#Metal lobby signs

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[alltheirdamn]

Diamond Dolls | Joel x stripper!f!reader

Chapter I : Diamond Dolls Club

Series Summary: Running from the past led you straight into the arms of club owner, Joel Miller. He’s quiet, respectful, and devastatingly handsome. He’s nothing like any man you’ve come across, and it’s so hard to keep your heart guarded when he’s tearing down the walls. Chapter Summary: After fleeing Miami, you find yourself a spot at Diamond Dolls, and meet Joel Miller. The man who can change everything. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 7.2k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, Joel is in his early 40s reader is in her mid-20s, mentions of alcohol, strip club setting, nudity, sexual tension, mutual pining, eventual smut, explicit language… more tags will be added as the story goes A/N: Well, a very belated hello to everyone! I've been in the darkest recesses of a writers block, and had to drag myself to the surface to finally finish this one out. It's a slow start, but it's something nonetheless. Anyway, love you all lots and i hope you stick around for this lil story <3 xoxo

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

One week ago

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. You were holed up in the bathroom of a shady hotel, listening to the sound of pleasured moans coming from the bedroom. Your friend, Diana, had been going at it with some stranger for the last half hour, and you were scared. Private parties were typical for the dancers. In fact, Richie loved it. He loved being the type of owner who showcased all his dancers in whatever way he pleased. But you knew something was off when you stepped out of the black Escalade and into the hotel lobby. This type of party differed from the rest; you had this nagging feeling it would all go wrong.

And it did.

**

The sound of heels rattling inside your bag drifted through the empty parking lot as you neared your last resort. Diamond Dolls. Your gas tank—and lack of money—only got you as far as Austin, Texas. It wasn’t an ideal place to end up, but beggars can’t be choosers, so it would have to suffice. 

It was early afternoon, no doubt the slowest time of day since only a handful of cars were parked in the lot aside from yours. With the sun still shining, the neon pink lights of the sign above the door were turned off, but it still looked inviting. Diamond Dolls was already far different than your club back in Miami; it was different in a good way. 

At least, you hoped it was.

Cracking open the front door, you shuffled your bag over your shoulder and took a deep breath. This was your only shot at putting your life back on track, and you prayed you’d be given the chance to set things right. You couldn’t go back to Miami. Not now…not ever. The bridges you burnt could never be rebuilt; running away would only take you so far. 

A few patrons turned their heads your way when the sun streamed through the hazy club, no doubt an annoying reminder that the world still existed outside this tiny place. The entire club was drenched in low neon blacklights, the purple and pink hues painting the shadows in a sultry ambiance. Above you, diamond chandeliers hung from the ceiling, twinkling lights refracting off the gems that clung to the metal branches curving upward. The black leather couches around the stage were shiny and clean, another sign that this club was far better than where you came from. 

High-top tables scattered the open areas in the club's corner, tiny tea lights flickering on their marbled counters. Everything was meticulously detailed, as if whoever owned it had put all their effort into making this space unique and beautiful. 

Across the back was the bar; the counter stretched from end to end with an array of liquors stacked on glass shelves that hung from the wall. Behind the counter was a lone bartender busying himself with cleaning glasses. 

Perfect, you thought. This was your opportunity. 

“Hey,” you cautioned, walking up to the black countertop. “I was wondering if you guys are taking in any new dancers.”

“Can’t say for sure,” the bartender shrugged. 

He had a snug black top stretched across his chest and dirty blonde hair that stuck back along his scalp with too much gel. A few tattoos marked up his forearms, disappearing under the cuffs of his shirt and reappearing along the column of his neck. Instinctively, you knew he was well paid by any female clients who came into the club late at night. A few drinks and maybe a few flirtatious conversations made him a wealthy man by the end of his shifts. 

“Who should I be asking then?” You questioned, tapping your nails along the edge of the counter.

The bartender glared at your nails as they tapped repeatedly on the counter. You retracted your hand with an apologetic look, letting your arm hang heavy at your side. He bristled at your presence, obviously unamused by your friendly antics. Charm wouldn’t work here…noted. 

“Joel’s up in his office. Why don’t y’go bother him.”

“Joel…” You echoed.

“The owner?” He cocked a brow, almost annoyed that you didn’t know who Joel was. 

Obviously, you didn’t fucking know.

“Gotcha,” you nodded. 

The bartender slung the drying rag over his shoulder, retiring the glass he had been cleaning to the other stack of dishes. He pointed down the hall near the stage toward the black-painted door to the right. 

“You’ll find him in there,” he said.

You muttered a quick thank you before walking down the hall and past wandering eyes. Smoothing down your hair, you inhaled sharply before rapping your knuckles against the door. 

“Come in!” A deep voice called out.

You timidly turned the doorknob, peeking your head around the door with a sheepish smile. An older man, probably no more than forty, leaned back in a leather chair. He had on a simple black button-up, the sleeves rolled up his tan arms, exposing the muscles and veins that spidered from his fingers to his biceps. You lifted your eyes to his face, brown scruff covering his jaw, small patches of gray threading through the wiry hair. His plush lips curved into a slight grin, his bottom one plush and pouty—a very dangerous thing to see when you realized he could potentially be your new boss.

“How can I help you?” He asked, clearing his throat.

Your eyes shot up to his, immediately pulled under the dark brown waves that swam through his irises. You expected the club owner to be less appealing, maybe even a bit sleazy, given your track record of who you’ve met in the business. You didn’t expect him to be this attractive. 

You stepped over the threshold, unsure if you should shut the door behind you. You didn’t know Joel, nor could you trust him to be different from the other men you had encountered over the years. Despite your weariness, he motioned for you to shut the door and extended a hand toward the chair in front of his desk.

“I was, um, wondering if you were taking any new dancers?” 

You didn’t mean to word it like a question, but your uncertainty got the best of you. 

“Might be. Y’from here?” Joel asked, his southern drawl thick with each syllable. 

You slid down into the chair, letting your bag drop to the ground by your feet. Joel tracked your movements, watching you squirm under his heavy stare while he waited for your response. 

“Miami, actually. Just drove in this morning.”

“What brings ya’ to the Lone Star State?” He asked, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth. 

“Family,” you lied a little too quickly. 

Everything about being a dancer was a lie, and you weren’t about to change your ways for some owner you didn’t know. Joel stretched his arms over his head, his biceps flexing as he interlocked his fingers behind his neck. It should be a crime for someone to be this handsome; clearly, he knew what you were thinking because his lips twitched with an amused grin.

“Y’got experience in a club?”

“Yep,” you nodded. “Worked at my last one for three years.”

Joel’s eyes raked over you, lingering on your glossy lips and finally trailing back up to your eyes. Your skin flushed under his stare, your ears burning the longer he drank you in with slow, deliberate passes over your body as you crossed and uncrossed your legs behind the shield of his wooden desk. 

“I’m assuming you’ll want to see me dance,” you said, filling the dead air between you.

“Not necessary.”

You stared at your hands in your lap, crestfallen. This had been your last resort, and you were down on your luck now. You barely had a hundred dollars in cash left in your wallet, and you told yourself it was for emergencies only. You weren’t even sure it was enough to cover more than a night's stay in a motel somewhere in town. There wasn’t anyone you could call. There was nowhere else to go. 

A soft creak of his chair stirred you from your swirling thoughts, and you looked up to see Joel bracing his elbows on the desk. He was so much closer now, his age materializing into something softer as he studied you. Worry lines creased his forehead, smoothing out around his temples where his brown hair curled behind his ears. Even if this meeting was all for nothing, at least you got to enjoy a small glimmer of hope dressed as a beautiful Southern gentleman. You reached for your bag, ready to beeline it out the door and back to your car before you could make any more of a fool of yourself. 

“I don’t need an audition, sweetheart,” he said softly. 

You blinked up at him, both confused and hurt. He didn’t need to kick you while you were already down; he made it very clear you weren’t getting a spot in the club. You lifted your bag into your lap, shoving the chair back hard enough to make the legs scrape against the floor. 

“I appreciate you taking the time to meet me. Have a good day.”

The words tasted bitter as they left your mouth, and they didn’t sound much better either, but you didn’t care. There was nothing for you here, and you needed to search for a place to stay before the day slipped away. Clinging to whatever dignity—and hope—you had left, you turned for the door without another glance over your shoulder. 

“Wait.”

Joel’s voice radiated through the room as your hand hovered over the door handle. You half-considered dismissing him and continuing with your hopeless day, but a nagging voice inside your head told you to stay. Steeling your emotions, you turned to him with your arms folded over your chest. 

“Come back at nine. You’ll be on stage tonight,” he offered, rising from his seat.

“What?” You balked. “You just told me you didn’t want to see me audition.”

Joel shoved his hands in the front pockets of his dress pants, his shoulders lifting slightly with a shrug. You waited for the other shoe to drop, for him to laugh in your face and shove you out the door. But there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his tone nor a look of deception in his soft eyes. 

“I never ask my girls to audition,” he explained. 

“Why? What if I’m bullshitting you?”

“I’ll find out if you are, but I got a feelin’ you won’t let me down.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Well, thank you. I’ll see you tonight.”

Joel dipped his head toward you, his lips curving at the corners under his thick mustache. You were in deep shit, knowing you’d get to see that warm smile every day. With nothing left to say, you muttered another thank you and opened the door, disappearing into the hallway before he could retract his offer. 

An upbeat tempo thrummed through the air as you passed by the stage, and you took a quick peek at the girl spinning on the pole, her blonde hair falling in a cascade of curls down her bare spine. The handful of patrons you had spotted coming into the club were now crowded around the stage, enthralled in her body as she moved to the rhythm of the music. Crisp dollar bills scattered the glass stage, falling at her feet as she lowered herself onto her knees. Your steps faltered as her eyes connected with yours, a friendly smile ghosting over her face before she returned to her routine. Digging through your bag, you reached for your wallet and dished out a couple of bills to toss onto the stage. It wasn’t much, and you knew better than to lessen your savings, but it was enough to show your respect for her hustle. She understood this life as much as you did. 

**

You spent the better part of the afternoon driving around the city, familiarizing yourself with the sidestreets and small shops you would come to frequent. There hadn’t been much luck finding a place to stay for the night, but you hoped you’d have enough money after your shift to afford a room, at least for the weekend. You were more than ready to sleep anywhere that wasn’t your car and even more ready to have cash in your pockets again. 

Anxious to start your first shift, you circled back to the club much earlier than Joel had asked. The sun was barely kissing the horizon as you put your car in park, the neon lights above the building flickering to life as the night swallowed the sky. You were two hours too early, but you didn’t want to wait any longer. You wanted to be on the stage now. 

Searching through the bags of your belongings stuffed in the trunk of your car, you found your pile of club outfits and began piecing together different options to wear for the evenings. You laid out a matching pink lingerie set, the bra entirely rhinestoned in refractive colored jewels. It had done numbers on stage, a perfect outfit for making first impressions. You scoured for one more set—a just-in-case outfit—and found a thin, black lace teddy at the bottom of the pile. You could pair it with your taller heels and use it as your outfit for your second dance on stage. If you got that far. Everything else looked unappealing, but you’d have time and money to shop during the weekend for new clothes. New everything, if you were being honest. You were starting from the ground up in Austin. 

As you tucked your clothes in your bag, you heard the sound of car keys jingling behind you. It was instinct to tense up at any noise in a parking lot, and your defenses were always up to foreign noises. Spinning quickly toward the sound, you came face to face with the same blonde you had seen on stage earlier in the day.

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you!” She apologized.

“No, it’s okay,” you assured her, releasing a shaky breath.

She was wearing an oversized shirt and gym shorts, her feet stuffed in a pair of fuzzy blue slippers. With her hair pinned up and most of her makeup wiped off, you knew her shift was over.

“You must be the new girl Joel told us about. I’m Monica.”

She extended a hand toward you, and you quickly introduced yourself.

“Sorry, I probably look like a mess. I just got in today.”

Monica looked over your shoulder into the trunk of your car, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the mess. Everything left of your life was stuffed into only a few bags; it was embarrassing, to say the least. 

“Do you have family in town you’re staying with?” She asked.

“I do,” you lied. “I just haven’t had time to stop by yet and drop my things off.”

Monica looked between you and your car, skepticism crossing over her features. Dancers were great at lying but even better at discovering one. She saw through you in less than a minute.

“Let me give you my number,” she offered, pulling her phone from her purse. “When you’re done for the night, just call me. I’ve got an extra room you can crash in for a couple of nights if you need it.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. That’s, um, that’s way too kind of you,” you stammered.

She bristled at your words, shoving her phone in your hands to exchange numbers. You typed with shaking hands, the numbers mixing up as you deleted and retyped repeatedly. Handing the phone back to her, you waited for a text to ping through the air, and it did. 

You made your first friend in the new town and only hoped things wouldn’t end like they did in Miami.

“There’s plenty of girls still here for the night,” she started. “They’ll set you up in the dressing room and make sure you’re taken care of tonight. If anyone gives you hell, just tell them Monica’s looking out for you, and I’ll set them straight.”

You laughed softly at her gentle threat. You weren’t expecting such hospitality so quickly, but it was refreshing to know someone cared about you. After a few more minutes of casual conversation, she parted ways for the evening, and you were left standing in front of the neon lights beckoning you inside.

Showtime. 

The crowd inside the club had doubled since you had left earlier in the afternoon; the couches and bar tops were littered with groups of men and women all drinking high-priced drinks and shadowed in plumes of smoke. Three bartenders worked behind the counter, their routine flowing together as they worked in tandem, taking orders and making drinks. 

As you walked down the hallway by the stage, you noticed Joel’s door shut to the club. It confused you since the club was ramping up for the night; owners were usually out mingling with customers and dancers. You considered knocking on the door and thanking him again, but the thought passed just as quickly as it came, and you found your way to the dressing room. 

The room's bright lights were stark in contrast to the rest of the club, and you had to squint your eyes to adjust to the sudden change. Only two girls occupied the room, working on their hair in front of the vanity. The second you entered their eyesight, they turned with wide grins.

“You’re the new girl!” One squealed, her brown curls bouncing around her shoulders as she ran up to you.

She quickly pulled you into a tight embrace, her heavy vanilla perfume floating around her body and onto yours. 

“I’m Heather,” she said, pulling away. “And that’s Carolina.”

She gestured back to the other brunette, who gave you a shy wave. She was shorter than Heather, her hair cut into a sharp bob and streaked with caramel highlights. You waved back, introducing yourself to them both. Heather bounced back to the vanity, moving her array of makeup to the side to make room for your things.

“There are open lockers to the side over there, so feel free to stash away anything you need,” she explained. “If you need a curling iron or hairspray, you can always grab mine. And Carolina has extra body glitter, too, but I’m guessing you have your own.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some in my bag, but thank you. You guys are really sweet.”

You sat next to Carolina, dumping your makeup bag on the counter. Carolina worked at fixing her black nipple pasties, both of them on display under her sheer red bra. Her curves filled out her mini-skirt, the red material matching both her bra and Pleaser heels. She was fiery; you liked that.

“Joel said you’re from Miami,” Heather started. “This has got to be way less exciting than your old club, huh?”

You tensed up at her question, deciding on what to divulge. Heather and Carolina were sweet, but they were still strangers, and after last week…your guard was higher than ever. Pulling out your foundation and eyeshadow, you quickly started your makeup routine, dodging any invasive questions they tried to ask.

“How long have you both been working here?” You asked, flipping the focus onto them.

Heather fluffed her hair in the mirror, adjusting her purple halter top over her breasts before turning back to you.

“I’ve been here since Joel opened the club, so almost five years,” she stated.

“And I’ve been here for a little over a year,” Carolina said beside you.

“How is Joel?” You asked. “As an owner.”

Heather and Carolina let out a little giggle, clearly something private between them that went unsaid in response to your question.

“We like to say he’s like a recluse,” Carolina explained. “He hardly ever comes around during business hours. He just stays quiet and tucked away in his office. We pay him house fees at the end of our shift, and he leaves us alone.”

That piqued your interest. How could a club owner be so hands-off? Or maybe this was normal, and everything you had experienced in Miami was incredibly unprofessional. It was unprofessional, but you only assumed parts of it were like having your boss pimp you and other girls out for drugs and money. 

“Isn’t that weird, though? I mean, most club owners don’t do that. They’re usually—.”

“Creepy and a bit unsettling?” Heather offered.

You nodded slowly, focusing on yourself in the mirror as you lined your lips with a pink lip liner. 

“Joel isn’t like that, I promise you. He’s probably the most respectful man I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t even think he’s seen our tits,” Carolina giggled. “I can’t even tell you the last time I saw him outside his office during a shift.”

You shuffled off the vanity chair, returning to your bag to pull out your first outfit. As you peeled your shirt off, you mused over their casual information on Joel. You couldn’t make sense of it; how was Joel real? He must be too good to be true. He had to be.

“But how does he know what’s going on around here?” You pressed.

“His brother, Tommy, comes around, checks in on us, and reports to Joel if there’s anything worth knowing,” Heather shrugged.

“That’s it?”

“Yep!” Both of them said in unison.

Carolina strolled to one of the lockers behind you, retrieving a red garter from her back to tie around her ankle. You eyed her as she tightened the straps of her heels and adjusted her bra one last time. As she flounced to the door, she looked over her shoulder and gave you a slight wink.

“You’ll be just fine here, doll. I promise.”

The moment your heels clicked against the glass floor of the stage, everything in your mind turned off. You gave the DJ— Bradley, call me Brad, doll— your music of choice before stepping onto the stage: a slow, sensual track that made the crowd turn their heads in curiosity. Until then, Heather and Carolina had taken turns onstage doing routines to high-tempo songs, keeping the crowd engaged and rowdy. But that wasn’t your forte. 

You started things slowly, wrapping your hand around the pole and teasing the crowd with meticulous movements of your body that swayed to the beat of the music. Your fingers teased the outline of your breasts, cupping them seductively as you made eye contact with a few men sitting near the edge of the stage. Their undivided attention on your body was exhilarating; the promise of money dropping at your feet was enough to keep you going. Hooking your leg around the pool, you pulled yourself up, spinning in gentle turns as you flowed with the music. Everything you did was unrushed, and you took your time commanding the stage. 

Eventually, the tips started piling up on the stage. More clients drew closer, their eyes hungry and watchful. You slid onto your knees, crawling toward a younger man who hovered by the side of the stage, his button-up shirt disheveled and wrinkled—no doubt from a private dance he paid for only an hour ago. You graced him with an inviting smile, swaying your ass back and forth behind you. 

“Hi, beautiful,” he crooned, his voice barely audible above the thrum of the music. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” you replied. 

You knew how to bait them and make them chase after you. The thrill of it all was intoxicating, like the world was a blur around you, and all that existed was just the stage, the money, and your ability to make men crumble at your feet. Dragging yourself onto your knees, you coasted a hand down your abdomen, grinning as he tracked your fingers as they dipped over your navel. The money roll in his hand caught your attention, but you refrained from staring too long. Eye contact was crucial—if you kept him reeled in, the money would come to you. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked, breathless.

“More than you know.”

He curled a finger, beckoning you closer. You didn’t like when clients reached for you, but you saw the crisp fifty-dollar bill hiding in his palm. Like a moth to a flame, you drew closer to the edge of the stage, letting his fingers work at the waistband of your thong. He didn’t prod or explore; his touch was respectful and gentle. Blowing him a kiss, you tucked the money under the thin fabric before returning to the center of the stage to finish your set. 

