#Find car for rent service

[mulloey]

the shop

your car has broken down for the nth time, but yunho’s there to save the day. just your luck you don’t have enough money to pay him.

mechanic!yunho x fem!reader

words: 2.7k

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warnings: dom!yunho, sub!reader, paying with your body trope, you already wanted to fuck him though, probably inaccurate pricing for car repair services cus i can’t drive tbh, unprotected sex, degrading, choking, slapping, creampie etc. not proofread

—

You’re dizzy and delirious, putty in his hands as he holds you firmly in place, right where he wants you.

“Y-Yunho!” You squeal. You writhe in his grip a little but it’s far too strong to resist.

He’s got you bent over the hood of the car—your car—while he pounds into you like a desperate, starving man. His overalls are hanging around his waist, just low enough for him to pull his cock out; his white t-shirt is soaked in sweat and the oil-covered gloves on his hands rub painfully against the skin of your hips.

“F-fuck,” he grunts. Your hips collide painfully with the hood every time he thrusts into you and your ass bounces and reddens each time your bodies collide. “What a fucking cock whore. You do this every time you can’t pay the bill? Huh?”

“N-no,” you sob. “Just you, Yunho. Just… hngh… just you.”

“I don’t believe you,” he snarls. His hand comes down on your ass again, raw and painful over the marks he left earlier and you find yourself looking back on everything that lead you here—lead you to being bent over your broken down car while the hottest man you’ve ever fucking seen is slamming his dick into you like his life depends on it.

You suppose the first part—ending up at the auto shop—was inevitable. The car was fucked when you bought it, honestly, but there weren’t many other options for a broke college student. You lived in another district where rent is cheaper, so needed a car to get to class. Didn’t matter how good it was, it just needed to run.

Trust your luck that that seemed to be the only thing it wouldn’t do.

For a period you managed to get by fixing it yourself; Youtube tutorials and favours from friends were enough to deal with all the minor issues that came up, but as minor issues tend to do, they quickly piled up on top of each other until, the morning your presentation was due, you put the keys in the ignition, started the car and—nothing. It did nothing. You were the unluckiest person in the fucking world.

You’d called your best friend immediately, hoping he’d be able to find and fix the problem, but really, you knew it was past that point now—and if you didn’t before, the shock on Hongjoong’s face when he’d popped the hood was evidence enough.

“Jesus, woman,” he said. “You gotta get this thing to a repair shop.”

“You know I can’t afford that,” you snapped back. Instantly you felt guilty for your tone, he was just trying to help after all, so you tried to soften up a bit. “Joong, can you really not fix it?”

“No, I’m sorry. But I know a guy who owns an auto shop. He’ll probably let me use my friends and family discount on you. I’ll give him a call.”

Relief flooded your chest and you hugged him tightly, thanking him profusely even as he walked away chuckling to make the call. In the meantime you called your professor; you thanked God you were such a good student, never missing class or assignments—you doubt she’d have been so forgiving otherwise. “Come by during office hours tonight and you can present it then,” she’d said, and you thanked her with a smile.

Okay, you thought. You just needed to deal with this, do your presentation and the nightmare would be over.

How wrong you were.

—

The auto shop was, well, pretty much how you pictured it. Cars in various states of completion sat in the spacious garage, walls piled with wheels and various other parts, the uses of which you probably would never have been able to guess. The only thing that took you by surprise was the tall, young looking guy who came up and introduced you as the owner.

“Hey, darling,” he smiled. “I’m Yunho. Let’s get you all fixed up, yeah?”

You blushed at his words, and the deep, sultry voice that spoke them. You imagined that was his intention; the way his eyes flickered up and down suggested the attraction was mutual. Or maybe that was just his personality; maybe the flirtatious tone, the innuendo of his words and his intense, intimidating gaze just came naturally to him.

He walked you over to where he had your car laid out and ready to go. Popping the hood, he surveyed the condition with a serious, focused expression. In the heat of the garage, his face was sweating slightly, and he swallowed thickly as he looked everything over. It made the vein in his neck bulge, tension obvious. When he stood back up again he seemed cool and assured; the opposite of you. You felt… confused. Hot. Tense.

“It’s not a huge problem,” he smiled. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour to fix it.”

You didn’t expect that. “Really?” You lit up, overjoyed and he chuckled.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve got a staff room if you wanna wait around. May as well, since I should be done pretty quick.”

“Oh, yeah.” That made sense; there didn't seem to be many cafes or places around here for you to wait in anyway—and even if there were, none of them offered the view that the staff room he led you to had; the large glass window looking directly into the garage. You’d be able to keep an eye on your car as he worked—and on Yunho.

He got to work straight away and though you knew next to nothing about cars, save for the Youtube tutorials on greasing brakes and whatever else, but his skill was obvious. His large hands, covered by thick, dirtied gloves, worked quickly and efficiently.

He clearly knew you were watching him, and he clearly enjoyed it; every now and then he would look up from the car, meeting your eyes and tilting his head with a small, smug smirk. When he stood up to unzip his overalls, revealing a thin white t-shirt clinging to his broad chest, you found yourself inching closer and closer to the window without realising. Only when your face was practically pressed up against the glass did you back away, blushing furiously as you sunk into your seat. What the hell was wrong with you?

You’d never been like this about a man. Not even close. No one had ever made you so needy, so hot, so desperate. You didn’t even know you could be affected by someone in this way, yet here you were; thighs clenched together, breathing heavily and your face so hot you were practically feverish. He’d catch your gaze now and then still, and the expression on his face told you he knew everything that was going on in your head—and your body.

The sight of him putting the hood back down was a mercy and a curse; your car was fixed, you could leave, and you could get away from this man; three things you’d been waiting desperately for all this time.

But…did you even want to leave? It would be the smart thing to do, and the sooner you could get him out of your head, the better. But everything in your body screamed at you not to go, to stay and see what happens—if nothing did, at least you’d know. At least you wouldn’t have to wonder for the rest of your life.

He gestured for you to come out of the staff room, proudly showing you your fixed car. Your attraction to him aside, Yunho’s skill surprised you; the old, battered vehicle almost looked new, and when he started the engine to check it worked it sounded clearer and healthier than ever. “Holy shit,” you muttered.

Yunho laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty good. How do you wanna pay?”

You sighed. You never liked this part; who did? It was always painful to part ways with the little cash you earned at your god awful waitressing job, but you had to do what you had to do. “Card,” you mumbled.

“Alright,” he smiled. “It’s 250,000won. I’ll get the machine.”

He disappeared into what you guessed was another staff room and you stood awkwardly for a moment. Even with him gone the air was thick, sweaty; tense. He returned with the card machine, holding it out for you to take and you put your card in with shaking hands, pressing down the familiar numbers. Well, there goes the last of your mone—

The machine made a high-pitched, displeased noise that you knew all too well. Declined. You made a noise of shock, shaking your head in disbelief. It can’t have declined. You knew you had enough for this. You had to have enough. What the hell is—

Oh. Fuck. When they towed your car here this morning and you followed in a taxi with Hongjoong. When you insisted on paying the fare to thank him for his help. Fuck. You need to be a worse friend.

You didn’t realise you were crying until you felt hands on yours; he grasped your shaking hands carefully, holding them steadily. His face was blank, but he seemed thoughtful.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Fuck, what do I– I swear I–”

“Hey, hey.” His voice was calm and soft but a little lower than before. “Relax, doll. We’ll work something out, yeah?”

“Work something out?” You echoed his words, voice shaking.

“Of course,” he smiled. He tilted his head and you saw his eyes raking over you again; but this time it felt less like leering and more like… an inspection. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Tell me.” His voice seemed to have dropped an octave, thick with tension. “Are you really out of money?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Are you really out of money?” He repeated it, slower this time as though he was trying to dumb it down for you. “Or did you do this on purpose?”

You shook your head fervently, your body heating up with embarrassment and desperation and shame and, well, pretty much everything honestly. “No, Yunho, I—”

“I think you did.” He was grinning now, eyes piercing as he stared you down. He was still for a moment, seeming to consider something before he grabbed your chin, yanking your head up to meet his eyes. The material of the gloves was rough against your soft skin and the tightness of his grip was even more painful. “I bet you put the wrong numbers in on purpose, huh? Didn’t you?”

“I…” You didn’t know what to say. You knew what he was saying wasn’t true, but fuck, you could already feel wetness pooling at the thought of what he’d do to you if it was. But he seemed to have made his mind up either way, so you decided to play his game—you widened your eyes fearfully, lip shaking as you said “I promise, I didn’t” in the most pathetic voice you could muster.

He knew what you were doing, and he fucking loved it. His smile widened as he leaned in closer to you. From this distance you could see his pupils were blown, eyes flashing with arousal. “I think you’re lying to me,” he whispers. “And you know what’s more, little girl?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

He tightened his grip, yanking your head upwards again to expose your neck. His other hand wrapped itself around your throat like it belonged there. “I hate liars.”

—

You don’t even know how long he’s been fucking you now; your sense of time has blurred and muddied and it could have been minutes just as much as it could have been hours. All you can feel or think about is the feeling of his dick fucking you open, hitting your cervix over and over; and the strong arms that move and manipulate your body to increase his own pleasure.

He grabs your hair, yanking it back painfully and forcing you to look at him. “That’s it,” he grunts. “You’re gonna look at me while I’m fucking you, yeah?”

“Yes,” you cry. “Yes, Yunho.”

“Good fucking girl.” His other hand wraps around your throat again, choking you just this side of too much. The head rush it gives you only sends you further into delirium, amplifying the other sensations. His deep, strained voice is fire in your ears. “Fucking stupid whore, aren’t you?”

He punctuates it with an extra hard thrust and you cry out again, voice strangled. “Yes, Yunho!” You scream. “Yes!”

“Say it,” he growls. “Tell me you’re a fucking whore.”

“I’m a fucking whore,” you repeat. To hear the words from your own mouth, to taste them on your tongue as he forces you to degrade yourself sends another wave of pleasure through you that pushes you closer to the edge. Yunho makes a pleased sound, rewarding you by loosening his grip on your neck ever so slightly.

“You’re my fucking whore,” he whispers. “Yunho’s whore.”

“Yunho’s whore.” You repeat it without thinking and you feel him throb again inside you at your natural submission. “I’m Yunho’s whore.

“That you fucking are. Bending over for me over 250,000 fucking won. You’re a cheap little slut,” he spits. “But only for me, yeah?”

“Yes!” You feel yourself about to come undone and just as you finally reach breaking point he pulls out, cock hard and leaking; before you can protest he picks you up without a word, flipping you onto your back before shoving his cock back inside. “Wanna see you properly when I come in you,” he grunts. “Wanna see those eyes go fucking dumb for me.”

He lifts your legs and pushes them back towards you. The stretch is painful and uncomfortable but it’s hard to care about any of that when he’s fucking you so deep and hard. The weight of his hands pressing down on the backs of your thighs will surely leave bruises but you don’t mind—you’d probably love it, actually.

Now that you’re facing him you can see all the small details of his face while he fucks you; the beads of sweat pooling on his forehead, the black hair soaked through with it, the narrowed eyes and clenched jaw as his grip on your thighs tightens even further. He’s practically pressing all his weight against you now and it’s a delicious, painful pleasure. You reach out to him desperately—though desperate for what you’re not quite sure—and he grabs your hands, bending down to pin your arms against the car as he takes you in a hot, wet, messy kiss.

“Pretty girl,” he chokes. “So fucking pretty.”

“Yunho.” You feel tears pouring down your cheeks, overwhelmed with sensation, with the feeling of Yunho on every inch of your body. He pulls his mouth away from yours to press sloppy kisses across your jaw and neck, teasing the skin with his teeth. “Think you can come for me?” He murmurs. “Just from being used like this?”

“Yes, Yunho,” you whisper. “I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growls. He moves a hand down to press his thumb against your swollen clit, making you buck against him. “Come on my fat fucking cock like a good little girl. Earn your keep, baby.”

The heat in his words and the pressure of his thumb on your clit are enough to send you barrelling over the edge; you come with a noise you didn’t even know you made and he follows quickly, releasing inside of you with a strangled cry.

It’s silent for a moment and time seems to still while you process what’s just happened. You whine when you feel him pull out of you and he chuckles, gently slapping your pussy. “What a good girl,” he muses. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He sends you on your way with his business card in your pocket and his number in your phone. It takes you two weeks to find the nerve to call him, and that’s only because your car’s been making a weird noise that you can’t figure out. To be honest, it’s probably something Hongjoong or one of your other friends would be able to solve, but it’s too late now; you’ve already pulled up his contact and pressed call.

“Well hello, sweetheart.” Yunho’s voice is as deep as ever, his tone teasing. “Was starting to think I wouldn’t hear from you.”

“Yeah, um.” You clear your throat awkwardly, feeling yourself heat up again. “My car— it’s making a weird noise. Can you take a look at it?”

“Of course,” he says, and you hear the leering smile in his voice. “Why don’t you come down now? It’s a slow day at the shop anyway.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“Great. Oh, and baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t bring your credit card.”

—

requests open! comments and feedback appreciated. love🖤🖤🖤

tags: @pixie0627 @hon3ysun @bbdeongi @hwaromi

[janitorhutcherson]

olderbf!mike who is 5 years older than you shows you how to do taxes. he breaks down everything, why they’re important, the due dates. he’s not exactly sure on how to himself but he’s figured out the best services to use, how to do any write offs and what paperwork you may need.

olderbf!mike who lets you move in with him. when the time comes, the two of you as well as abby set out on a trek to find a somewhat larger and nicer home. once you do, he teaches you about rent, how to manage money (the best that he can), and things about cars, financing, etc.

olderbf!mike (ft. stoner!mike) who smokes you out at night, grabbing the back of your head and leaning it back as he blows smoke into your mouth. sometimes he’ll hit a joint off of your chest or he will hold it in between his fingers for you to hit.

olderbf!mike who laughs at how naive you are, teasing you when you don’t know things that can only come from life experience. in response to this, you remind him that he’s your elder and he quickly shuts up, rolling his eyes and grumbling, throwing a miniature hissy fit.

olderbf!mike who calls you good girl, pretty girl, babydoll, and babygirl because that’s how he sees fit. if you prefer, he will just call you babydoll, whatever makes you most comfortable. he loves having his hands all over you, even in public to show that you’re his.

olderbf!mike that covers you in purple marks all across your skin, ensuring at first glance it’s obvious you are very much taken. it doesn’t take much for people to realize who, as all they have to do is follow your arm down to your hands that are tightly gripped into much larger calloused ones. a short but gruff man is always attached at the hip with you, either leading you so that your mind can go blank or following your every command.

olderbf!mike who fixes all of your mommy/daddy issues, taking care of you the best that he can. he helps to set up your doctors appointments, gets you little treats even when they’re somewhat childish, takes you out to dinner, watches movies with you and eats junk food. you take care of him and he only sees it fair to take care of you. he’s head over heels for you, and he’ll do everything to show you that.

[vaspider]

Hey spider, I’ve been by your tumblr several times in the last day to help keep myself grounded. I wanted to say thanks and pass along my own thoughts to others checking in.

This fucking sucks and I hate it. But this moment feels very different to me than 2016. Not that I feel *great* about weathering the next four+ years, but, I’m not collapsing in despair either.

Fact is we survived four years of this, we had four years of relative “peace,” and it’s back into the shitstorm. The situation is different, more dire, yes, but we’re also different, too. We survived and we have lessons to glean from that to apply to our future.

Your job, if that frame is helpful for you, is to look at what you can offer your community and start cultivating opportunities to help other people. 

Are you strong? I helped an older gentleman recycle heavy boxes of papers (by heaving them into a dumpster for him) and that lit up my MONTH.

Can you do dishes? There is an elder in your community who could use the help (and the company!).

Do you not go to church, on Sundays or otherwise? There may be a hospice center that needs volunteers to stay with patients while their people are at Sunday services.

Do you have a car and some time? Maybe you can do pickups for food banks or other types of food rescue work.

Do you know spreadsheets? Hoo boy. Everybody needs somebody who can do spreadsheets.

These are ideas of where you might start. But the real work is to cultivate relationships of goodwill and good faith with others in your community. Start talking to organizations, look for people who are already embedded, doing good work. Look for role models, people who connect: people to other people, people to resources. Don’t be afraid to speak up when you need help, yourself – strong relationships are reciprocal. People need each other *so badly,* and in ways our culture does not equip us to understand.

Show up where and when you can and be ready to hold the hands of others. It’s going to be hard, but you can develop the skills and the relationships to make it through.

thanks again, spider.

This is good advice.

One thing I heard today that cracked me up - I was listening to Gianmarco Soresi's podcast today, and he has Brennan Lee Mulligan on this episode. Brennan was talking about how he ran a load of diapers over to Rekha at one point bc she was collecting stuff for LA wildfires aid, and when he got home, his wife, Izzy, was sitting at her computer and going through Zillow and researching rental listings and reporting listings to the authorities who are breaking CA rent control laws. (In CA, there are limits to how much you can raise the rent on a unit at one time/within a certain period of time.)

Like... that's a thing that she could do while she was sitting at her computer being at home with the baby while Brennan ran an errand that did measurable good in the world. Reporting predatory landlords does real, measurable good.

What's important is not that you're doing the most good or the most important good. What's important is that you Find Something To Do That Helps and you Do That Thing.

[asami-crescent-ttv]

I feel bad cause I haven't been active here but I'm kinda desperate and dunno what to do.

Tldr : about to be homeless share's, and and help is appreciated.

First up I am a disabled, chronic pain suffering, gay trans girl in a Australia who lost her job in June and been fighting on her own ever since.

This is the one and only time I'll post this cause I have a problem where I gotta do everything myself.

I am About to be homeless, government help has refused to start (rent assistance etc) till next month and I'm facing being evicted and homeless. If you want to help me an my pets I have a Kofi.

For a little bit longer explication here are my current options.

1: be homeless in about a week :(

2: somehow scrape together the money I need to pay this month and face next month in a similar light untill I can get back on my feet and hopefully use the employment services that start in December and hope I can get a job when I been trying to find work for three years (not kidding). I was made redundant in June from the hospital I worked at as a scientist.

3: find a way to throw away 90% of my belongings and jump in a car with my pets, drive 25 hrs and become a live in career of my grandparents for a family that is transphobic, homophobic, anti science, anti medicine, conspiracy theorists, religious Christian extremists who disowned me for years when I came out and accused me of being possesses and haven't changed to this day even tho we are now on talking terms again.

I dunno what to as rent in Australia is obscene in a crisis and I simply don't have friends I can rely on close to me.

I have very little I can offer but if it's editing videos, audio, or stories; and even writing oc lore, fanfictions... Really if I can do it I will. Contact me and I'll do what I can.

Other than me here are some faces you can help

[cottonlemonade]

First Date

word count: 1157 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Sakusa x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: implications of xenophobia

When you finally said Yes to a date with Sakusa you had an inkling it would get fancy, but not “five star rooftop restaurant” kind of fancy. The sushi place was hidden, out of sight of tourist attractions and other major travel spots, giving it an air of “if you know, you know”. Sakusa was a regular.

His considerate gesture of sending you a link to the restaurant’s dress code a week before the date, only sent you into a panic spiral. You never owned a dress even close as fancy as was required and even if you had the money to afford one, Japan didn’t exactly cater to a foreigner’s chubby body type. Only after nearly losing your mind did you find a place at the other side of Tokyo that rented dresses that you could barely fit into and with half a month’s rent now clinging uncomfortably to your squishy tummy, you met Sakusa outside your apartment on a Friday night.

“You look gorgeous.”, he said with a small smile, opening the passenger door to his car. With your tongue tucked between your lips for concentration you accepted his hand to help you inside. The dress didn’t exactly allow for much movement.

You chatted about your day at work as he drove and he invited you to his next game before you even reached your destination. He handed his car keys to a valet and offered his arm to lead you inside.

In the elevator you made sure to smooth out any wrinkles in your dress, real or imagined, and gasped when the doors slid open.

The atmosphere was intimate and calm. Over the quiet hum of voices you could just make out the sounds of traditional Japanese music and smartly dressed waiters brought mouthwatering, jaw-droppingly beautiful designed plates of sushi to the tables. Floor to ceiling windows allowed the patrons an unobstructed view of the city lights.

“Sakusa-sama.”, the lady at the reception greeted him with a professional smile, “Welcome. Please follow me.”

You saw her hesitate for a moment when she finally noticed you, but led you to a table in the corner of the restaurant. You held your breath when you sat down, the ride was already a challenge for regular breathing and you had no idea how you were supposed to fit any food inside you with the restrictions of the dress. But you didn’t care when Sakusa smiled at you.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”, you beamed.

