even begin? Who would believe them? They attempted to open their mind and allow Liara to peer through their consciousnesses countless times, and yet not once could the asari sense your presence. Nothing seemed out of place.

Miranda is not an option. The least Shepard needs, right now, is an overly concerned scientist coercing them into more experiments, brain scans, and psychological evaluations.

Leaving the more spiritual crew memebers as their only option... If only Ashley was here. Thane will have to do for now. As Shepard told him of their strife, the drell was surprisingly more accepting of their eccentric tale of love than they expected.

He confessed not to fully understanding what Shepard's going through. However, he does sincerely believe in the existence of outsider influence. souls which weave themselves into your own during times of need, in order to help guide and direct you towards the righteous path—guardian angels is what he described them as, described you, the player, as. Wisps that come and go as they please.

Not that you'd be aware of a single word said during this conversation, of course not. Much like the instances of Shepard showering, training, and getting a full night's rest, this conversation between them and the drell only occurred during the quiet hours of the universe. The ones when your game is turned off, leaving you oblivious to all the rather mundane aspects of this world.

Although, he did discourage his commander from perusing anything more than admiration with this said spirit, it's a one-sided relationship, as he explained best he could. You'll only see what the universe wants you to see, Shepard's growing infatuation is not one of them. Angels came and went, that is their nature.

Leaving Shepard back to where they started at square one, frustrated and indecisive on how to approach this, how to approach you. And now they're questioning if you'd even perceive their approach. Are you aware of their existence? Or are they presented to you by the universe as an empty canvas, devoid of personality and preferences.

For a first step, they needed to make sure you knew of their consciousness... easier said than done. They could hear your voice sometimes, never clear words, but more akin to background white noise. A distant humming while they slept, the faint sound of an airy laugh during a conversation with one of their crewmembers.

Do you hear them, too? Or do you only hear the words you make them say during important conversations? Phrases that suddenly pop into their mind out of nowhere, that seemed a little too perfect of a thoughtful response for them to having come up with it on the spot.

Shepard decided that there is no better way for them to prove their free will to you than to purposely go against your benevolent guidance. Not out of ungratefulness or annoyance, but just as a way to catch your attention, remind you that whilst you can give orders, at the end of the day, they're the actual person steering this ship around.

It's small things at first, wrong dialogue choices getting selected that have you questioning if you misclicked or something. Shepard selecting a different elevator floor from the one you initially picked. Your built-up romance with a specific character going down the drain as Shepard decides to reject them and end everything during the lock-in conversation, and no matter how many times you reload a savefile and carefully click on the correct dialogue choices, the words coming out of their mouth are always the same.

A bug, is the logical conclusion you first reached, what else would it be? Video game characters coming to life? Don't be absurd.

A fresh reinstall would do the trick.

Except... it persists.

The internet hasn't been helpful. No evidence of such a bug ever existing came up.

#☆Shepard #☆self aware Shepard #Shepard x reader #☆character specific #mass effect x reader

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short-for-melancholy · 2 days ago

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doll joints.

when i was 10 years old my joints were all replaced with doll joints. i didn't know it at the time. i just knew they were stiff in the morning and a little painful in the evening, and when i moved them, something would snap. my mother told me not to move them so much. i tried to explain that if i didn't move them they'd get stiff, and if they were stiff they'd be painful, and if they were painful they'd snap. but i don't think a mother has ever listened to a child before.

when i was 15 i went to see the doctor. the doctor asked if i'd been injured. i hadn't. the doctor asked if i'd tried physical therapy. i hadn't. for six weeks i did tiny exercises for people recovering from injuries. i was not recovering from injuries. but nobody liked to hear that i hadn't gotten better, so i let them think i had.

when i was 17 i went to see the doctor. the doctor asked if i'd been injured. i hadn't. the doctor asked if i'd tried physical therapy. i had. for six weeks i did tiny exercises for people recovering from injuries. i was not recovering from injuries. but nobody liked to hear that i hadn't gotten better, so i let them think i had.