The music drifted to an end, the applause from the crowd around the stage rippling above the sound as the DJ returned to his playlist of choice. You gathered the tips off the stage floor, stuffing them into your moneybag as you left your set. 

For some strange reason, you were disappointed to see Joel’s office door shut off to the club despite Heather and Carolina’s words. You understood he didn’t come out during business hours, but part of you wished he had watched your first routine. Wasn’t he curious? And why did you care to have him watch you perform? It wasn’t like you were trying to impress him…Okay, maybe you were… 

Passing the DJ booth, Brad gave you a proud smile and a small congratulations. You hurried back into the dressing room, frantic to change into your next outfit. Heather lounged along the benches in front of the locker, her nails tapping against her phone screen as she typed furiously.

“Ugh!” She exhaled. “Men suck.”

You giggled as you plopped beside her, enjoying the simple camaraderie of being in another sisterhood with other dancers. You missed your girls in Miami, but that wouldn’t stop you from making new friends. And from what you’d already experienced in your short few hours at Diamond Dolls, these girls were genuine and caring. 

“Who’s the guy?” You asked.

“His name is Michael. We’ve been seeing each other on and off the past year, and he’s just… I don’t know. I feel like I give all my time and energy and get nothing in return. You know what I mean?”

“I do.”

You knew it too well. You had never been lucky in relationships; they were messy, and it was hard to come across a man who truly understood your field of work. Some of them loved the idea of having someone overly sexualized and, in their words, slutty. They considered every stripper to be the stereotypical version of a woman, all glitz and glam and naked on display. You were more than that, but none stuck around long enough to find out. 

“Can I give you some advice?” You offered.

Heather stopped her typing, giving you her full attention. 

“Men don’t deserve shit. If he’s not going to give his time and dedication to you, then he doesn’t deserve an ounce of your respect. You’re worth more than that. You deserve someone who will treat you like a queen.”

“Those types of men don’t exist,” she laughed. “They’re all sleazy and just want their dick wet.”

“I don’t know. I think there could be some good ones out there.”

Unwanted images of Joel flashed through your mind. There was no way you actually were thinking of him in this setting. You knew nothing about him or the type of man he was, so you couldn’t let your mind wander to the thought of him as a love interest, nor did you want that. He was a stranger and your boss.

“Well, if you find one, send him my way.”

“Absolutely,” you smiled.

As you both sat in comfortable silence, you worked at sorting through your wad of cash from your set. Smoothing out the bills and organizing them, you counted out over two hundred dollars. Not the best for your first routine in the club, but it was more than you had walked in with. And it was enough to hopefully find a place to stay over the weekend. However, Monica’s offer still remained in the back of your head. 

It was well past three AM when you decided to call it quits for the night. After two more sets on stage, you collected another four hundred dollars, leaving you satisfied for your first shift. Clients were generous, and the atmosphere inside the club was intoxicating. You wanted more, but you wouldn’t be greedy. Not yet, at least. 

After peeling off your clothes and replacing them with the sweats you had walked in with, you said your goodbyes to the girls and made your way to Joel’s office. A flight of butterflies swarmed in your stomach as your hand wavered over the door. Why did he make you so nervous? You were never nervous around men; you were usually quite the opposite. But Joel…You couldn’t get a read on him. You didn’t know what to expect, which made it so much worse.

“Hi,” you said quietly, softly cracking the door open.

You peered into the office, spotting Joel hunched over the desk, rifling through some papers. He glanced up quickly, his eyes shifting back down to the papers…Then, immediately right back up to you. You didn’t miss how his gaze drifted down your body, the hunger flickering to life behind his irises. You were in nothing more than a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, but you might as well have been naked with the way he undressed you with his heavy stare. 

Your name fell softly from his lips, his mouth curving up in that same grin you melted over earlier.

“Heard you were the star of the show tonight,” he smiled.

“I don’t know about that,” you laughed.

Sliding into the office, you shut the door behind you, leaving only a few feet of space between you and Joel’s large frame. Somehow, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, his gravity pulling you forward.

“No need to be modest, sweetheart. Everyone was talkin’ ‘bout you out there.”

“How do you know that? The girls told me you stay in here all night.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. He wore that snug black button-up, and the soft material still deliciously clung to his muscles. His biceps flexed under the shirt, and you trained your eyes on him to keep the temptation of looking at bay. 

“Don’t worry, I hear everythin’ inside this club. Got eyes and ears everywhere.”

“How’d you get into the business?”

“That’s a story for another time, sweetheart. It’s late, and I’m sure y’wanna get home,” he chuckled. 

A mystery. That's what Joel was: an absolute mystery. You couldn’t dig under his walls, and you sure as hell wouldn’t let him dig under yours. If he kept his life close to his chest, then you’d do the same. 

“What’s your price for house fees?” You asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Flat rate of twenty dollars. You can tip out the bartenders and Brad if y’want, but I pay them well enough that y’don’t have to worry ‘bout it.”

“Twenty?” You gaped. 

His brows furrowed together, trying to understand your shock. You pulled a twenty from your money bag and walked toward his desk to slide it to him. 

“They charge you less in Miami?” He questioned, reluctant to take the money.

“No, it’s not that. They charged a lot more…Like over a hundred some nights.” 

It was Joel’s turn to stare at you dumbfounded; his lips parted in confusion. Wasn’t it normal for house fees to be that high? Or had you been lied to all these years? 

“You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” 

“I swear I’m not. That’s what the club owner charged us down there.”

Joel ran a hand down his face, his eyes squeezing shut. You swayed awkwardly, your fingers digging into the material of your money bag. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he apologized. “Didn’t mean to cuss at you like that. Just surprised me, that’s all.”

“It’s okay,” you replied quietly. 

“M’gonna take real good care of you here, ‘kay?”

His words shouldn’t have affected you, but heat crawled up your neck as you tossed his words over inside your head. Once again, Joel was proving to be far different than what you were used to back in Miami, but you wouldn’t let yourself overthink it.

“Thank you, Joel. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t gotta thank me none, sweetheart. Y’get home safe. I’m sure your family will be happy to see you.”

You cringed at the statement, another reminder of the web of lies you were already weaving. You’d tell him the truth eventually, or maybe not at all. You wouldn’t jeopardize your chance at a new life here.

Joel’s eyes did one final pass over your body, and your anxiety nearly drove you right into the door when you turned to leave. He needed to stop looking at you like that. You didn’t need any more fuel to the fire burning inside your stomach. 

**

You spent far too long hovering your finger over Monica’s contact information, debating whether or not to take up her offer of a place to stay. You had enough money for a hotel room, but the idea of saving it and tucking it away sounded more appealing. You didn’t know Monica— or any of these girls— but her willingness to help you earlier proved how loyal these dancers were to one another. 

Dialing her number, you tapped your fingers against your steering wheel, watching through your dirty windshield as patrons filed out for the night. You wondered which of these cars belonged to Joel and promptly stopped yourself from wondering about anything else. Why was every thought beginning and ending with him? 

“Hello?” 

“Hi, uh… Monica?” You reintroduced yourself, stumbling over your words like it was your first time speaking.

“Look who made it out alive in her first shift!” She said cheerily. “I’ll shoot you my address, and you can drive over. I’ve already got the guest bedroom set up for you.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to intrude on you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly! You’re not intruding at all, honey. I’ve got the house to myself this weekend and could use the company.”

“I really appreciate it, Monica. Thank you.”

The city was nothing like Miami at night; the streets were empty, and the air was silent and calm. You kept the volume low on the radio as you drove to Monica’s house, enjoying the sound of the breeze as it drifted through the crack in your window. You focused on learning the street names as you passed every intersection, replacing the thoughts of Joel’s warm smile with things that would prove to be more important to you. But the memory of his eyes and smile still lurked in your mind, and no matter how many green lights you sped through, you couldn’t escape it. 

Monica’s home was tucked away in a residential neighborhood nearly half an hour outside the city, her tiny home the only one with a porch light still flickering under the dark sky. 

You barely opened your trunk when you heard Monica’s voice trailing down the driveway. 

“Hi!” She squealed. 

You turned to find her bounding down the pavement barefoot, her blonde hair tousled into a high ponytail and her pajamas hugging her curves. Setting your bag on the ground, you emptied your arms to welcome her into a hug, which should have felt awkward given you had hardly known her less than a full day, but with Monica…It felt normal.

“Thank you again,” you exhaled, your body slumping into her tight embrace. 

“Oh, don’t even mention it. My ex has the kids this weekend, so the place is extra lonely.”

“You’ve got kids?” You asked.

It wasn’t an accusatory question; you had danced alongside several women who were single moms supporting their children. Not to mention, Monica looked way too young to have kids, let alone more than one.

“I’ve got two,” she explained with a tired smile. “Twins, actually. Jackson and Luke. They just turned three in June.”

You shuffled your overnight bag over your arm while Monica led the way to the front door. The moment she opened the door, you were welcomed into a very lived-in home. Kid's toys littered the ground, while mismatched socks and shoes lay around in other spots. You smiled to yourself, seeing such a cozy place; you missed being in a home. Living in shady apartments and hotels left you bitter and yearning for somewhere to call home. 

“Sorry it’s such a mess,” she laughed absentmindedly. “The boys tend to destroy any clean area in the house.”

“You don’t have to apologize at all. I love it.”

She glanced back at you, quirking an eyebrow at your statement. It was true; you did love it. And you loved being welcomed into a home without feeling like a total burden. Monica gave you a small tour of the house before guiding you down the hall to the guest room. It was set up with a queen-sized bed and a small vanity in the corner—perfect for a night or two to get you back on your feet. 

Once settled in, you returned to the living room, where Monica was lying on the couch. 

“Thank you so much again,” you said, collapsing into the cushions.

“Of course, girl. I tend to be the motherly one out of the group, so if you ever need anything, you can always come to me. How was the first night?”

You stretched your legs out along the sectional, burrowing further into the pillows as you let your body unwind. Monica mimicked your movements, curling up under the small blanket draped over her body. 

“I didn’t know what to expect,” you admitted. “Being in a new club is always scary, you know? But everyone has been so welcoming, and the customers are great. And Joel is…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Joel is what?” Monica pressed, giggling slightly.

“He’s amazing. I’ve never met a club owner like him. He really cares about all of you girls, and it shows. I’m not used to that.”

“You had it bad out there in Miami, huh?”

You shifted slightly, trying to mask your unease with the question. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Monica; she hadn’t given you a reason yet not to, but the question was too fresh to answer. Glimpses of that night suspended themselves in your head, moments you couldn’t shake and only hoped you’d never have to relive. Everything you saw… everything you did… you wanted to forget. 

“Is it alright if we don’t talk about it?” You asked, your gaze dropping to your hands in your lap.

“Of course, honey,” Monica said softly. “Whatever happened out there, just know it’s in the past, and you’re okay now. You’re safe here with me. I’ll take care of you, and so will Joel.”

Joel. 

Everything kept circling back to him. He was an enigma dressed in all black with a warm smile and a country twang. You were used to men being nice; they almost always had an ulterior motive for their kindness, but not Joel. His kindness wasn’t self-fulfilling, as far as you knew, and you could see how serious he was about the safety of everyone in the club. Maybe things would turn out differently here; maybe things would be okay. 

The early morning sunlight slowly began to seep through the living room curtains as you and Monica fell into endless conversation. Eventually, she mumbled something about needing a few hours of sleep before needing to run errands, and you took it as your sign to retire to bed. As you settled under the covers, you forced your mind away from the wandering thoughts of Miami. It was easy to forget everything that had transpired in the hotel room when you kept yourself busy, but in the silence, there was nowhere to run from the memories. 

“Alright, which one of you are we fucking first?” One of the guys asked.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, undoing his belt, as he asked the question. Your stomach rolled with nausea as the realization hit you; Richie had pimped you out. This wasn’t a party; this was a setup. You swayed in the corner of the room, eyeing the door to figure out how to escape without being snatched up by one of the men. But there were too many of them and just the three of you to try and fend for yourselves. What did it matter, though, when your two closest friends were already drugged out of their minds?

You couldn’t have slept more than one or two hours. The sun was too bright inside the bedroom, and your body was coated in a thin sweat as you jolted from the bed. You were safe. You were in Texas. You were at Monica’s house. You repeated those reminders as you rolled out of bed and entered the guest bathroom. The reflection in the mirror felt like a stranger; your eyes puffy and your face pale. 

“You’re okay,” you whispered to yourself. 

Splashing cold water on your face, you took a few minutes to gather your bearings. The days spent on the road running from Miami were catching up to you, and so was the anxiety that you had kept at bay. 

“Hey!” Monica called from somewhere down the hall.

You braced yourself against the bathroom sink, swallowing the startled gasp that threatened to bubble out of your mouth. 

“I’m headin’ out to the grocery, so if you want me to grab anything for you, just shoot me a text! I left breakfast on the kitchen counter for whenever you’re hungry,” she continued. 

“T–Thank you!” You stuttered. 

Dammit, you were okay. 

You waited until you heard the sound of the front door closing before emerging from the bathroom. In your slim hours of sleep, Monica had cleaned up the house from the night before. Toys were piled in small bins beside the couch, and the miscellaneous clothes and shoes had disappeared, most likely to their respective places in the laundry or kids' bedroom. 

The lingering smell of breakfast led you into the kitchen, where a plate of eggs and bacon sat neatly on the counter. Monica was truly a godsend, and knowing you were in good hands settled some nerves. Settling onto the kitchen barstool, you inhaled the aroma of the plate of food and reached for the fork. Your hand wavered as you spotted a piece of paper tucked under the plate's corner, dainty handwriting scribbling across the note. 

In case you need it, here’s Joel’s number. 

You stared at the series of numbers before you, your throat dry. Joel. The man that was giving you a second chance at this life you had decided to live. Joel. The man with a kind heart and even kinder eyes. Joel. 

The one person who could change everything.

[msschemmenti]

girls night

jj x reader x emily

prompt: y/n is garcia’s neighbor and the girls come back from a rather rowdy night of salsa lessons and drinks and forget which apartment is garcia’s.

a/n: another crack drabble from my notes app but i couldn’t decide between jj and emily

“pen where are your keys?” emily spoke around a hiccup. they’d all had waaay too much to drink tonight and it was hitting the older woman as she swayed in the lobby of penelope’s apartment building. salsa dancing always brought out the women’s inner alcoholic and it was a miracle they’d even made it to the apartment building in general.

penelope, ever the excitable drunk, circled the lobby in a conga line of one but stopped next emily with a grin. “in here!” she grinned wiggling her cupcake shaped purse in front of emily’s drooped eyes.

the woman nodded and dug around in the cupcake until she felt the metal of the keys and pulled them free from the bag. “alright ladies, i think we’re ready to tackle the stairs now.”

“the stairs?” jj whined pushing herself up from the wall and toward emily.

“yes the stairs. the elevator is broken,” emily gestured to the metal doors with the paper sign on them. both jj and garcia boo’d loudly and mimed throwing tomatoes at the door. “plus i think we need the physical activity to sober up a bit. move out, soldiers.”

jj rolled her eyes and threw a dorky salute emily’s way before practically pulling herself up the stairs by the railings. garcia following closely behind and emily playing caboose on the train of drunk women. they make it all the way to her floor and pause in the hallway.

“pen did you decorate the entire hall?” jj asked in confusion. the normally empty hall looked like garcia’s home exploded all over every door.

“yeah! we had a neighbor decorating party. so now every door looks like mine.” garcia twirled unsteadily and poked one of the wreath covered doors.

“well which one is yours? it’s usually pretty easy to tell when i’m sober but i’m struggling a bit here.” emily asked as they walked the hall looking at each door.

mid spin garcia stops in front of a door with a potted planter and rainbow doormat and grins, “this one!”

jj furrowed her brows, “i thought you lived on this side facing the street…”

“the street is this way, jayje.” penelope singsonged as she extended her finger to boop her nose. “just get the key on my pink key ring. that’s where i keep my apartment key, so when im like this i can remember.”

emily looked jj wearily and shrugged before fishing out one of the two keys on the pink key ring. “as long as one of us is confident in this decision…” she mumbled before trying the key. when it didn’t turn she gazed up at the blondes in confusion. “um it’s not working.”

“oh oh wait, try to jiggle it. sometimes it gets stuck.”

emily wiggled the key all kinds of ways— unknowingly making quite a bit of noise in the hall. she turned to question garcia to complain when the lock turned in her hand and the door pulled open from the inside. all three women froze in shock and slowly allowed their eyes to pan up over the woman holding the door in her hand.

“hi,” she spoke with a laugh as she took in the hazy drunken cloud that was clearly covering the three agents on her doormat.

“garcia, who’s the hottie in pink?” jj whispered out of the side of her mouth, eyes never leaving her woman.

“jen,” emily groaned swatting the blonde’s hip as she watched the blush cover the woman’s cheeks.

“oh my god, y/n! what are you doing in my apartment?” garcia grinned, ignoring her bickering coworkers to pull her neighbor into a hug. y/n pushed her glasses up her nose and patted garcia’s back affectionately.

“penelope, you live across the hall babe.” y/n chuckled sweetly as she held the technical analyst by her shoulders to look her over. “and it looks like you’ve had quite a bit to drink, huh?”

penelope grinned, “uh huh. are you sure i don’t live here? it’s so pretty.”

“yeah hun, i’m sure. here why don’t i help y’all get inside and settled for the night?” y/n asked slipping her feet into a pair of slippers by the door and grabbed her keys. she turned to face the two other women leaning on either side of her doorframe. “and maybe i can introduce myself to your friends.” she spoke with a wink before corralling all the agents across the hall and over to penelope’s door. which looked pretty similar to her own.

emily shoved the keys toward y/n clumsily, “you probably need those.”

y/n accepted the key with a laugh and unlocked the door. “thanks hun,” she pushed the door open and held it open for all three women to file in. “welcome to you actual home penelope.” all three agents fell onto the closest flat surface and released various groans and sighs of relief at not being stood upright. “god you guys really got your fill on whatever alcoholic drink you could. i’m gonna go find you guys some water and advil. don’t move— unless you think you’re gonna puke.”

as soon as the woman turned her back to head into the kitchen, jj and emily both sat up to face garcia. “when’d you get a hot neighbor?” jj asked accusatorially.

“yeah! last i heard there was some old mean lady across the hall. you’ve been holding out on us.” emily chided, poking garcia’s shoulder pointedly.

“down you animals, she moved in a couple months ago. we’ve been a bit busy with you know the dark evil cruelest corners of the US. sorry i didn’t find the time to throw in my new neighbor is hot and single and very into women.” garcia rattled off with a shrug.

“well yes, we’ve been busy but sometimes hot neighbors trump serial killers.” jj replied matter of factly causing emily to tilt her head in thought.

“shut up jj.” she deadpanned with a shake of the head.

“hey!” the blonde called with a pout.

before anyone could actually continue the conversation y/n rounded the island with three glasses of water and a palm full of pain killers. “it seems in your inebriated states, you’ve all forgotten how open floor plans work.”

“oh my god, i think she heard us.” garcia whispered [not actually] to the now blushing women next to her.

“what did y’all drink?” y/n asked watching as each woman downed their water and pills.

“something called the green fairy. very good and very effective.” garcia replied.

“that’s for sure.” y/n nodded in understanding before turning her gaze to the other two women. “as flattered as i am ladies, you can come introduce yourselves when you’ve sobered a bit. that’s if any of you remember this tomorrow.”

“i don’t think either of can forget a face like yours.” emily flirted with a smirk, almost seeming completely sober. until a hiccup distracted her.

“we’ll see about that.” y/n laughed before heading to the door. “i trust all of you can at least get yourselves ready bed. i’ll lock you in for the night.”