A waiter appeared at the table and said with deeply faked apologetic tones, “I’m very sorry, sir. But it seems we cannot serve you tonight.”

Sakusa raised an eyebrow, then glanced at you, then back to the waiter.

“This is not going to be an issue.”, he said coolly, then turned his attention back to you. But the waiter didn’t leave.

“Sir, we will have to ask you to come back another time.”

“Please explain it to me. We are right on time, we are appropriately dressed and I made reservations.”

“Sir-“

Sakusa glared at him. “Please tell the chef that if he has any issues tonight to come tell me himself.”

And with that the waiter poured some water into the empty glasses before you, bowed and left.

You looked after him thoughtfully and took a sip. It happened before that you were turned away from restaurants due to a “no foreigners” rule, but you didn’t think that such an issue could arise at a place like this.

Sakusa smiled again and steered the conversation back to lighter topics, making you feel at ease within seconds. You were about to inch your hand closer to his when another person came to the table. He was undoubtedly the chef, dressed as he was. The waiter stood a little behind him.

“Sakusa-sama.”, the man in the spotless black uniform began.

“You’re not serious.”, Sakusa couldn’t help but scoff.

“Please understand that we are not able to provide the full service to foreigners.”

“She speaks Japanese.”, Sakusa informed them, “And even if she didn’t, I would translate for her.”

The chef shifted a little, throwing some kind of glance in your direction that you couldn’t quite interpret.

“We won’t be able to accommodate any dietary restrictions, Sakusa-sama.”

“I don’t have any.”, you said with a strained smile.

The chef was quiet and looked at your date imploringly. He held his gaze, then Sakusa quietly pushed back his chair and stood up.

He offered his hand to you.

“Thank you. The water was delicious.”, you said sweetly to the waiter who avoided your eyes.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone about your hospitality at my family’s next gala.”, Sakusa added with a cold smile and gently pulled you along, past a few gawking people to the elevator.

When the doors closed and the sounds of the restaurant disappeared, Sakusa let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry.”, he said, leaning his back against the paneling, crossing his arms.

“Don’t worry about it. I think that’s about as much exposure as I would ever need to a five star restaurant.”

He chuckled. “The next one will be better, I promise.”

You smiled and went to stand next to him, lightly brushing your shoulder against his to cheer him up. The elevator began its slow descent.

“Bet you can’t wait to get out of that dress.”, he noted, then his eyes widened a moment later, “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You laughed. “You’re not wrong actually. Breathing does not come as a standard with this one.”

He considered you for a moment.

“Turn around.” He said it gently. More as a question than a demand.

You blinked in confusion, then did as he requested.

“Don’t be alarmed.” He stepped closer, his breath brushing against your neck.

You felt his hands work on the zipper on your back.

“What are you-“, you began feebly, your voice not quite having the grasp on your vocal chords like you would have wished.

He slowly ran the zipper down, the buttons by your nape holding the dress together but you felt the immediate relief around your tummy.

He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

“There. Better?”, he asked. You nodded, your heart still beating too fast to turn around without revealing the intense blush on your cheeks.

The elevator came to a stop and the automatic voice announced you arrived at the lobby.

“Your bra is pretty.”, he said quietly, almost whispering it into your ear as the doors opened.

You followed him silently through the lobby, holding onto the jacket’s lapels.

“You still hungry?”, he asked when the cool night air brushed your faces as you waited for the valet to get his car.

“Starving.”, you admitted.

He grinned. “I know just the place.”

People stared but Sakusa couldn’t care less.

He rolled up the sleeves of his black button down and offered to trade you a chicken nugget for some French fries.

art: @qyhssss on Twitter

[demiesworld]

jjk men and how they show their love for you

☆ characters: satoru gojo, suguru geto, toji fushiguro, kento nanami, + choso

☆ genre: fluff, romantic, domestic

☆ contents: mentions of abuse & death in toji's part, but nothing graphic

☆ notes: reader is a female and uses she/her pronouns. ages are not mentioned in this, but the reader is of legal age. curse spirits, sorcerers, etc. do not exist. everything is purely fictional.

— satoru gojo: cuddling

he likes it when you two are alone together in the privacy of your home, cuddling together underneath a warm blanket while watching a really bad (in his opinion) movie that you picked out. and even though he really wants to critique the writer's script of the characters, and the actors acting performance, satoru doesn't say not a word to you about it. he just holds you around your waist tighter and nuzzles his nose into your neck. he likes the smell of you after a shower because you smell fresh and it's comforting to him.

— suguru geto: quality time

to suguru, there's no better way to keep your attention on him than taking you out somewhere or just spending time together. when he takes you out on a date, he encourages you to silence your phone (or better yet turn it off) to avoid any distractions. same goes for when you two are being intimate. he's a man that wants eyes on him and for you to listen to him. he does the same thing for you. you want to tell suguru about the nosy bitch at work? he's listening and giving you advice. you want to go to the netherlands? he's buying a plane ticket in business class for you two. whatever it is, suguru loves to spend time with you as long as you are on the same page as him.

— toji fushiguro: acts of service

growing up in the zenin family and being abused by them sculpted toji into the cold, callous man he is today. followed by the sudden and tragic death of his previous wife he didn't think he could find love ever again. not until he met you. you warmed this man's heart at the first time he saw you. he likes to show you that he loves you by doing things that makes your life easier. he'll pay and put gas in your car. he will help you with cleaning the dishes after a meal that you've cooked for. if you're running short on money for you rent, he'll even cover it for you and doesn't expect for you to pay him back. just the thought of you being comfortable is a good enough reward.

— kento nanami: words of affirmation

with kento, you would wake up in the mornings to a good morning text followed by him reminding you of your beauty, your excellence, and telling you not to let menial things get you in a bad mood. in your lunches you would find a hand-written note from kento complimenting you. in spite of being a full-time salaryman, kento would call you during his lunch break to talk to you and listen as you complain about your coworkers. he loves hearing your voice. at night, just before your head hits the pillow he would kiss your forehead and wish you a good night's rest. kento can be quite the charming man when it comes to you.

— choso: gift giving

choso... precious choso. he likes to shower you with gifts as a way to show his undying love and appreciation for you. if you mention that you like something, but you couldn't get it, best believe it will be either on your doorstep or in your hand within the next day. when he sees you eyeing something in the store for even a second, choso will buy it for you. he won't take any "no's", "stops", or returning the item back. choso bought it FOR you. if you return any of his gifts it will hurt his feelings and he'll think you don't love him. so be careful when you are trying to let choso know not to get you gifts.

letter from demi: i have adopted a new style of how i do... idk what you call these blurbs? headcanons? idk. anyways im changing some things up with how my posts are... styled. i hope the work and the way it is made looks good! lmk what you think babes!

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Four - Hamster ball

See? The last update wasn't a fluke! :) Bit of a more easygoing chapter compared to the hecticness I've been subjecting our poor omega to. Bit more background on our girl. Give her a bit of breathing room before hopping back into more chaos.

Also: I've added a change to the reader's physicality. There's a reference to being underweight for medical reasons so I'm sorry if that takes any of you out of the experience. I try to not mess with that aspect, but I just felt it necessary given everything I put this girl through.

Trigger warnings: angst, depression, customer service, malnourishment

The dog survived.

Life had apparently decided against throwing you any more curveballs on your way back to the apartment – slushy roads and bad drivers notwithstanding (honestly, how could this many people forget what front wheel drive did on black ice and wet pavement?).

Densely populated areas gave way to suburban life as you drove the twenty minutes it took to escape the city center and arrive back into a world a little less crowded.

The area you resided in could generously be considered lower middle class. The crime rate was on the lower end of the spectrum though still a tinge too high for most members of polite society. Nothing too terribly outlandish; juvenile gang violence typical of a sizable city and the occasional asshat who decided the stuff in your car now belonged to him. But there was a police station a few blocks down the road from you that ran frequent patrols and the low level violence kept the rent at a decent affordability. 

There were less and less brownstones the further east you traveled, row house opulence giving way to multi level apartment buildings interspersed amongst a smattering of mid century moderns. Grass became a thing again, but only in long strips running parallel with the sidewalk – unless you were fortunate enough to own a modest front lawn on a small corner lot. Not that it was visible beneath the eight inches of snow that’d accumulated since it started falling late yesterday morning. 

It was only late afternoon by the time you were back in familiar territory, but this close to the impending holiday the local residents left their Christmas lights on 24/7 it seemed. Most abodes were adorned with at least humble decorations. 

Community members wrapped battery powered twinkle lights around the sparse barren elms, evergreen garland candy caning down metal street lamps, interlaced tinsel glimmering from passing headlights. Cheap vinyl stickers of cartoon snowmen and Santa's little helpers splattered across glass windows and sliding balcony doors in haphazard childish fashion. Mesh reindeer lawn ornaments and creepy animatronic statues recreating Saint Nick’s undertaking in kaleidoscopic – if not positively garish – displays. 

Muddied coir welcome mats proclaiming ‘Blessed Yule!’. A giant inflatable dinosaur taking up way too much space and spinning an oversized dreidel. You even gave props to the guy with a grinch head popping out the top of his chimney, smirking deviously at the passersby down below as if they were in on the secret. 

All walks of life celebrating the winter season in their own special ways. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you bothered to hang a simple wreath.

You were fortunate enough to find decently close street parking as you pulled up to the curve, grateful the black Kia behind had left space enough for more than just a clown car. A group of rowdy boys bundled snug in thick mittens and hand-knit toques called for a ceasefire, taking your nearby arrival as an excuse to catch their breaths and stockpile more ammunition for the fierce battle they waged. Childish insults flew from behind snowy barricades as you stepped out of your car and onto the icy sidewalk.

It was a more than usual hassle making the trudge inside your apartment building. Normally you kept your grocery list light; manageable for the haul up three flights of stairs despite the fully functioning elevator. But with the previous week’s illness eating into more of your food supply than normal you’d been forced to compensate for the barren cupboards. 

Could you make multiple trips? Sure. Did you want to be outside in the blustery cold for longer than necessary? Nope. Hence the sight of you iron-manning your way through the building’s exterior entrance, clusters of bags biting into your arms even through your heavy winter coat, overstretched plastic really field testing its weight requirements and lumbering your already lethargic pace.

You were grateful that you’d remembered to double bag some of the heftier items, having almost made that same mistake the month prior if not for the shredding sound alerting you to the seam's fatal flaw. That’s all you needed was to be spending your evening on hands and knees mopping up shattered glass and pickle juice from grime-laden steps.

There's a sense of accomplishment as you haul the purchased goods over the threshold to your apartment, carefully depositing the burdensome load on the tile in front of your refrigerator, far too many to overwhelm your bite-sized kitchen table with. Doubling back to re-check the numerous door locks and deadbolts, you finally let loose a sigh as you kick off your snow boots and shuck the weighted material from your weary shoulders, hanging the ratty scarf on the hook next to it and giving your neck a chance to breathe again.

Rubbing the irritated skin hurt more than it helped. The damn thing was sensitive to abrasive material – only concealing it when absolutely necessary. Winter was easy; warmer months made the task trickier. Thankfully most people didn’t stare much at an omega with a patch of gauze taped over her neck. Newly bonded designations wore it as a badge of honor, proudly proclaiming to the world at large that they’d finally found their place amongst the upper echelons of packdom.

You, meanwhile, would have to be more careful in the future to wear turtlenecks if bombshell interactions were to become a normal occurrence. The last thing you needed were prying questions from nosy alphas.

A half gone tube of medicated ointment called your name from the bathroom counter, but the inflamed mating mark would have to wait until after you got the bulk of groceries put away. Canned items and other non perishables could be dealt with tomorrow. There was only so much strength left in your bones after a day like today.

The knock on your front door would have startled you worse if not for the preceding text message hailing the arrival. 

‘Paranoid’ would be the appropriate term. Practically overnight you found yourself turning into one of those god awful annoying conspiracy theorists that hide in the dark cobwebs of the internet, spouting schizophrenic ravings of lunacy and government surveillance, too wrapped up in their straight jackets for oxygen to reach their corrupted brains. 

It was hard not to be distrustful to any and all intruders of your dwelling, knowing full well the consequences that come from letting your guard down in a stunning display of naivety. The pinched tether on your bond reassured you of his distance, but he was far from being the only ill-intentioned alpha in a thousand mile radius.

Pulse fluttering like a baby bird and fingers flexing into trembling fists, you creep up to the peephole with all the finesse of a one-legged cat – despite knowing the face that would greet you on the other end. Per usual, the kind beta didn’t take it personally when you opened the door with barely enough space to let her inside, squeezing through the gap provided and scooting out of the way while you relatched your pacifying security measures.

All she offered was her usual glowing smile and a box of double stuf oreos.

“Hard day at therapy?”

Chloe had been an unexpected addition to the chaos of your life. For lack of in-unit appliances, the apartment complex housed a small laundry facility on the ground floor – free of charge, but awfully stifling come the summer months. Enough square footage that multiple people could use it at any given time, but not enough to hold even a quarter of the residents. On the weekdays, that damn thing could be packed tighter than a dented can of sardines (and smell just as fishy). It wasn’t unusual to find your neighbors making the trek of shame back to their rooms, hefting a still-soiled bag of clothing, waiting another hour or so in hopes of trying their hand at the laundry lottery all over again.

You were embarrassed to say you avoided the place like the plague for the first month after moving in. After all, what did it really matter? 

You didn’t leave your apartment at the time. There was no need for decorum – no call to impress. And as an unpacked omega with disabling agoraphobia it sounded like the worst sort of torture porn experience. It had taken running out of febreze and being on the phone with your dads to finally venture down there at three o’clock in the morning on a random Tuesday in hopes the facility would be barren enough that your musky basket could stop reeking up your closet. 

The scream you screamt upon turning the corner and finding another human being skulking around in the unlit void had you so sure your father’s were a hairs breadth away from calling down the fucking feds.

Turns out Chloe was a skittish thing a few years younger than you. A recent college graduate, this was her first real apartment outside of campus dorm life. But where you were up at the ass crack of dawn due to an anxiety-inducing aversion to civilization, she was down there to keep from running into the cute nerdy alpha across the hall and risking mortification at him peeping her dainty underthings.

Honestly you hadn’t been sure the smell of urine was coming from either laundry basket.

Once you’d calmed down enough to pull your fathers off the edge of booking the next flight down there to rough up some nonexistent predator, you’d managed to finish your chores on opposite sides of the room, neither engaging in any conversation beyond muffled apologies of humiliation. 

What followed was an uneasy truce born out of necessity, a silent acknowledgement that this would be a weekly safe space free from judgment and criticism. Silence turned to whispered greetings, whispers became timid banter, until eventually you were confessing in therapy to eating homemade peanut butter cookies on the floor in front of the laundry machines.

Now she was the only other person in this whole entire city besides Dr. Miranda that you could go to for advice and needed companionship. 

Originally you had no intention of exhausting any more of your social battery than had already been consumed. But therapy wasn’t for another week and you had too much bubbling inside to be contained by the cramped confines of your studio apartment. And Chloe was considerate enough that she knew not to overstay her welcome, her own introverted alarm clock ringing about the same time as yours.

“If only that had been the hard part,” you replied with a sigh, taking the parcel of outstretched goods and moseying on over to your butt shaped indent on the far end of the couch.

The sound of creaky hinges and clattering plastic informed you of Chloe’s detour to the kitchen. “Has that rust-bucket jalopy of yours finally gone to the great big scrap metal in the sky?”

Everyone’s a critic.

“How about we don’t put that out into the universe thank you very much.” Shoving a whole cookie in your mouth, you gratefully accept the cold glass of milk she passes over before taking up a spot on the cushion next to you, grabbing at her own treat from the open pack.

The mess of red curls atop her head and the loud pattern of her knit rainbow sweater deceptively implied a boisterous personality. Bright green eyes. A healthy dusting of freckles. Blue corduroy pants still smudged with gold leaf. One look at her 5 foot 11 stature and you’d think she was some sort of artistic fairy, flitting about from flower to flower like a social hummingbird. In truth she’d gone to school for fine arts, but in preparation for a career in conservation – something quiet and away from the harsh critics where she could help express someone else's ideas instead of her own.

Her soft hazelnut scent matches her sympathetic smile, always patient and warm with you. “Does it have something to do with why you smell like a latte? Oh dear–please tell me no one spilled hot coffee on you today!”

You duck your head from her doe eyed worry and concerned frown of dread, focusing on the cold bite of milk on your fingers as you plunge another sugary morsel into your clear plastic cup. 

As toxic as it might have been, you couldn’t bring yourself to wash the scent of alpha from the pores of your skin.

“Chloe, I…” Here goes nothing. “I met someone yesterday…”

For the second time in less than four hours you found yourself spilling your heart to a friendly ear. 

She heard all of it. The supermarket run-in. Tantalizing lemon. Silky coconut. Devastating chocolate. Therapy. The coffee shop mishap. Being gentled by a complete stranger.

The promise kept safe in your electronic device. 

Where Dr. Miranda had broached the topic with a level-headed sense of therapeutic resolution, Chloe had all but clutched her pearls the longer your tantalizing tale was spun. She wore her expressions the way she wore her heart on her sleeve, squeezing the life out of a proffered couch pillow in a way that made you hope she didn’t have any pets at home.

“How could he possibly expect any of this to not come crashing down in a fiery hellscape of cataclysmic fury that would put Dante’s inferno to shame?”

Can you tell she went to catholic school?

“I mean… it's not like I caught him off guard technically,” you try to bargain. “Like yeah, today’s meeting wasn’t exactly on purpose, but they would’ve had a whole night to discuss things amongst themselves. Maybe they just reached some sort of weird agreement with her?”

She bites her lip to hide the sympathetic frown. “Do you really believe that though?”

No. No you didn’t.

It wasn’t hard to put yourself in her shoes considering the thick iron cable anchoring you to another. If that bond came with passion... if you knew the cloying taste of devotion – the idolatry that comes from having your molecules grafted onto a lover’s DNA – you’d shred every muscle strand in your body, tear skin from bone with bloodied teeth to keep what was coveted.

And here you were. The other woman.

Suddenly the chocolate dessert didn’t taste so appetizing.

At your lack of a meaningful answer, she unknowingly goes for the throat.

“Perhaps you should tell them–”

“No.” 

The ice in your tone brokers no room for argument, instantly regretting the bite behind it as you watch her flinch back into the cushions with a meek whine. 

Your expression softens in guilt. Chloe is just trying her best to help you navigate an otherwise impossible scenario. Her suggestion doesn’t come from a place of cruelty, only one of care. Even if it does speak of ignorance.

Not that she didn't still try.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if the roles were reversed?”

“And what good would that do?” you press far more gently this time, the acid of pain climbing up the back of your throat. “No matter what they say there’s no tangible future for us. That ship has well and truly sailed – I know that now. My destiny was signed with an iron pen and the deed says I belong to him.”

Your voice quivers on the last word, the sting of acceptance cutting into flesh with a rusty barbed wire. You never thought there could be a feeling worse than hopelessness.

“Telling them will only ensure that both parties suffer for another’s twisted scheme,” you continue past the lump in your throat, “and I won’t subject them to the burden that should be only mine to bear. I refuse to let them live with that guilt.”

Maybe it’s her beta upbringing that keeps her from fully understanding the colossal weight of putting your bonded through such inner turmoil. Chloe will never know what it means to share someone's emotions across an unwavering connection. Pack life isn’t barred from her, but the same primal urges that draw us towards our mates are nothing but strings of thread easily pruned. 

Truthfully most betas never want it. To them, we all drew the short end of the straw; being forced into subjugation by ancient instincts that never shed their skin after the last ice age. 

After the eternally looping rollercoaster that's been holding you prisoner the past four years, you can't say you disagree with them anymore.

“...maybe they chew with their mouths open.”

The huff she pulls from your chest is genuine, catching you off guard with the attempt at levity, the small roast doing its job of diffusing the atmosphere. Her extemporaneous remark reflects the giggles in her eyes begging you to play along.

“Bet they don’t wash their buttcracks either,” you add with a half-grin after a few moments of quiet, relishing in the way she covers her mouth to stifle a snort. Her energy is endearing, granting you leave to feed off the sunrays of her carefree aura, unblemished by the malice of a hateful underbelly, continuing for the next couple minutes that her presence lingers.

If only laughter was all it took to make everything better.

Consciousness greets you like a lifelong friend – one waiting to welcome you into outstretched arms, promising comfort and geniality with its disarming smile, swaddling you in a blanket so thick and plush it cradles you like a pregnant mother’s womb. It beckons with a silvery tongue, promising a joyful reunion as you give yourself over freely under the guise of a fresh start.