when i was 20 i went to see the doctor. the doctor asked if i'd been injured. i hadn't. the doctor asked if i'd tried physical therapy. i had, twice. the doctor took some x-rays. the doctor took some MRIs. the doctor diagnosed me with a mild case of doll joints. there's nothing we can do, he said. and there wasn't.

when i was 21 i went to see the doctor. the doctor asked if i'd been injured. i hadn't. the doctor asked if i'd tried physical therapy. i had, twice. i have doll joints, i said. i don't think i can exercise them away. i have just the thing, the doctor said, and he stabbed me with needles. do you feel better now? no, doctor, i don't. i feel very much the same. he became very upset. you're wasting my time, he said. you don't even have a serious case of doll joints. why are you even here? i asked myself the same question.

when i was 25 i decided to get in shape. i didn't like working out, and i didn't want to be strong, but i could run. i ran every day. it took me several months to realise that the constant pain i was in was a significant quality of life reduction, because what's a little more pain on top of the stiffness and aching and snapping? i resigned myself to a more sedentary life. exercise is good for you, but it's not good for doll joints. i have to be careful.

when i was 30 an artery in my neck got tangled up and severed between my doll joints. it hurt a great deal, but pain is nothing new, so i didn't worry about it. i took the night off and did not go to see the doctor until weeks later, when i went temporarily blind as a result of the injury. the doctor asked if i'd be injured. i hadn't. the doctor asked if i'd tried physical therapy. i had, twice. the doctor took some x-rays. the doctor took some MRIs. the doctor took some CT scans. the doctor diagnosed me with a minor case of doll joints and a vertebral artery dissection. there's nothing we can do, he said. and there wasn't. i stayed in bed until i was 31.

when i was 31 i stood up. something went wrong. the doll joints in my back hurt far too much. i was stuck in bed for a few weeks. when i was 31 i laid down. something went wrong. the doll joints in my back hurt far too much. i was stuck in bed for a few months. when i was 31 i was stuck in bed for a few months. without warning, my leg snapped off at the knee. doll joints are easy to put back together, but it took a whole day for the pain to recede. i did not go to see the doctor, and i likely never will as long as pain is my only symptom. no matter how bad it gets. because there's nothing they can do, they'll say. and there isn't. it's just a minor case of doll joints.

next month i'll be 32.

i don't really want to think about it.

#postposting #I'm venting sorry #ok to rb

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amrass · 20 hours ago

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A take on Micah Bell's full backstory

So this is a new kind of post to me, a big-ass fan theory of sorts, but I've always enjoyed the more out-there takes in fandom. Also I've been sitting on this for months so it's nice to get it out.

In short, I made up a full backstory for Micah from the few scraps of information that are given in game. I'll go through some of those details first, then go through my own take in four sections:

Part 1: The way of the grandfather/the legacy of Micah Bell the First Part 2: Early years/Competitive survival Part 3: Young Adulthood/O'Driscoll Boy!Micah Part 4: Later Adulthood/Evil Bounty Hunter!Micah

(Note that the 1st and 2nd part will spoil my fanfic series The Devils, but it can still be read, as it's full of juicier details.)

Canon and semi-canon details from his backstory

So we don't know a whole lot, hints only given by select dialogue and a newspaper clip. Micah is the third in line in a family of outlaws, and ran together with his father and brother Amos for a while. His father was wanted for murder all over the place, and seems like a man with dark charm ("Ain't life grand?") and a temper (nearly killing Amos). Amos, who ran away from the family tradition, wanting nothing to do with it. You can read about them on various online encyclopedias, but know that some of those are written by uh, creative fans, and AI, so there is often errors. It's irritating, but it is what it is.

An interesting bit is the interview with Micah's actor Peter Blomquist (I have tried to google but am having trouble finding it; please send link if you have it!) is the mention that Micah's father was bad, but his grandfather was worse. Tbh I think this is a bit from a backstory that was among the things that were scrapped from the final game.

So, of his grandfather we know almost nothing, except that he was wild. And that he was maybe worse than Micah III's father. But that also means that the Second was also better than the First somehow.