“thanks y/n!” garcia sang they watched her disappear through the doorway.

“no prob, pen. come get your keys tomorrow! good night ladies.” the three women heard the door lock from the outside and the echo of the other woman’s door closing in the hallway.

“someone remind me to flirt with her tomorrow.” jj spoke, eyes half open but finger pointed to where y/n had been standing last.

“i’ll set a reminder in my phone.” garcia said pulling the phone from her pocket.

[writingbynova]

Nanami Kento

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⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ⊹ : ceo! Nanami x employeefem!reader - explicit content; minors DNI - pwp (porn with slight plot) [un]protected sex - pet names (princess) - kinda possessive - mind breaking - this is short af coz I'm sleepy sorry babes ♡ (let me know if I missed any tags)

Word count: ~ idk but it's short

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A corporate bitch. It's what you could call yourself. Clean, demure, obedient, quiet. It's the etiquette you held onto. Until he ripped it off.

"show me your true self"

Finally your first year in this company, although that wasn't the reason for the party. Your boss, the ceo had just signed an extremely promising deal, thus, a party was thrown to celebrate. You were walking from the car to the entrance of the building, like you had done so many times but today was different, these heels were high, this dress wasn't something you'd usually wear to a party, it wasn't something you'd wear at all, you only did because your friends forced you to, a strapless corset-top short black velvety dress, barely hiding your ass from anyone who walked behind you, that made you more nervous than ever.

You finally walked in the building lobby, it was empty except for a security guard, asleep. You walked to the elevator to the sound of your heels hitting the cold building floor. The closer you got to the 17th floor, the louder it was, the more anxious you got, your heartbeat ringing through your ears, you weren't late, you had brought a gift, but you were so anxious, oh how you wished to turn back, this was a bad idea, you should have sat this one out, why did you want to integrate in the company so much? this was not your place to be, you're not welcome- *DING*

The elevator's metal pans slid open, exposing you to the whole room. They all stared at you. All of them. You walked into the room, trying your best to ignore the eyes following you. What was wrong with them?

As the party went on something felt different, entirely too different. The atmosphere has shifted, he was too close to you. Nanami Kento. CEO. Ever since you handed him the gift you got, his gaze hadn't left you. You tried ignoring it but how could you ? You could feel your heart beating harder every time your eyes crossed his. As the night went on people your coworkers started leaving, one after the other. Some offered to take you home, even though you had driven there. But he opposed it every time. Saying you had 'promised to help him clean after they all left' of course nobody would defy the boss words, except you. You would, but the grip his hand had on your hip made you a pliant corporate bitch. You stood next to him until the last person left. And when the elevator door finally closed on your last coworker you were met with reality. It was only you and him left. You didn't dare moving. But you could feel the butterflies in your stomach your thoughts ravaging your mind. Your pussy already excited at the thought of what could happen.

"You were beautiful tonight." His words caught you off guard "oh!  thank you so much si-"

"Don't you ever dare wear something like that again around here? Understood? I don't like the way those bastards look at you, I should be the only one allowed to look at your beautiful body sway in this room. Right before my eyes. Now come on darling, give me a private show."

Oh and a show you held. Your body writhed against him, his arms bouncing you on his thick large cock. Your heels were slowly dropping to the floor, your makeup was ruined, mascara dripping, lipstick all over his shirt's collar instead of your lips. Which instead were quietly moaning his name. "You've always been such a nice girl. Always dressing modest, being quiet, shameful. But today...ah... Coming in, dressed so sluttily? How could I resist indulging in you?" You could barely speak, your mind only focused on how good it felt. "Thought, ahh, you'd like i-it" you whimpered, shuddering above him. "I loved it princess"

This wasn't the plan, you were supposed to spend some time at the party, not spend the entire night riding your ceo's dick like a whore...but it felt so damn nice. His hands rubbing your lower back enticing you to go rogue on him "I know you've been holding back. Tonight you need to let go, show me your true self princess" his words ignited a fire in you. You felt so little in his arms, tightly holding your body close to his. You felt so hot. Burning, you buried your face in his neck "I need your help" you whispered, as much as you wanted to let go and show your true disheveled self to him. He had to provoke it. You had turned into the perfect corporate robot for him. Now he had to fuck you out of your shell.

"Mhm, gladly"

"Ah! K-Kento, s-so de—ep, fu-fuckk, 's too good" you cried, panting heavily beneath him.

You used your elbow to cover your face, hiding how good you felt. In vain.

"Told you I want to see that pretty face, hide from me again I'll fuck you on your own desk so you'll think about it every time you sit in that chair" he groaned, sliding his thumb to abuse your throbbing clit. "Ngh! Ah- m-mercy Ken" You whined, immediately revealing your face. "Mhm much better". His hips slammed against you, drowning you in pleasure, you struggled to talk, struggled to breathe. You held your body up on your elbow, unable to keep your head from bobbing around. You felt your legs spasm, your toes curling, you threw your head back, biting your lower lip. But you were too far, too far from him to give in. You mechanically stretched your hand, in a desperate attempt to feel him, body to body. He's Nanami Kento. Did you really think he'd disappoint ? His arms immediately wrapped around your back, pulling you into his hold, you gasped, almost choking on the air that filled your lungs, feeling his tip nudge your g-spot, with each thrust he rammed into you. He slightly moved back, his forehead against yours, his eyes dug into yours, watching you break. You felt too close entirely too close, it's like you were losing control over your body. And you did. It only took one thrust. Only one. You were cumming, all over him, throbbing and pulsating around his girth cock. Fat tears slipping out your pretty eyes. Oh he'd indulge in you every day from now on. What a perfect employee he had.

TYSM for reading!! And for all the notes on my previous posts ♡

I'm so eepy rn so this is kinda trash but I wanted to post a little something, hope u enjoyed ♡

Divider by : adornedwithlight

[firemeyr]

WOO this one ran away from me, not going to lie. Loved writing it though :D Prompts used, courtesy of @stealthetrees: 'Commander Fox becomes super popular among the Jedi younglings cause he takes them on field trips around Coruscant since it’s too dangerous to go elsewhere' and 'in an effort to make Coruscant better, the Guard attempts to root out crime syndicates. This sparks a 3 way turf war that rages in the lower levels. ' ____

His comm was beeping rapidly. Quick busts of three high-toned notes, one after another. Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep. Beep beep be—

Fox groaned into the crook of his arm, his right hand haphazardly slapping his left vambrace, managing to shut up the alarm. And thank the stars for that. He just needed five minutes of peace. Five minutes! He hadn’t even been asleep, just, contemplating the risks and rewards of taking that much needed nap. His allotted despair time however, was up. It wasn’t worth it.

He slid into a proper sitting position, plastiod armor dragging against the metal desk. Propping his face up in his hands, Fox just groaned. It was better than slamming his face into his desk. As alluring as that route was–he might even get mandated rest if he managed to knock himself out–his CMO would kill him if he caught wind that Fox did it on purpose. With one last prayer to the stars to be struck down by a freak malfunction in Coruscant’s weather, he was ready to brave the world once more. Well, he could say he was.

His vambraces clattered against his desk as he dropped his arms, pushing himself to his feet in the same movement. Bent over his desk, he pushed things to the side, halfheartedly trying to tidy it. He could at least stack similar pieces of flimsy and data work together, enough so that he had a clear spot in the middle of his desk. Always had him feeling a bit better, not quite so overwhelmed when he sat down for a long night of signing document after document when he could at least put his caf somewhere.

As he always did, Fox had someplace to be, unable to linger at his desk for long. Once a space was carved out for him to return too, Fox swiped his bucket from the floor and shoved it on his head. Helmet adjusted and back ramrod straight, he did not hesitate as he stepped out into the hallway, office door sliding shut behind him.

Messages hovered unread at the corner of his HUD, red numbers blinking and begging to be read. Flicking his eyes over to them, the messages expanded, allowing him to at least glance over their contents. Several were standard update messages, monotonous and unimportant in nature. One was from Wolffe, still lingering from Centaxday at the bottom of the list. The most recent one was from the Jedi temple, simply an automated reminder of his scheduled event for today.

Oh yes, how could he forget. Fox was the lucky commander chosen to take some probably snot covered jedi younglings on a field trip. Because why wouldn’t he. He just had so much time to spare for these kinds of things that were definitely written into his job description.

Fox closed the messages, his shoulders sinking slightly with a deep exhale. Best to just arrive on time and get this over with. It wasn’t his first rodeo with younglings, nor would it be his last.

The sterile hallway around him opened up, brightening near instantly as he stepped into the main lobby. Several large windows let in what natural light there was on Coruscant, while lamps made up for any dark shadows. Chairs lined the walls, well in view of the half circle desk in the middle of the room. It wasn’t uninviting persay, far from it apparently, but Fox knew it was carefully crafted that way. Their lobby wasn’t one of the most well maintained rooms in the base for no reason.

He nodded to the trooper sitting at the desk, they glancing up at him and nodding in return before ducking back down into their own work. Fox paused at the desk, his hip leaning up against the false-wood. The lobby was clearly still empty and there wasn’t anyone lingering past the glass doors. He had at least a few minutes to kill if the Jedi dropping off the younglings could be trusted.

Reopening the messages, Fox simply scrolled through the updates, only ending up replying to one, and even that hadn’t been urgent. Inbox clear, he stared at Wolffe’s message, most of it cut off in the preview. He had been meaning to reply to it since it was first sent but—life just didn’t stop on Coruscant.

The force was out to prove him correct, as the moment the thought of opening Wolffe’s message entered his head, the lobby’s doors slid open. Closing the messages and standing up straight once more, Fox saluted the Jedi in front of him. 

The Mon Calamari Jedi waved his salute away, “Wonderful to see you again, Commander.” “Sir.” He nodded, sight dropping to the two younglings in front of the Jedi.

Twi’lek girl–Ayyn if he remembered correctly–waved at him, rocking back and forth on her heels. She had definitely been excitable the last time he took her on a tour, but listened well enough. The other, a Bothan, was holding tight to the Jedi’s hands, half hidden by their robes as they eyed Fox suspiciously. 

Master Dreti, the Jedi’s name finally came to Fox, slipped his hand out of the youngling’s pushing him gently forward. “This is Tav, Commander. He’s a bit nervous about his first field trip.”

Tav clutched his hands tightly in front of himself, body swiveling to look back at Master Dreti. The jedi simply made a shooing motion with his own hands, his face tugged up in an approximate smile.

Fox bit back a sigh and dropped down into a crouch, his elbows resting on his knees and hands brushing up against one another as they hung. Eye to eye with Tav, pardoning the helmet, Fox tried to soften his voice, “It’s good to meet you, Tav. I’m Commander Fox. Just going to be taking you on a little field trip around Coruscant. I swear every other youngling has enjoyed it–right Ayyn?” Ayyn nodded her head viscously, “Yeah! I knowww I told you all about my last one, c’mon!”

Tav looked between Fox and Ayyn. His ears twitched once as he looked back at Fox. “One field trip, kid. If you don’t like it, you never have to go on one with me again, alright?” He shifted his weight, letting one heel fall flat as he offered a hand to Tav. Palm up right and inviting, simply waiting.

Tav hesitated, shifting on his hooves. He glanced at Ayyn and Master Dreti once more. Finally, he reached out and took Fox’s hand. A smile tugged at Fox’s face under his bucket, one he didn’t bother to stamp down. Not like they could see it anyways.

“Good to have you joining us, Tav.” Pushing himself back up with his one planted foot, he stood face to face with Master Dreti again. Tav had tightened his grip on Fox’s fingers as Fox adjusted himself. A moment later and Fox was glancing down at his opposite side, Ayyn having bounded over and practically wrapped herself around his right arm. He felt the smile draining off of his face. 

Master Dreti chuckled at the sight, tucking his arms into his overly flowy robes. “I will see you in two hours, younglings. Do behave for the Commander.” He finished his words off with a shallow bow, turning away and exiting the building, everything seemingly having been said.

Fox didn’t feel like it had been. Sure he knew the plan, who these kids were and where to take them, but he always just felt a step behind when it came to handling younglings. Maybe it was the whole force crap.

“Right, off we go then.” He shook Ayyn off of his arm, she doing most of the work as she gladly bounded ahead and out of the building. Tav didn’t seem to be keen on letting him go, walking so close to Fox that he may as well be trying to fuse himself to the armor. Not that Fox was set on forcing the youngling off of him though, it was easier if they could get through this trip without any fussing.

The walk to the bus station, thankfully, wasn’t long. Being quite frankly anywhere in the Senate district, sentients had places after places to visit. There was never a station too far away in this district, simply out of convenience for those poor sentients. Ayyn stayed within Fox’s sight, never wondering too far ahead. She constantly looked back and reeled herself in. Perhaps him snapping at her for wondering too far off ahead last time had stuck with her.

Sentients glanced at Fox, avoided him as he walked past. Even once they had come to pause at the station, despite how many were all waiting on the same shuttlebus, they let him have his own personal bubble. Their chatter quieted down and the stares weren’t exactly hard to feel. Fox kept staring straight ahead.

Ayyn slowly slunk back to his side as they waited. Shuffling step by step closer until she too, was pressed up against his side. Lekku occasionally hitting his side, Fox could feel her glancing around them, at the space they were given.

“Couldn’t we have just taken a speeder?” She whispered, tugging on Fox’s arm.

He did not look down, still staring out at the lanes of traffic, waiting for their vehicle to finally come in sight. “No, your Master said it was good to get accustomed to Coruscant public transit.”

Ayyn groaned, head bonking against Fox’s armor before she shifted away, seemingly unable to stay still for more than a couple seconds.

The shuttlebus hissed to a stop in front of the station, rocking to stop in the air, level with the platform beneath their feet. Sentients flew out of the vehicle as soon as the doors opened, their stream of movement quickly replaced with the many sentients boarding after them. Fox let himself and the younglings fall to the back of the line. He’d rather avoid the accusations of stealing a good seat from a natborn.

Ayyn took the brave step in front of Fox, boarding first. She shivered as she met the constantly cycling air inside of the bus, it surely being colder than the air outside. Only taking a moment to pause and look over the bus, Ayyn slid into the first row of seats, they left empty. Good, they could all sit together. Fox, as much as he might want to avoid conflict right now, wasn’t above kicking someone out of their seat so he could stay with the younglings.

Ayyn pressed up against the window seat, Tav hesitantly sitting next to her once Fox had wriggled his hand out of Tav’s. Sitting down, the aisle to his exposed right side, the bus finally jerked to a start, joining the ever constant flow of traffic.

“Ayyn.” Fox spoke curtly, the girl already turned to look out the window. “Did Master Dreti give the two of you the rundown?”

“Mmhm! ‘Said we’re visiting the Fobosi District today!” “Yeah, Master said I should really like it, being forestry and all, I think?” Tav piped up, catching Fox only slightly off guard. He hadn’t expected that many words out of the seemingly shy kid.

“Correct. The Fobosi District was founded by many sentients collectively missing the nature of their homeworlds. It is now known to hold the most parks out of any of Coruscant's districts, as well as being home to several plant nurseries, plant shops, and traditional medicinal clinics.” “Oh..” Was Tav’s quiet reply, face tilted downward and furred face scrunched together. “What about the temple? We have all those things and more.”

“I’m sure that you do, but this is simply our destination for today. I’m certain you will find something new there.” He tried to sound confident, masking the fact that he honestly had no clue what Tav expected. Fox had never visited those areas of the Jedi Temple, he didn’t know what the jedi took a liking to and what they didn’t.

Fox leaned back in his seat, leaving the kids to their own. Ayyn resumed looking out the window, often tugging on Tav to point out things, their quiet chatter all too easy for Fox to tune out. He kept his sight roaming over the sentients on the bus, both those sitting and those leaving and those entering at every stop. He couldn’t help but be hypervigilant while away from base, younglings at his side or not. The war was only worsening tensions between clones and civilians, not to mention the ruckus that lower level gangs had been stirring up recently.

“Station 684, Fobosi District, now arriving at Station 684.” The voice crackled over the intercom, muffled with static as it was pushed out of old and half-broken speakers.

Ayyn and Tav were close on his heels as Fox stood stiffly at the announcement, being the first one to exit the bus. This sector of Coruscant was immediately and clearly far, far different from the scenery Fox was usually surrounded by. They had sunk quite a few levels, shadows towering and cutting off most of the sun. It didn’t feel dark, the streets and buildings practically bathed in lamp lights mimicking the sun. Green grew from just about every crack and cove in the district, so much so that they might as well have been drowning in it. “Woah..” Tav whispered at his side, hand fumbling against Fox’s before he found a hold.

Ayyn spun in a tight circle next to Fox, head tilted up and eyes sparkling as she took in the sights. Fox let the chuckle slip out of his mouth. They were just two shinies, stepping foot into what was possibly one of Fox’s favorite districts. It was popular among the Guard for a reason. 

“C’mon, airheads. More to see than this.” He waved Ayyn along, Tav, predictably, still right at his side.

Leading the two jedi younglings through the streets, Fox settled into his role as not only a guard, but as a tour guide. He pointed out buildings and plaques, spilling the history of this district he had learned. He pointed out streets and their names and tried not to go into too much detail, like how during his 3rd visit to this district, he had met the great, great grandson of whom Valax St. had been named after. 

He let them pause at a sunlamp, great vines covered in yellow flowers snaking up the pole, and let Ayyn wave to another child on the street who was, apparently, kind in the force, despite their parent who ushered their child away. He sighed when Tav complained for the third time about hurting hooves, picking up the youngling and letting him sit on one arm, his other still more than free to point out landmarks. He kept Ayyn in sight, she always a few bounding steps ahead, focusing on her rather than the blinking notifications in the corner of his HUD.

Their path through the district led them to a small park, metal walkways covered with dirt and fenced off. Grass sprung brightly from the dirt and trees waved in the wind caused by Coruscant's constantly recycled and refreshed air.

“This park was established thanks to the Lisar family from Naboo roughly half a century ago. Nearly all the plants here are taken directly from Naboo, including several endangered species, where they are allowed to grow uninterrupted here.” Fox repeated, summarizing approximately, the research he had done on the Lisar Park. It was a nice place really, but it was unlikely the younglings were going to remember half the words he spoke, as enraptured as they were.

“Oh! Oh! A pond!” Ayyn tugged at Fox, pulling him forward only slightly before bounding off towards the water glistening under sunlamps. “Yes a–” Ayyn was already at the water’s edge, leaning over to look at the fish swimming through the water. “--Koi pond.” Fox gently lowered Tav to his own hooves once they joined Ayyn’s side. Tav dropped to his knees, staring intensely at the water as he dipped his finger into the pond. Fox stood behind them, half heartedly observing them. Mostly, he stared lazily out at the walking paths that bent around the Koi pond. The park wasn’t exactly busy today, but Fox had yet to be disappointed by his never-too-careful philosophy.

Several sentients wandered by before any caught his attention. The simple presence of a Falleen had him tensing, scanning their body for any mark of the Black Sun. Said mark laid half-exposed as a tattoo on their neck. Fox loosened his stance, standing between the two younglings as he quickly sent out his own update.

This wasn’t Black Sun territory. Not only was it far too high for them, but it had remained in Guard control almost since they had begun purging the planet of her many crime syndicates. His message, bare and quick, was sent out to his fellow guard the same moment the Black Sun member noticed him. They paused, eyes locked with Fox’s helmet, hand twitching towards a hidden gun.

“Get out of here, Falleen.” Fox hissed out, voice cold and commanding.