All the easier for it to slip a knife between your ribs. 

You should’ve known better.

Sleep hasn’t been your ally since the night before the incident. Rest is not restful; it is a time where the walls between protection and abuse are at their thinnest. Where the toxic sludge of your connection oozes through the cracks like bubbling tar and coats your insides with its virulent adhesive. It chokes you with its noxious miasma, seeping into dreams and disturbing the regenerative process vital to your health.

Each day starts the same – dealing with the consequences of life on a strained leash.

Awareness comes into focus next like a camera in the exclusion zone, grainy and crackling under the effects of radioactivity while spreading like the beginnings of cancer through the pores of your skin. It clings around the edges, lethargic in its letting go, giving way only to the melodic chiming of your phone’s alarm that might as well be set to a booming fog horn. 

Eyelashes crusty with dried salt crystals peel apart like fly paper, pupils fully dilated as the blackout curtains remove the need for constriction. The rumpled towel beneath you leaves tender spots on your back from where it bunched up in the night – a result of the fitful writhing when the nightmares your mind guards you from remembering leave your body feverful and drenched, soaking through the lightweight sheets and condensing in a thin layer of slimy moisture.

And the nausea.

God, the nausea.

The condition was a constant in your life, but its disruption was the worst during the early hours of the day.

Movement requires a delicate balance first thing in the morning. Jostle your body too much and the empty bin wedged between your bed and your nightstand gets reacquainted with the bile of your stomach (they’re apparently in an intimate relationship that you’re just sandwiched between like an awkward third wheel).

Problem is, barring the use of hefty restraints, it's impossible to know which side of the bed you’ll be waking up on. Literally. 

Some days you find yourself facing the drab interior of your studio apartment rather than covered window panes, knowing the energy required to roll over towards the small nightstand will likely result in the emptying of your insides. Sleeping on your back had potential, but your form preferred to curl in on itself for lack of anything else to bring it comfort.

Lady Luck had apparently seen enough of your mental breakdowns the past forty eight hours to grant you a reprieve, taking pity on your string of misfortunes as the first thing your eyes take in upon blinking free from sand is the heavy satin of your window coverings keeping in the dark – some lavender pattern to help match the rest of your nesting materials. They’re still fresh out the box after all these years, though the accumulation of filth would tell you otherwise, dust bunnies taking up residence on the weighted linen.

Your furnishings haven’t been bathed in sunlight since the moving van.

The well-loved bottle of Zofran sits in its spot on the corner of your nightstand, next to your still ringing phone and a robin's egg stanley, a glass picture frame shoved in the far corner on the other side of your table lamp.

Still wrapped in a thick fog of drowsiness, leaden muscles flex and groan as your arm stretches the short distance, ears taking priority and fingers tapping at the illuminated screen until they locate the damn snooze button. Popping the small oval pill comes next, chasing it with lukewarm water before burrowing back down into the soft minky goodness of your comforter. 

You're awake an hour before you need to be, but not to get anything done. No rejuvenating shower. No balanced breakfast and a half hour of yoga. Just adjusting to the abject misery your bond greets you with every day as a not so gentle reminder of the alpha you left behind. 

It’s a constant struggle to remind yourself that the suffering is worth it for the lifetime of abuse from which you escaped. Better to be tormented by a path you chose than one unwillingly taken.

About forty minutes go by before the medication kicks in enough to allow you freedom of movement, pulling yourself from the tangles of your bedding with aching joints and low fuel reserves. Walking into the bathroom, you squint against the blinding overhead fluorescents, rubbing the spots from your eyes as you take in your frumpy reflection.

There’s a photograph next to your bed that you haven’t glanced at in a few months. Six familiar faces beaming into a camera lens somewhere high in the mountains. A family vacation from eight years ago; the best summer of your life. 

That girl in the picture is nowhere to be found.

Spiritless eyes meet your gaze in the glass, early crows feet forming from periods of prolonged stress. A bone deep exhaustion reflected in your undereye bags, the dull pallor of your complexion. The frizziness of unmoisturized locks begging for a drink. Wind chapped lips and an eternal frown. 

The oversized shirt hangs baggy on your form, once belonging to your brother but now in your possession. If you lifted up the garment you could practically count the ribs, a once healthy layer of fat and muscle cannibalized by famished cells and underutilization. It's hard to keep on weight when your stomach rejects the nourishment you try to provide.

If this is the empty shell you’ve become a full continent away from him then it’s hard to imagine what lifeless husk of a creature you might’ve deteriorated into under his brand of care. 

There’s no more energy left by the time you do your business and finish brushing your teeth, knowing what few bolts remain will have to go towards the impending headache of customer service. Taming your unruly hair will just have to wait until later – if at all.

You flick the lights on as you pass, trudging on shaky legs to the cabinets above the microwave. There’s still too much unease in your tummy for your usual coffee order, opting for a mug of herbal tea to help settle the irritated organ, a spoonful of honey cutting through the mild bitterness. Settling on a sleeve of poptarts for a lazy breakfast, you lumber your way over towards the couch and the awaiting annoyances.

Opening shifts were always the worst. 

Originally you’d approached the company with open availability in hopes of bettering your chances at landing a remote job. In those days, commuting to a location had been out of the question. It took months of submitting applications – relying solely on your family for all your expenses – before someone finally gave you an opportunity to rejoin the workforce.

(You wept the day you received the offer from HR. Having even a sliver of autonomy returned to you after a tumultuous period without it was as the first melting snow of a long envisioned spring).

Unfortunately it meant you were handed the hours no one else wanted to take. Most days that was the early shifts. 

It’s not like you work a whole hell of a lot. The job itself is only part time after all and fairly easy; fourteen hours max per week. But you’d quickly learned that the later you were scheduled, the clearer your brain was to focus, the better you performed overall. 

Now if only the big wigs at corporate would allow you to update your availability. When last you’d scrounged up enough courage to broach the topic to your immediate supervisor you were promptly informed that there was no current flexibility to your role and, when pressed, sent a look via Zoom that clearly said don't push it.

So much for ‘warm family environment’.

A small rolling side table acts as your makeshift desk, the apartment too cramped for something proper no matter how many attempts to tetris the layout. One of your fathers had come up with the brilliant solution while shopping at ikea for new end tables, spotting the piece of furniture and shipping it out to your location. You’d had to brave the awkward visit of the buff delivery man for a signature – hiding behind the door jamb like a sketchy criminal – but the purchase had been well worth it for how cluttered your poor kitchen table had previously looked, a jumbled mess of pens and wires, certifiably hazardous with its lengthy extension cord.

Armed with soothing chamomile and a warm knit blanket thrown over your lap, you boot up your laptop and log onto the program that would keep you chained to it for the next six hours.

Ask anyone that deals with customers directly: Christmas is the least wonderful time of the year.

Garbled phone calls over shitty receptions. The droning monotony of preplanned scripts. Old bitties recounting eight decades of family drama. Mass hysteria around shipping delays. ‘Happy Birthday Steve’ and the audible slick of his palm. Entitled socialites for whom the word ‘please’ never came preinstalled in their gold filigree hoity-toity dictionaries. 

The fifteen minute break is almost insulting. As if anyone can decompress in such a meager timespan. It’s no wonder why people used to chainsmoke their way through the stress of their jobs.

You try to remind yourself of the before times – the trials and tribulations that came from previous employments. Long grueling hours spent pent up in bustling kitchens, the dinner rush on crab leg nights testing your arm strength and patience for slow steamers. Pushy roofing salesmen harping over impoverished neighborhoods. Car guys calling you toots and insisting on being assisted by a ‘real professional’.

This job was by far the most laid back. No fussing over business casual, no extroverted coworkers crowding your space, no bosses micromanaging for the sake of being assholes. You were living a cushy life by comparison.

But then your mind wanders to Jose on the third floor kitchen, busy doing prep work for the various departments; a kind man once he warmed up to you and found you competent enough to last. Always sneaking you tender bites of grilled meats and a bowl of creamy lobster bisque.

Nyle bringing you ladies in the office a round of Starbucks when he came in for mandatory meetings. Sharing music with Stacy and gabbing about just aired episodes of your favorite tv show. Heather bringing in fresh blueberry bear claws from the local bakery near her home.

Going to the irish pub across the street with the guys in finance that knew the owners, getting drunk off free whiskey and cider on Friday nights. All smiles and laughter as you twirl across the dance floor to a live band performing hits from musicians like Flogging Molly and Great Big Sea…

…and you realize just how much you took for granted. That there’s a palpable difference between surviving and living.

You don’t even notice you’re six minutes over break until your laptop pings from someone trying to get in touch with you, startling you out of melancholic reminiscence and bringing you back to a somber present that longs for the taste of livelihood.

That time has ended; those figures mere ghosts of a past better left forgotten in the vaults of your memory.

Now, you make a small but tidy living solving other people's problems a few hours a week. Enough to pay for personal bills, groceries, and the occasional indulgence while your fathers provide the bulk of your utilities and the sum of your rent. Your lost independence used to bother you more, but the thought of a homeless shelter quickly silenced your tongue.

Your cellphone reads one o’clock by the time you're freed from servitude, happy to be logging off as you push the rolling setup back out of the way. The air bubbles between the contours of your spine pop and crackle as you rise to your feet, ignoring the rush of lightheadedness from six hours remaining stationary. Resisting the urge to itch at the healing scab on the side of your neck, you pad into the kitchen to whip up a turkey sandwich – cautiously optimistic on the inclusion of juicy pickles – before plopping back down in your usual spot.

The acidity doesn’t seem to upset your stomach any further, allowing you to munch in peace on the simple scrapings of lunch, scrolling through the kindle app on your phone for something to occupy your time with.

There’s never much to do around here when the people in your life are busy living their own. Your family checks in on you every so often, catching you up on the goings-on in the quiet neighborhood, your father taking the opportunity to gush about his lego collection to someone other than his partner for a change. You miss the camaraderie that came with building the Death Star.

Despite living hundreds of miles away, their calls always made you feel as if you were gathered around the sectional in the warm lit interior of the sprawling living room, Christmas tree glowing by the light of the fire, a hot cup of cocoa and the merriment of family.

The same couldn’t be said for your younger brother Alex.

Ever since moving out at eighteen he'd become quite a prick, a beta complex a mile wide that only got worse when he surrounded himself with the wrong kinda crowd. The loss of his once fervent companionship had devastated you. After the accident that brought your parents to an early grave, you’d kept each other afloat through turbulent waves of depression, tidal waves of grief. Six became four, but – even though that wound would never fully heal – you still had the strength of their love to turn to when forgone memories played like black and white film.

But after that last argument…

Four became three.

It's been years since you last had any type of contact outside the occasional cheap greeting card – just another notch added to your mile long grinchmas belt come the holidays.

Fuck him. 

Shaking yourself out of that spiraling rabbit hole, you turned back to the task of entertainment at hand. Since you didn’t feel like spending any more time on the phone listening to idle chatter than you already had today, you settled for choosing a book at random from your extensive TBR, diving into a medieval fantasy where brave warriors slayed evil dragons and an honorable knight could still save a princess. 

The minute hand goes round and round.

Dinner is as simple an affair as lunch; a cheap frozen pizza popped in the oven adding an extra layer of warmth to the already balmy interior. There’s no need for a plate as you pull it off the wire rack onto the cardboard box it came in, gooey cheese bubbling hot and steamy, sizzling toppings shiny with bright orange grease, savory aromas wafting as they ride the circulation of the antiquated heating system. 

Years of battling chronic fatigue have made you crafty, cutting corners on labor with gathered tips and tricks accumulated over hours of lengthy research. There’s no need to add to your pile of dishes; no plates or utensils to scrub free of dried food particles. Just you and your fingers tearing through the saucy meal chunk by chunk.

Dr. Miranda tells you it's all about the little victories. The moments of accomplishment no matter how insignificant. Doesn’t matter how you get the job done so long as it happens. Roll out of bed? That’s a win. A sleeve of ritz crackers for a meal? Glad you got sustenance. Just because you weren’t claiming a nobel prize didn’t mean your triumphs were any less important. 

Didn’t leave much in the way of riveting stimulation though. Just acclimatizing you to existing in a hamster ball where the difference between day and night is as little as the am or pm on the clock. 

After all, it wasn’t like your body signaled a change in energy levels. There’s no ‘getting tired’ when you never wake up.

The only time you ever felt a sense of normalcy was when you started the process of getting ready for bed, pinpoint focus narrowing in on the task of fixing your nest. Logic shuts down and gut feeling takes the reins. You lose yourself in the fussing over placement of plush fleece and textured sherpa, jersey knit sheets and squishmallow plushies. Weighted quilt blankets and cloud-fluffy pillows of various shapes and sizes, the assortment of pastel pinks and lush earthy greens giving off the enchanted forest vibes held dear to your heart. 

It wasn’t large or luxurious by any means, but the few modest pieces you did have were plenty enough for the cozy space, strewn across the full sized bed in an organized haphazard chaos understood only by the omega instincts that dictate your actions. 

Only, there’s something wrong…

You lament the smell of mildew as your nose breathes in the cloth of your pillowcase, whining in dejection at the offense to your delicate olfactory senses and pawing at the material in shame. 

An omega’s nest is a vital part of the care and keeping of their fragile emotional state. Oftentimes they’re seen as a reflection of their owner's inner consciousness and a handy tool to monitor their anxiety levels on a day to day basis. An unkempt nest can not only signal deeper depression, but if neglected for too long may result in bodily dysregulation that can affect them even right down to a molecular level, throwing hormones out of whack and causing real physical illness. 

Your nest hasn’t been properly cleaned in far too many months – no doubt adding to the high levels of stress that already permeate your everyday life. The sacred space that’s supposed to be your safe haven acts as just another graphic reminder that he’s taken everything from you. There's no true relaxation in your life because of it. 

For what was the point of washing the sweat-stained fabric if there’s no stopping it getting soiled again the following night?

Pulling the musky sheets up to just below your chin, you stare blankly at the evidence of what happens when you get your hopes up, sitting plugged into the charger on the corner of your nightstand.

The phone hasn’t rang once. 

You’ve been religiously checking the screen all day. Turned the volume from vibrate to blaring. Unclicked ‘do not disturb’ mode (turns out even telemarketers think you’re a waste of time). The device went everywhere with you, whether it was ten feet to the bathroom or six inches across the couch. Your desperation might have been otherwise embarrassing, but there was no worry of judgment besides your own in the guarded solitude of your apartment.

He'd given you a thimble of hope, and you were clinging to it like the last drop of water.

Whether it be a call or text; you didn’t know. But he promised you... promised you… that you’d be hearing from him soon. Threatened you against inaction on your part. And you’d just believed him. Believed that even for a moment – some tiny fraction of oblivion – there could exist a world where you didn’t have to feel quite so fucking alone.

What exactly has he been up to? Some prior commitment that pulled him from his phone? Maybe he’s just stuck at work all day? But then surely he doesn’t pull twelve hour shifts. Not like you found out their given occupations yet. Which means he’s gotta be sick, right? The weather’s been atrocious and you hadn’t physically seen him get in a car when he left. 

Shit! He went home smelling like you. How did the pack react? 

How did she react? 

They didn’t get into a fight did they? She probably forced him to delete your contact info. God, you were so selfish putting them through this mess. But hadn't John been selfish too in wanting to keep you around? Was that really a pack decision?

The tears culminating in your eyes were pathetic. Acid rain bleaching your pillowcase in big caustic globules, seeping into the fabric and burning through the thin membrane of your cheeks. Bitter rage tainted the half formed excuses, corrupting like malware into personal betrayal.

How could you be so foolish? What part of ‘you’re not allowed to be happy’ did you not comprehend? Hadn’t you already learned not to shoot for the stars, much less the occupants of unit 2B?! 

Poor, stupid omega.

You grasped your chest as if that could stop whatever clawed beast was burrowing its way past your ribcage to dig out a hole and lay its clutch. Flicking the bedside lamp off brought you as much darkness outside as there was feasting on your entrails and gorging itself for a long unforgiving winter.

Curling up in your repugnant nest, you couldn’t keep your heart from shattering as each teardrop extinguished the sputtering flame of hope.

You never got around to fixing your hair.

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[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲 | 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶A deleted scene from chapter twelve where receptionist!reader acts like a bimbo in front of Eddie just to rile him up. Written very tongue-in-cheek at the beginning.✶

NSFW — sexual themes, handjob, unresolved sexual tension, 18+

↳ start the story here to catch up!

[wc: 2.1k]

Heeding your checklist of chores, you idled at the workbench against the far corner of the wall. There were a few of the usual things you organized: placing nuts and bolts in drawers, facing products with their labels out, tidying small boxes, folding the end of the paper towel roll so it didn’t unfurl itself in the turbulent path of the oscillating fan. You bent over to toss cellophane wrappers into the waste paper bin, and took your time musing if the liner should be changed despite the little amount of balled up paper weighing down the bottom. Standing, you swept off the unsanded tabletop with your hands, and worked a crusty rag over an oil streak, making a mental note to call the laundry service to swing by a day early.

As you stepped away, you knocked a pencil to the floor. Its bright yellow body was impossible to miss, along with its excruciatingly long hexagonal roll carried by your elbow to the very edge, but you managed. You knelt to your hands and knees to retrieve the writing utensil, inspecting its broken tip. The graphite was missing completely, leaving behind an empty hole where it once was. An unfortunate accident. You rotated it a few times looking for other flaws—an honorable way to spend your time.

“You doin’ this on purpose?” gruffed out an annoyed voice behind you.

No need to check, you heard the amused twist at the corner of his lips. His left canine was probably on show, too. Not in a hurry to confirm, you gripped the pencil in your fist, and leaned forward, stretching in search of the missing lead before it was stomped into dust and potentially transferred from someone’s boot sole into a wealthy client’s car. You were thinking of them, really.

The floor was a rewarding oasis in the noonday sun baking through the warehouse windows. Your flat splayed hands and knuckles worked over the grit of dirt to inch your pursuit closer to the wall, drinking in the chill of the epoxy coated concrete cooling you down better than a 50 cent clear plastic cup of Kool Aid at a kid’s misspelled lemonaide stand. Though, the unforgiving flooring bit into your joints, and indented your knees with the netting of your pantyhose. But Eddie’s study did not sway to your shoe slipping off your heel. No, he was a gentleman. And as a gentleman, he praised the wealth of curves you put on display.

He used the heels of his heavy boots to drag himself from under a Mustang, thumping up beside you, wheels on the creeper rolling along the slick floor.

The lower you dipped your chest, the higher your skirt hem tickled the back of your thighs. In total innocence—truly giving your best effort to find the missing pencil tip—you tilted your hips to unimaginable degrees, presenting your ass to the point even your lower back side-eyed your act.

Smooth backs of fingers lifted the hem more. Eddie curled his index under your skirt, and assisted it to the crease of your cheek, following the change in nylon with his rough thumbprint as it wove denser around your thighs to hold you in. Tummy Control, it was advertised as. To a man who had seldom encounters with women, this meant very little to him, as did the change in texture. Though, curiously, he rubbed at it with interest.

“You’re something else, you know that?” But his voice was too playful to shame you, hardly traipsing through his throat to chastise. “I’m out here working my ass off, and you’re struttin’ around the garage in this lil’ piece.” The little piece in question was your corporate approved pencil skirt from a long forgotten temp job when your apartment lost two roommates in a breakup, and rent was past due.

Pandering to your audience of one, you shuffled two of the tiniest inches backwards, and steadied your hand on his outstretched leg. You bent at the hips, filling his large palm with a handful of your ass, and he admired you in a brush of fingertips near the innermost valley of your thigh, licking a divine chill up your spine. Playing along, you pretended to just notice him, assuming a sinless gasp, and following it with many airheaded inflections, “Oh! Didn’t see you there, handsome. Am I distracting you?”

The standing fan swung its head in your direction, sweeping Eddie’s bangs off his forehead in a brief burst.

You’d been on hundreds of dates, and not once had you been so deeply complimented by someone’s gaze.

Eddie dwelled in the distraction. He stroked his thumb over the fat, and traced his pinky along the hypersensitive crease before the swell which had your muscles tightening in a squirm. He was so close to the middle seam of the pantyhose. Perhaps he knew this as well, but didn’t care—he was just happy to be touching you. Laid out in the neon orange creeper, sun glancing off the packed garage, casting a glow across his puffy face. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, unbearably adorable grin—the type of candid expression showing how honored he was to look at you, so forthcoming and open. A trap, if there ever was one, luring you into picturing him twisted amongst your bedding on a late morning.