My take

Part 1: The way of the grandfather / the legacy of Micah Bell the First

I think the grandfather was the head of the family as long as he lived. I also think he imposed a terrible burden upon Micah Bell II (and III).

It's interesting if the Second tries to be better than the First in that when he got a woman pregnant, he tried to hide her and their two children, because he didn't want to force the Bell training upon them. But it slipped out one evening due to drink. The older forced the younger to reveal the locations of the woman and the two sons.

And so the training of the two new Bells begins, harsh and unrelenting. Shooting, robbing, killing. And more 18+ than I feel is necessary in this post, but yeah, disturbing stuff.

Micah being the one to inherit the name most likely means that he is older than Amos. But the thing is that Micah gives off serious little brother vibes to me. I dunno exactly why. Vibes, man.

So, I thought an interesting twist would be: what if the name of Micah Bell was something that had to be earned? What if they'd been given different names originally, Amos and something unknown, before the latter was the better outlaw and became the Micah Bell III we know. He is one of the fastest shots in the game, and a competition like that, begun from early age, could've given him initiative to train harder, desperate to earn the name.

I am a cruel writer. How can I make this crueler? I got it:

Their grandfather identifies quickly that one brother is weaker and easier to manipulate than the other. Not in physical strength, but in terms of familial bonds. Maybe he is less charming than Amos, and makes fewer friends, because idk he is busy eating bugs (he seems like the kind of kid who would eat bugs). Or maybe their mother, before the arrival of the men, makes the boys attend a local church school, and Amos finds love in the religion while his brother stares out the window. Not because he's evil but because he's easily bored.

So the grandfather only tells one brother of the competition about earning the name, and it's not Amos. He also says the one who loses the right to the name has to be killed by the winner because there can only be one Micah Bell for each generation, that's how it has always been done. Maybe he speaks the truth, maybe he lies, but no matter what he is efficiently cutting the bond between the two brothers.

Part 2: Early years / Competitive survival

So, that is how Micah Bell III becomes Micah Bell III, as a boy and as a youth. I'll just go back to calling him Micah to make it easier, also because calling him anything else would kind of feel like waving a death sentence in the face of a child after I wrote The Devils. Because even people who commit atrocities have been a child once.

Growing up, Micah's survival depends upon winning over his brother. This is where his idea of winning and losing comes from. It doesn't help that his father yaps on and on about a similar philosophy, but where he's all words, Micah is all acts.

Micah never finds out that Amos doesn't know about the competition. He resents him from not trying harder. For making Micah look bad, training so hard so he can kill his fool brother, lying awake at night and mentally preparing for it. But if friendships are rope, then familial bonds are chains; almost impossible to cut.

He lies awake at night and stares at Amos on the other side of the fire, missing when they curled up together back when it did not feel like sleeping next to an enemy. It eats the child up, all that training. Not much left of who he was or could be. Hey, at least he doesn't have time to eat bugs.

But maybe, if their grandfather falls ill, Micah is the one to kill him. Unable to cope with the idea of killing his brother, he shoots him in the face. And then he turns to Amos, grinning, because they're free.

Amos does not see himself as freed. He sees murder. He thinks it is only because Micah saw their grandfather as weak, when he secretly had been the strongest force in their life. Micah walks towards him, covered in their grandfather's blood (I do like a dramatic scene), and Amos turns away, throws up and tells him to stay away. Micah feels shock, then loss, then rage. Micah Bell II would probably react with pure rage, but Micah is so used to surviving things at this point, he survives that too. None of their relationships are all that salvageable from this moment, especially not after Amos runs away.

This makes me think of another HC of mine, namely that Micah is the one to kill Amos, which has its own post and arguments here. But if you add in the theory present in this post, it makes even more sense to why he'd killed Amos, finishing what he had been trained to do since he was a kid.

Part 3: Young adulthood / O'Driscoll Boy!Micah

Did you know Micah's outfits have a bunch of half-hidden, green accents them? I've seen it on his scarf, his gloves, his horse saddle ...