The gang member glanced between the two younglings and Fox, a laugh slipping from their mouth, “Or what, Clone? I’m not the only one here.”

That was more than enough information for Fox to act on. He lunged at the Falleen, knocking them to the ground. Pinning their throat to the ground gave him the delay he needed to pull his pistol out and stun the man beneath him. Would hurt waking up from that, but Fox couldn’t exactly get himself to care a whole lot for them. 

Standing, he took a picture of the knocked out Falleen, if for nothing but identification purposes. Gave them a reason to push even further into Black Sun territory, if he escaped, if nothing else. Turning on his heel, Fox slipped his pistol back into its holster, once more facing the two younglings. They both stood upright now, wide eyed and speechless.

“Field trip’s over. Let's go.” He beckoned the children towards him, setting off on a brisk pace, following the path they had taken into the garden. 

Commander Thorn’s holoprojection appeared above his wrist not a moment after he dialed the man, “Saw your message–” “Yeah,” Fox cut him off, looking to his side as he spoke. Good, the kids were keeping up. “Apparently he isn’t the only one. Guessing they’re going to try to encircle our lands. I needed a squad here about five minutes ago. Get on it.”

“Yes sir. Con and his men should be with you in eight minutes,” “Tell them to make it kriffing six.”

“Will do. K'oyacyi.” “K'oyacyi.”

Fox was forced to slow his steps as he hung up on Thorn, Tav grasping for his hand. The little Bothan taking three steps for every one of Fox’s. Ayyn, too, was just barely staying in stride with Fox.

“What was–What was that?” Ayyn’s voice trembled, glancing over her shoulder at where the pond was once visible. “Coruscant, Kid. Keep moving.” His voice had lost any of the warmth he might’ve once had as he spoke to the children, far too worried about keeping his eye out for threats.

He might’ve enjoyed this, might’ve made it a little game of cat and mouse between him and the unsuspecting Black Sun delinquents, were it not for Ayyn and Tav. He needed them to be back at base, at the temple. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if Black Sun even tried to use the jedi younglings against them. 

Metal rang out beneath their feet as they stepped out of the quiet garden, the sudden increase in sentients around them painfully obvious to Fox. The pushed through the crowds, Fox no longer caring about going with the flow, like they had on their first time walking these streets together. 

Fox retraced their steps faithfully, leading them closer and closer to the bus stop. An arbitrary and uncommunicated meeting spot, sure, but it was familiar for the kids and well out in the open. Easy for his guards to spot him, and easy for him to keep an eye on their surroundings.

A blaster bolt whizzed past his neck, scorching the plastiod armor. It bent unnaturally, running straight into a wall, harmless, besides for some vines. Startled yells filled the air, sentients clearing out of their way. “Sorry–Stars!” Tav squeaked out, “I just–there was–” “Shut it.” Fox took the clear sign and sped up their pace, scooping Tav into his arms before breaking into a sprint, Ayyn only barely able to keep up with the pace, her face twisted with the effort.

Fox counted the seconds in his head as they ran. They were a minute ahead of the meeting time as the bus stop came into view. He skidded to a stop, nearly dropping Tav to the ground as he unholstered his pistols, pointing them towards the ground as he stared at every sentient who had even dared to show their face today. Ayyn was several moments behind Fox, coming to a gradual stop. She doubled over herself, hands on her knees, barely propping herself up as she caught her breath.

A blue blaster bolt skimmed past Fox’s helmet, unflinching as a guard speeder made itself clear in the flow of traffic, redirecting its course to land near the trio. Fox grinned at the sound of a body thunking to the ground. 

“Half a minute early, Con!”

“Figured I should try to stay on your good side, Commander.” The trooper yelled out as his partner pulled the speeder to the ledge, Con hopping onto solid ground.

“More effective if I could have someone haul these two back to base.” Fox tilted his head down to the two jedi younglings, already nudging them closer to the guard speeders, where three more had parked alongside Con’s.

“Yes sir.” Con gestured towards two of his men to stay on their speeders, the rest already joining him on solid ground.

Fox guided Ayyn and Tav over to the speeders, pausing before he helped them on. “Hope you two had fun, try not to tell Master Dreti too much about this part of the trip.” Warmth finally bleeding back into his voice as he spoke.

Moments later and they were off, heading back to the Guard’s base. Fox did not spare the time to watch them disappear. He joined Con’s side, pistols comfortably in his hands. The Black Sun was sorely mistaken if they thought that Fox was just going to let the Fobosi District slip away from him. ____

@tazmbc1 and @whiskygoldwings , I believe you both wanted to be tagged? Severely sorry if I misread it and you didn't.

[blog-name-idk]

The Package Thief (KNJ)

Beautiful banner by @btsstan12

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Fem Reader

Genre: Neighbors/Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Humor

Summary: You have a new neighbor who is incredibly attractive. Unfortunately, he seems to hate you for no discernable reason at all. Does he think that just because he's hot, he can get away with being an asshole?

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Fem Reader

Genre: Neighbors/Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Humor

Word Count: 3,473

Warnings: Language, dimples, Namtiddies

~~~~~

The first time you saw your tall, handsome, dimple-cheeked neighbor, you were thrilled to have some eye candy in your apartment building. You had just moved in, and when he smiled at you in the lobby, you could have sworn you heard birds chirp and angels sing.

When you spotted him again while gathering up the packages for your floor, you perked up, hoping it would be your chance to get his name.

"Oh hey! Could you hold that for me?" you called as he stepped past the sliding doors. You juggled the boxes awkwardly in your hand as you hurried forward with a smile, only for the handsome stranger to glare at you as if you were doing something wrong. He then pressed a button that was clearly not to keep the door open, because it slid shut in your face.

"What the fuck?" you asked the air, staring at the metal frame incredulously. Who the hell did something like that? Did this asshole think he was too good to share the elevator with you?

Ugh, it figured. Of course someone that hot would never have learned to be a good person.

With a sigh, you jammed the "up" button with your elbow to wait for the next one. Your ire cooled as you waited, and you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he just had to take a shit really badly or something, and what you thought was a glare was actually his constipated face. He would probably apologize the next time you ran into each other.

~~~~~

Your neighbor did not apologize the next time you ran into each other.

If anything, he seemed to glare harder. And then the prick closed the door in your face, again. Unbelievable.

You weren't going to take this abuse laying down, so whenever you were in the position to do so, you returned the favor. It felt good to see the same irritation on his face each time the metal door slid shut, and you relished in your petty victories. He deserved a taste of his own medicine. Did he really think that just because he was hot, he could get away with being a dick?

On this particular day, you had worked late to clean up after a coworker's mistakes, and you were exhausted. All you wanted to do was take off your shoes and bra and listen to some music while you fought off the urge to angry cry.

Of course, because the universe hated you, you got to the lobby to see the smug, obnoxious smirk on your neighbor's face as he jammed the door close button. You clenched your teeth, feeling heat and frustration build behind your eyes, and gave him your most venomous glare as you flipped him off. You were not going to give this horrible piece of shit the satisfaction of seeing you upset.

Once he was gone, you pressed the elevator button, only to notice the sign indicating the other was broken. So you had to wait for piece-of-shit to get to whatever the fuck floor he lived on before it came back. It was a small thing, but enough to break through the cracks of your composure, and you felt hot tears begin to leak down your face.

You wiped your eyes angrily and took several deep breaths while you pulled yourself back together. Well, if you were going to have to wait, you might as well bring the packages up to your floor again. No point in leaving them down here for anyone to take.

As you waited for the elevator, you wondered how in the world anyone could be such a raging asshole.

~~~~~

"God, someone stole a package again yesterday," groaned Namjoon over a glass of scotch. It was Friday, the first night he had free in weeks, and it felt good to unwind after being frustrated by his bitchy neighbor for so long. Seriously, what was up with her? Did she think that just because she was hot she could get away with stealing peoples' mail?

"Again?" Jimin said in surprise, taking a sip of his own drink. "What about building management?"

"What do you mean?" Namjoon asked with a baffled furrow of his brow. Jimin lived in the same building, but on a different floor. Now that Namjoon thought about it, he'd also never heard his friend complain about a single package stolen.

"Do they just not bring up your stuff soon enough?" Jimin questioned, cocking his head. "The girl who brings the packages for my floor even organizes them by unit order."

What the hell was Jimin on about? That wasn't a thing. Oblivious to his friend's confusion, Jimin rambled on, and Namjoon pondered on this new mystery. The only person he'd ever seen picking up several packages was –

"She's really cute too, and she's always smiling."

Okay nevermind, it wasn't her. He doubted he'd seen an expression on her face other than irritation and spite. She was definitely attractive, but hot bitch wasn't really the type that turned him on.

"Oh, there she is, actually!" Jimin chirped in excitement, eyes sparkling as he waved at someone over Namjoon's shoulder. "Hey, [y/n]!"

The mystery girl in question greeted his friend with a vaguely familiar voice, and when Namjoon turned to see who it was, he felt his stomach drop.

You stared back, clearly just as shocked, and Namjoon did his best not to ogle. You weren't wearing anything outrageous, just tight-fitting jeans, a slinky top that hugged your curves, and heels that highlighted how your ass filled out said tight-fitting jeans. Even without the clothes, the smile on your face was enough to make his stomach do something funny, though it quickly faded when you recognized him.

"This is my friend Namjoon!" Jimin continued cheerfully, oblivious to the tense atmosphere suddenly hanging over the table. "He lives in our building! Namjoon, this is [y/n], she's the building person that brings up our packages."

You gave a forced smile, and Namjoon felt the beginning prickles of nausea and anxiety as he realized he might have made a tiny misjudgment.

"I just do it for our floor because it's on the way," you explained quietly, avoiding his gaze. The edges of your smile grew warmer when you looked at Jimin, transforming your face from glacial beauty to soft sincerity.

"Then I definitely owe you a drink," Jimin responded with a laugh, motioning for Namjoon to scoot over to give you room to sit. He obeyed woodenly, mind racing as guilt weighed down his heart.

"Don't worry about it," you assured him with a chuckle that made something in Namjoon's chest ache. "I'm about to walk home, anyway."

"Alone?"

You looked at Namjoon in surprise, and he realized he spoke aloud. He cleared his throat, feeling like a stupid lump as he looked down at his drink with warm cheeks. Despite the relative proximity of the apartment, he didn't like the idea of you alone this late at night.

"Yeah? It's not that far," you said suspiciously, as if waiting for a snide comment. It made his chest sink, though it wasn't as if you didn't have a good reason for your misgivings. He spoke up again, hoping maybe he could talk to you and have the chance to explain his earlier behavior.

"Why don't you have a drink with us, and we can all walk back together?"

To his surprise, you stiffened and the corners of your mouth tightened into a thin line.

"Why? So you can make me take another elevator?" you asked angrily, making Namjoon flush and Jimin look between the two of you in confusion. "No thanks, my week has been exhausting enough already. I'll see you around, Jimin."

With that, you stomped away in unfortunately righteous indignation, and Namjoon barely had time to admire the sway of your hips before Jimin piped up.

"What was that all about?" his friend asked with a frown, his usually twinkling eyes now boring into Namjoon's. He felt heat creep up his face as he sighed and began to tell Jimin the entire saga, from how he had assumed you were stealing packages and proceeded to close the elevator door in your face, to the current state of antagonism. By the time he was finished, his friend's mouth was hanging open, and he felt more embarrassment at just how childishly he had acted.

"Joonie, I'm just really surprised," said Jimin wonderingly as he rubbed his forehead. "It's not like you to be like that."

Namjoon winced, knowing he was right. He liked to think that he was the more mature, level-headed one of their friend group, above silly squabbles and petty revenge. Obviously he had overestimated himself.

"I hope you haven't done anything recently, I think she's been having a hard time at work," Jimin mused, and Namjoon felt the lead weight of guilt in his stomach grow heavier. At this rate it was going to fall out of his butt. "She was crying in the lobby yesterday."

Well fuck. He really was an asshole.

~~~~~

You had just arrived home and flopped facedown on your couch when your recharging was rudely interrupted by a knock at the door. With a groan, you forced yourself up and peered through your peephole. What the fuck?

You made sure your chain lock was fastened before you unlocked the latch and cracked the door open, peering at your visitor dubiously.

"What do you want?" you asked, eyeing a beaming Namjoon in suspicion. You had never seen him look so cheerful, and you had to remind yourself he was not a golden retriever, no matter how cute he looked with flour dusting his nose or how deep his dimples were.

"I made cookies," he said happily, and you realized he was holding a paper plate covered in crumpled tin foil. "To apologize for the way I've been acting towards you."

You felt your brows raise at his statement, and you cast your eyes behind him in mistrust. Where had this one-eighty come from? Was it just because his friend lived on your floor?

Namjoon's shoulders drooped slightly at your lack of response, and he began to shift in place awkwardly.

"Um, I just – so I know I've been a dick to you," he began, chewing his lip and looking adorably embarrassed. "This is gonna sound stupid but I thought you were stealing packages when I saw you holding all of them."

For a moment, all you could do was stare.

"You thought that I would steal a bunch of packages, in the building I live in, while other residents were around?" you asked incredulously, making Namjoon turn bright red and clear his throat.

"Well, when you put it that way…" he mumbled awkwardly. "I just… I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I hope we can start over."

He peered at you with such hopeful eyes that you felt your resolve crumble, and when you unhooked the chain from your door you could have sworn you saw a tail wagging.

"Okay," you replied, unable to keep yourself from smiling at the way he had perked up. Those dimples were serious weapons against your ability to hold a grudge. You held out your hand. "I'm [y/n], and I do not steal packages."

Namjoon laughed, a low, rich sound that you felt vibrate in your stomach, and took your hand in a firm, warm grip.

"I'm Namjoon, and I'm an idiot who jumps to crazy conclusions," he said with a grin that deepened the stupidly cute divots in his cheeks. Then he had to let go to save the wobbling plate of cookies from an untimely demise before holding it toward you with a look of chagrin.

You accepted his offering with a laugh, feeling like a warm bubble was floating in your chest. Then you bade your hot, not-asshole neighbor goodbye and set the plate on your kitchen table. You peeked under the foil, and decided maybe one cookie before dinner was acceptable. Or maybe two, if –

You took a bite of the soft, delicious looking pastry and immediately spat it out in disgust. What the fuck.

~~~~~

Namjoon Hyung! It worked!

Jin Wait, you actually made the cookies?

Namjoon Yes! They came out perfectly No fires and only a few cracked eggs on my floor!

Jin I'm impressed How'd they taste?

Namjoon Oh fuck

~~~~~

For the second time tonight, your evening was interrupted by unwelcome pounding at your door. You didn't even bother to check who it was this time.

"What do you have this time?" you snarled through the door, wondering if it was worth it to open it so you could strangle Namjoon's handsome neck. "Oreos with toothpaste filling?"

The knocking ceased, and a small, timid voice spoke up on the other side of the wood.

"Oh… you had one…"

"Unfortunately," you said shortly, crossing your arms in an attempt to keep his woebegone tone from softening your ire.

"I was hoping you hadn't yet," he wheezed through the door. "I forgot to taste them before I gave them to you."

He sounded sincere, and suddenly you realized he was speaking through pants, as if he was out of breath.

"Did you run all the way up here to warn me?" you asked in surprise, mollified enough to unlock your door and open it to reveal a rumpled looking Namjoon, bent over with his hands on his knees.

"Yeah – I didn't want to wait for the elevator," he replied, red-cheeked from exertion. "I'm sorry, I'm actually a disaster cook but I really thought I did a good job this time."

You felt your lips twitch into a smile at the imagine of tall, handsome Namjoon tasting a cookie and then immediately bolting up however many flights of stairs to stop you from eating them. What a clumsy idiot. A clumsy, adorable idiot.

"Do you want some water?" you asked, stepping aside to invite him in.

"That would be amazing," he gasped, giving you a grateful look as he walked inside. As he passed you, you noticed a few beads of sweat rolling down his temple. He really was even more attractive up close.

You directed him to sit on your couch as you grabbed a glass of water, and he picked up the book you had left on your coffee table.

"Oh, you read Murakami?" he asked as he looked at the cover. "I haven't read this one yet, is it any good?"

"It's my first, actually," you replied as you set the glass in front of him, sitting on the couch a respectable distance away. "I think he presents ideas of loneliness and intimacy in interesting ways. Does he always write the women as accessories to the male protagonists, though?"

"Haha… unfortunately, yes," Namjoon agreed, his dangerous dimples making another appearance as he smiled apologetically at you. "Do you read a lot?"

"I try, but not as much as I used to," you said with a sigh, letting your head fall back to rest on the back of your couch. "After work sometimes I'm too mentally exhausted to do anything but exist."

"But you still bring your floor's packages up?" Namjoon said in surprise, turning his wide chest towards you and giving you his full attention. You tried not to stare at the way his pecs strained against his plain white shirt, but between his body and his face there was nowhere safe for your gaze to land.

"It's not like it's that much extra effort," you said with a shrug. "Why wouldn't I when it's easy?"

"It wouldn't even cross most peoples' minds to do it," Namjoon replied, eyes locked on yours and making your cheeks feel warm. "You're a nice person, [y/n]."

"I-it's really not a big deal," you said feebly, your chest fluttering at the sincerity in his voice. You cast about your mind for a change in subject, because the way he was smiling at you was dangerous for your heart. "How did you fuck up those cookies so spectacularly, anyway?"

Your question worked to take that piercing gaze off of you, and Namjoon turned a pretty shade of pink as he looked down at his knees.

"I uh – I'm really not sure," he muttered in embarrassment, making you want to coo at how cute he was.

"Did you… follow a recipe?" you asked in consternation, watching his cheeks grow even redder.

"I… yeah, but…" he mumbled, eyes glancing around before settling on the glass of water. He grabbed it and took a large swig, and you did your best to ignore the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

"But?" you urged, amusement lacing your voice as this once-asshole stammered and squirmed uncomfortably on your sofa.

"Why wouldn't more vanilla extract make it taste better?" Namjoon whined, making you put your hand over your mouth to hide a snort.

"Oh my god, you didn't," you giggled, his chagrined pout doing as much to endear him to you as the previous half our combined. "It also tasted like you switched salt for sugar."

"Dammit," he groaned, flopping backwards so he was oddly contorted on the couch, feet still on the ground but his hips twisted so his back was laying on your cushions. His knees knocked against yours and he shot back up with an apologetic look, but all you could do was laugh harder.

"My friend who gave me the recipe was just impressed I didn't burn anything down," he sighed, though he seemed relieved that you looked more amused than irritated.

"You… you really don't cook, do you?" you chortled, scooting a little closer so you could nudge his shoulder with yours.

"I'm your stereotypical bachelor," he replied with a sigh, draping an arm behind you, across the back of the couch. You felt your heart flutter again at the smooth combination of the physical action with the way he confirmed he was single.

"So no pretty ladies – or men – to teach you?" you teased, leaning further into his body. He met your eyes with his warm gaze, making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

"Nope," he murmured, arm slipping off the sofa to rest lightly atop your shoulders, so precarious that it was clear he was half-expecting you to shrug him off.

"I guess that means I should invite you to stay for dinner," you said with a smile, enjoying the ego boost when his eyes brightened.

"No pretty men – or ladies – who would be upset by that?" he hedged, those dastardly dimples making their reappearance as he leaned closer, gaze flickering to your lips. His arm slipped lower to hug your waist, and you let him pull you closer.

"Only one who would be upset if you refused," you murmured with a smirk, tangling your fingers in his shirt as you tugged him toward you.