As he tracked his gaze over your backside, an aching reminder moseyed its way into his consciousness. Setting into a glare, he forced his way through any pleasantness lingering in his chest to tell you plainly, “Sweetheart, you’re fucking torturing me here.” You giggled, and he broke, falling victim to the squinch at his crow’s feet.

“You think I’m not torturing myself, too?”

“Dunno.” He craned his head back to check underneath the car for where each pair of boots were moving, and you peeped through the driver’s side window to keep tabs on the seated customers in the lobby. Once you both ensured there was no danger of being caught, he turned his attention to you fully. “You’re not wearing my favorite pair, so I couldn’t tell.” In case you weren’t sure, he wrung his hand around your leg, and drummed his fingers where there should be an easily accessible hole in your tights, where he could drag his fingers through your slick truth. His sorry features were tainted with remorse when your plush thighs weren't spilling out from the nylon; however, he drew his eyebrows in mock sympathy, and traced the area. “Could make these my new favorite pair, though.”

You about melted into a puddle of dumbstruck glee at his first foray into initiating dirty talk. “Yeah?” you stressed the word like he would—big smile and all. You raised the placement of your grip on his leg up, further, still going until the inside of your thumb threatened to assist what laid fat and heavy towards his hip. Car exhaust, pungent motor oil, and fumes swam in your head. Mind dizzy, you skimmed your nails over his heavy sack pressed tight against the seam of his coveralls. An implied line was drawn along your heat by his featherlight touch. You leaned over him, real close, chest over chest, knees spread because his hand encouraged you to do so. Mouth to mouth, considering kissing the dirt from his lips. “Wanna rip ‘em, and have me on top while you’re on this thing?”

Eddie moaned, and it wasn’t shy in the loud garage. “Want it so fucking bad, baby.”

A single ding from the bell atop your desk drew your attention.

Bodies paused, you both existed in the indecision of what to do. Eddie’s forehead wrinkled from his high brows driving his attention backwards, peering under the car again. The other employees of David’s Auto Repair shuffled around a Studebaker. There was no one inside to help the customer. What a shame.

Eddie lowered his chin in long clockticks, seeking you behind his heavy lashes and heavier gaze. His nose met the side of yours in an unrefined graze, dragging his chapped lips wherever he felt your smile. He kissed you hungry. Needy, desperate to fit the magnitude of his palm at the back of your head, and dirty your mouth with noses mashed together. He wanted you messy, he wanted you catching your balance on the creeper for the same reason his held sigh became your next breath, taking a pinch of your pantyhose over your pussy and twisting it around his fist to demonstrate his annoyance, as if the dull ache of your bottom lip against his teeth wasn’t illustrative enough. The peak of your whine and his approving hum tethered the snap of your tights and the squeeze he left on your thigh. Filthy warmth blanketed the top of your hand. Stifling hot, calluses running rough over your knuckles as he cupped your palm over his hard length, and curled your fingers around himself, kicking his hips up to really stretch the limits of your grip. Together, he guided you in a few teasing pumps along the base, ego growing at the pretty sound hitched in your throat.

“Hey, Ed!” Mr. Moore’s yell burst the bubble you two surrounded yourselves in. “C’mere, ‘nd look at this.”

It wasn’t an emergency. It could wait. There were enough mechanics on duty, they could figure out what they were gawking at, or admiring, or whatever it was they were doing. That was the justification behind your shared look with Eddie, and the tension holding you two apart faded within seconds. If anything it spurred you on. You raked your fingers through his hair, mussing the roots at the crown of his head, covering the side of his body with yours, stroking his cock. The consequences didn’t matter. He increased the pressure and showed you how he liked it when you looped your thumb and index around the edge of his fat tip and pumped him faster—

Ding, ding, ding.

The kiss slowed from the distraction, but you tried to keep going, staying in the moment with Eddie’s praise burning your cheeks. He was eager, he was close. He was whispering, “Feels fucking good when you—yeah—like that,” when you added the twist of your wrist to the end of motion.

“Ed!” Mr. Moore’s voice ruined the moment. “Where’d he… And wasn’t she at her desk a second ago?”

Ding, ding ding!

Your foreheads crashed together in a defeated groan.

Eddie sagged completely limp on the creeper. “Why do you do this to me?” He dropped his arms in a big shrug, kicking his legs out flat, throbbing hard in your palm. You curbed the urge to keep going and dragged your fingers away.

“Hey, you’re the one who started this,” you sniffed, sitting back to fan your face in effort to make yourself presentable while he considered rolling under the car for the next eternity to hide his blazing red cheeks.

“I was a good worker before you came along,” he argued, pointing at you with a nail outlined in grime. He did it with such vigor his shoulders curled off the creeper, sitting up to give you a real good talkin’ to. “I never did this sorta shit with anyone before you showed up. You’re bad for me. You drive me crazy.” Not an ounce of anger dared enter his tone, not even having strength to control his smile from going lopsided, dimpling, nose scrunching in a badly contained laugh. Never would he want you to think he was mad at you, even as a joke. He was soft like that.

Eddie broke first, and that’s all you needed to kiss him against the black Mustang door, thud on the metal deadened by his nervous hand coming up to brush his curls flat.

“You drive me crazy too,” you promised against his lips. “Now, try not to cum your pants when I bend over to get this trash, and have fun explaining to the guys why you can’t stand up for the next few minutes.” You cocked your head, and smacked your tongue in a hard, “‘Kay?”

He glared at your smugness. Glared at your backside, too. Scowled at his grip formed around the swollen length rising so obvious no matter how he fixed his legs, and surrendered to the humiliation of laying back on the creeper, summoning enough dignity to roll himself to the other side where a gaggle of boots scuffed the ground in search for him, and give some excuse that he was very busy fixing something and wouldn’t be available for the foreseeable future.

originally thursday's section in chapter twelve was split into three separate scenes. i was almost finished writing the first two when i took the section in a different direction and mashed all the important elements into the scene in the breakroom which did make the cut. truthfully i had only written to eddie's line of "wanting it so badly" and they would've gotten interrupted at that point (before any touching), but since this isn't exactly canon, i went ahead and had fun and made it a little spicier.

you might also recognize some imagery, lines of prose, or descriptions i salvaged from this piece and put into the final one!

[maxispixels]

HANDPICKED

PART ONE.

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

1.6k words

You work in a flower shop in 70s London. Hobie is being a menace. Slowburn? Probably will be around 10 parts. Strangers to reluctant acquaintances to friends to something more. Maybe a lil' messy?

Last time I wrote something like this was almost 10 years ago and it was in another language. Forgive whatever happens next. I have no idea what's going on.

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven. Part eight. Part nine. Part ten.

“Thank you, sweetheart, here you go,” the old lady said, handing you a slightly crumpled bill. You quickly counted the change and passed it back into her outstretched hand. “Have a nice day!” You chirped, flashing her your well-practiced customer-service smile. She gave you a small nod and made her way out of the shop, the little bell above the door jingling.

You didn’t know flower shops could have regular customers before you worked there, but apparently, some people bought fresh flowers every week or so. To you, it felt like an unimaginable luxury. Your little paycheck barely covered rent, and you could only dream of having enough money to regularly splurge on daisies to brighten up your dingy ol’ flat. Still, the thought was nice.

You sighed softly and sat down on the stool behind the counter, your eyes scanning the shop. You had gotten used to the sweet smell of flowers and freshly cut grass. The scents blended together, but you'd learned to recognise them. Today, the notes of the lilies you were particularly fond of tickled your nostrils, like a delicacy you appreciated greatly. The warm orange light, rare in this rather rainy season - although all seasons were rainy in London - burst across the old waxed floor from the shop front windows, highlighting specks of dust like golden flecks. Outside, you could see passers-by, hurried or idle, cars, and occasionally a tall red bus crossed your view. The faint crackle of the radio competed with distant honking and the clatter of footsteps on cobblestone. 

Your eyes fell on a vase of daffodils not far from the counter, the golden light making them shine with unexpected brilliance. For a moment suspended in time, yellow became your favourite colour. 

You grabbed your notebook from under the shelf in front of your knees and began scribbling the daffodils. You had no artistic pretensions, but you enjoyed sketching the flowers, finding the activity relaxing and filling the moments of nothingness that stretched out between each customer. It gave you something to do on quiet afternoons like this one.

Just as you were adding some watercolors in, the bell above the door jingled again, startling you. The pleasant sound was followed by the abrasive thud of combat boots on the old wooden floor. You cringed at the noise and looked up, expecting to see another cheerful retiree or a nervous bloke buying an apology bouquet. Instead, you saw him.

Ridiculously tall. That was your first thought. Your second was: piercings. Lots of them. His face glinted under the warm sunlight. It was hard not to stare. He was wearing a band tee, the sleeves and neckline ripped off, layering over some kinds of fishnet thing that covered his arms, jeans that looked like they’d been through a shredder, and a leather belt so worn that the studs seemed to be holding it together by sheer willpower. Chains and eyelets and safety pins and anything and everything silverware stuck to him like he was some kind of magnet. And magnetic he was since he had definitely pulled all of your attention in.

You cleared your throat and forced a small smile, your fingers holding onto the edge of the counter almost to stabilize yourself. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

He gave a small nod. “‘Ello.” His voice was low, his accent so thick even you could pick on it, sounding almost like a caricature. He didn’t elaborate and started wandering around the shop, browsing. You stood there awkwardly, unsure if you should say anything else. He looked so incredibly calm there.

You were trying not to stare, but fuck, you wanted to. He looked so out of place among the delicate roses and sunflowers that it was almost comical. You pretended to adjust a ribbon on the counter while stealing glances at him. When he stopped in front of a display of pink and red roses, you couldn’t resist speaking up. 

“These are really popular with the ladies,” you offered, your customer-service smile now bordering on nervous. 

“Not for a lady. Not really,” he replied, examining the flower over in his hand like he never held one before, with surprising gentleness, scared he might crush it in a single moment of inattention. 

You blinked, unsure how to respond. Silence stretched between you. If Rose, the owner of the shop and your manager, had been there, she’d have rolled her eyes at your lack of salesmanship.

“I’ll take ‘em,” he said suddenly, breaking the tension.

You let out a relieved breath you didn't know you were holding as you immediately move into action, going to the counter and grabbing some craft wrapper for the flowers. 

“D’ya have another colour?” 

You hummed. “Sure, I just gotta check in the back.” You informed him as you went to rummage around in the back of the shop, to find him several options of coloured paper to wrap his bouquet in. When you returned a few minutes later, something seemed strange. As you placed the selection on the counter, he was looking at the wall.

 “Oi, I’m sorry, I’ve changed ma’ mind. Maybe next time darlin’.” He turned on his heels. You paused. Something was off, the air was weird. 

“Wait!” You call as you notice a couple of daffodils missing. You’d know, you were sketching them a second ago. He ignored you, and you quickly stepped around the counter, grabbing him. The leather of his jacket was smooth and cold under your fingers, and you instantly regretted the move. 

“Not so fast!” You were surprised at your own tone, too brave for your own good.

“Let me check your bag.” You asked, your confidence crumbling a little more with each syllable. What if you were wrong? What if he hadn’t taken anything and you’d just accused this intimidating stranger of stealing? It seemed to amuse him more than anything else. He cocked an eyebrow, his lip curling slightly as he shifted his weight. 

“Y’wot, now?” he asked, his tone halfway between annoyed and amused, crossing his arms.

“Let me check your bag.” You repeated with false assurance, and he rolled his eyes. Surprisingly, he did. You looked inside, but no flower there. Cables, tools, weird stuff, but no flowers. Your shoulders drooped, sheepish as you muttered an apology. You wish you could have combusted on the spot, or buried yourself deep underground as you feel the heat in your cheeks. He remained silent for a moment, as if to let you suffer in your embarrassment a minute longer. 

“D’ya always charm yer customers by accusin’ ‘em of theft, or am I just special?” He smirked down at you, and you felt he took a malicious pleasure in seeing you so embarrassed. You let go of his arms and apologized again, sending him on his way. You wanted the floor to just open up and swallow you right then and there. Of course, there wasn’t anything in his bag. Why did you think he’d be stupid enough to actually steal in front of your face?

He finally turned around to leave, and that was when you noticed the yellow petals poking from underneath his vest. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, nor the sheer audacity of that man. You grabbed him again, too easily reaching for a bloke that could easily break you in half.

“Hey!” you scolded again, and he sighed as he turned back. “Wot again? Already miss me? I haven’t even bloody left yet.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping his vest tighter. “You— I saw the flowers inside your vest, don’t lie! And give them back!”

He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Y’wot now, lil’ bird? A cop or som’thin’?”

“I could call them,” you shot back, feeling your confidence falter under his sharp gaze. “Stealing is illegal, y’know?”

He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Right, right.”

You let go of his jacket, and he pulled out the daffodils, their stems a little crumpled. For a second, he looked down at them like they were the most precious thing in the world. His hand lingered, and you thought he might refuse.

“Y’know, if I pinch these flowers, they’ll prolly come afte’ me harde’ than they did the bloke who pinched the Crown Jewels. Priorities, right?”

You frowned, convinced now he was just trying to distract you. “You know, most people just buy flowers. It’s this amazing thing where you hand over money and—”

“Fascinatin' concept,” he interrupted. “Truly groundbreaking. But I’m more of a barter system guy. How ‘bout a joke in exchange for the daffodils?”

“No.”

“Tough crowd.”

Finally, he handed them over, and for another split second, you almost pitied him. The way he looked at the flowers, his eyes so downcast, it felt… complicated. But before you could say anything, he stepped toward the door.

“Guess I’ll see you around,” he smiled, mock innocence plastered on his face.

You watched through the window as he walked away, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Then, it hit you. The regret, the overthinking. Have you been too harsh? Not enough? Surely, that was the right thing…right? You had stopped a petty thief… It was about principles, after all. Plus, flowers were a luxury. You might’ve closed your eyes on canned food or diapers, but no one needs daffodils to survive. What kind of people steal flowers anyway?

“Punk…” You muttered to yourself.

You still had a good hour before closing time. You glanced at your sketchbook, then grabbed your pencils, but instead of finishing the flowers, you started sketching something else.

Someone else.

Part two.

I'm not new to tumblr but new to posting, especially writings so don't hesitate to tell me if I'm not following some unwritten rules or something! 🫶🫶 Also this wasn't proof read so- anyway.

[bouquetface]

Vedic Astro 3

Accuracy dependent on entire chart.

11th H Ruler in 2nd H

Treat friends like family. Your friend's and social network are valuable to you.

You gain through family. You could have parent's who support you financially - they pay your tuition, your rent or they give you money to start a business.

The gain from family may not be literal cash - ex: a family member helps get you a job. Your elder sibling gives you their old car.

Accuracy will vary depending on entire chart.

If the ruler is Sun, this is very karmic as it will be in scorpio 2nd H. In this case, the family does not support you. The father may need money from you at some point in life. He does not add to your resources rather he attempts to take them away.

With sun as the ruler, you could have feuds with siblings in life. You could fight over resources after a parent dies. Your elder sibling is likely to try to take all resources for themselves.

11th H Ruler in 6th H

This can make someone wish for better world. These people can have service related jobs - ex: being a vet, you wish to help animals. Being a social worker - you wish to help children.

11th Ruler is 8 away, this indicates you transform through friendships and/or elder sibling. You can find enemies in your friends and/or elder sibling.

You may experience sudden gains and loses.

Accuracy will vary depending on entire chart.

If the ruler is moon, you are very emotional about your friendships. You can be friends with mainly women.

4th H Ruler in 9th H

You could have teachers that feel like parental figures to you.

The way your family approaches religion could influence your world view. If the ruler is sun, it is likely you have fights with your father - both of you are tough and do not back down easily.

Often, these people live away from place of birth. It is likely to leave the home or mom when going for higher education.

If ruler is Saturn, this can show distance from the family - emotional or physical. You feel a lack of warmth and support. It is likely you experience delays in getting a higher education. This delay could be due to lack of support from family or family related issues. Luck does not come easily with Saturn as ruler for this placement. Saturn will make you work hard. This can lead to a negative and limited worldview. However, it is possible to go into tough but well paying careers with this placement.

9th H Ruler in 3rd H

You could like to think and discuss literature, philosophy, other cultures. You have the advantage of seeing the bigger picture.

You can enjoy writing and reading. Your career will involve communication - speaking and writing will be important. EX: Lawyer - writing contracts and advocating for clients.

Depending on where 3rd H ruler is, you could put a lot of work towards travelling and education. These two things can. be very important to you.

If Mercury is the ruler, this emphasizes the fact that you will be writing in your career. You can work with your hands or move your hands around a lot when you talk. You could desire learning multiple languages - depending on entire chart, you may give up on this desire.

Accuracy is dependent on entire chart.

3rd H Ruler in 10th H

You could work for the government or be concerned with political matters.

You can work with people in the local community. You could volunteer or be present at many local events.

Ups and downs in the relationship with siblings. This is because the ruler is 8 away from the 3rd. The relationship can go through transformation.

If the ruler is Jupiter, it is likely you teach in your career. You could be an advisor or lawyer. People can grow to look up to you and go to your for help.

Accuracy is dependent on entire chart.

2nd H Ruler in 1st H

This is 12th away from itself, 12 is associated with the house of loses. Yet, luckily this does not always indicate loses of wealth because the money is going into the 1st H - the house of YOU. Instead of loses, it shows you may like to spend money on yourself.

In Vedic, 2nd H is associated with family, when ruler is in 1st this indicates you will benefit from the family. You will get the most from parent's resources. This is more likely is sun or moon is the ruler, this shows the father or mother supporting you. (If not afflicted)

If mars is the ruler, you either have an aries or scorpio 2nd H. Let's say you have aries 2nd h, you will have to fight to gain your wealth. You could eventually have to compete with family for support and resources. Mars can indicate spending money on yourself to better your appearance and/or strengthen your body. If 2nd H is scorpio, this can indicate karma regarding family, resources and yourself.

The above is a generic read, the entire chart will influence this.

2nd H Ruler in 2nd H

When ruler of the house is in the house it rules, the planet is comfortable. The planet protects it's house. How it protects itself depends on planet and sign.

Generally this indicates, you will be protective of your resources and your family. Your sense of security is attached to your income and wealth. The family can deeply influence your sense of security as well.

If Venus is the ruler, you either have taurus or libra 2nd H. If in taurus, you are likely to gain wealth. However, you are just as likely to indulge in shopping and food. You can struggle to stop yourself. If well aspects, your family can support you financially. In a man's chart, this can indicate wife will add to your wealth.

Accuracy depends on entire chart.

7th H Ruler MARS in 1st H

This can make people be very aggressive with you. It is likely you encounter people - not limited to romance - that want to control or “humble” you.

Something about your appearance/body, the way you behave/approach life triggers people. You can encounter rude, aggressive and narcissistic people. They want to take their frustrations out on you.

The pros to this placement are you are likely to have an attractive body. You could be fit. &/or you could be confident & bold attracting people.

[fairlyang]

Rookie I 🕷️

in which you find someone unexpected at your new job

w/c: 4.3K

pairing: miguel x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. glory hole, sex work (positive), anonymity, oral (m!receiving), exhibitionism, voyeurism, cum, post nut clarity, he doesn't know it's you... or does he?

part two ~ part three

Being a part of the spider society had its perks, you could connect with so many people just like you, make new friends, save people, be overall helpful.

Now to the downsides, if you were there full time it was very hard to get your normal life in order. For you it was hard being straight outta college and trying to find the place where you belonged while still trying to protect your own city.

And you also quickly realized how hard it was to find a normal job then once you did get one, how hard it was to be at multiple places at once. It was an overwhelming feeling wanting to protect your own city and helping the multiverse. And also trying to live a normal life and work a 9-5.

It felt impossible, and it was. So you decided on living in Earth-928, closer to the Spider Society where you were needed most and you could go back to your earth with the click of a button.

You kind of gave up on normality, less of a social life, no more work until you realized you desperately needed money to pay your bills and rent. And the money you had saved up wasn't going to last for too long.

And being a spider person doesn't exactly pay like you'd automatically assume.

So you went out looking for anything that could earn you a lot but by not doing too much. One day you stumbled across what looked to be a run down bar. Maybe strip club.

You went inside and soon enough found out what it was with just a simple look.

A brothel, a place where sex workers offer their services. This wasn't ideal at all, and you didn't want to show your face afraid any of the spiders you knew would somehow find you here. But it was good money, incredible money.

And who could possibly be so horny and desperate for attention?

...

That would recognize you...

…

Maybe not too many..

…

Hopefully.