This is basically copy pasting a bit from a Twitter thread I made, but I just really like the idea of Micah being an ex-O'Driscoll Boy mainly due to his green scarf. It's more of a teal, but maybe it's a faded O'Driscoll green. Colm would've valued a gun like him. His ruthlessness and boot-licking, too. Especially if he was younger, lonelier and easier to sway. After his brother leaves and his father dies, he'll have no one.

And while he is a bit of a lone wolf hermit, Colm could've reminded him of his father, like Dutch probably does, but I really like the thought of Colm reminding Micah of his grandfather. He wouldn't be too unfamiliar with the gang dynamic, and find more homeliness in that than in a normal family. There's a well-known tendency among abused kids to unconsciously seek out relationships that mirror their broken families. Paradoxically, the lack of safety feels safe.

Of course, the Bell heritage is too alive within him to render him into another nameless O'Driscoll Boy, so he and Colm eventually fall out. He goes back to being a lone wolf, but maybe he's made some connections, which make gathering a troop easier, especially for bank robberies (Skinny, Cleet, Joe...). But he mostly stays alone.

During RDR2, when Colm was hanged, maybe Micah felt the green scarf catch strangely, while in camp or while out riding (or even watching the hanging happen from a dark back alley in Saint Denis). Micah reached behind to the nape of his neck, feeling as though someone had held him there, squeezed, and then let go.

Part 4: Later Adulthood / Evil bounty hunter!Micah

So I'm a total sucker for the theory of Micah being a form of a hitman that's like an evil bounty hunter. The main reason for this is the fact that Dutch's bounty poster can be found at Micah's camp outside Strawberry. But also because my first thought when we first met him in the game was "Omg, Loco from The Great Silence, my favorite evil bounty hunter villain!" They have some of the same color scheme in the winter outfit, and I think it's a reference.

Loco has the same life philosophy as Micah, as seen in this quote: "You're on the side of the law. We, we're on the side of the law of survival… survival of the fittest!" and kind of in this one (ok I'm putting it here because it's so cool, he's just burst into the hideout of his own evil bounty hunter gang) "Since when are wolves afraid of wolves?"

I like the idea of Micah is sick to death of gang life but knows enough of it from his time as an O'Driscoll to infiltrate hideouts and gangs easy, to reap bounties from the lawful people he's been robbing up to now and occasionally still do. Maybe the Van der Lindes weren't the first gang he brought down. That's fun to think about.

Also, I love it when asshole villains do the "right" thing. Partly why I love Micah's character; as an antagonist, he brings down Arthur and John, directly and indirectly.

(Ooh this is beside the point, but that's actually one of my issues with the narratives of the RDR and GTA games. They have this core of nihilism that actively hinders their stories from becoming as great as their characters, but also makes the games sell easier. Maybe another post, or maybe fandom isn't the place for critiques.)

Anyway, Micah just didn't think anyone could ever get to him, but then again he'd never met anyone like Dutch. Hell, the man even had the same dark charm like his father, enjoying similar exclamations. I think he hoped to recreate something of his old family dynamic with Dutch, who was kinder than his grandfather, father and Colm. We all know how that went. His last words was still a compliment to Dutch though. As if it was still a competition, or a game, in the end.

*walks a few steps away, twirls, shrugs, falls face first into the snow*

Here's another pic of Loco (along with the GIF in the beginning):

The end

Yeah I have not much more to say here lol. Feel free to use and expand upon this theory, or make your own by taking out of some of the foundations, could be cool to see. I'd love a shoutout, but it seems shoutouts are going out of fashion, which is sad. Put the community back into fandom! Stop it with the competition! Make friends! Lmao "be less like Micah", but yeah, I guess it stands. I see so many people worship canon like a deity. Please have more fun!!!

Anyway, thank you for reading ☺️

#amras writes #micah bell #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption #rdr #rdr2 #rdr fandom #rdr2 micah #rdr2 community #colm o'driscoll #o'driscoll boys #amos bell #micah bell the first #micah bell the second #fan theory #dutch van der linde #rdr2 fandom

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