His lips were warm against yours, even softer than they looked, and you let out a pleased sigh as you melted into his firm chest. A low groan rumbled from his throat, sending warm tingles shooting from your chest through your limbs, and you sucked his plump lower lip between your teeth.

"I really just thought you were a hot asshole," you said with a laugh, pulling away despite the heat beginning to settle in your core.

"I mean, I was definitely an asshole," he mumbled, cheeks pink as his gaze stayed glued to your lips. Then his eyes widened. "Uh, h-hot?"

You snorted at his surprise, giving him a very obvious once over. Namjoon's face flamed even redder, which was absolutely adorable.

"Have you seen yourself?" you teased, letting your hands rest on his shoulders.

"Nah, too busy looking at you," he replied quietly, and it was your turn to be flustered. How had he turned the tables like that so quickly?

"Ha ha," you said awkwardly, cursing yourself for your inability to formulate a coherent response. He was supposed to be the idiot, not you. At your response, those dimples made their reappearance, and you stood up to prevent yourself from melting into a gooey puddle.

"Anyway, I'm gonna start dinner."

You said it in a rush, in the hopes that Namjoon didn't realize how giddy he was making you.

"Oh! Let me help!"

He began to get up from the couch, and you promptly shoved him back down.

"For the love of god, please don't," you teased with a laugh, pressing a kiss on his nose to ease the sting of your words. "Just sit there and look pretty. Moral support."

Namjoon smiled back at you, eyes warm and affectionate, and you wondered if you would even be able to focus properly while this mancake was lounging on your couch.