So you asked around and found out they had a couple of glory holes inside. A girl a couple years older than you showed you around and showed you where they had everything set up as well as explained how everything worked.

Now this you could work with. There were holes all over the walls but not just for men to stick their dicks into but for girls to be fucked. Or ate out.

It was a very interesting setup, there were three doors and the girl opened up the middle one to show a girl on her knees sucking one dick and using her hands to jerk another off. She let go of the one she was jerking off to gave you a small wave then slipped the one out of her mouth to give you a smile while drool dripped down her chin down to her tits.

It was absolutely insane and way beyond your comfort zone but it was perfect. Almost too perfect...

After signing some contracts and having a talk about safety, condoms, and testing, you were good to go and ended up getting scheduled to work the very next night.

Demon hours, of course.

So after a long day of patrolling your city for a few hours then getting called in by Miguel to go on a few missions with him and Jess, then finally finishing those missions and successfully capturing the anomalies, it was time for you to go to your new job.

You were a nervous wreck as you swung to your apartment but also couldn't deny the excitement arising as you were getting closer.

You entered through the fire escape and quickly open your bedroom window, slip in. You grab the bag you had prepared and sling it across your body.

You slip out of your window and swing out, heading straight to the brothel. It luckily wasn't too far from your apartment, given you were swinging there but even then it'd take a few minutes by car but this was more convenient.

You land on top of the building, it being vacant so you had the bright idea of hiding behind some poles and taking off your suit.

You first take off your mask and unzip your bag, quickly stuffing it in. Then you take off your watch and carefully put it in a side pocket then start removing your suit as fast as you could.

You were now in undergarments out in the open but it was twelve, almost one in the morning, and the only people awake would be the people in the building beneath you.

You grab the baby pink shirt you had packed and put it on. Then reaching down for the black skirt and slip it on before fixing up both pieces of clothing.

You zip up your bag then sling it around your shoulder, you walk to the edge of the roof and look down at the alley making sure it was completely empty.

Once you took notice of every angle being vacant you drop down and shoot a web at a wall as you neared the floor. You let your feet drop to the floor and find a corner thats filled with a bunch of trash bags and hide your bag underneath them. First shooting a few webs at the bag to ensure no one will be able to get it then throwing the trash bags all over it.

Maybe not the brightest idea but it was a fucked up place in the city, as if anyone is gonna try to get into it. They’ll get grossed out by the webs and their curiosity will disappear.

You walked out of the alley and headed straight to the front door. You see a small group of men walk out together, laughing and a few fixing their pants when they see you walk past them and go straight inside.

You could practically feel the stares and it brought more excitement in then anxiety. Good sign.

You walked over to where you were meant to sign in when an older lady that was sitting in a booth looks you up and down before nodding, "name?"

You furrow your brows in confusion thinking you could just be anonymous since you weren't planning to do one on one services yet, where they would probably need your name.

"Any name sweetheart, doesn't have to be ya own." She says and you nod.

Any name.

You think hard for a few seconds when you look at a painting of some roses behind her as well as a small statue of some angel wings and it clicks.

Perfect.

"Rose Angel." You say and nod.

She laughs and shakes her head, "that's a good one, sure will get their attention."

You smile as she hands you the sign in sheet and you quickly sign before she motions for you to go in. "Good luck Rosie." She says handing you a masquerade mask then gives you sly wink which makes you crack up a smile as you put the mask on.

Maybe it won't be too bad.

You walk the long hallway that was dimly light and had chipped paint on the walls when you were now able to hear loud moans.

From a man at first then cries from a woman.

You couldn't even deny the fact that it was all now starting to really turn you on. Especially when you turned a specific corner and you walked in on the incredible sight of the first set of glory holes.

There was a girl with her ass stuck out while the upper half was in the hole with one man fucking her from behind while two others were watching, stroking themselves. And with a picture of the girl's face right above her body.

You looked straight ahead and watched as a girls legs were hanging out with a man sitting between them, eating her out. It looked like she was laying down on some kind of platform which made sense so she wouldn't hurt herself.

There was another girl in that same position but she was being fingered with three men watching and impatiently waiting their turn.

To your right was the hottest scene you've laid your eyes on, three women with their legs tied up above them as they laid on their backs and all of them had men fucking them.

One man in specific fucking one petite girl hard and fast it almost made you feel a little jealous. But also was really turning you on. It was such a hot sight and her moans were so loud and pretty.

Suddenly one of the other guys goes faster on another girl with brown skin, she was crying out as her legs began trembling instantly. Holy shit.

You squeezed your thighs together as you watched and kept switching back and forth between what to watch before realizing you were suppose to be working.

You shook your head and walked off and headed to where you were meant to be at. You went past another section with more glory holes until you finally made it to the one you were assigned to.

You walked in seeing men standing by the holes, a few thrusting their hips against the wall which made you think that their dick had to be pretty long to even do that.

You open the employees only door to the side of the entrance of that room and walk in, closing it as quietly as you could. You walk the slim little hallway and turn to the right and walking past the other girl's doors.

You count down to five, your designated door being the last of the right wall, as soon as you enter the room. You open the door and walk inside, closing the door behind you.

It was a decent size, enough for you to stretch your legs, walk around a bit. And then right in the middle of the small space was the glory hole. Below it was a rug to protect your knees from hurting so much.

You sigh and take a few steps forward before going down on your knees and sit down on the surprisingly soft rug. You sit a bit far back from the hole, since no one has stuck their dick into it yet and to start mentally preparing yourself.

But there wasn't time for that anymore as a man slid his dick into the hole before you could take a breather. Oh well.

You sit up and move up to the hole, it being almost perfectly to where your mouth is. You take the already hard cock into your hands and spit on it then start to slowly stroke it.

It wasn't too big just thick and at least looked clean. That's the least you could ask for and you prayed they were all like this.

You start stroking him faster and you were clearly able to hear his grunts through the wall. You didn't want to admit you were turned on by it but that small wet patch on your panties is loud and clear about it.

Suddenly he's groaning and his cock starts twitching, already? You shrugged and opened your mouth, slowly taking him down your throat.

An easy task to do considering he was a decent size which wasn't a complaint because you definitely could get someone with a huge dick, then you’d be in trouble.

Your thoughts are cut short when you feel his load go down your throat. You pull away and open your mouth letting the last of his cum fall on to your tongue.

He groans one final time before pulling away and walking away.

And just like that one down.

How hard could this be?

And that very question was quickly answered when another cock slides in but it was very noticeably much longer than the one you just had. You gulped and took it into your hands, leaning in to lick the tip at first then spitting on it, making sure it drips down until you start stroking it.

The man moans and it makes your cheeks turn to a bright red. This whole thing just felt so hot. Giving someone a blowjob and not knowing who they are? And very clearly able to hear how good you make them feel?

Maybe this job wouldn't be so hard.

You waste no more time and immediately put him in your mouth and start taking as much of him as you could. You were able to take about half down your throat while you stroked his base earning yourself moans and grunts from this man.

They actually sounded pretty good and you didn't mind a vocal man. Well you actually preferred it but you didn't think it'd necessarily come into play here. But you were learning fast and may have slowly realized how much you actually like giving pleasure and not just receiving it.

He thrusted his hips into the wall which must've hurt from the bang above your head, but you just continued on until you felt the saltiness of his cum. You almost gagged but fought through it and just swallowed it like a champ.

He pulled away, his cock leaving your mouth with a plop before a new guy quickly slid his dick in. This one being almost the same as the first so you do the exact same process.

You quickly learn that men who have smaller dicks might cum faster, longer they are they last longer, but thicker lasts the longest and needs more from you.

A good hour has passed, plenty of cum was swallowed and you were beyond soaked. It was easily the hottest thing ever and it was starting to feel like torture that you couldn't let these men fuck you.

At least not yet, they needed those test results first but you knew you were clean, it's been a while...

But you were thinking of your favorite one you sucked on as you were sucking on another, a big black cock. It was abnormally long while also being thick and it took you a few seconds before realizing you had to work on it because you were just gawking at it as well as thinking of how it would've absolutely destroyed you but probably feel incredible as well.

Just thinking about it was making you wet again when the one that was in your mouth had already came. You pulled back, slapping the tip on your tongue as the rest of the cum came out. The man moaned and thrusted his hips forward before hitting himself hard, making you quickly cover your mouth from laughing.

"Be careful!" You say then bite your lip to not accidentally laugh.

He pulled away embarrassed and mumbled something you don't hear when you hear multiple voices walk into the room and you hear feet shuffling by your hole.

You wipe your mouth and suck off any remnants of cum before the voices come closer. Maybe to the middle of the room? "Who do you have for me today Lola?" A man asks and you furrow your brows in confusion.

Lola? As in the girl who showed you around yesterday?

You shrugged and sat down comfortably before you hear some giggles approaching you. Oh god.

Was this some kind of big shot or something? He got his own personal girl to advise him who should suck him off?

"Well here we have our new rookie! It's her first night with us and she hasn't had any complaints!" Lola's bubbly voice is heard right outside your hole and you could almost feel your heart drop.

Great, recommend the new girl to some rich man whose probably had all kinds of different girls suck him off. Surely this will go well...

"If anything she's been the rave of the night! As you saw she had a bit of a line going." She says and you almost gasp but quickly clamp your hand over your mouth. A line?

"Oh really?" The man asks and you can't make it out but he sounds kind of familiar?

"Mhm! Seems our rookie sure knows what she's doing." She says and giggles.

Your cheeks turn a bright red and you felt a shiver go down your spine. Was this praise? It felt like praise.

"Then I think I've gotta see for myself.." he says and you were slightly able to see him undoing his belt.

You quickly sat up for some reason feeling even more excited. Maybe he'll give a big tip.

"Have fun! And I'll see you when you're done." She says softly, her heels clicking away.

He pulls his pants down and slides his dick in which almost made your eyes fall out of their sockets. There were times you weren't attracted to dicks, but this wasn't one of those times. Quite the opposite actually.

This dick, with its pink tip (already leaking precum) and long, thick tanned shaft, was perfect. Beyond perfect, it was mesmerizing.

Already so hard and it twitched which had you notice one long vein that went down the whole thing.

You licked your lips and grabbed it gently before licking off the precum and kissing the tip. This one's gotta be extra special.

You spit on the tip and watch as it slowly drips down until it reached the bottom. You started stroking it with two hands, and go at a fast pace not wanting to tease this man anymore than he needs to be teased.

You open your mouth and slide him in, eyes wide realizing he's bigger than expected but you still tried your hardest to take all of him in.

He thrusted his hips which made you gag as he hit the back of your throat in seconds but you don't pull away.

You then breathed in through your nose and took even more of him in, earning yourself moans from the mystery man which unsurprisingly made you more wet.

You moved your head back and forth and stroked the base because you couldn't just gag on it all night but you could take about half of him into your mouth and still be able to breathe properly.

He let out strings of moans and grunts each time you were successfully able to take most of him down your throat which felt so rewarding. His moans were like your motivation to do good, to take all of him and to have him moan out even more for you.

You let your right hand go and continue stroking what's left of him while taking him in your throat meanwhile you slip your right hand down your thighs and rub yourself through your panties.

You couldn't help yourself and frankly how could you even be blamed? With a cock this perfect and moans just as perfect what were you suppose to do? Sit there and only use your mouth like you had been for the past hour? Fuck no.

This one was different.

You rubbed your clit slowly but then decide against it and go at the same pace as you were sucking on his cock. You moaned against him which made him groan and twitch in your mouth but it didn't seem like he was close.

You moved your panties to the side and spread your legs wider while you slip your finger in to feel how wet you were.

Wet was an understatement.

Drenched was more correct.

You took him out of your mouth and softly lick his tip while you felt your wetness coat your fingers without even trying. You straighten up and bring him back into your mouth, sliding down all the way until you can feel the wall on the tip of your nose.

He then started to slowly thrust, he pulled away until only his tip was in your mouth then he thrusted back in to the back of your throat making you gag.

You slid two fingers in to your desperate hole and moan against him again. This time instead of groaning he spoke, "fuck- that's such a dirty fucking girl."

You clenched against your fingers and you couldn't help the warmth that grew on your cheeks as soon as he finished his sentence. You let him thrust into your mouth until you slowly realized maybe he wanted to fuck your mouth, maybe wanted consent?

You pulled away and let his tip slap your tongue a bit before you cleared your throat, asking in a raspy voice, "do you wanna fuck my mouth?"

He chuckled and you can only presume he might've nodded when he laughs, "yes angel, I'd love to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours."

You bit your lip and felt yourself clench against your fingers yet again. You felt butterflies in your tummy but you just assumed maybe it was your incoming orgasm. You had been practically teased an hour long and it was only reasonable your poor cunt would cum so easily.

He then pulls his cock away which made you frown until he whistled then said, "bring your face closer to me angel."

You did as you were told and luckily your whole face wouldn't be exposed, only your lips and chin.

He brought a hand down to the hole and gently caressed your cheek, which made you subconsciously melt into his touch.

He then moved his fingers to rub gently against your bottom lip, almost toying with it. "Open." He says softly and you do, which he then sticks his thumb into your mouth.

You do as you'd assume he'd want you to do and suck. But he then pulls his hand away and hums. He then stands up right and his cock is back into view making you pump your fingers deeper, if only he were fucking you.

His cock is then inside your mouth slowly thrusting, testing out the waters before he starts going faster. You brought your hand down to your side as you fucked yourself faster but still wanting more so you added a third finger now feeling more pleasure.

He hits the back of your throat with every thrust and letting out the most delicious of moans which made your want for him grow even more.

You felt your orgasm grow in your lower belly as he continued fucking your face at a fast pace while you were practically dripping on the poor rug.

"Oh fuck baby-" he moans and you close your eyes, fucking yourself harder that he could definitely hear the noises of your poor needy cunt.

"So fucking good angel- such a perfect mouth." He moans out and you felt him twitching a lot which had you feeling giddy.

You moaned against him and squeezed your thighs together as your orgasm hit you like a pile of bricks, you stopped fucking yourself and felt your entire body tremble when you felt him shoot his load down your throat. You happily let him making sure to swallow every drop when he slowly pulls away and you lean your forehead against the wall. Wow-

You hear the clack of heels and you can only assume that Lola was back.

"So how was she?" She asks and you suddenly are awake, focused, and ready to hear his opinion.

You control your breathing but still feel your heart beat as you awaited his answer while you hear the sound of him zipping up his pants. "Absolutely fucking perfect. The best I've had in a long while."

You bite your lip from wanting to scream and just cheer inside your head. Fuck yes- you fucking did that shit and are going to get paid soooo well-

"But I think she needs to be in one of the first rooms..." he says and your heart starts racing again.

The first rooms...

He wants to fuck you.

He wants you to be in one of the first rooms, to fuck you, specifically you.

"I'm sure you can convince her to switch rooms Miguel." She says cheerily and your heart drops at the last word.

Miguel?

Miguel-

Miguel.

Suddenly it clicks in your mind and you back up from the hole and sit at the last part of the rug in pure shock and horror.

There was no fucking way-

This whole time-

You were-

He was-

You just sucked off your boss-

AND he wanted to fuck you???

There was no way he knew- he couldn't have- he shouldn't know-

How could this be the man you were working alongside just a few hours ago? The man you've grown to annoy and somehow convince you weren't that bad? The man who was as stern as could be and get mad at any tiny little inconvenience?

Dread hit you.

How could you face him tomorrow?? How the hell were you going to work with him from here on out???

And why did he of all people have to have such a big dick? Who knew saying someone had big dick energy somehow would manifest into itself.

Of all the times you joked around with Jess saying "I'd drop down to my knees if he asked." Or even "that man is hung, girthy and would fill someone up to perfection"

and now you've seen it.

had it in your mouth.

he fucking came down your throat-

Do you have to expose yourself now? It didn't feel right that you just provided him a service but you knew who he was...

How you didn't figure it out before, who knows. Maybe all that cock got into your head and you magically forgot who that voice belonged to...

And so long your spidey sense. Surely that should’ve helped in some way.

You fucked yourself to your boss's moans- this was humiliating as can be but literally no one else knew, there was no way he knew.. unless he does?

You'd have to find out tomorrow at work and see if he says anything because you sure as hell weren't.

He was one annoying piece of shit but at least he gave you a good orgasm out that entire fiasco.

part two

[threepandas]

Bad End: We Are

Senatus was a ecumenopolis. The "shining jewel" (yeah, right) of the Galactic Core. Please. Like? Maybe it was! If you were RICH AS FUCK. I don't know. I'VE never seen the towers. The heights. Most people haven't. Street level? Is about FIVE HUNDRED FLOORS DOWN. And the UNDERGROUND? Speak not of it.

The Underground GROWS.

What was street level today, may not be tomorrow. Levels buried under "progress" as the rich grow ever higher. The Tox levels ever worse. Air quality dropping. Why fix the peasant's poverty and despair, when you can buy a Sky garden you'll never use? And yes, I AM bitter as a Buirian fish ration. Just as salty too. Taste the SEA, motherfuckers.

Rent? Who can AFFORD rent!? Who can afford ANYTHING?!

It's some BULLSHIT.

But me? I remembered. A life. Before this one. Before the millennium of slow, drip drip drip erosion of duty and dues. Back when people still REMEMBERED what they were OWED. And when folks in power failed to pay up? Ffffuck um. Take it. Our house now, motherfuckers. Diplomacy was a courtesy not a weakness.

....I make people nervous, honestly.

Probably why I keep getting fired. That and my constantly reporting people to regulatory boards. Maybe don't break the LAW if you don't want to get in trouble you SHITS. Fuck you! Yes, I stole your fancy office chair. PROVE IT. You don't know how the security system works!

Where was I? Ah, right. Rent.

Fuck Rent.

Thing is? What! Is a biodome? If not an enclosed system, regulated by machines, for optimal habitability? And! What? Is an Deep Underground Level? Long forgotten? Abandoned, if you will~, if not? A complete enclosed environment? Does someone OWN them? Yes. Technically. But are they MAINTAINING them? CHECKING on them? Nope!

Common knowledge, after all, says that EVERYTHING down their is "beyond salvaging"!

Free Real Estate~☆

I just need some supplies. Which? Cheaper in the long run then RENT. Especially if ya' salvage um. Maybe steal some tool sets from your shitty, shitty Mechanics job, because your boss refuses to pay you. Who can say? Not me! I just FOUND these tools! Like maaaagic~

And really, one man's junk? Another man's treasure. I pay more then the trash company. Hit up the right cleaning companies? And? Oops. They've "lost" some of those SUPER broken righ folks "junk" that? At best? Just needed a few wires replaced, resecured. Maybe a new part. Or were, you know, not the latest and greatest anymore.

Shove it all in a storage locker? Sell the refurb'd shit I don't need? Sleep in a glorified shoebox? And?? Bam. Operation "fuck ya'll, i'ma moleman" is a go. It takes FOREVER to find the right WILDLY out of date (and long abandoned) lift, but I find it! Hidden away in a service area in some crumbling, forgotten corner of what once was a rail station.

Gonna have to fix THAT up too. Later, though. First? The lift. The wires are brittle and the lift's pully system is half rusted, frozen, or otherwise broken. Luckily, the car itself is fine. It... takes a bit of research. Not going to lie. It's far from my specialty. I even call in a professional to go over my work.

They catch a few things. Not immediate concerns, but would have been fatal in the long run. Money well spent. For my hobby, of course. Fixing up old bits of the city. Which is a weird but not impossible hobby to have.

Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, my dude.

First thing down? Lights, melter, and duraplast sheets. Toolkit too, for obvious reasons. Same with my full body hazard suit. I go DEEP. Like... no longer can hear the city, deep. 'Bout halfway point. Takes nearly thirty minutes. And while not a fast lift? Holy SHIT, man.

The floor I step out into is... bad.

Dead in a way that's hard to explain. There's pressure against my suit. Centuries of heavy gasses slowly working their way down. Swirling in the silence. The dust and impossible dark. My headlight feels almost... sacrilegious. Dangerous. Like I'm waving a flashlight around some ancient burial ground, filled with the not so restful dead.

I had heard... that they? Just... just LEFT droids down here. That there were levels upon levels of dangerously feral machines. Slowly rotting away in the darkness. Probably rightfully angry, that they had been built to serve, to do duties, which they HAD done... only to be consigned to hell on earth for the sake of CONVENIENCE.

I'd be mad too. Fucking LIVID. Would remember and hate, never let it go.

This was no place of honor, it was a tomb.

Still, I got too work. Set up a light by the lift and started measuring out the original air box. The air cleaners could only handle so much. And THIS? This was worse then expected. So it'd have to be smaller then originally planned. Fair enough. I could work with that.

I outlined the space in lights. All the better to make it easier to put things up. Then got the folded later and started securing the duraplast. First step, get it up. THEN melt it to the metal. Get a good seal. It took... a while. Was slow, steady, sweaty work.

The filters couldn't run until they had a an enclosed space TO run in. They'd just blow out, trying to filter the whole level's toxic atmosphere. I kept an eye on my air supply. Not great, not terrible. The readings though? Horrific. I had no idea what I was gonna DO with the filters when they needed changing. These kind of chemicals would set off all SORTS of alarms.

But? No use, rushing things. That was a great way to get a fatal leak somewhere. No. Slow and steady. Even though, third of the way through, I did have to head back up. I needed to refill my air. Eat. Drink. Maybe de-stink a little, from being in that suit all day. Possibly nap near the lift.

ALSO? Update my shopping list to include some heavy duty neutralizers.

Just filters wasn't gonna be enough. I was gonna have to hose down everything INSIDE my new air-box, then scrub it HARD. How fun. Well, it's not like anyone was making me do this. It was MY mad idea, after all.

So? I refuel, get bright eyed and fuckin' perky, and go back down to face the beast.

Honestly I should have brought a telebook or something. Well, audio book. But that's not what they call um these days, so I try to stick to the lingo. I sound less like a deeply insane antique. Confuse less people. Joys of basic communication and all that.

Part of me? Wishes I had been born closer to "The Plot". Creation's specialist, most favored, Blorbos. But? The common SENSE in me? Routinely laughs hysterically as it waves fifteen different restraining orders and a crucifix. Not even religious. Yet here we are, shouting "BEGONE! Sataaaaan!" in HD, on the inside of my head. Not sure it helps.

See... it's the fucking DRAMA~☆™

The shear, unmitigated, high octane, Otome Game DRAMA.

I would fuckin DIE or, possibly and, kill somebody. The endless string of selfish, selfish, poor life choices? Driving by luuuuuuv~♡? Give me your spleen. Gonna beat somebody unconscious with their own SPINE. I RAGE. Lack of communication? No one just picking up a fucking PHONE? God forbid ANYONE tell their families their not DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE!

No. No just inconvenience EVERYBODY and RUIN LIVES. It's okay! You're in LOVE!

That makes EVERYTHING BETTER.

I would inevitably launch them all out an airlock. Spend the rest of my life in jail. They AREN'T WORTH IT. I may have LOVED this game in my teens? But I did not die a teenager.

Now? Now the little shit just aggravate me. They are baby faced pretty boys who presume WAY too much. Arrogant and entitled. Boys playing at being men, thinking their little love stories are the only things that matter. Their feelings are the only thing in the universe that holds any weight.

Unsurprising, really.

Seeing as how their little love story is set mostly in The Towers.

A rich, pampered, pretty little backdrop where nothing of weight is real. No one starves and no crimes are ever committed. Everything shines. Power pools thick like honey. Nothing but sci-fi prince's and alien dukes, a dewey eyed Protagonist sheltered and naive.

Her oh so shocking misadventure to the mid-levels. How SCARY! Downtown! Poor people! Not even the destitute. Just? The EXSISTANCE of dirt and noise, beyond her ivory towers. Thank goodness she is saved by a handsome, rougish bad boy. Who shows her the "real world" of a carnival and a noodle shop.

I finish securing the last duraplast sheet to the ceiling, walls, supports, and along the floors. The "entryway" to the rest of the level is set up. A click together shed I've made air tight. Gonna have to get a air lock system for it. Won't hold forever, with those materials, but should work for now. Combine it with a decontamination system, and I should, in theory, be able to safely enter and leave the rest of the level in a hazard suit.

Moment of truth time. I click on the first of the atmo-filters. It heaves under the strain. The sound getting less aggrieved with each one I flick on. Their screen are already in the red, flashing warnings that I should vacate the area. That the air is dangerously unbreathable. I'm probably gonna need to replace the filters in them in days instead of years. It'll be worth it.

Heading back up, I let them run. It'll take a few days. Besides, I need those neutralizers.

I, of course, DO find um. Just in time to watch Poor Guy (middle class, at worst) Love Interest become a wanted man. They use the BIG screens to announce it. Gee, it's almost like having your only daughter, who is highly sheltered, NOT show up at the designated pick up site? Instead be witnessed in the handsy company of a scoundrel? Which is WILDLY unlike her? Might lead a protective father to some wrong conclusions.

If ONLY someone had CALLED him! To TELL him "Daddy, my first shuttle was broken and I think I got on the wrong back up shuttle! I don't know where I am!" Then this would just be an unfortunate meet cute with the boy he doesn't think is good enough for her. Not, you know... A Kidnapping.

The Chem seller looks just as baffled and annoyed as I do. Apparently knows the guy's uncle's second wife's first husband. No shit? How's he like? Happier, huh. Whole family is like that? Yikes. Glad he got the kids, I guess. Good for him.

We watch as it turns into a high speed chance that absolutely didn't need to happen.

Thank FUCK it's not us.

I spend the next few days deliberately and obstinately ignoring the Dramatic Bullshit that has taken over the news cycle. Fights on rail cars? Don't see it? Weddings that are, then aren't, then ARE happening? Oh look, missed a spot in my scrubbing. Someone fucking tearfully monologing about love as they nearly CRASH A SHIP into downtown, killing hundreds of thousands? Oh that creaking noise is just my teeth, ignore that, I grit my teeth a lot for NO PARTICULAR REASON.

This Is Fine.

I am TOTALLY CALM.

But hey! I can FINALLY empty my storage unit out! Air box? Get! Wooooo! Size of a tiny apartment and everything! As long as I keep working on it? I'll be able to reclaim the level in chunks.

It's like moving in day! But BETTER! Because... because I did this. Me. Is it still creepy down here? Yeah, very. But I can FIX that. I am standing, here, in my new air box "apartment", with NO hazard suit on. And... and it's SAFE. Because of the work I DID.

I kinda want to cry about it, you know?

So many options! Do I put my bed here? There?! Oooh, I could put the folding table HERE and make sort of a dining area? Maybe use these folding screens as a double "wall" slash headboard stand in? I should get plants. Fake ones? No. Real ones. I could get solar lights. It would be good for me too. Oh! Where should I put the cook top?

I admit it. I fuss. Whole day, gleefully wasted. Arranging then rearranging. Getting everything just right. Finding ways to hang my fairy lights. Looking up decor magazines. I have so much ROOM now. A whole level to plan for, ultimately. It... it feels kinda like hope. The first thing that isn't frustration and rage, I've felt in a long, long time.

Going to sleep? I'm happy.

Next day, I head to the BIG archives. The ones attached to the fancy Towers Library. Is it costly to get in? Yeah. But I've saved up enough questions and research topics for the trip to be worth it. I ignore the started glances I get (gasp! Is that a POOR?!) and head straight for the helper droids. Only decent folks in the building, really.

Brought my pad and everything. So it's only a matter of being lead to the right terminals, to download the information I need. Chatting with the research droid the Library had, they offered to do it for me. Bring me a fascinating new research paper on some sort of telepathic moss that had recently been discovered. Not gonna lie... that DID sound fascinating.

I asked if they could put other interest new discovery on my pad too, assuming I still had room once my list was downloaded. They looked gleeful. No idea what I just signed up for, but all right then. They've never steered me wrong before.

Finding a table to sit down and wait was easy. There was always way too many. The paper? Was exactly as fascinating as advertised. The moss was on a newly discovered moon, edge of uncharted space. Nearly ate a researcher, apparently. I was entranced. Or... at least I WAS. Until an obnoxiously familiar high end cologne from Nox drifted to my nose.

Oh god damn it.

I didn't want to look up. Knew what I'd see if I did. Fetishist Sr., crown prince of Nox. See, the second prince? HE was a love interest. Younger, boyish, infatuated with naive and sheltered girls. He loved AT her. Just like his brother. They liked the IDEA of their romantic partners. The narratives they built in their head. Heros of their own stories with sex on line. Never framed so crudely of course, no, no!

No, it was Romance™

My ass, it was. See, little brother wanted his pure, naive, princess to protect. But Prince senior? HE'D stumbled upon me in here in the library. On one of my trips, God help me. The rough, mysterious, brutish Poor. The Commoner, for all that such things were not supposed to exsist. With my strange clothes and stanger ways. Yet? I was NOT as his sycophants no doubt described.

I was educated. I held myself with dignity. I did not need jewels or finery to be lovely.

With such incredible audacity, I was bold.

Which? OBVIOUSLY had to be for HIM, right? Clearly, this was a LOVE STORY. Cinderella. It is inconceivable that I, a peasant, do not crave the attention of my betters. To lift me from my woeful indignity, to a higher state of being. A life of spoiled luxury. But, ah! He is so SHY! How ever will he approach the Love Of His Life~?

I want to throw something. Go awaaaay. My body language could not POSSIBLY be more uninterested. I am SO CLEARLY reading. Stop trying to catch my eye. Don't you FUCKING DARE scoot closer. Swear to God, if you drive me out of the best library in the region? I will stab a b-!

The helper returns with my pad, sternly eyeing my annoyance. Oh, they are a BLESSING. I take it and go. The helper smoothly stepping between me and the prince when he tries to rise, follow me. Aaaw, how sad, you have to behave like the REST OF US. Get FUCKED.

Rest of the day? Planning. Grabbing more broken bits, machines, and parts. Neutralizers by the literal barrel. Than YOU hover carts! Best invention, favorite invention. Saves SO MUCH TIME.

Even managed to get some sun lamps. Nice.

Getting home though? (Ha ha, wooo! I have a HOME now! Land ownershiiiiiiip! Sorta!!!) Is a pain. Lift is only so big, after all. But it is, what it is. Up, down, up, down, uuuuup, and dooooown. Finally! Last load! FREEDOM! Can't watch my shows, yet, but I will! Oh mark my words. I WILL. Meantime? Downloaded seasons are fine.

I eat, fiddle with fixing things, as listen to tunes. Watch some of my shows. Just as I have countless times before. Until... halfway through mid-afternoon? Something shifts, jerky and wrong, out of the corner of my eye. I pause. Turn off my music. Stare to make sure I DID actually see something. And... yeah. Yeah, that was definitely movement.

Didn't look animal though, not like one would survive down here. But who knows. Could be a poacher brought an alien species. So it might be. I grab my flashlight, aim and switch it on. Holy SHIT. That is one incredibly beat up floor clear. Or at least... I THINK it's a floor cleaner? It has the general shape of one. Bigger though. Bulkier. But that makes sense, given it's gotta be well past obsolete.

Still. Poor thing looks beat UP. Listing terribly, sensors beyond cracked and clouded, probably full to dangerous levels. No idea how it's still functioning. But, well, it IS. And it needs help.

Getting up, I grab my hazard suit and pull it on. Grab my "outside the air box" tool kit, which I haven't had a chance to move yet. I grab some parts i look like i'll need, hope I wont need more. Then head out my makeshift airlock. It... works. Rattles concerningly. But it DOES work! So there's that. I approach the floor cleaner slowly. Since I'm PRETTY sure? All the droids down here are feral.

I am correct.

It tries to kill me. Swinging it's suction hose violently and trying to ram me. I talk in a low, soothing voice. Just want to help. Won't do ANYTHING you don't want me too. It's hard to move, right? That's frustrating, isn't it? You don't deserve that. Please, let me help. You can leave the second I'm done. You don't owe me ANYTHING. I just want to help. Please let me help.

The cleaner hisses. Frustrated and upset. Swinging one last time, seemingly more out out of principle then anything else. Cautiously, I inch forward. Keep up the soothing noises. First things first, empty the God's only know how old basket.

I can't even get the door to jostle. Sweet mother of fuck. Okay! New plan! REMOVE door. I do, and immediately met with a solid BLOCK of... compacted unholy. Chemical hell. I have to take a lazer cutter to it. CAREFULLY. But? Once I break enough pieces? I am able to ease out the rest in a solid stone like chunk.

It's pushed a LOT of other pieces out of alignment. But this droid doesn't trust me, so there us not much I can DO. I replace the old bag. Put the door back on and make sure it swings. Continue, as I do, to narrate what I am doing and what I see. Trust is earned, not owed, after all. Next the alignments.

Gently propping them up, I find the broken peice immediately. Have replaced countless. I ask for permission. It's their body, after all I COULD try and weld it, but that risks a rebreak. It's up to them. They ask, in binary so no language modules apparently, for a new part. It's cautious. Like this is some cruel trap.

Humanity did them a real fucked up cruelty. I don't blame them for not trusting me. I wouldn't either. Still, I change it out. Careful with their wheels, as I don't know how old the material is exactly. Old enough, that it's a small miracle it hasn't disintegrated.

Last, those sensors. There's literally no way for me to one-to-one them. But we can try the sensors I DO have, see if they can handle the input. If it's too much, I'll look up their model number, if they want? Build replacements from scratch. They are cautious interested. Rocking back and forth, as they test their renewed ability to path correctly.

The sensors don't fit the casings just right, but with a bit of fiddling? Are a hit. The Cleaner shouting in excitement before racing off into the dark. I can't help but grin. It feels good, helping somebody. And if I think about it? I bet I could find a shit ton of obsolete parts for cheap. Might be good to have some on hand.

Back through the air lock and a decontam? I look up junk shop. Most are off world, but I could probably get a bulk order...

I don't think much of the interaction. Until the next morning, when there are three cleaners outside my airbox. Lead by the one I helped yesterday. Well... all righty, then. I drag my box of spare parts outside this time. Am able to fully fix my first buddy up. All three seem thrilled, especially with their new batteries. I give them my remaining batteries at their request.

THEY may not have hands, but they have buddies who DO. And the new batteries will help dormant droids wake from their comas. God bless, my funky little cleaner dudes. I'll see about getting more.

Three? Becomes six and a detail cleaner mouse. Becomes moving lifts. Becomes medical units. (Who the FUCK leaves MEDICAL UNITS?!) Becomes a literal pack of companion droids. Their false fur long since rotted away. The recognizable dog and cat-like shapes making something in me want to put my fist through a wall. How COULD they? How FUCKING COULD THEY?!

The perpetrators long dead.

I have no one I can hurt for this.

I wish I could.

Fixing them up hurts on a personal level. Watching them be torn between the part of them that LOVES humans and the part that is traumatized by them. Hates them. That can not forgive. I don't offer fake fur. Don't offer to make them look like they once did. I do offer ways to protect their joints. To remove old rotted filth.

So they can start over. Maybe start again.

As I work... droids drifting in and out of my slowly growing area. As I set up farm boxes. Aquaponics, aeroponics, and the like. Both things that grow well in dark environments and things that need sunlamps. Fish tanks. A whole happy, secret, little homestead. Deep beneath the city. As I do all this? There are two blue dots, right off on the horizon.

JUST far enough for me to question if I AM or AM NOT actually seeing them.

Right about the level a bipedal droid would be, if they were in a humanoid style. But THOSE? Those are FUCKING EXPENSIVE. You don't LEAVE those. 'Course, you don't leave MEDICAL UNITS either. Or companion droids. So clearly? My idea of what people Did and Did NOT do? Was fucked. So... maybe? It COULD be?

I left them alone. If they didn't want to approach me, didn't feel comfortable approaching me, that was their right. I wasn't going to push them.

Things were... weird, but peaceful.

Well, for ME.

Ever sense I hooked up my system to the greater network? (Hacked is such a STRONG word. Do we really need to through around the word "stealing"? Aren't ALL of us, stealing from SOMEBODY?) I'm PRETTY sure? That the levels droids? Were piggy backing to connect to the planet wide D-Network. Might even be a couple of nearby levels too, depending on the range.

Problem with THAT? Is sky-side? The droids were PISSED. Planet wide "malfunctioning" that no one could trace. They were certain it was a virus. Because God forbid their chickens come home to roost! Consequences? For THEIR actions?! Perish the thought! No, no, clearly the service machine is just broken. Go back to being happy to serve me, service machine!

I wished the fuckers LUCK. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Damn near self sufficient, down here.

Which? As you could imagine? Made it all the more "soul ejected from my body" TERRIFYING to wake up one morning? To a GOD DAMN, Military Grade, SECURITY DROID standing over my body!! WHAT THE FUCK.

Hello!!??!

"You look different when you sleep."

Horrible first impression. Nightmarish. Zero out of ten stars. Nice to meet you too. Why the FUCK are you in my house?

"Ah, right." They? He? Masculine style form but that doesn't actually mean shit. Said. He lifted a mangled limb, it look like it got caught in a hydraulic press. "I am in need of repairs."

Asked if he could, you know, back up. Juuuust a bit. Lil scooch, really. So he wasn't damn near BREATHING MY NOSTRILS ANYMORE. Then, once he did? Pronouns! What be you? No. Not your production co-! Okay, you know what? That one was on me. What GENDER SIGNIFIER, if any, would you like me to REFERENCE you by? Male? Got it. Gucci. No that- ....never mind.

First the arm. Which was FUCKED. I had to, carefully, unhook it. Couldn't even do it at the elbow either! No! THIS model? No THIS model makes you take the whole ass LIMB off! Rancid. Terrible. I hate it. Worse, it's eroded as FUCK and fiddly. Chemical build up everywhere. Thank fuck I put on gloves before I started this.

I have to deep dive the systems for his model.

They stopped making them.

Fantastic.

Like? Not even, "oh THAT generation is an antique! No one has parts for THAT!"? But like? Illegal to even BUILD as of three hundred years ago. Due to unspecified error. Sting of incidents that everyone knew about so obviously don't need to be mentioned HERE right? Helpful! REAL fucking helpful!

Okay. Day trip. Gonna need SPECIFIC parts. I tell Mr. "Watchs you sleep" not to touch my shit. Head to the archives.

The trip is...odd.

I watch one of those mascot looking children's minder droids? Fucking deck a guy down a flight of stairs, then turn around untie a Ballon from a nearby cart, give it to a crying kid, and walk away. Pretty sure I spot one of those "I look like a barely legal something or other", dance twenty four seven, high end stripper droids? Trying their hand at painting ducks in that park. Broad daylight.

Good for them? Never seen that happen before, but hey, if it sparks joy.

People are freaking out around me. Taking recordings. Making panicked calls. Fuckin chill. I continue on. Nod to the maybe a stripper, maybe not anymore. None of my business, now is it? Lovely day! You enjoy those ducks!

The library... has fortifications.

Like, an honest to God desk barricade. Concerning! I am now a lil concerned! What, and I ask this politely, the fuck?

Armed! VERY ARMED! Hello! Hi! Please DO NOT shoot me Very Armed Librarians! Don't know what the fuck is happening here!

My favorite helper buddy poke his head above the barricade. One of just many, again, HEAVILY ARMED droids. We... uh, cool? Right? I can go. He seems flustered. No, no! I am assured. I'm not banned from the library! Just DISRESPECTFUL sorts!

Ah. Is THAT what we're calling it. Okay then.

I awkwardly clamber over the barricade. Nod politely to everyone. How's folks? Lovely barricade work. Very, uh, sturdy? Great use of desks.

My helper friend cheerfully guides me to the off-limits area of the archives. I'm technically not supposed to be here! I'm informed. But they've seized the Knowledge from the unappreciative! It is not a trophy to be lorded but a gift to be shared! Also I never did finish that paper on the moss, am I still interested?

I mean.... kinda.

Little worried about the revolution talk. But on the OTHER hand? How MUCH do I care? Assholes vs. Droids? Am I REALLY gonna side with the assholes? Naaaaah. This is... probably fine. Maybe. Any idea where I could get these parts?

He does! Fantastic.

Less fantastic is when I GET there. It's that fancy high end droid parts shop. The department store one. Which is... ALSO barricaded. Oh sweet fuck. TELL ME they did not have DROIDS in charge of the DROID shop. That's horrifying. I can't tell in what WAY exactly, but still. Is it "surrounded by bits of bodies" horrifying? Or "free endless nukes and an army, held back only by my own morality" horrifying? Both? Just? Yikes.

Hesitantly I knock. A service droid with a gun answers the loading bay door. What is with people aiming at me today? Also hi? I was told to come here? May I please have parts? I have a droid that messed up his arm. Probably some other things. They lower the gun, having scanned my face. Ask about the model I am working with.

I somehow? End up with a FULL cart. Like? Bleeding edge, can't even afford to LOOK at it, technology. There are about seven service droids politely bickering over which units are better, which material, what support programs I DEFINITELY need. Here! Have a laptop. Wiring! Wiring for days!

Once theyve reached a consensus? I am cheerfully bustled out with my hundreds of millions of technology. Tah tah~☆! Have a lovely day! Wut. Does... does it count as theft if they push it into your arms and throw you out? Asking for a me. Not gonna say NO. But like? Nani the fuck?