"As you wish."

~~~~~

[steddieasitgoes]

Eddie is a rockstar at the Grammys and Steve is a clueless seat filler who sits next to him.

Walking around campus, Robin stumbles across a flyer encouraging people to apply to be seat fillers for the award season set to begin in Los Angeles. Robin brings it home to Steve and the two jokingly apply. They think nothing of it until three weeks before the Grammy Awards when they are sent a long email full of rules and NDAs for them to sign. At this point Steve tries to back out but Robin won’t let him -- promising that it’ll be fun and if it’s not he can take her to a basketball game of his choosing and she won’t complain once. 

Fast-forward to the event and it’s not as glamorous as Robin was expecting. They’re not allowed to talk to any of the celebrities they sit next to and most of the time they’re standing out in the hall waiting for someone to leave their seat. 

It’s a whole lot of waiting until 1/3 of the way into the broadcast when the artists start getting antsy and begin to mingle at the lobby bar. Robin gets sent out on seat filler business first and get shuffled around a few times before she winds up in the back of the line of fillers in the hallway. When another seat is vacated, she pushes Steve to the front since he hasn’t seen any of the show yet -- too busy letting others go in front of him because they are all more excited than him. 

The coordinator escorts him to a row near the back of the celebrity section and instructs him to sit in the seat next to a gorgeous long-haired men with the most beautiful brown eyes Steve’s ever seen. The man in question smiles and nods his head in acknowledgment before turning back to the conversation he was having with his seat mate. 

Several minutes pass and Steve waits for the coordinator to come get him but no one does. During the next commercial break, the gorgeous man turns and starts chatting with him. Steve knows he’s not allowed to talk to the talent, but he doesn’t recognize the guy so he figures he must be another seat filler. The guy’s not dressed in a suit like the rest of the celebrities and he’s all the way in the back of the section so he figures he must not be someone important. They spend the next three commercial breaks mindlessly chatting about the acts and Steve learns this guy is really passionate about music. 

If he’s honest, he’s sort of smitten with this dude and he doesn’t even know his name. He tells himself at the next commercial break he’s going to ask what his name is and spends the next several minutes brainstorming how to casually bring it up. 

All of it is for not, though, because suddenly the Grammy Award for Best Metal Performance is being announced and there’s a camera next to Steve pointed directly on the beautiful man beside him. The nominees are read and the beautiful man smiles bashfully at the camera when “Chrissy Song” Lyrics by Eddie Munson, performed by Corroded Coffin is announced. And then he’s leaping to his feet when the song wins and Steve watches in stunned silence as the beautiful man (aka Eddie Munson) graciously pats him on the shoulder before scooting past him to accept his Grammy Award. 

Steve feels embarrassed and tries to run for the hills -- surely he should have known who this Eddie guy was and yet all of that disappears when Eddie makes some comment about this being the best night of his life -- not just because he won a fucking Grammy but also because his manager is MIA leaving him sitting next to the cutest seat filler of all time. 

(Robin shouts at Steve for three whole days when they get back to their apartment and they watch the recorded broadcast. The shouting stops on day four, but starts back up on day five when she receives an email from the coordinator asking for Steve’s contact information. 

Eddie calls him half an hour later.) 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, medical procedures including dialysis and chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Pete Brenner, short!reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

It's not the treatments themselves but the constancy. This isn't just one day, this is the rest of your life. Several days a week walking through those doors, spending hours with a needle in your arm, only to walk away feeling nauseous and dizzy.

The effects only last a few hours, just until your blood pressure evens out, but it's enough to put you out for the rest of the day. With a bandage on your arm, you fold up your laptop and slide it into your bag. What better way to multitask but work while you have the life drained from you. Well, the alternative is hardly preferable, a grizzly, toxic death of drowning in your own waste. You've always been an optimist.

You take a moment before you leave, trying to steady the hazy lines in your vision. You take a breath and leave the office, bidding a quick farewell to Louise, your attending nurse. Outside of the clinic and work, you don't get out much, and much of the latter you can do from home.

You go down the clanging metal stairs to the lobby. As you cross the floor, a man stands by the index of offices, scratching his flopping hair as he glances over. You give a sheepish arch of your brows and tuck your chin down.

"Hey," he stops you before you reach the door, "er, I'm looking for the Wellness Studio? Er..." He turns to you as you stop with your hand on the front door, "Colson's?"

You furrow your brow. That sounds familiar but you really don't know about anything else in the building. You just come here to get your dialysis.

"Erm, I..." you peek out the window and see the sign across the street, red font on a white background, "is that it?"

You point to the moniker that reds 'Colson's' and the man nears to look over your shoulder. He blows out a huff and tuts, "oh god, I must seem like a moron."

"Uh, no..." you push through the door and he catches it behind you, extending his arm over your head.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he nudges your arm as he follows you outside.

"Mhmm," you turn down the sidewalk, set on your path to the station.

"Hey, wait, can I get a name?" He sprints up next to you, "you've been so helpful--"

You look at him, unused to that level of familiarity. You're not exactly that discernable from the brickwall beside you. Your expression must betray your confusion and surprise.

"Just a name," he says as he puts out his hand, "Pete. So, trade?"

You hide your discomfort and reach to shake his hand, eking out your name. You clear your throat and glance around him, not wanting to be rude. You're not quite sure how to gently mention that your train is due.

"So, you come here often?" He stretches his arm out to lean on the brick facade, hand pushing his jacket back as he grips his hip.

You nod and peer around. He's a stranger even if you know his name. You're not very fond of those.

"Am I keeping you?" He asks coolly.

"I just... gotta catch the train," you utter, "sorry, I--"

You go to step around him and he pushes away from the wall, blocking your way, "alright, alright, can I get a number?"

"Er, oh, no," you blurt out in shock, "no, I mean... I don't know you."

He rolls his eyes and smirks, "yeah you do, I'm Pete."

You shake your head and step sideway again. He moves with you. Your chest boils with frustration and a tint of fear. This is why you shouldn't talk to strange men. Especially men twice your size.

"Woah, woah, don't look so scared, honey, I'm not gonna hurt you," he puts his hands down, "I just think you're a cutie. Forgive me for being so forward." He backs away, "don't let me keep you, you go on and get your train."

You frown, uneasy at his sudden appeasment. You swallow and step past him cautiously. You keep your head straight and march down the sidewalk between the passing pedestrians. Their indifference makes you feel even more uneasy.

As you go to turn the corner towards the station, you look back. The man stands amidst the city rush, unbothered by those around him as he watches you, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his dark red blazer. You shudder and scurry behind the shield of the buildings. You might just ask to go out the back door next time.

[aplaceforyourhearttorest]

Baseline ༯ Lars Ulrich (18+)

Your sports bag clings to your upper hip like a second skin as you make your way inside of the town you're visiting's local tennis club, an easygoing and excited smile lifting your reddened features despite your distain towards the engulfing heat, and its accompanied dry air making everything seem much more dense and heavier. The sound of children's animated laughter and the scuffs of their court shoes easily take over the now fading dual cacophony of blaring horns and annoyed shouts from the stoplight now a few yards away, and you nearly close your eyes in bliss as a cool breeze filters through, while the door slowly closes to latch itself behind your half clothed and cloying back.

They widen instead and quickly flicker to the right as a cold hand encircles itself around your forearm to fully tug you in, and you force yourself to take in a shaky breath as a girl around your age sends you an apologetic grimace and hastily takes a step back, her hand falling in tow. "Sorry about that, you probably couldn't hear me over all of the kids," she falters out, the slight stutter in her cadence and her obvious nervousness helps the rest of your hesitance and wariness dissipate. "You just look like a volunteer, and we're ten more kids away from a disaster and a shit show. I'm pulling at straws here."

"Well, luckily for you," You start, before playfully trailing off. Grinning amusedly at her words, you blindly reach back in search for the zipper on your bag, your eyes squinting with the enormity of your mirth as she lets out a cheer as soon as she sees the forest green polo in your raised fist. "What's going on, anyway? The last time I was here to sign up, this place was deserted, and now I can barely even see the exit to the courts from here." You raise an eyebrow as a group of excited parents and young teenagers eagerly make their way through the crowd, the matching shirts they have on and the lettering printed on them blurred with how fast they were clumsily attempting to travel through the packed lobby and front room. You halfheartedly toss your assigned shirt over your head, tugging your ponytail out of the back of the collar as you look around and shift your bag to each shoulder to slide your arms through the sleeve holes.

"Some metal band surprised us with a donation and agreed to come and watch the kids play for the day. They thought it would help us raise some more funds for the tennis club we've been saving up for to build on the other side of town." Your grin softens at her answer, and you allow her to grab ahold of your arm again to help guide you through the ever growing crowd, it beginning to look more like a concert than a place for people to play and practice at with each second that passes. By the time you two make it to the exit and open double doors, shoulders and elbows are leaning into your own and almost forcibly pushing you forward. Relief floods through you as the familiar hot and bright rays of sunbeams beat down on you as you two finally make it past the doors, and you have to rush to duck as a man yells and thrusts his hands in your direction. Falling down into a squat, you murmur a rushed curse and hold back an incredulous laugh as the man behind you nearly jumps over your crouched form in haste to make it further into the traveling crowd.

The hand still clutching onto you tugs you toward the left, near a half empty and older looking tennis court, and you wince as you feel droplets of sweat collect on the precipice of your eyebrows and temple. "We're only going to be teaching the kids how to ground stroke and approach, so we have the easy beginner's class today." You lift a hand to brush away the perspiration before straightening your fingers out and using them as a makeshift visor, your expression easing up and softening as the eager handfuls of kids look at you two with anticipation, the rackets in their hands almost looking too heavy for them to carry on their own. They let out a synchronized cheer once you two ask if they're ready to learn and have some fun, and your prior excitement for volunteering comes back full swing as you watch them attempt to balance their softened balls on their specialized rackets.

After you two eventually ease into your roles and you manage to almost perfect the moves with a shy boy who was struggling earlier on, you glance over after feeling eyes on you for a while and freeze as yours effortlessly meet with a familiar pair of green. What once were long bangs are now layered and cut short and pushed back, and the soft face you used to always hold onto and look forward to seeing, is now half covered in neat and maintained facial hair. Yet, his eyes still looked the same. You think they always will. The sound of your racket and tennis ball audibly connecting with the hard surface of the court's ground shocks you out of your stupor, and you hurriedly bend down to grab ahold of them once again. Brushing off your new friend's worry, you throw yourself back into coaching and demonstrating, pressuring yourself not to look back over at the man you haven't seen in almost six years. The man who left you behind.

༯

Despite knowing Lars could be as little and less than twenty feet away, you still had an amazing time. Acting out the plays and beginner moves ended up helping you let out some of your own personal frustration, and the kids' sounds of awe every time you and your co-volunteer reenacted an actual game made it even better. By the time you two set up and scored three games of doubles so each child would be able to play an all set, and they were tired out and ready to head home, the sun was setting, and the earlier crowd of parents and add on relatives was drastically dwindling down. You graciously accept the towel being handed to you and chug down the nearest cold drink, before flipping the plastic cup over with a flick of your thumb and index finger onto the folding table in front of you, grinning victoriously as you get a single round of applause after it lands on its head.

You reach back to fan yourself off with the back of your shirt, before taking it off once again, the sports bra you have on underneath nearly being completely soaked through. "Don't think any rockstars are going to want to get near or between any of this." Your new friend comments with her hand gesturing in between the two of you. You glance down before shrugging, using one of your hands to flatten out the wrinkles embedded in your dirtied skirt. "Least of my worries." You rebut, refusing to allow the tone in your voice to waver or sound emotional.

If she notices anything off about your response, she doesn't bring it up or acknowledge it. "You should stick back for a while. There are public showers, and management is supposed to be throwing a private thank you party for the band that came and stayed here all day," before you can decline, she continues. "The drummer was the one that ended up planning for them to stay. My friend told me that the guys were looking over the list of volunteers and the schedule, and once they were done, he came up with the idea on the spot. Either way, it helped out a lot of people." You nod along, swallowing thickly, the urge to flee turning into a feeling of defeat once you realize that he had the band come and stay back to have the opportunity to see you again. If he went through all of that trouble, then he should at least have the chance and the opportunity to get to say a proper goodbye.

"Yeah, I'll stay back," you accede, reaching down to grasp onto the thick strap of your bag once you hear footsteps approaching from behind. You look over your shoulder to find him stopping mid step, his expression full of uncertainty and something else, maybe hope. "How about I meet up with you in the bathroom, so we can both take a shower? I'll just be a minute or two." She agrees and goes to walk toward the double doors, only stopping in her tracks once to peer back at you with a knowing glint in her eye.

You shakily run your thumb over the uneven and worn out velcro of the strap, before nodding your head to the side and making your way over to an empty court. Bright light emanating from one of the office's sensors luminates the area, and the dangling earring in his ear shines and reflects onto the metal pole beside you, causing mini orbits of artificial trails of short illumination. "You did all of this so you could say goodbye?" You watch as the expression on Lars' face turns bleak, hopeless.

"Five and half years ago, I left to go to California," He states, and you nod, sending him a look of confusion. "Five years and two months ago, I wrote you my first letter, and I didn't get one sent back saying your apartment was vacant until three months later. Which means that for the past five and a half years, I haven't had the chance to tell you how sorry I am for not saying goodbye to you before I left." You sharply inhale, narrowing your eyes to try and collect the tears threatening to fall. You place your bag onto the floor so you can wrap your arms around yourself for comfort.

"I couldn't stay there anymore. We practically lived there together for the entire two years of the lease, and it didn't feel the same once you were gone. I had to get out," you confess, finally finding enough courage to consistently look him in the eye. "I understand why you're here, and if closure is what you need, I can give that to you. I don't know why you'd need it, you've been doing really well these past few years," you loosen an arm to wipe a stray tear off of your cheek, each inhale and exhale you manually take feeling like it'll be the last the longer you look back at him. "No matter what happened to have you leave without saying goodbye to me, I am still, so, completely fucking proud of you. I know how much work you put in to get to where you are today. All of you guys, really. I keep up."

Lars laughs wetly, temporarily shocking you still as his eyes well up. "You've been keeping up with us?" He breathes out in question, awe weighing down his tone, the way he shakes his head showing his genuine disbelief and surprise. "Yeah," you smile. "You, James, Cliff, Kirk and Jason." You recollect with ease, biting your bottom lip to hide a small smile. Lars reaches an arm out to touch you, but then stops himself, causing your hidden smile to falter.

"I didn't not say goodbye because you did something wrong," he reveals, gazing at you intently, as if he were to look away then you'd disappear. "I had a fear that if I were to say goodbye to you, then that would be the end of us, or of where we were at. I know that's fucking stupid, and it doesn't make any sense, but that's where my head was at. We were in a really good place, and I knew that if I were to tell you that I had a plan set in stone and that I had a feeling things were going to work out this time, you would have packed all of your things and moved with me. I couldn't do that to you. You finally had your own life, and you were stable, and if you were to have left with me, it would have fucked everything up for you."

You furrow your eyebrows in exasperation and take a step forward, watching as his pupils dilate the closer you get to him. "I would have gone with you regardless, because I love you." You blurt, closing your eyes in mortification as soon as you realize what you just admitted. Silence rings in your ears momentarily, and your heart pounds, before you begin to hear movement coming towards you. You jump as a warm and slightly calloused hand lightly grips onto your chin and tilts your head upward. "Look at me," Lars asks of you, pleads. "Please, just look at me."

Hope stares back at you, and you meet it with your own as you reach up to encapsulate your hand around his. "I haven't stopped loving you. Regardless of what you may have seen or read, within every second I've been awake, my first and last thought of every single day have been and are always about you. As soon as I saw your name on the list, I knew I had to try. No matter the risk of whether or not you hated me, I just needed to see you again. Needed to make sure you were alright, to see if you were real." His accent slurs and thickens as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, and he shudders around a flattened exhale as you wrap your free hand and arm around his shoulders to bring him in closer. You feel his heartbeat against your own chest, and subconsciously, they begin to synchronize. You grin as his nose brushes atop yours, and you let out a loud guffaw at the look on his face as he leans in to kiss you, and you back away.

"You can't kiss me here," You banter, your grin widening as he looks at you in confusion. You nod down toward the court's ground, where you two stand in between the service line and the baseline. "We're in no man's land. We've got to follow the rules. I thought you were the original tennis master. Unless you forgot?" Lars glances down at your lips and you shudder, the look in his eyes still familiar after all these years. A strong arm wraps itself around your middle and lifts you up, and you watch him smile to himself as your arm resting on top of his shoulders tightens with caution. You hesitantly wrap your legs around his waist and begin to relax once you felt sure he wasn't going to let go, your laughter returning after he stops right before the baseline. He loosens his grip around your waist, and you connect your ankles behind his back to assure him you were okay with being held, before repositioning your forehead against his.

"Are we good now, still following the rules?" Lars inquires in a low tone, intimate and warm, just like before, all those years ago. "We're good now, there's just one thing I need you to do for me." His eyes become lidded, heavy from just the drop of tone in your voice alone.

"Anything." He immediately agrees, with conviction. You brush your lips against his and kiss him softly, before leaning back to look at him directly in the eye.

"Take a shower with me."

༯

Your lips sting as you're carefully carried into the bathroom minutes later, once you're both sure everyone else would be out by then, a mixture of your guys' spit on your lips and the heady taste of him all over your tongue leaving you lightheaded. You force yourself to stand on your own momentarily, before Lars is backing you up into a stall, his mouth already back on yours within only a few seconds of being off.

You flinch as your back makes contact with the cold tiles of the bathroom wall, your chest now exposed after Lars easily unclasped the front with just a simple flick of his wrist and two fingers. Warm and wet lips cascade themselves down your jawline and the side of your neck, a mewl escaping from you every time he nestles his teeth enough into your sensitive skin to leave a mark. By the time that he was on his knees on the wet floor and was slowly hiking your skirt higher up on your hips, your thighs were pressed tightly together, and you couldn't stop your legs from tremoring.

"Think you can be quiet for me?" He offers you as he slides your underwear to the side and dips his head underneath the white and rumpled fabric. You reach down to entangle your fingers in his hair enough to tug his head back, ignoring the pulsation in your clit at the quiet grunt he lets out. You freeze as footsteps echo and make their way into a stall only a few away from yours, but Lars just grins up at you, his irises blown wide and his facial expression enamored. His fingers slide up your thigh, and he flicks at your essence soaked sex, quietly laughing at the way you toss your head back, your stomach muscles contracting and your swollen lips parting in a muted moan just by the single touch alone.

"There's someone else in here," you chastise in a rough whisper, fighting back the urge to smile back at him, his own being contagious and hard to ignore. "And I haven't showered yet." You curse quietly as he ducks back under the fabric and licks a fat stripe, all the way from your fluttering hole, up to the ending of your groin. You spread your legs and attempt to steady yourself, knowing that once he starts, he isn't going to finish until he feels like he's done with you. You arch your back and hitch your hips forward as he slowly takes you apart, his tongue elongating and straightening out enough to make its way inside of you to caress at your walls, while the hand not pressing into your thigh relentlessly rubs at your clit in figure 8's.

You flinch as a water faucet whines to life and you subconsciously stop his movements once again by yanking on his mane, buckling forward and lips stretching into an O as his hand on your thigh slides around the smooth expanse and up to smack your ass. Your eyes water from the sting, yet you push back into his hand to ask for more. Lars slides his tongue out from inside of you and follows your fist in his hair to come up from under your skirt. The sight of him is enough to nearly make you cum. His hair is distressed, standing on the ends, with your slick and pre release sticking and dripping down the length of his chin, and to his neck in thick, translucent lines.

"Like I wouldn't want to taste you exactly how you are," he grins out, looking drunk as you guides two fingers into your velvet heat, adamantly following every single movement of yours with his eyes as he thrusts them upwards in search for your spongelike spot. He finds it easily, and he allows you to kneel next to him once your legs begin to give out, your chest beginning to heave as he takes your right breast into his mouth and uses his free hand to guide you to ride his fingers. You release your grip from his hair, the sound of your pussy harshly slapping against his fingers and wrist now audible, and the force behind your riding enough to coerce his palm to curl upward and make rough contact with your pearling clit.

"Oh god," you whimper, feeling overstimulated even though you haven't cum yet. You lean forward and rest your head on top of his for stability, the slight tug on your nipple from his teeth and hot tongue in the cold air causing shivers to wrack your spine and for you to tremble. "I'm going to cum, please don't stop." You sob around a cry of his name, uncaring if your voice and choked out moans overpower the showerhead running only a few feet away, your only thoughts surrounded on who's finally here with you and who's making you feel this way.

"Good girl," Lars praises in a husked voice, looking fucked out himself as he tilts your head up to lick your own taste into your mouth. You slide your appendage against his as best as you can, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he begins to scissor his fingers and rub his calloused palm against your oversensitive and beading clit, your folds acting as a suction to keep him from straying too far. You immediately freeze in place as the faucet is hastily yanked to the opposite side to stop the flow of water after a particularly loud moan, and you can't help the cry you let out when you cum against his soaking wet hand. "Keep being loud, let them know exactly who you're with. Just like that."

You clench around his digits as you seize against him, nearly yelling out his name in relief once you hear feet quickly slapping on top of tile to exit the bathroom in haste. Lars continues to fuck his fingers in and out of you with an upward twist until you have tears streaming down your face, and you're fully sat on his lap. "You did so well for me, look at you," he murmurs in a soft tone, uncaring of how disheveled you looked. With the tears streaming down your face, your still shaking body, your own slick glistening on your chin. "What else do you need from me, baby?"

"Need you to do whatever you want to me," you pant once you're able to slightly catch your breath, letting out a sigh of relief as soon as your overheated and blushed skin brushes against the cool tile on the wall. "Just want to make you feel good." A warm pair of lips press themselves to the crown of your head, and you're barely told to hold on tight before you're being lifted up again, your ruined and wet underwear sliding from around your left court shoe, and down straight onto the damp floor in the middle of the walkway as you're carried over to the sink.

"I've been feeling good since I saw you for the first time in over five years, five hours ago. But alright, angel," he says in a calm and placating way, gently placing you down on your unreliable feet, only letting go of his embrace around you to turn you to face the mirror. "I need you to hold onto the sink for me, nice and tight. Spread those beautiful legs for me," he brushes the frizzed strands of hair away from your face that fell out of your ponytail earlier and grins against your ear. "Arch your back for me." Anticipation and adrenaline run through you as you feel and hear him shift behind you and unzip his jeans.

You follow his instructions and moan loudly when he gives you a rewarding smack on the ass, before sheathing himself inside of you with one smooth movement of his hips. You melt back into his front yet still hold onto the sink for leverage, and you keep your eyes open to watch his reaction to the feeling of you for the first time in years through the reflection. Lars' mouth gapes open at the first thrust, the heat emanating off your constricting walls enough to take all of his words away. But before you can begin to feel triumphant, he settles you down with a solid drive straight against your cervix. The rough and audible slap of his hips making their way to connect with yours ricochets off the bathroom's walls and makes its way back over to you, and you can only hold on as soon as he twists his fingers in your hair to hold you in place.

Your neck tilts back with every small tug on your hair, each inch you're driven forward by his dick and backward by his fist makes the hickies and bruises interwoven and bitten into your skin even more apparent underneath the artificial light. You wail and tighten impossibly tight around him as he uses his free hand to yank you back and bear you down even further onto him, and him even deeper inside you. Your second orgasm is even stronger than your first, untouched, with your vision blurring and your legs completely giving out underneath you. Lars has to release your hair to half lift you in the air while he continues to use you, every pivoting movement of his hips and his length into you making you feel like you were still cumming even minutes later.

"So fucking perfect for me." He grunts into your ear, his words nearly slurring and becoming incoherent as he lifts and lowers you onto his cock in small increments, before impaling himself fully into you and stilling, filling you with his seed. You lean forward once you're placed back near the sink and greedily suck in air, your head feeling heavy and your stomach in a pleasurable knot as he carefully pulls out of you. Lars encircles his arms around you and sends you a small and satiated smile in the mirror, only moving to stop you from reaching for the paper towel to wipe yourself clean of his seed slowly making its way down your shaking leg.

He bends down to place a kiss on your red and bruising ass, before sweeping down to collect his seed on his fingertips. By the time he's back to his full height and gently maneuvering you around to face him, you already know what you need to do. Tilting your head backwards and opening your mouth, you greedily accept every drop and every finger slowly deposited into your mouth. Licking them clean and nearly dry, you pull yourself away and slowly hitch your skirt back down into place as footsteps make their way back towards the bathroom. Lars takes off his shirt and lifts it up, before carefully placing it over your head. A girl walks in by the time he has his jeans back on and zipped up, and your hair is back in a manageable ponytail.

"You ready to go home?" He asks you in a gentle tone as the girl makes her way past, who greets you two with an innocent and unknowing smile as she does so. You grin up at him and tearfully nod, before shakily bending down to retrieve your bra and underwear from the ground.

"Yeah, I'm ready to go home."

[swan2swan]

In the lobby of the visitor center, the glass doors had been shattered, and a cold gray mist blew through the cavernous main hall. A sign that read WHEN DINOSAURS RULED THE EARTH dangled from one hinge, creaking in the wind. The big tyrannosaur robot was upended and lay with its legs in the air, its tubing and metal innards exposed.

-Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park, 1990.

Before Hidden Adventure goes back into hiding, I have to ask: did anyone else catch this reference to one of the best pieces of concept art from the 2015 movie, which was, in itself, a reference to the original novel?

[thegreenleavesofspring]

Last Rest

For @inklings-challenge 2024

She leaned on her steering wheel and looked up at the sign. It bathed the parking lot in bloody red and deep orange, the neon Vacancy beneath flickering uninspiringly in and out. This was the last hotel before the desert, and it had less than two stars in rating. The reviews had been an interesting blend of people disappointed that it had not lived up to its haunted reputation, and people disappointed in the poor service and strange happenings that had occurred during their stay. But no one had complained of bugs, so she would give it a shot. There would be - or had been already - a Disturbance out in the desert, and it was her job to manage it.

She cut her engine and stepped out the car. The door fell shut with a thump that seemed both louder and more muffled than usual. She glanced back at it and entered the lobby.

It was warmly lit in sickly yellow, and sparsely populated. A sullen Native teenager scrolled on her phone behind the reception desk, lounging in a desk chair that had seen better days, and a man in impressively meticulous reenactment garb circa the 1850s sat in a squashed hotel lobby armchair with a newspaper, his hat on the low table beside him. He looked up with beetling brows as the woman came in, but made no move to stand or greet her. She nodded to him politely, noting as she did so that the words and dates on his newspaper swam before her eyes.

She moved up to the desk, waiting patiently for the girl behind it to acknowledge her. It took a few seconds for flat dark eyes to meet hers; the teenager deliberately chewed her gum twice more and blew a bubble until it popped and demanded impatiently, "What do you want?"

"Do you have a vacancy?" the woman asked politely.

"Sign says so, doesn't it?" the receptionist answered scornfully.

"I wasn't sure," the woman explained, "since you seen to be having a bit of trouble with it."

The girl muttered and smacked at her computer, as though that would fix the glitchy sign out beside the road. The neon reflection on the granite-patterned laminate desktop stopped flickering and held steady, glowing orange and pink across the red-toned counter. The girl swiveled back to face the front of the desk. "Yeah, we got a vacancy, if you want it."

"I do," the woman said firmly. The girl sneered as if this was the wrong answer to a test, and swung away again to pull out from beneath the desktop a plyboard drawer with the stick-on finish peeling away. Trays of metal doorkeys sat inside, and the girl grabbed one and glided back over to drop it ringing on the laminate. "Room 113."

The woman picked up the key without a flicker of expression and paid in cash and turned to go back out the glass doors. The man in the chair was still watching; staring, even, and he still did not acknowledge her as she passed with another nod.

The desert night air was cool and tasted of lightning, the sky above velvety and unrelieved black. Anemic lights placed at intervals along the outside walkway helped after-sunset guests guess at which door was theirs. It took the woman only a few tries to get the key into the lock, but once it was, it turned smoothly and the door opened to admit her into a room that had the familiar smell and softly humming temperature control unit of a thousand other mid-grade hotels.

The woman flicked on the lights, which glowed to reassuring life, and moved at once to draw the heavy light-blocking curtains over the window. Whatever was out there that night, she did not need to see it, nor it her.

~•~•~•~

The Last Rest breakfast room reeked of grease, which was slightly odd, as eggs and bacon alike were both dry as the dust beyond the windows. The smell lingered in memory of meals past, perhaps.

The woman did not take long to break her fast. She filled her water bottles from the tap in the dining room and slid into her car, pulling away from the hotel and into the desert, her car moving along the road like some black beetle creeping across an unwound ribbon of cracked asphalt. Mirages shimmered skyward off of blacktop and sand alike, fading elusively away as she approached.

She stopped at last, on a stretch of road indistinguishable from the rest of the road around it, and got out. The Disturbance tugged at her, and she followed that pull, deeper into the desert, until the ribbon of road with its thermal illusions vanished behind her. Her car turned into a toy, and then a dark speck, and then dwindled into insignificant invisibility. She kept trudging on, the sand shifting treacherously beneath her soles, the sun an oppressive unrelenting weight on her head and shoulders.

She stopped at the rim of a valley. The vegetation here was sparse; a snake hissed away into the sand. Skeletal remains jutted skyward, bleached bone white by the sun. The wood of the wagons, exposed to the elements once more by wind-whipped shifting sands, lay broken and scattered; the metal frames for canvas covers that were long rotted away stood tall and stooped like broken monuments to sorrow. The skull of an ox grinned up at her.

She slid carefully sideways down into the valley. One of many, but this one was Disturbed. She walked fearlessly among the wagons, the ancient vehicles tilted forlornly to their sides, or decayed until only the tongues were left, bones scattered among them, chips of pottery and clay, a single glimmering fragment of glass. There was no sign of what had caused the Disturbance, and she stood in the very middle of the ring, hands on her hips as she looked around. A hawk screamed somewhere high overhead.

She had Observed. Solemnly she turned to scramble back up the hill, glancing back into the valley only briefly as she attained the top. Not a breath of air, no small animal, nothing stirred below, the scene caught frozen in an endless moment of time. She turned away and started back towards the far distant road.

The steering wheel burned her hands. She sat with the air condition running, sipping water, until it cooled down enough to touch. She drove back up the road, heat shimmering deceptively on its surface, the sun pooling her car's shadow on the grimy sand beside the pavement. Before her, stars shimmered to life in velvet blackness, and the neon lights of Last Rest rose out of the desert, orange and crimson and green.

The smell of dinner clung to the dining room, meat and vegetables and savory sauces. She sat taking small forkfuls of flavorless mashed potatoes and some sort of dry, chewy, unidentifiable meat. Her back was in the corner, a heavily tinted window to one side, her other open to the dining room and the lobby beyond. Her dinner was neither appetizing nor interesting, and so she was rather glad of the distraction when the front door opened to admit a group of people.

Men, women, and children, all of them tired and dusty and wearing reenactment clothes with the same level of detail as the lobby-man when she had checked in. Men doffed their hats and looked around wearily; women adjusted their grip on the hands of children and swaddled babies in their arms. One gentleman squared his shoulders and stepped forward, apparently the spokesman of the group. He went up to the Native girl behind the desk, who looked up with a shattering lack of interest, and clutched his hat and cleared his throat and said, "We are seeking rest. Can you give us rest? A place to rest?"

"I can offer you rooms for the night, if you can pay for them," the girl said, still supremely disinterested. Outside, the Vacancy sign flickered, washing the faces of those before and behind the desk an eerie red.

"We can pay for them," the man said in relief, and reached into a ragged pocket to pull out handfuls of bills. The woman, watching as she slowly chewed, could not quite see the denominations on the bills, and it gave her a headache to try. Behind the spokesman, a baby started crying. Somewhere out in the desert night, a dog howled, long and mournful.

The woman went to bed.

~•~•~•~

The group was at breakfast, too. There was a baby crying again, but by and large they seemed to be enjoying the rather tasteless food rather more than the woman was. She did not look too closely at their plates, and lingered over her coffee, muddy and bitter as it was, while they departed. Only one man remained, in the corner farthest from hers, his hat on the table in front of him. She recognized him from her first night at the hotel, and he watched her when she stood to leave but did not move himself.

The dust of the parking lot was crossed and recrossed with footprints. She did not look at them too carefully, but slid into her car and drove into the desert.

Gone were the wrecked ruins of wagons, weathered by nearly two centuries of sun and scouring wind. Gone were skulls bleached white. Canvas flapped tattered and forlorn on metal wagon arches. Horses whickered and oxen lowed, heads drooping, and the people from the hotel milled about aimlessly. A large black dog lay panting in the shade of one of the wagons, ears pricked alertly as it watched the slow-moving river of activity around it.

The woman slithered down the side of the sandhill into the gathering. None of the people seemed surprised to see her or alarmed by her advent, and she walked freely among them, helping to hitch horses to wagon tongues and dig wheels out of the shifting sands, ignoring the feeling of grass brushing against her legs. A child scrambled up into the back of one wagon.

It took all day to get the little band ready to move. They took little initiative of their own but moved gladly to follow her directions. The dog lunged to its feet and, panting, rounded the wagon out of sight. The sun reached its zenith and started down again. The woman drank from her water bottles; the wagon people drank from buckets and dippers that did not drip. The horizon turned orange and scarlet, the land a dark slash beneath the massive setting sun. Shadows wavered thin across the ground.

The spokesman approached the woman, hat in his hands. "What do we do now?"

She looked out across the desert, still and shimmering with heat. A path of deep amber stretched out from the setting western sun, and she pointed to it. "Follow the light to your destination."

The man turned to look. His eyes did not reflect the sun, though it fell full on his face. But he nodded in comprehension, and turned to smile at the woman, looking her full in the eyes for the first time. A shiver whispered down her spine, but she ignored it, smiling back. "Thank you," the man said. "We will."

The woman stood watching as the wagon train rolled out, her hand over her eyes as she squinted into the sun. The party was heading due west, dark silhouettes against the sinking sun that shrank to tiny dark dots far too rapidly and quickly vanished. The eastern night reached out cold fingers to brush the back of her neck and she shivered, turning away from the dying light towards the darkness.

Her car was a black blob on the road. The dim glow of the interior lights when she opened the door seemed incongruously bright, and she closed the door hastily on whatever might lurk in the desert beyond and turned on the ignition. The road rolled out before her, an endless line of asphalt, and time slipped away beneath the rubber of her tires as she drove.

The red and orange lights of the Last Rest sign rose up before her, the sullen actinic white of the building lights casting small pools of illumination that did nothing beyond their dull boundaries. The Vacancy sign had gone dark, invisible in the desert night.

The woman passed by the hotel, glancing through the plate glass windows of the lobby as she did so. A man sat in a lobby armchair, a brown hat on the table beside him. A girl's dark head was bent over her phone behind the desk. Neither glanced around at the passing car.

The woman drove on, the hotel shrinking in her mirrors, the lights of civilization a distant white glow ahead.

[ilovemybishies87]

The Vacation from Hell - Chapter Two

Chapter two is now uploaded to AO3! It is also below the cut, in case anyone prefers to read on tumblr.

This chapter is VERY loosely based on the response sketch from @damntheyare's original 'human hotel' fanart. Because some tropes will never die (nor do we want them to).

Despite the numerous changes since Alastor was alive, he could more or less navigate thanks to a few familiar landmarks, like the old Hermann-Grima place. Back in his day, it had been a boarding house for single women. He slowed as they passed its faded blue shutters and gated front door.  

“What is it?” asked Charlie. “You know this place?” 

He shook his head. “Not exactly. I know about it. This house has quite a history, spanning back to before I was even alive! The families who owned it are well known around here.” 

“Speaking of, where is here? I didn’t ask since you seem to know the way.” 

“New Orleans.” Alastor paused. “Home, I suppose.” 

Charlie’s eyes widened. “This is where you lived when you were human?” 

“Born and raised!”   

“And the hotel we’re staying?” 

He didn’t answer. He could only hope it still existed.  

Their suitcase wheels clacked on the brick sidewalk as they strode down Saint Louis Street and turned right. Many of the businesses were from after his time. He didn’t care for their newer architecture: some flashes of style here and there, but mostly it simply existed. Functional without any flavor.  

They crossed over two more streets before reaching their destination.  

Alastor allowed himself to drink in the sight. The name Hotel Monteleone was embellished in bold cursive on all three sides of the sign above the main portico. Festoons and cartouches, worn with age, adorned the hotel’s facade. Flower-filled planters lined a set of windows, and sky-blue flags waved on poles attached to metal guards.  

Charlie’s jaw dropped, and her bag nearly so. “This is . . . wow.” She laughed. “Good choice, Al!” 

“Thank you, my dear!” he said, and found his mood marginally improved. 

A solitary footman stood before a pair of golden doors. His attire was more suited to the weather—a short sleeve button down—but the black hat couldn’t have been comfortable. As they approached, he swung the door closest to him open.  

Cold air wafted out from the lobby.  

“Maybe we should have someone greet our guests at the entrance, too!” she whispered, nodding her head in thanks as they entered. “Nothing says hospitable more than a friendly face greeting you when you arrive!” 

“Oh? And who would you suggest for our doorman?”  

“Angel Dust?” 

“Not the worst suggestion.” He thought she might suggest Vaggie, but Charlie seemed to realize her dour expression would deter sinners seeking redemption. “Though I can’t say the types of guests he’d attract are what you’re hoping for!” 

“That’s the point, Alastor! Everyone is welcome,” she insisted. “The problem is whether Angel would agree to it. He already works for Valentino. But maybe this will be a step in the right direction!” 

The lobby was even more impressive than the hotel’s front. Their suitcases glided over parquet marble floors. Framed paintings of the founder, along with other men Alastor couldn’t place, decorated the walls. Above them, gold inlayed panels adorned the bases of crystal chandeliers. The lighting filled the entrance with a soft glow, making the place feel otherworldly.  

To their left, a rose centerpiece stood in the middle, bench-like seating surrounding the arrangement. A set of stairs, most likely heading to the establishment's rooms, lay before it. Another smaller set of steps led to the entrance of a restaurant. Alastor filed that away for later. Once they were settled in, food would no doubt be a priority. They passed more seating in the form of sofas and upholstered armchairs, along with a grandfather clock ticking away the seconds.  

Charlie lingered behind as he approached the counter. 

The receptionist was a completely average woman. Not too tall or short, heavy or thin. Completely unremarkable. Her only standout feature was the short reddish locks framing her face. Her smile screamed ‘customer service,’ but she didn’t appear to be in a mood either. 

“Can I help you?”  

Alastor read the tag pinned to her blazer. “Why, yes, I believe you can, Marie!” he said with a flourish. “My companion and I are needing a room for the duration of our stay.” 

“Of course, sir.” Marie began typing and glanced between him and a screen that suspiciously resembled Vox’s head. “Do you already have a reservation?” 

Fuck.  

Yes, he did. Decades ago, when they were supposed to arrive. Alastor was left with quite the conundrum. Did he take a chance on the hotel having an open room? Or did he use his magic to . . . turn the odds in their favor? The latter was the obvious choice, but he had expended more energy than planned to transport the group and their belongings. 

Alastor lightly tapped the top of the machine and infused it with his magic. A green glow came forth from the monitor along with thread-like tendrils. They reached out toward the receptionist and infused her pupils with the same green glow.  

“Yes, indeed!” he gritted out. “It should be for Alastor Malveaux and Charlotte Magne.” 

Marie blinked; her eyes returned to normal. “Thank you, sir. One moment while I pull up that information.” 

“Was that your last name?” whispered Charlie, joining him at his side. 

Alastor shrugged. “Who knows?” he replied, his voice low. “Whatever it was, it’s lost to the wind. The Radio Demon is what I’m known as now, and I have no complaints.” 

“Okay, but what about my name? Charlotte Magne. Really? What’s wrong with Charlie Morningstar?” 

“Your last name might . . . raise a few eyebrows,” he said, smirking, “and Charlie Magne is too obvious.” 

“How so?” 

Marie interrupted before he could explain. “Okay, so I’ve found your reservation.” Her face twitched. “But I’m afraid the room you requested was double booked. Another couple has already checked in.” 

“I see.” Charlie turned to him. “I guess we’ll have to cut our trip short?” 

"No, no, Miss Magne!” said Marie. “This was entirely our fault! We do have another room available, though. Fortunately for you, it’s an upgrade!” She started furiously typing away. “How long did you and Mister Malveaux plan on staying again?” 

Alastor struggled to keep his grin. “Six days.” 

“And what time were you planning on returning home? Check out is before noon.” 

So many questions. “We can be out before then.” 

“Perfect! So, that will be five nights total—” 

“What a relief!” Charlie scooped Husk off her shoulder and held him in her arms. He had somehow managed to remain affixed the entire trip to the hotel.  

Alastor wholeheartedly agreed. “We’ll have to decide who gets which bed once we are in the room.” 

“Oh, you wanted two beds?” asked Marie, the clacking on her keyboard slowing.  

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”  

“I’m sorry if I wasn’t clearer.” She held up her index finger. “The room only has one. If it’s any consolation, it’s a King.”  

He would not murder the woman for doing her job, even if she was getting on the very last of his nerves. Alastor forced the violent urge down and laughed. “It would be quite improper for an unmarried man and woman to share—”  

“We’ll make do,” Charlie answered, much to his shock. She looked up at him. “Is that okay?” 

“As you said,” he stated with a deep breath, “we’ll make do.” 

“All right! That’s five nights total with two pets,” Marie said, eyeing Niffty and Husk in their arms. “They receive their own little welcome package for free. Trust me, everyone loves it! And did you want any add-ons or upgrades for your stay? We offer overnight valet parking, along with a wide selection of wines and hard liquors—” 

“That won’t be necessary.” 

“Maybe some macrons for you and Miss Magne—” 

Charlie watched their exchange with rapt attention. No doubt she was mentally taking notes on what could be added to their hotel. That was the purpose of this visit. And while he appreciated her passion in theory—the more invested, the more satisfying it would be to see her dreams torn to shreds—the only one suffering at the moment was him. 

“Just the total,” Alastor ground out. “Please.” 

“That’ll be $2,204.60.” 

Alastor turned to Charlie and handed her Niffty, who let out a small ‘Yip!’ of dismay. Charlie gasped. She barely managed to catch the other demon—now dog—and juggle both her and Husk in her arms. 

Alastor unzipped the bag sitting on top of Niffty’s luggage and made a show of rummaging around. As he suspected, Husk had packed nothing but alcohol. He was grateful for once. A bottle of whiskey was calling his name. Hopefully the staff didn’t check the contents before they settled in. With his last bit of magic—at least until he could get some food and rest and alcohol—he conjured a stack of bills and zipped the sack closed. 

He pulled out the cash and began counting.   

Marie’s almond eyes widened. “Wow, don’t see that too often!” She stared at him grimly. “You’ll want to be careful. You’ll be a target for sure.” 

Alastor chuckled as he placed the last bill down. The remainder was shoved into his pocket. “I’m not worried.” He took Niffty from Charlie, much to her relief, and held the small dog under his other arm.  

Marie picked up the bills and double checked the amount. “Suit yourself. We don’t keep change here, but—” 

“Don’t worry about the extra. Consider it a tip for your hard work! Otherwise, we’d be looking for another hotel or returning home.” 

“Thank you, Mister Malveaux!” This time her smile was genuine. “If you don’t mind me asking, where is home for you anyway?” 

“I'm technically from around these parts, but it's been years since I’ve been back. Things have changed quite a bit.” 

Marie nodded. “You’ll find yourself at home in no time. Change doesn’t happen that fast here.” She turned to Charlie. “What about you?” 

“Well . . . ,” said Charlie nervously, “where I’m from is pretty big. And dry. And hot! Not to mention very . . . intense! It’s nothing like here.” 

Marie raised a brow. “Huh?” 

“California!” said Alastor, and he felt Charlie relax.  

“It’s where we met,” Charlie added, smiling at him.  

“Oh, so you must be an actor,” said Marie to Alastor. “You sure are dedicated to the craft, not breaking character! It explains the accent. The glasses and cash too. Those Hollywood eccentrics sure have rubbed off on you.” 

Alastor quirked his head. “Pardon?” 

“I’ve never seen you in anything before, but I'm not much for historical pieces.” She reached for the safety deposit box below the counter and locked the cash away. “But I’m trying to branch out. I’ll watch for you.” 

He and Charlie shared a look. A smirk graced her lips. 

“Not a word, Miss Magne,” he said under his breath. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mister Malveaux.” 

“Your room will be ready in a few minutes. Our bellhop will take your luggage for you.” A stout man with curly black hair approached. He wore the same outfit as the doorman, though his dark pants still held the crisp line from when they were pressed earlier that day. “Olivier, could you take their things to room 606?” 

He tipped his hat in her direction, then piled their bags onto the luggage cart. “I’m on it!” 

Alastor eyed the sofas in the lounge, but before he could move, he heard the shuffling of papers from behind the counter. 

“So,” said Marie, “what do you two plan on doing while you’re here?” 

No. 

Charlie bit her lip. “I’m not sure honestly. I was only interested in the hotel,” she admitted. “Alastor did all the planning.” 

Absolutely not.  

“I see.” Marie nodded. “Any sites you wanted to visit with Miss Magne?” 

He was not having any small talk. 

“I hadn’t given it much thought,” he said, his tone clipped. 

Marie’s expression brightened. “In that case, would you mind if I made some suggestions?” 

“Not at all!” exclaimed Charlie. 

“The Phantom of the Opera is in town,” Marie said, handing over several brochures. “Not sure if you’ve seen it yet. Broadway is probably better, but it hasn’t been to New Orleans in about a decade, so we’re all excited.” 

Charlie turned to Alastor and placed Husk on his shoulder before he could say a word. She took the pamphlets from the receptionist and flipped through one.  

“Is this any good?”  

Marie leaned over to see what Charlie was showing her. “The Voodoo, Witchcraft and Vampires tour? If you’re into supernatural stuff, sure. There's no shortage of that around here, even at this very hotel.” 

"How so?” Charlie asked.  

“There’ve been countless unexplained happenings over the years. Doors that open on their own, elevators that go to the wrong floor, even shadows of kids playing in the halls! Eyewitness accounts from different times, guests, and staff. Hard to write it off as coincidence!” 

What drivel. Charlie seemed to think so too, judging by her incredulous expression. If anyone knew what happened to a soul after they passed, it would be the Princess of Hell. They were either in her domain or they weren’t. It was as simple as that. 

“What about this, Alastor? They have jazz bands and even a jazz museum!” 

“I wouldn’t mind hearing a live session again,” he said. “It’s been ages! But I also wouldn’t mind some place . . . quieter.”  

“Then you have to go to Oak Valley Plantation,” said Marie. “It’s about an hour away from here, but if you want to get away from it all, that’s your best bet! It’s like stepping back in time.” 

Alastor considered her briefly. “Maybe before we leave, to wind down.” 

“Excellent! I can help get you tickets for any or all of those excursions. Give me another ten or fifteen minutes to calculate—” 

“We’ll do them all.” He glanced at Charlie, who couldn’t have looked more thrilled than if every sinner in Hell had been redeemed in one fell swoop. Alastor pulled all but a couple of bills from his pocket and placed them in her hand. “I trust you with the schedule, my dear.”  

Charlie grasped the cash tightly. “Thank you, Al! I won’t let you down.” 

“Yes, yes.” He sighed. “I’m taking a breather until our room is ready.” 

“Olivier should be nearly finished if you would like to head up, Mister Malveaux. Here’s your key,” Marie said, handing him a piece of plastic. “I’ll give Miss Magne the other so she can join you when we’re done.” 

Alastor held the rectangular thing awkwardly between his fingers. What odd material to use for a key.  

The elevator was several paces behind them on the other side of the stairs. Leaving the two women to hash out their plans—a decision he hoped he would not come to regret—he stepped into an empty lift and pushed the backlit button with the number 6. 

Husk pawed at his head, nearly knocking his glasses off. 

Alastor turned, his glare ice cold. “You’re trying your luck, Husker! I’m not in the mood to be messed with. Unless you care to find out if cats really do have nine lives, I would suggest you mind yourself for the rest of the trip.”  

Silence filled the compartment for the ride up to the sixth floor. The elevator’s ding! notified them of their arrival, and the doors slid open. A gold cart was parked in the hall several doors down. He could see the last of their luggage—pink, in all its shameless glory—being picked up and transported inside. 

“Thank you for your hard work, my good sir!” said Alastor, steadfast in keeping the last of his remaining patience in check. He handed the man a crisp . . . twenty? Fifty? He didn’t look. “Much appreciated!” 

Olivier’s eyes widened. Had he slipped him a hundred by mistake? “You’re too kind, sir! Thank you. Let me know if you need anything!” He pushed the cart back toward the lifts. 

The room’s door remained open long enough to slip in. Alastor allowed it to close behind them as he placed Niffty on the ground beside him. Husk jumped from his shoulder and landed on the carpeted floor. They surveyed their accommodations. 