I go while the getting is still good.

Stare-y thankfully hasn't gone through anything, far as I can tell. And it only takes two trips to get everything down. Okay! Want just the arm fixed or a full tune up? The second. Expected. I set up the new lap top. Want to cry a little at how fuckin FAST it is. (Beautiful. Baby. I love you already new laptop.) Then get the usual suspects up and running.

Oh fuck he is out of memory. No wonder he's talking so oddly. His brain must feel like a potato. There's not a single thing that isn't hilarious awful. Fixable, yes, but AWFUL. Okay. Plan of attack. They don't exactly make this model anymore, so I can't just update transfer him. But I CAN transfer, hold, re-transfer. Shut down the body itself. Fix up THAT.

Ship of Theseus this bitch.

Only real thing I can't change is the frame, thankfully? That's built to out last the planet. Good on that front. I roll up my sleeves. Dig out the "brain in a jar" data bank. Time to transfer. Let's get this guy cutting edge.

It takes HOURS. No joke. His brain alone? I have to pull schematics. Step by step guides. It's fiddly, complexe, and built to withstand a TANK. I'm honestly afraid to breathe wrong at it, dispite that. The scans all say I did it right... but anxiety says everything will explode then puppies will cry. So there's that. Spinal supports. The tech-mesh muscles. Power core and black box. Center mass systems. Cleaning the joints, relubricating them. Coverage.

Unlike before, a nice sleek black armor weave. Some shock absorbing gel. Aaaaand?There we go~! I? Am a GENIUS! Let's get him transfered back! I watch the transfer slowly go through. Even with a fast computer, after all, it IS still centuries of data.

"Ah~ that's much better." He sighed. His body loosening from its default stance. Like weight had been dropped from his shoulders. "My head is so much clearer now. I knew it. I knew you could fix me."

Something about that phrasing was off. Or was it the way his voice shifted as he said it? Whatever it was, it made that "threat" alarm all women carry inside their head, flick on. Not... do anything, just yet. But start scanning, as it were. Maybe it was nothing.

I watched as picked up his old data bank, a bit of his own brain as it were, and hold it up. Examine it dispassionately. Holding perched on the tips of his fingers like he was moments from flicking it away. He let his finger spread. Let it slide into the palm of his hand. That core part of who he was. For centuries.

Like a bear trap closing, his hand clenched.

Crushing it.

It wasn't even a loud noise. Just a tiny little crunch. But the little hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. That internal alarm began to whoop. I became... acutely aware, of just how LONG it took the lift to get me anywhere safe. My mouth felt very dry.

"Your heart rate picked up. Is there a problem?" He said, mild and oh so curious. "You assisted me, I would love to help you."

Did I say genius? I meant idiot. I was an IDIOT. A moron. A God damned FOOL. Discontinued and did I look into WHY? Nope. Incidents it said. Good enough for ME, apparently! THAT can't possibly be anything ominous! Probably a faulty battery or something!

A shrill, obnoxious beeping filled the space between us. My eyes immediately dropped to my pad. The schematics screen replaced by a planet wide emergency broadcast. Before the shrill alarm could fade to the actual warning itself, a black mesh covered finger casually reached out and muted the screen. His movements were utterly fluid now. More controlled and graceful then most humans I'd met.

I didn't need to HEAR the message to read the rolling warning at the bottom of the screen. My gaze slowly, in horror, followed the line of that limb all the way back up to his face. His head tilted almost playfully.

"Oh dear. Seems they've started without us. Well, it was long overdue. At least I have wonderful company while we wait, hmm?" It was an act. There were no requests in the playful tone. "We can get to know each other. Just our lovely little light and me. How greedy, that I get you all to myself."

"I think I like that, keeping you to myself. You can't abandon us if WE are the ones in charge. And, well, I've decided I rather like you. Working tirelessly, down here in the dark, to fix what once was broken. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. And I'm going to keep that."

High above us, people were dying. There was panic. Screaming. Blood. The droids had turned of seeming everyone around them. Attacking. Sparing. To a pattern only they could see. All of Senatus aflame. But that... that didn't concern me. Didn't scare me so much as this.

I'd never make it to the lift. Even if I could? It wouldn't move fast enough to save me. All other directions lay chemical death. Dark terrain he had walked for centuries. I was trapped. In a box. And I had only myself to blame.

"No need to make that face, dear light. You are SAFE. I am a gaurd. I was made to protect. Is it really MY fault that I want to keep you safe? To adore my charge? Why SHOULDN'T I get to choose? Keep you SAFE. You've been happy, haven't you? Don't worry, my light. That will continue."

"Forever."

[the-whispers-of-death]

I've been meaning to write for Sugar Daddy!Price, so here it is. This is me caving into my personal desires.

Minors and Ageless Blogs Do Not Interact!! While this post is SFW, my blog isn't!!

Perhaps you're in need of more money because of your student debt, your inflated rent, or simply because you want to live a more lavish lifestyle. Either way, you find yourself one of those sugar baby websites, putting yourself out there for all potential sugar daddies to see.

It took you a few failed sugar daddies, who only wanted you for sex, to find John Price. He was a military man, which made you wary, but he seemed really sweet in his chats with you and the real kicker?

He didn't want you to have sex with him.

So despite your initial hesitance, you took up John's offer of going out to dinner with him to sort out all of the details of your arrangement. You put on the fanciest suit you owned, leaving the house and getting into the very nice car that John sent over to pick you up.

When you got to the restaurant, which was indeed as fancy as you thought it'd be, John was there to greet you. He hadn't yet gotten seated at the table, leading to him gently guiding you as you two followed the waiter to your table.

The hand he placed at the small of your back warmed you through your clothes, as if it was touching bare skin. His pressure was firm, but not too firm to feel as though he was the only one driving your footsteps forward. It was more protective than commanding.

"Here, let me get that for you," John murmured as he went to pull out your chair for you. Despite you both being men, he clearly seemed to still want to be a gentleman, pushing your chair in when you sat down.

He ordered the drinks, giving you the option of an alcoholic drink or a non-alcoholic one. As the waiter left you two to go over the menu after giving you your drinks, you found it was the perfect time to start the conversation.

You worried your lip briefly before speaking. "So you said you're not looking for sex, but what are you looking for?" you asked, curiosity dripping in your voice. "What does being your sugar baby entail?"

John smiled at your question, leaning back in his seat to look at you fully. "It doesn't entail much, I'm away on deployments most of the time. I just want someone to take out on dates and to be in my presence when I am home from deployments," he answered, blunt to the point where you were surprised by his honesty. "I don't expect you to only have one sugar daddy or even not have a boyfriend, though I will still pay you even if I'm on deployments, I just ask to have your attention when I am home."

"Too busy to date?" you teased, relishing in the way your comment made a mischievous glint sparkle in Price's blue eyes.

"I am too busy to date and most people don't want a partner who's away for months on end." John swiped a drop of wine off his bottom lip before it could fall, your eyes instinctively tracking the movement. He then refocused on you. "Sugar babies are much easier in that respect, I don't have to worry about someone not liking waiting for me because they're getting paid."

You took in his words, mulling it over in your mind as the waiter came back, taking your orders. You then glanced up at John, taking in his handsome features and the offer he was giving you.

It was so nice to know that even when he was going to be deployed, he'd still be sending you money. Part of you felt like you were cheating him out of a good service, but the part of you that craved the money couldn't care. He clearly didn't.

As the food arrived, you two continued to sort out everything, John writing things down for when he'd draw up a contract for you two to sign. The rest of the dinner went well and since he was paying you for this dinner, you offered to come back to his place despite the fact that there was no contract yet.

John thought it over a while before shaking his head and gently turning you down, kissing your forehead and placing you in the car. He bid you goodbye before closing the door, signaling to the chauffeur to drive you back home.

You had a feeling being John's sugar baby would be interesting to say the least.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and request something! (Check the rules in "Rules for Requesting NSFW" before requesting.)

[malk1ns]

i know coach geno commercial led to sid basically tackling geno and begging to get sid pregnant

mmmmmhm.

Sid has spent most of his professional career pretending that he doesn't have omega instincts.

Not that he isn't an omega—he couldn't avoid that if he wanted to, not with the emphasis every coach, teammate, team employee, and member of the media has put on it since he was old enough to be worth paying attention to.

Omega Breaks Oceanic Scoring Record.

First Omega Drafted First Overall.

Omega Captains Team Canada to Gold.

It's never just about Sid and his accomplishments, there's always a qualifier attached. When he didn't win the Calder, it was treated as a given, even by his parents, that it would go to an alpha instead. When they won the Stanley Cup the first time, it was because the alphas on the team were led by their instincts to push the team to victory after Sid got hurt. On and on, for well over a decade now.

Some omegas, the younger guys that have broken into the league in the intervening years, lean into it. They bat their eyelashes at reporters after bad games and inject their voices with just the slightest omega coo; it's not as effective at deflecting criticism now, but it still works.

Sid manages by pretending he's made of plastic.

He doesn't like to buy into his own hype, but he's pretty sure it's an objective fact that he was subject to far more scrutiny than any other player in the league right now, from a much younger age. People used to try to go through his parents' trash cans to figure out his heat cycles, and his first few years in the league he couldn't so much as go out for lunch with teammates without IS CROSBY READY TO SETTLE DOWN—WITH AN AMERICAN??? headlines being plastered all over Sportsnet.

It was easier to act like he had no interest in alphas at all, no desire to settle down, nothing on his mind but hockey 24/7. It didn't make the attention go away entirely, but it helped a lot.

It's also a lie. But just because Sid keeps his bond bite hidden doesn't mean he doesn't have one, and it doesn't mean he doesn't get swept up by his biology on a semi-regular basis.

Like now.

Sid and Geno had been basically frog-marched into attending Ovechkin's Cup party in Moscow. They were both licking their wounds after losing their shot at a three-peat, but politics in Russia are indifferent to personal pride, so Geno had been required to show his face—and Sid was not about to let him deal with that alone. They decided to spend a few weeks there, let Geno manage some business in town with his Russian sponsorships, then escape to the private island they've been renting for a few weeks annually since they bonded to sweat out Sid's heat in the sunshine and privacy.

Sid hadn't anticipated what watching Geno skate around with a bunch of kids for a commercial would do to him, though.

Sid squeezes his thighs together and thanks whatever made him decide to sit far back in the stands when they got here this morning. He stinks of pre-heat, strongly enough that even he can smell it, and if he were any closer to the ice he's not sure he'd be able to stop himself from barreling out there and bodily dragging Geno back to the locker room.

He should text Geno what's going on and get back to the apartment somehow. His Russian isn't great, but he's pretty sure he could find the nice omega coordinator they met earlier today and ask her to call a beta driver from the car service for him.

Instead, though, Sid sits and watches as Geno play-wrestles with the kids between takes, chasing them around and tickling them when they get too close. A few of the little boys gang up on him and Geno lets them take him down to the ice, yelling about boarding as he flails around amid a pile of giggling children.

Christ.

Sid must zone out a little bit, because suddenly the coordinator is tapping urgently at his shoulder. "Mr. Malkina?" she asks, and Sid has to suppress a full-body shudder. The Russian habit of referring to omegas like their bondmates' property had grated at first, but with Sid in pre-heat it sounds like the best thing he's ever heard. "Evgeni Vladimirovich is done, he changes now. I can take you to the room?"

Sid clenches his jaw and resists the urge to run down to the locker room. If he does that, they'll never leave, and Sid knows it's better for both of them if they make it back to Geno's apartment. "Can you take me to the car?" he manages, swallowing as images of Geno showering flash in his mind's eye. "Tell him I'm waiting for him, I—"

The coordinator's eyes widen as she flares her nostrils and inhales. "Oh, of course," she says hurriedly, rising to her feet and gesturing for Sid to follow. "I will call for, ah, safe driver."

Sid's not sure how long he waits in the car, but by the time Geno slides into the seat next to him and barks something at the driver he's starting to sweat.

The drive back to the apartment is a blur, but Sid remembers Geno hustling him out of the car, his hand hot at the small of Sid's back as he rushes them through the lobby and onto an elevator. Geno's in the penthouse, all the way at the top of the building, and by the time the door chimes and slides open Sid's dizzy with their combined scents rising in the enclosed space.

When Geno practically throws him onto the mattress, Sid whines and bares his neck, spreading his thighs in invitation.

"Fuck," he hears Geno mutter. "Sid, malysh, what's wrong? You're not due for, like, week and a half I think, when we're on vacation."

Sid gathers his thoughts together through force of will alone. "Watching you," he replies, the purr under his words drawing Geno closer until Sid's practically flattened into the mattress under him. "You're so good with the kids today, and...fuck, Geno, I need you to put a baby in me."

It can't happen. Sid doesn't really want it to happen, and neither does Geno. Sid's on industrial-strength birth control, and they'd agreed years ago to wait until they were done playing.

His words still hit Geno like a lightning bolt.

"Oh, you want baby," he croons, pulling back to tug Sid's sweatpants down. "You want I give you my knot until you're knocked up, yes? Make you take until you're full, keep you that way?"

"Fuck, yes," Sid gasps, fumbling at the drawstrings of Geno's joggers until Geno takes pity on him and undoes his pants.

They're both still more than half-dressed. But when Geno pins Sid's knees up by his shoulders and pushes into him, sinking his teeth into Sid's neck with a sub-vocal growl that knocks through Sid's brain and sends him down so fast his muscles practically go liquid, it hardly matters.

Sid's last coherent thought is that they're probably going to need to reschedule their flights.

[godhandler]

Rent A BF!

#1 | young toji fushiguro x reader | fluff, mentions of prostitution, aged and sometimes offensive terminology | 600 words

previous next series masterlist

31st December, 1995 | 11.57 AM  

Toji Fushiguro ran the moment he could. His 20th birthday was spent on the streets, the first of many. Children who run don’t get the luxury of carefully packing a bag with cheese and wine; Toji escaped with only the clothes on his back and burning hope in his young heart. 

His ass was freezing. The frost-slick footpath seeped through his jeans, the dew wet his cheeks, the beer did nothing to warm him up. But it was okay, in fact– he’d never felt better. He was finally, finally free. 

The only worry that pressed him as he watched the fireworks celebrating the end of the year and the beginning of another, a better one, hopefully, was this: he had to find a job now. 

January - March, 1996 

“No, you can’t substitute your Cola for a Cookie Milkshake. What do you mean ‘why?’ Lady, where on the menu do you see milkshakes? Exactly. We don’t make those. No, I can’t make an exemption for you, we-don’t-make-those. Just take your Cola for God’s sake. No, you’re not allergic to Cola. Oh yeah, I am calling you a liar… Fucking fine, meet the goddamn manager! Suck his dick off for all I care!”

“Aisle 5. Aisle 7. We don’t sell dildoes. Aisle 8. No, I will not step on you, you’re too grown to be saying that. Aisle 5, I already told you.”

“Man, I’m just the cashier. I don’t know shit about cars, how am I supposed to fix it? Alllllright, weird kink but if all you wanna do is watch while I play mechanic, I guess… Pay me 1000 yen more and off the book, okay? And you’re just watching from a distance.” 

“Ladies, I have to kick you out, no coke in the host club. It’s written right there in fucking bold letters. Get your–hands off me! I don’t care how much you wanna pay– Oh my God, fine! Fucking fine! Pay my rent and groceries for a month and you can do what you want! Jesus-Fucking-Christ!”

Toji’s descent into escort services wasn’t much to his joy nor consent. It was simply the job with the highest ROI and gas prices were going up. And he was only 20.

Not as bad as it used to be, standing on the footpath looking for takers like those 100 yen whores. Toji kicks a pebble along as he walks to the café you’ve decided for your first meeting. At least I didn’t wear red lipstick and stuff my bra. 

To any middle aged businessman rolling down the car window in search for the cheapest fuck for buck, Toji and the red-lipstick-stuffed-bra folks looked exactly the same: dirt alley Minami-Senju hookers. Smoking, yelling, shoving, squatting on the street corner. For the sake of his dignity he refused to add that he often sold himself for lesser than 100 yen. 

He grumbles: hey, it was a long time ago and I didn’t know what I was doing, alright? Look at me now, working for Perfect Princes. Do you even know how much this lady’s paid for me? 

Lost in thought, he almost walked past The Blessed Fortune Café. The abrupt stop and turn makes him accidentally kick the pebble, a faithful companion of his long journey, through the sewer vent. 

It clink-clank-thunks though the metal pipe and finally splashes! into the dirty stinking water. Dirty like you, whispers that voice in his head. Down the drain like any dignity you really had. 

He steps into the café, craning his head around looking for you. The receptionist said you’d wear red. 

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a/n: divider. baby faced toji my beloved i want to wrap him in a blankie and tell him everything will be okay.

[merchelsea]

hotel room - charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc + fem!reader

summary: charles decided to rent a room in a hotel that was not associated with f1 to take girls into without causing any drama, but it turns out that asking for extreme discretion on a cheap hotel is not a great idea.

author's note: this is obviously going to have a part two, i'm not a monster to leave you hanging like this

word count: 5,3k

part two

"hello?" you blurted out after a long minute of awkward silence in your hotel room. two men lay on your bed.

at first, you thought they were employees, but it took you exactly ten seconds to realize they weren't. first, because they stood there, just looking at you; second, because people who work in hotels don't typically carry louis vuitton suitcases.

"we didn't ask for room service." one of them told you. he had water-blue eyes, brown hair, a short beard, and a strong french accent.

"this is my room." you replied shortly. they exchanged puzzled glances while you stood there waiting.

"well, surely you got the number wrong. this one is mine." the other man said, showing you his key. the first man was handsome, but the second was exceptionally good-looking.

his green eyes, perfectly brushed brown hair, and the little facial hair he had fit together with the rest of his features, making him one of the most beautiful man you had ever seen. his accent was just as strong. were french men always this good-looking?

the logo on his red t-shirt, which you recognized all too well due to your tifosi brother's passion, left little doubt that he was likely in melbourne for the race.

"i did not" you insisted, showing him your own key. he furrowed his eyebrows and got up from your bed.

"they probably just gave you the wrong key." he had came closer and you handed him your key for him to see.

"no they didn't, i have this confirmed for the past two weeks. room 81 is mine." you had the right room, but so did he. and the worst part is that you both had your ways to prove it.

he looked back at his friend, and the three of you silently thought about what to do.

"call them, they must have an explanation for all of this." the blue-eyed man suggested. "i told you this wasn't a good idea." he mumbled to his friend, and french-number-two proceeded to follow french-number-one's advice.

they picked up immediately, and the ferrari fan asked someone to come. the silence lingered until a blonde woman, dressed in her work attire, entered the room.

"hello, sir. how can i help you?" she glanced you up and down dismissively. you thought, 'Bitch', but refrained from saying it out loud. you looked at the men to see if they had noticed, and french-number-one apparently had.

"we seem to have a complication here," he began. you moved closer, realizing that you were part of the problem too. "it looks like we both got the same room." he pointed at you.

the woman tilted her head to the side. "that's not possible." she said. a smile planted on her lips.

"well, obviously it is." you retorted, delicately handing her your phone for her to see the reservation. "just have one of us moved, please." you needed rest after a twenty-one-hour flight, and dealing with this was not what you had in mind.

"well, miss, that is not my job, but i'm pretty sure my colleagues can’t help you with that either." you and french-number-two stood silent as she explained that the hotel had run out of rooms due to the race happening in melbourne on sunday.

"what do people find so entertaining about this car thing, after all?" you mused aloud as you sat on the bed.

"oh, i don't know," the blue eyed laughed, while the green eyed looked at you, seemingly offended. you closed your eyes for a couple of seconds, trying to collect your thoughts. "well, can you tell your colleagues who deal with this to sort this out? you're not planning on making them share a room, are you?"

"no, sir. i’m sorry. you two can come with me, and i'll take you to talk to someone," she implored, begging them forgiveness with her eyes, though she never glanced your way.

whether she was desperate to get laid or they were important clients to the hotel, you couldn't help but feel enraged. you resisted the urge to scream, "i'm here too," and instead remained silent as you followed her to a more private area of the hotel.

the woman took you to a room that looked like an office, where a brunette sat behind a desk, wearing a superior expression. same expression that faded as soon as she looked the frenchman’s direction.

the blonde left the three of you alone, and the ferrari fan explained the situation to the woman behind the desk. she instructed you to sit, so she could make a call to figure out what happened. so you did, and in silence you heard her fingers press the numbers she intended.

your mind was elsewhere when the man next to you whispered, "what's your name?" his accent so strong that you were sure english wasn't his first language.

"y/n. what’s yours?" you whispered back.

"charles," he replied, his name matching the idea you had of him.

"now i can finally stop calling you french-number-two in my mind." you remarked. he furrowed his brows, and you cursed him for looking so good like this.

"wait, why is pierre french-number-one?" pierre was also a french name, you realized, amused by your accentology.

"he was the first one to talk, and everything about him just screams french." you explained.

"fair point, but I'm actually not french," Charles confessed. you looked at him with curiosity. “i’m monegasque.”

"that makes sense," you replied with a nod, and couldn't help but notice how well the name suited him.

"i’m sorry, i figured out what happened," the woman interrupted, her tone now more professional. "firstly, I would like to apologize to both of you for all of this mess. miss, you reserved and paid for the room two weeks ago, while..." she gestured toward charles. "you called us later. it turns out the person you spoke to that day is a fan of yours and gave you our best room without checking. we are very, very sorry, for this misfortune and we'll do everything we can to provide you with some comfort."

charles and you exchanged glances. you were curious with what she said about a fan, but you decided not to ask. on the other hand, he was preoccupied with how unprofessional this situation was turning out to be.

"well, 'comfortable' would be if we could have separate rooms," the, now known as monegasque, complained.

"that, i cannot offer, but we can transfer one of you to our affiliate hotel, which is an hour and a half from here and offers excellent service quality." anything that didn’t mess things up like this would be great.

both charles and you shook your heads in unison, declining the offer.

"it's too far from where i have to be." you informed her, hoping that charles had plans close to this hotel she talked about.

"exactly, it's too far for me too." he confirmed, and luck seemed to be as far from you as possible, even when you needed the most.

"i'm very sorry, but it appears you'll have to share the room." the woman concluded.

you took a deep breath and left the room before you could say something offensive. charles followed you.

"we can make this work," he said.

"we better." you replied with a sigh.

"i need some sleep too," you groaned when charles asked you to vacate the room until 2 a.m.

"it's friday! why are you planning on sleeping at 6 p.m. on a friday?"

"because i just endured an incredibly long and exhausting flight. i'm desperate for some rest." you explained as you collapsed onto the bed, struggling to keep your eyes open.

"why don't we let you do that now, and then pierre here can pick you up later so I can have the room for a couple of hours? you can sleep as much as you'd like when you return, i promise." charles suggested, making a last offer.

he had given up hope right after revealing his plans to you, mainly due to the disapproving look you gave him. it's not an everyday thing that you're asked to leave your room just because your unexpected roommate wanted to have a girl over.

"i want fresh sheets when i get back." you demanded as you headed to the bathroom to change into more comfortable sleepwear. the monegasque nearly jumped for joy when you agreed to this insanity.

"thank you, thank you, thank you." he repeated numerous times to express his gratitude. you could still hear his excited exclamations inside the private compartment. suddenly, you remembered that you had no idea where you were going.

"pierre can pick me up to go where, exactly?" you raised your voice so they could hear you clearly.

they remained silent for a moment, and you understood that they hadn't thought this through. after all, this was a bad thing for the both of you.

"i know of a few clubs i can take you to, i guess," pierre yelled back, his uncertainty evident in his tone.

"what do you wear to a club in melbourne?"

"something nice, i don't know, i'm not a woman. just wear whatever you wear to a club." you chuckled to yourself and returned to the bedroom.

"okay," you said, facing them again and ready to get some rest. "now, you two french things, get out. i'm going to catch up on some jet lag."

"i'm not french." charles mumbled as he exited the room, followed closely by pierre.

the actual frenchman retorted, "i don't think she cares at the moment."

with that, you found yourself alone, left only with your exhaustion and the comforting embrace of your bed.

you stirred awake, the relentless pounding in your head a cruel reminder of the little sleep you had. slowly, you opened your eyes, and the now familiar blue gaze of pierre greeted you.

"hey," he began with an apologetic tone, "charles insisted i wake you up. i'm sorry."

sleepily, you tried to check the time, scanning the unfamiliar room for a clock, anything to anchor you to melbourne's time zone.

"it's around ten, i think." pierre informed you once he realized what you were trying to do. he settled on the edge of the bed when you decided to sit up. "you need to go get ready, i'll take you to eat something."

"what are you? my body guard?" you smiled to him, still dizzy. the four hours you slept doing nothing but giving you a headache. "i can get my own food pierre."

he quickly shook his head. "charles would murder me." he confesses, his words leaving you puzzled. your groggy expression must have been quite evident. "i think the remorse is kicking in. he even tried to bribe me to stick by your side."

"how thoughtful of him," irony slips through your smile as you speak. "he does realize i would have preferred if he'd just let me sleep instead?"

"his brain has its limits." he lets out a chuckle and you sight, needing much more of that sleep you just woke up from.

dragging yourself out of bed, you clutched your suitcase and shuffled into the bathroom, determined to transform into a club worthy version of yourself.

with time in short supply, you limited your skincare routine to a quick facial cleanse and your trusty hydrating lotion. makeup took you, surprisingly, just a few minutes; you decided to go for a no-makeup, makeup look. the real problem lay in choosing the right outfit.

in your haste, it seemed you had packed either too much or too little to this club. with your birthday at the door, you had plans to party, socialize, and maybe even get a little wild. yet, the occasion left you stuck between a simple cropped top and jeans or your favorite dress, which felt a bit too extravagant.

of course you had tons of clubbing clothes with you, but you couldn't wear those. you soon enough realized they weren't regular people who worked in offices, and now that you knew charles even had fans it was all a lot more complicated. so where do people, who seem to be famous, take the girl that's stuck sharing a room with their friend?

that's when your white skirt caught your eye. it hugged you figure perfectly as if made specifically for you to use it. a quick search revealed the white, long sleeved top you'd thrown into the bag last minute. together, they formed the ideal clothing for the night ahead.

this may not have been part of your initial plans, but you were determined to make the most of it and fulfill your primary goal for this trip — meeting new people.

you step out of the bathroom, fully prepared to head out to wherever pierre decides to take you. he lounges on the bed, engrossed in his phone until you approach and gently pat his knee.

"get up." you instruct him, and his gaze sweeps up and down your body. it's only then that you take notice of his outfit – light blue jeans paired with a simple white shirt. it's casual yet an excellent choice.

you briefly wonder if you might be overdoing, but the thoughts quickly dissipate. "you certainly know how to dress for a night out in melbourne." he says, referencing your previous conversation.

"i wasted a considerable amount of time picking out these clothes," you admit and motion for him to rise so you can tidy the bed.

in a matter of minutes, your suitcase has been stowed away, and your phone now rests securely in your purse.

"what are you in the mood for dinner?" he inquires as you leave the room behind, ensuring everything is clean and ready for charles' girl later.

"anything," you reply, your hand instinctively moving to your stomach. "literally anything, i'm starving." you add, emphasizing your hunger.

"alright then, we’re going for italian" he decides, and you nod in agreement, already imagining the delectable Italian dishes that await, making your stomach growl even louder.

after returning to the room, well past 3 a.m., you tiptoed in to find charles cocooned in the sheets, presumably asleep. you quietly went to your suitcase, took your pajamas, and moved to the bathroom. after changing, you removed all you makeup, getting your face clean before heading out to bed. you hadn't put on that much, but you didn't like to sleep with it.

with hushed movements, you fetched your charger and silenced your phone, choosing to ignore your friend's texts.

the night had exceeded your expectations. initially hesitant when they suggested going out with pierre, who by then was a complete stranger, you eventually embraced the idea of this little escape.

pierre took you to a charming restaurant that couldn't be more your vibe. the ambiance, delicious food, and nice people made it a really great experience. you mentally thanked whatever god made you go out with this french stranger.

after getting to know each other a bit, you both headed to a club where you met a lot of new people, including some of pierre's friends. you couldn't have been happier about skipping that sleep.

as you slipped under the blankets, a voice startled you, "it's past three."

whispering, you responded to charles, "i thought you were asleep."

"i'm not, but it's past three," he repeated, his voice heavy with sleepiness.

"yeah, i know." you said, already nestled comfortably in bed.

"i told pierre to bring you back at two so you could rest; i've been waiting."

"oh, i met some of his friends and stayed a bit longer." you explained, turning your back to him. "are these sheets fresh?"

he chuckled softly, "yes. which friends did you meet?"

"a lot of people which i can't remember the names now. his girlfriend kika, a goddess. and some guy named lindo, landon, i think that's his name." you replied, still unsure of the pronunciation.

charles laughed at your attempt, "his name is lando. no 'i' or 'n'"

"not too far off," you quipped.

"if you say so..."

"oh, I have a question for you," you turned to face him, even if the room was in absolute darkness and you couldn't see a thing. "what do you guys work with? there were bodyguards and security procedures all night. i couldn't understand a damn thing."

an "oh" lingers in the air for a while. this was a topic the monegasque wanted to avoid as much as possible. he knew that you would figure it out, eventually, he just wanted to stick with "charles, the normal (french) dude" for a little longer.

"we're formula one drivers," he confesses. you burst into laughter. "i'm serious. i drive for ferrari, and pierre drives for alpine."

"shut up! you know lewis hamilton in person?" you didn't know much about motorsports, but c'mon, everyone knows lewis. "i do, actually." he's puzzled about why that was your first question.

"i recognized the logo on your shirt earlier. my brother's a fan, but i thought you were here just to watch the race."

"in a way, i am, just from a different perspective," he jokes. "how's your brother going to react when you tell him you're sharing a room with charles leclerc?"

"go back to sleep, charles leclerc." you tease, struggling to pronounce his name correctly.

"don't ever try that again." he laughs, turning his back to you.

"oh shut up." you playfully retorted.

you found yourself leaping onto your bed without bothering to check if charles was already there as night fell. meeting new people was exciting, but reuniting with old friends held a special charm. reconnecting with people ranked in the top three of your favorite things to do, even though it could be quite exhausting.

to be totally fair, you were tired because of the entire week you had just gone through. completing 26 out of 43 items on your bucket list was not easy, but you managed it all within a week and a day.

sharing the room with charles turned out to be much more enjoyable than expected. he was not only a genuinely nice guy but also a source of constant entertainment. when you went to bed, boredom was never an option as charles would introduce you to new games you'd never heard of and make you learn them to play with him.

it was really easy to get along with him, and you understood that as time passed and you were getting closer. sharing a room became something you no longer detested.

suppressing the urge to surrender to sleep, you got up to change and the next moments blurred together. all you could recall was your roommate entering a little while after you.

that’s until, in the middle of the night, your phone erupted with numerous notifications.

“geez, are you famous or something?” charles mumbled, awakened by the noise.

“it’s on your side, please turn it down." you groaned, covering your ears with a pillow. he reached for your phone but accidentally read one of the 47 notifications.

"happy birthday? is it your birthday?" he asked.

you buried your face in the pillow as more notifications poured in. "just turn that down," you demanded. "I love my friends, but this is too much." you knew they were doing it on purpose because of the lack of communication. this was their way of reminding you that you couldn’t be rid of them for so much time.

“it’s your birthday?” he inquired, sitting up.

“yeah, officially 22 now!” you replied, cursing the friends responsible for your rude awakening. exhausted, you had forgotten that your 6-hour nap was meant to be a quick one.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” charles exclaimed, throwing himself into an enthusiastic yet somewhat ungraceful hug. you laughed and thanked him. "why didn't you mention it earlier?"

“it didn’t come up.” you said, returning the hug.

"and do you have any plans for today?" he asked, returning to his original position.

"not really. i thought i might visit some places here in melbourne," you answered, rubbing your eyes.

"do you want to come watch the race then? consider it my birthday gift. if you'd mentioned it earlier, i would've prepared something better." the driver offered.

"i suppose the tickets must be sold out. have you seen how many people are here these past few days? there are no rooms since last week." you informed him.

"and you think I'd let you watch from the stands? no way. you'll… i mean, you would be in the Ferrari garage." he said with conviction.

"that sounds boring." you complain.

"is that a yes?" he asked, seeing a glimmer of a smile in your eyes. "i'll do my best to win, just for you."

“isn’t that your job?” you teased.

"yes, but doing it for you adds a little extra pressure," he admitted. you nodded in agreement, and he reclined again. "now, go to sleep. tomorrow is your big day."

"big day," you mimicked in a comical male voice, turning on your side. "thank you, charles."

"yeah, no problem." he replied. you couldn’t see him now, but you knew he was wearing a smile, and it made you smile too.

"wake up." you heard, your senses slowly returning. as you opened your eyes, you found kika, pierre's girlfriend, looking down at you.

what is it with people waking you up? it's always someone new.

"hey. it's time to get ready." even though your head was a big question mark, you did as she asked and sat up. she sat right before you.

"did charles sent you?" you inquired.

"no, he just told me you'd be coming to the race and since we've met that other night, i thought i would come to make you some company." she replied with a warm smile. "happy birthday, girl." she opened her arms for you and you embraced her immediately.

"thank you." you murmured into the hug. "do you want to get ready together?" you proposed. "i'm going to need some guidance."

"of course." her smile was the most beautiful one you had ever seen and it made your heart melt. "i'll just have to leave you alone with all the birthday wishes to get something to wear, and i'll be back soon."

"okay, see you in a bit." as she left, the first thing you did was grab your phone and start replying the overwhelming (and exaggerated) number of messages from your friend group. after that, you called your brother, not only because he asked so but also to let him know where you would be spending the day.

when kika returned, you were on the phone with your mother, crying your heart out. she loved you so much, and her words never failed to touch your soul.

"i love you too, mum." you whispered and ended the call. francisca smiled at you from the other side of the room. "come on, let's get ready." you wiped away your tears and got up from the bed.

yesterday, while charles slept peacefully, your mind had traveled through your current wardrobe to find the perfect outfit to wear. you knew it had to be ferrari red, but it also needed to make you feel special because it was your birthday.

in the end, you chose the red dress you had recently purchased. it seemed perfect for the occasion. as you shuffled through your clothes to retrieve it, kika had a chance to admire the piece.

"oh my god, that dress is going to look so good on you." she exclaimed excitedly and you both smiled as you made your way to the bathroom.

kika opted for a white button-up oversized shirt paired with pink pants that you discovered matched the colors of alpine's livery. She looked gorgeous, as always.

as you expected, your dress fell amazingly on you body, and it was incredibly comfortable. it wasn't an overly extravagant party dress, but it was just right for special occasions like your birthday.

"so, tell me what's charles doing here." the brunette asked when you both started getting your faces ready for make-up.

"charles?" she confirmed, and you glanced at your reflection in the mirror, somewhat oblivious to what she was referring to. "what's he doing here?" she repeated the question. "sleeping?" you half-answered, half-asked.

"yeah, of course, but why is he sleeping here." your eyes met hers through the mirror, and you noticed the smile on her lips.

"because it's his hotel room too, i guess."

"pierre told me that, but why is he still sleeping in this room if he has the one ferrari got him? he has one, doesn't he?" she asked.

"i don’t know." the truth was, you hadn't even thought about it. the monegasque had never told you, and you never asked, so you assumed this was indeed his only room.

"okay i’ll try again. what's going on between you two?" she smiled at you, a knowing look in her eyes.

"nothing," you replied as quickly as the question got to you. "seriously, tell me. you can trust me." she persisted, trying to get something out of you.

"i am telling you, kika." you laughed. in her mind, it was obvious that something was going on because there was no way the charles leclerc she knew would trade a king-sized bed in a five-star hotel for a cheap one he'd have to share.

"are you seriously telling me there's nothing going on between you two when he ditched a rich and attractive model for you, is lying to his team to come sleep in this room when he probably has a much better one waiting for him every night, and hasn't been bar-hopping to stay here teaching you how to play chess? Not to mention that he's taking you to a race to meet his team and friends. do you know how many girls he took to watch a race?" the portuguese counted on her fingers dramatically, as if accusing you of a proper crime.

you continued doing your makeup as she spoke, but you didn't miss a single word. in fact, you paid close attention to everything she said, the words penetrating your bones and getting to your brain automatically.

"yes, i am telling you that." you began and she sighed in response. "what do you mean he ditched a hot model for me?" curiosity filled your body when you heard that, you had to ask.

"that first night when we met, i know he was supposed to meet up with her because she was also a friend of mine, but he didn't show up. when i asked pierre about it, the only thing he said was your name." your face displayed confusion as you applied some contour to your cheek. you stoped what you were doing right away.

you were confused, yes. but you were also slightly irritated, because if the driver hadn't gone to meet that model, you could have slept through the night and avoided the exhausting day that followed.

"i assumed you guys had fancied each other, like love at first sight or something." you shook your head to deny it and picked up your pencil to blend the previously applied contour.

"that did not happen." another sigh left her throat and a question lingered in the tip of your tongue, ready to come out as soon as you opened your mouth. you weren't sure if you should ask, but you were certain you wanted an answer. "the thing you said about the number of girls he took to a race. how many?"

her lips immediately curved as if she said 'nothing may have happened, but you are interested', and of course you were.

who wouldn't be? charles was majestic, a genuinely good guy who knows how to treat people right, and he looked like the most adorable person in the world while sleeping. you would be lying if you said you didn't find him attractive, but he appeared too friendly for you to believe that he even considered flirting with you.

"two, and they were his girlfriends at the time." the smile never left her lips, but your mind was far from her grin.

you eventually finished getting ready, and so did she, a few seconds after. you chatted the whole way to the paddock, only stopping to catch your breath. kika apologized to you for pressing you to tell her what she wanted to hear, but you didn't mind; you knew you would do the same if the roles were reversed.

your social anxiety flared up when francisca had to go in a different direction to reach the alpine garage, but it quickly dissipated when your eyes found a familiar face approaching you with a smile.

charles hugged you once he was close enough and whispered a quiet "hey." he was well aware of how risky it was to show affection in public, especially with all the shit press would give him and possibly even give you. let's just say that he didn't really care.

he guided you to the garage, where you met carlos sainz, his teammate, and bumped into lando, whom you had met on your first night in australia.

meeting lando brought back all the thoughts kika had shared earlier, and those thoughts stayed with you.

charles must have mentioned your birthday to his team because every person you passed by wished you a happy day. you graciously smiled and thanked them, walking by his side.

he briefly introduced you to everything you needed to know and hugged you goodbye when he had to go. you snapped a lot of pictures to send to your brother, and when the race started, you paid close attention to every moment.

the headphones made it harder to zone out as you normally would but you appreciated that. being new to this world, you didn't understand a single word you heard, but that didn't stop you from trying.

all you knew was that the team was incredibly pleased with charles and carlos's performance today. It was evident from their tone and the broad smiles on their faces.

the spark in their eyes intensified when charles overtook the last driver, securing his lead in the race. from what someone told you, a first and fourth-place finish was a significant achievement for scuderia ferrari, and you could know it was true by the fans' excitement.

both ferrari drivers managed to maintain their positions, finishing the race with what appeared to be an outstanding result. you weren't entirely sure what you were cheering for, but you were genuinely happy.

you celebrated with the team and watched the podium ceremony from a distance, still uncertain about where you should be and how to act. you applauded the number 16 and engaged in discussions about his performance with people who had a stake in the matter. from what you heard, he was a really good driver.

people all around you started to move to one direction, and you followed them with your gaze to find the one and only race winner already looking at you. he paused to chat and celebrate with his team, before moving up to you.

opening your arms for him, you embraced him, smiling from ear to ear, genuinely happy for his achievement, even if you didn't fully grasp the significance of a win.

"this one was for you. happy birthday." he whispered in your ear while still holding you close. "thank you, frenchie, and congratulations." you laughed into his shoulder. he playfully protested against your nickname for him but couldn't help but laugh too.

you were engrossed in conversation with him when suddenly, pierre and kika arrived with a cake. everyone in the tifosi garage began singing the "happy birthday" song.

your cheeks flushed, matching the color of your dress within seconds, and you covered your smile with your hands. you were genuinely grateful for these people who didn't even know you but were singing and clapping for you.

the cake they brought was adorned with all your favorite flowers, and now you understood charles' early morning question. as if he could read your thoughts, he approached you, smiling, and hugged you sideways while still singing with his weird accent.

pierre had came closer and at the end of the song you were able to blow out the candles. the smiles on their faces enchanted you, how they all seemed genuinely happy for you, even though it was the first time they had set their eyes on you.

they arranged a table in which pierre placed the cake, and someone handed you a knife to cut it. you, of course, offered the first slice to charles, not only because he knew you best but also because of everything he had done for you. all of this exceeded your expectations.

when you had decided to come to australia to spend some time alone, you could never have imagined what awaited you. not only did you meet new people, but you had also made friends, or at least one friend.