White. It was very white. Alastor crossed over to the king-size bed and upholstered headboard, a wallpapered inset behind it. They were white. So was the bedding. As was the much smaller, more rustic chandelier hanging up above. The nightstands, the single-seated sofa, and the vanity and set of chairs at the foot of the bed.  

The carpeting. The floors. The ceiling. 

Everything was white. Even the bathroom gave him no reprieve. 

Was this what Heaven was like? 

Alastor felt like he was going mad. The only hints of color came from the trio and the baggage they had dragged along for the trip. Charlie’s and Niffty’s luggage were a sight for sore eyes against the colorless landscape that was their room.  

Husk’s was too, but for very different reasons. Alastor picked up the leather bag, placed it on the vanity, and pulled out a seat. A small glass was set upside down beneath a mirror. He grabbed it and quickly zipped the bag open. The bottle of whiskey he eyed earlier clinked against a bottle of gin, and without hesitation, he twisted the cap off with his thumb and poured out a healthy amount.  

Husk jumped up and hissed.   

Alastor tipped his glass and downed the drink. “Even when you can’t pour, you make an excellent bartender, Husker old pal!”  

An almost imperceptible beep alerted him to Charlie’s arrival. “That receptionist really knows her stuff!” She dropped a handful of brochures on the vanity, along with a much thinner stack of cash, and pulled out the seat next to him. “So, I know we’re here for research—” 

“You are,” said Alastor, pouring himself another glass. “I am but the chauffer.” He picked up the money, returning it to his pocket. “And sponsor, clearly.” 

Charlie hesitated. “Are you okay, Al? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before.” 

“Well, we are on vacation, aren’t we?” This time he didn’t down the liquor in one gulp. He allowed it to linger on his tongue before swallowing, relishing the slight burn. “You were saying?” 

“R-Right. I still plan on getting the full hotel experience while we’re here. Even checking in has given me so many ideas! I’ll need to take notes, so I don’t forget anything.” She took out a notepad and pen from her purse. “Everything is so luxurious, don’t you think?” 

If someone enjoyed the ‘padded room’ aesthetic, then certainly. 

“But I figured, we might as well take in the sights too! I can only imagine how much has changed since . . . .” 

Alastor allowed the silence to hang between them.  

Charlie looked around awkwardly. “I’m sorry about the bed. We can ask for more pillows to create a wall between us. If that helps.” 

“You needn’t worry about me.” Alastor took another long sip before grabbing a different bottle from Husk’s bag. He read the label and realized he didn’t care what he was drinking, so long as it was strong. “I will make do.” 

“I don’t want you sleeping on the floor, Al. Or in the chairs. You should be comfortable!” 

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get there,” he said, fumbling over the words. His accent slipped as well. “In the meantime, you should do what you set out to do! There’s a whole hotel waiting to be explored.” 

Charlie stood and tipped her luggage onto the floor. “What about you? You’re not going to spend the whole day drinking, are you?” 

Alastor made one last drink and toasted to her. “Well, you could say I have some research of my own. But until then”—he tipped the glass back and grimaced—“I’m starting this trip off with a bang!” 

[bright-and-burning]

🐑 send me a fake set of fic tags, and I’ll try to come up with a summary for it! !!!! OOOh okay. if you're up for it(!), then: #Canon Divergent #There Was Only Ten Beds #Magical Realism #Bondage #Light Decapitation

a lobby with nine hundred windows | lando/oscar, M

#canon divergence, #there was only ten beds, #magical realism, #bondage, #light decapitation

The first sign of something going really, terribly, desperately wrong is subtle, honestly. So subtle, Oscar hadn’t thought anything of it. Brakes catch fire all the time, Max was due for some bad luck; nothing more, nothing less. The explosion bit was a little weird, a little larger than usual, but that was easily explained away. The second sign, the air going wavy and thick around him as he exited the car, is almost equally subtle. Waking up to Lando holding a knife to his throat, however, is not.  Australia has a lot to answer for.

not only did i come up with a summary for it. i also uh. wrote it. it's wild what breaks through writers block 😭 so thank u for this strange and lovely tag combo. here's 1700 words of. idek what. something completely and utterly different from anything else i've ever written, that's for sure!

tw for mild description of violence

Oscar wakes, slow and groggy, to a warm weight on his chest, limiting his breaths. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and goes from half-asleep to wide-awake in milliseconds, Lando looming over him, perched on his chest. Knife at his throat.

“Lando, what the fuck?”

Oscar struggles, feeling returning to his limbs, the restraints around his wrists and ankles making themselves known.

Lando presses him further into the bed, eyes wide. He shifts his gaze around the room, frenetic, never keeping Oscar out of sight for long. Oscar’s hyperaware of the cool edge of metal against his skin. The thump of blood through his carotid is loud in his ears.

“Tell me something only you would know.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Oscar, I need you to trust me.” Lando leans in further, so close Oscar has to fight against the urge to cross his eyes. “Tell me something no one else knows.”

Oscar thinks, hard. Lando’s face is more serious than he’s ever seen it before.

“The backs of your thighs are weirdly ticklish?”

Lando releases a little of the pressure, but stays leaned over Oscar, considering.

“At least three other people know that. Something else. Please.” His voice cracks, and with it, his expression, desperation on display.

Oscar reaches to touch him, to soothe the visible ache. The material wrapped tight around his wrist snaps taut before he can even get close. Lando notices the aborted motion, and shifts forward again.

“Oscar, think.”

Oscar wracks his brain, turning over all the stones labeled Lando in his head, looking for something novel, something truly secret. Carefully considers the little cut-off wheezy sounds Lando makes when he’s just come, the half-filled sketchbooks shoved in a drawer, his secret sleeping spot at the MTC. Discards each one, heart rate slowing now that Oscar has a task to focus on, before remembering—

“You’ve been stealing my shampoo!” Oscar says, too loud for the odd room they’re in.

“No I ha- How did you know that?”

Oscar shrugs as best as he can in the restraints.

“I realized I was running out too fast. And you smell like me sometimes. Noticed after Vegas, I think.”

Lando’s face does something complicated, flashing from shifty to smug to sheer relief. He tosses the knife to the ground with a clatter, and collapses onto Oscar.

“Thank fuck, Osc, holy shit,” he says, shoulders shaking.

“Can I get some answers now? Like why you had a knife at my throat?”

Lando sits back up, nearly knocking his head into Oscar’s chin. His face is wet. Oscar remembers his restraints, and does not go to wipe his tears. He climbs off the bed, disappearing out of Oscar’s limited line of sight, and pops back up with said knife.

“Let me get you out of here first. Before things get wobbly again.”

“Wobbly?”

Lando ignores his question, focused on getting Oscar out of the straps. His hands are shaking nearly too bad to unknot anything; the knife lays unused, for fear of accidentally cutting something else. It takes minutes for Oscar’s right hand to be freed.

“Give me that,” Oscar gestures for the knife.

Lando hands it over without protest, and Oscar cuts through the remaining straps in quick order.

When Oscar is fully freed, Lando immediately pulls him into a hug tight enough to bruise.

“God, Osc. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Oscar pats him on the back, gentle. Lets him cling on, face tucked into his neck, quiet, shuddering exhales tickling his skin. Just when Oscar opens his mouth to ask any of the million questions, Lando pulls away and tugs him towards the door.

“I think it’ll be easier now that I’ve found the real you,” Lando says, opening the door. The light beyond is nearly blinding in comparison to the dim lit room they’re leaving behind. Lando steps out, hand still tight on Oscar’s. Oscar follows.

“The real me?”

They’re standing in a long hallway now, lined with doors of different shapes and sizes. Oscar turns slightly, to look at the one they’ve just left. It’s a simple metal door in a metal frame, a neon yellow handle the only distinguishing feature.

Every fifth door or so is the same. Simple metal, neon yellow handle. The rest have no pattern, as far as Oscar can tell. Here’s a frosted glass door stretching the full height of the corridor, and then a mini-van door with flame decals on the bottom. Here’s a mahogany double door several inches shorter than Lando, followed by a door Oscar could swear is Mark’s front door.

Lando speaks up, drawing his attention away from the oak door with the familiar mail slot. He nods to the door they just left.

“That’s the tenth one I’ve tried. Every other Oscar hasn’t passed the test.”

Oscar’s blood goes cold.

“How did you know,” He stops, unsure how to phrase his question.

“To check?”

Oscar nods.

“The first one was…” Lando pauses. Shivers at something only in his mind. “He was just wrong. I dunno. Didn’t smile right, or something. Like that valley thing.”

Lando’s clearly leaving something unsaid, some bigger reason to put a knife under Oscar’s chin, but he looks like he’s about to start shaking again. Oscar leaves it be, for now. Until they get out of this mess.

“And that’s when you…” Oscar holds up the knife.

Lando nods jerkily.

“I mean, one minute I was on the podium, the next the world went wobbly and I was here. I started opening doors, just trying to get out. Saw a lot of freaking weird shit, okay,” his voice is creeping higher, more defensive with each word, “and then I saw you, and then you weren’t you, and I-“ Lando deflates. “I freaked out, a little.”

“And then you, what, stabbed him?” Oscar tries to keep his voice even. Fails a little, maybe. Lando isn’t meeting his eyes.

“I sort of. Slithistthroat.”

“Sorry?”

Lando clears his throat. He’s tense, shoulders high around his ears, body twisted like he’s ready to bolt.

“Slit his throat.” Lando’s voice tilts up like it’s a question. It’s not.

Oscar stares.

“I freaked out a lot.”

And then he did it eight more times, from the sounds of it. Oscar can’t even imagine. Going from room to room, bed to bed. Waking Lando up, over and over, just to find something terrible in his place. Having to kill something shaped like him, time and time again, with no idea where the real him is. No idea if he’s making a mistake.

Oscar eyes the knife, looking closer. Looking for a distraction in the minutiae.

“It’s, uhm. Clean?”

“They disappear, after. That’s how I knew that I- That’s how I knew.”

That’s how he knew he hadn’t made a mistake, he means. That he hadn’t killed the real Oscar.

“Oh. That’s good, then. That they disappear.”

“Not- not right away.”

Lando looks haunted, briefly. He shakes his head, and starts moving, pulling Oscar along again.

Oscar changes the subject.

“Any idea what we’re looking for?”

“Not exactly,” Lando draws out the vowels. They’re still holding hands. Oscar is thankful for Lando’s tight grip on him, a tether to reality. A reminder that they’re both real. For both of them. “Was mostly hoping if I found the right you things would clear up.”

“Oh, brilliant.”

Lando squeezes his hand and keeps moving, walking much faster than normal.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Getting out of the car.” Oscar squints, picking over his memories. “Going to get weighed, maybe?”

They pass a sliding glass door. The interior is distorted, but it looks like his back door. From home, in Melbourne. Oscar’s chest goes a little tight looking at it, but it doesn’t feel quite right. Nothing like the growing pull towards the end of the hall, and maybe Lando was right about things clearing up. They keep moving. The pull keeps growing.

“D’you feel that?”

Oscar nods. “It’s gotta be coming up.”

Whatever it is, at least.

A quick glance at Lando’s tense face and Oscar knows he’s not alone in that thought.

Lando stops, so abrupt Oscar’s hand nearly slips from his hold.

“Somewhere around here, you think?”

Oscar steps closer, threading his fingers back through Lando’s. He closes his eyes and focuses on the magnetic pull, tugging at some place behind his sinuses. He turns, slow, careful to keep Lando in his grasp, until something clicks into place.

The pressure releases, like ears popping on a flight. Lando makes a weird noise, some kind of suppressed squeak. Oscar opens his eyes.

The other doors have disappeared, leaving only one: three feet away, right in front of them.

It’s plain. Wood, this time, painted white, set in a plain frame. Empty but for a sign with their names on it.

Oscar turns to Lando.

His eyes are wide and searching.

“This has gotta be it, right?”

“Don’t think we have much of a choice now.”

They step forward in unison. Oscar puts his hand on the doorknob, and pauses.

“Just for luck,” he says, and turns, quick as lightning, to kiss Lando.

Just a press of lips, over as soon as it began, Oscar turning back to the door.

Lando makes a noise, deep in the back of his throat, and spins Oscar bodily by the shoulders.

“Just for luck?” He asks, twitchy all over, and pulls Oscar down against him for another, quick until it’s not, both unable to stay apart for long.

They kiss, slow and steady, reassuring, until the pressure in the back of Oscar’s skull starts building again, an incessant reminder that they need to leave.

They break apart.

Oscar twists the knob, watching Lando instead of the door, and opens it, stepping through without looking. Making sure Lando follows.

The door slams behind them.

They’re in another corridor, long and full of doorways, to Oscar’s despair.

Lando starts laughing, tinged with an edge of hysteria.

Oscar opens his mouth to reassure him, and fails. What if there are more Oscars? God, what if there are Landos?

“It’s Hilton, Oscar, it’s freaking Hilton.” He spins around, arms outstretched, before slamming back into Oscar. 

“D’you feel that?“ He whispers into Oscar’s shoulder.

“No?” Oscar’s still in shock, a little.

“Exactly, Osc. No pull, no pressure, no caddy valley. We’re fucking free, baby.”

[hippolotamus]

Inspiration Saturday 🪩

Tagged by the delightful @thekristen999 @daffi-990 @lemonzestywrites @bidisasterevankinard @wikiangela

@theotherbuckley for Fuck it Friday. Thank you darlin’s (tagging you back for today) mwah! 💖

Made a lil moodboard for today's snippet. I'm not in love with all the words but that's what editing is for. So, here's Buck visiting Eddie's workplace for the first time. Surprise (because I don't think I've mentioned this before???) Eddie's not a firefighter in this either. He's a mechanic who works with a bunch of homophobic jerks. But also with Hen! Buck knows Eddie isn't out to most people so this is an... enlightening moment for him. Some of it's under the cut to save your dash. masterlist of posts here and no I'm not writing this remotely in order

“Oh, thank fuck,” he mumbles to himself when he pulls the door open and is greeted with a cool blast of air conditioning. 

Looking around the interior, he thinks it could pass for a museum. A snapshot in time, forever preserved exactly as it was. Gold framed articles about the 1973 grand re-opening hang on the wood-paneled walls alongside prints of hot rods and muscle cars. There are vintage metal signs mixed in for Shell, Texaco, Gulf, and some other brands he’s never heard of. 

“Do you have an appointment?” A gravelly voice asks from behind him.

Buck jerks around to the desk where a middle aged woman with auburn hair and green gray eyes glares at him with a mix of boredom and curiosity. Or maybe suspicion? He can't quite tell.

Her bronzed skin is littered with freckles and screams that she’s spent too much time outside with no sunscreen or other protection. A name plate, half hidden under papers and key rings, identifies her as Estelle. He’s heard a few stories about her from Eddie, but he’s not sure any of them did her intimidating demeanor justice.

“Uh, no?” He answers, not sure why it comes out as a question other than he’s not entirely convinced the five foot something couldn’t somehow manage to hurt him. 

It must take every ounce of strength to conceal the whole body sigh she wants to make as she looks down, licks her fingertip and begins flipping through a giant paper scheduling book. “If you don’t have an appointment I can maybe get you in next Thursday. Depending on what you need.”

“Actually, uh, I don’t need anything.” Estelle glances up, mouth slightly parted and eyes narrowed as if she’s about to ask what he’s doing standing in her lobby. He quickly adds, “Well, what I mean is, my car doesn’t need anything. I’m here to see Eddie? Uh, Eddie Diaz.”

She nods with something like understanding. At least he hopes that’s what it is as she picks up the phone receiver and punches in a few numbers.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Hey, is Diaz around? Someone here asking about him.” 

“No, it’s not the cops! What’s the matter with you? I don’t know. Just some guy here looking for Eddie.”

Estelle huffs an exasperated sigh and looks toward the ceiling like it’ll give her strength. “Jay, I don’t have time for twenty questions and, quite frankly, I don’t care.”

“About time you quit screwin’ around. Send him out.” She hangs up the receiver and mutters something about not caring that he’s a relative. 

“He’ll be a few minutes. Take a seat.” She gestures to a line of metal chairs with sticky looking vinyl cushions without so much as glancing in Buck’s direction. 

He momentarily gets excited when he spots a gumball machine in the corner until he realizes it would require actual coins that he definitely doesn’t have. And he’s not about to ask Estelle if she’s got change for a twenty just so he can satisfy his sweet tooth. 

“Buck?” Eddie appears from a side door, wiping his hands on a rag. His hair is sweaty and mussed, likely from pushing it out of his face. His gorgeous, kissable face that Buck very much wants to kiss even more right now despite the streaks and smudges of god knows what decorating it. The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches like he knows what Buck is thinking, but he clears his throat and schools it just as quickly when Estelle grunts, reminding them they’re at his workplace. 

“Uh, Buck. Hi. What can I do for you?” Eddie tilts his chin in the direction of the parking lot. “Everything okay with the jeep?”  

“Hi,” Buck answers, a little too breathy for their current situation. He can’t seem to help himself. Eddie’s always cleaned up when they meet, whether it’s at the club, a date out somewhere or an evening in. He’s never seen him marked up from his job, in his grimy army green coveralls. 

“Uh, yeah. Jeep’s fine. Just, you know, was nearby and thought I’d stop in.” Buck tracks the movement as Eddie’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips, before sneaking him a flirty, amused smirk. 

“Glad you did.” Eddie chances a look at Estelle who still has her head down, shuffling some papers that probably don’t need it. He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “I haven’t taken my lunch yet. Give me five and we can get out of here?”

Buck nods, not knowing how to respond without giving anything away. 

Eddie puts more distance between them again, sticking his hand out. Buck takes it, thrown by the familiarity of his boyfriend mixed with the very conventional, socially acceptable handshake. “Great to see you again, Buck. Check that place on Viscount Boulevard. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” Buck answers, reluctantly letting their palms slide apart. But he gets it. Eddie’s coworkers are all a bunch of ignorant, homophobic assholes. Well, except for Hen apparently. Regardless, Eddie can’t be risking his job and livelihood when he has Chris to think about. “I’ll go check it out. You said it’s about... ten minutes from here?”

“About that, yeah. Maybe fifteen.”

A warm, fluttering feeling washes over him as Eddie winks and smiles, seeming pleased that Buck caught on to his little game. He has to force himself to turn around and leave instead of watching his boyfriend walk away. 

“Have a nice day,” Estelle says as he opens the door, setting off a chime. It’s enough to snap him out of his haze, offering a weak ‘you too’ as he hurries back to his jeep.

np tagging @actuallyitsellie @epicbuddieficrecs @loveyouanyway @a-noble-dragon @tizniz

@mountedeverest @fortheloveofbuddie @weewootruck @saybiwithme @shipperqueen6

@ramonaflow @taketheplanspinitsideways @spotsandsocks @dangerpronebuddie @stereopticons

@kitteneddiediaz @mrs-f-darcy @drowsy-quill @your-catfish-friend @filet-o-feelings

@underwaterninja13 @lizzie-bennetdarcy @rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @queenmabcreates

@inell @jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @shortsighted-owl @queerbuckleys

@bi-buckrights @elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck

@indestructibleheart @ladydorian05 @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything

@the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @welcometololaland @wildlife4life and anyone else who wants to 😘

[nostalgiclittlespace]

Request Type: Fic

Cg: Angel Dust (and others if you want to)

Babysitters: Up to you!

Little: Reader

Maybe reader regresses suddenly after the hotel is attacked (aka that involved that dang wall being broken again) and Angel Dust helps them calm down and takes care of them afterwards.

Hi, hi! Thank you for the request! I hope this delivers! This is my first time posting an agere fic, so I would appreciate feedback :)

SFW AGE REGRESSION FIC; KINK, NSFW, PROSHIP, MAP DNI

DO NOT REPOST Word count: 1222

Pairing: CG! Angel Dust x Little! Reader

Summary: After the Hazbin Hotel is attacked, you’re left feeling panicked and regressed. Good thing Angel there! (Hurt/comfort)

The Safest Place in Hell

Ah, life at the Hazbin Hotel!  What could be better?  Though the place was kind of a joke in Hell fairly empty, you had still managed to find a home there.  From the hotel’s owner, Charlie, to the elusive Radio Demon Alastor, you had friends everywhere!  

But Angel Dust was definitely your best friend.

As you skipped downstairs for breakfast, you scanned the lobby for the spider in question.  He had to work late last night (darn Valentino) but he should be home by now.  

As usual, the other hotel tenants occupied the lobby.  Nifty chased a couple bugs, Husk attended the bar.  Sir Pentious was talking with Charlie while Vaggie glared at Alastor’s smug smile.   But no sign of Angel.

It wasn’t uncommon for the arachnid to come home late though.  A turbulent work schedule combined with a horrible boss could do that.  So no need to worry!  

You hopped down the last step and waved to the others as you approached the bar.  Might as well bother Husker if Angel wasn’t around!

“Good morning, Husk!” you greeted, sliding onto a bar stool.

“Good for you maybe,” the bartender grumbled.  “Want something to eat?”

“Sure.  What do you have?”

A plate stacked high with pancakes appeared in front of you.  Husk dropped a set of silverware and placed a glass of water beside it.

“Nif made these earlier.  Made sure she saved enough for you.”

“Aw, thanks, Husk,” you grinned, already diving in.

Could life get any better?  A calm household, surrounded by friends, amazing food?  

B A N G ! ! !

You startled up, leaping a foot in the air.  Your attention was immediately stolen by the literal explosions that had overtaken the front doors.  The glass windows shattered, the doors blown off their hinges.

You shouldn’t have panicked, you knew that.  Random jerks attacking the hotel was a fairly common occurrence.  People who were just bored, who wanted to heckle Charlie’s pet project…

But between the sudden noises and threats and fire emerging from the doorway, yes, you did panic.

Ducking under your chair, you clapped your hands over your ears for cover.  Too noisy.  Too much commotion. 

Truth be told, the overstimulation hurt.  It hurt every corner of your brain as you tried to comprehend everything that was happening.

A pair of paws grabbed your arms and pulled you behind the bar, away from the fighting.  You curled into a ball, whining miserably and trying to swat them away.

“It’s okay, kid.  It’s me.  It’s Husk,” a low voice broke through your panic.  “Stay here, we’ll take care of this.”

You peaked between your fingers to see Husk extending his wings and pulling several metal-plated cards to attack the intruders.  He hopped over the countertop, rushing to meet the others in combat.  

As more screams and clatters filled the air around you, you felt your headspace becoming equally panicked.    Dust filled your lungs, generating wheezing coughs from your already shaking frame.  Cold sweat and a thunder heart threatened to break through your ribcage.  

Too much noise.  Too much movement.  Where’s Angel?

That thought alone made it worse.  Where was Angel?  Was he okay?  Was he home yet?  What if he was hurt in the crossfire?

Tears began slipping down your face, harsh hiccups following.  Where’s Angie?  Where’s Angie?  I want Angie!  

Thankfully, it seemed that God could hear your prayers, even in Hell.  The commotion slowly died down.  No more screams, no more destruction–

“And stay out, ya idiots!” a familiar, New-York-accented voice yelled.

Slowly, you perked up, your head emerging from where it had been cocooned.   Angie?

“Husk?  Husk, where’s the kid?”

“They’re behind the bar.”

 A quick shuffling towards the bar, and suddenly you were looking into Angel’s wide eyes.   He tossed his guns to the side and extended his arms towards you.    

“Angie!” you cried.

“Sweetheart!  Are you okay?”

Angel scooped you up, holding you close to his fluffy chest.  He wrapped his four arms around you, and you melted.  Goodness, he was so soft.  Between the well-kept fur covering his body and his arms to keep you secure, this was definitely the safest place in Hell.

“Scary,” you mumbled, burying your face in his shoulder.

“Yeah, I know, baby.  Just some old goons who don’t like the hotel is all.  They’re all gone.”

You sniffled. “I like the hotel.  ‘S nice.  Missed you.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice.  I missed you too.”

Finally, the storm had passed.  The bad guys were gone, your hero was home safe.  But now…the destruction still left its wake.  The adrenaline crashed, leaving only a fragile, shaken mindset behind.

“Didn’t know where you were,” you whimpered, refusing to loosen your grip on Angel’s.

“I was just running late from work, toots.  I’m home safe, see?”  

Still, your breath hitched and the tears resumed.  It was scary!  Angie wasn’t there!  He was home now, but what about before?

You mumbled something unintelligible, scared to remove yourself from the comforts of Angel’s hold as the tears poured down your cheeks.  Angel said something too, but you could tell from his subdued tone and the addition of Husk’s voice that he was conversing with the bartender.

“Yeah, I’m going to take them upstairs.  Just give them some cooldown time.  Yeah, thanks for keeping ‘em safe.”

Next thing you knew, Angel was adjusting his grip on you and you were being carried towards the stairs.  His stride gently bounced you as he hiked to his room.  The calm hallways also eased your disgruntled mind.  Sort of.

You didn’t truly find sanctuary until Angel arrived at his room.  He opened the door, managing not to jostle you at all.  As soon as the door closed behind you, you broke down completely.  You hiccuped harshly, with only your Caregiver’s hold to keep you steady.

“Ah, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Angel soothed, petting your head gently.  “It’s all over now, and you’re safe.  I’m safe too, see?  Deep breaths.”

You nodded quickly, recalling the routine you had developed for times like this.  Deep breaths in, slow breaths out.  Focus on Angel’s voice and the smell of his perfume.  Watch Fat Nuggets because he’s cute and comforting.  (The pig was actually at Angel’s feet, looking up at you with big eyes and occasionally snuffling around his owner’s heels)

“Bad guys all gone?” you asked shakily.

“Yeah,” Angel chuckled softly.  “Me and Husky scared them away.  Well, Vaggie helped a little.”

You giggled softly.  Surely, Auntie Vaggie helped a lot more than a little.  Angie was just being silly!

“Want your paci, sweetie?” he asked.

“Mhm.  ‘N snuggles?” you requested.

“Of course snuggles!” Angel grinned, giving you a squeeze.  “Maybe Fat Nuggets will join us?”

“Yeah!”

Angel carried you over to his bed, carefully lowering you onto the mattress.  Amidst the fluffy blankets and throw pillows, you felt right at home–a cocoon of comfort.  Fat Nuggets hopped onto the bed too; he trotted up to you, with your favorite plush in his mouth.  Loyally, he dropped it in your lap, his tail wagging like a dog’s.

“T’ank you, Nugs,” you smiled, hugging your stuffie.

As you pet Fat Nugget’s ears, Angel reached over to the bedside table and grabbed your pacifier.  Angel had gotten it for you as soon as he became your Caregiver–as such it held a special place in your heart.  

“Here, baby,” Angel smiled, holding the paci to your mouth.  

Parting your lips, he popped it into your mouth before settling down beside you.  He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.  Even Nuggets cuddled closer, nudging you with his nose affectionately.

“Feeling better, toots?” Angie asked, rubbing your head.

“Yeahs.”

“I’m glad.  Sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

“‘S okay,” you yawned.

“No, it’s not.  But we’re doing our best, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, fidgeting with the fur on Angel’s hands.  

He was so soft.  Like a giant stuffed animal!  But his snuggles were so much better than what you could get from a toy.  Soft, warm, and loving.  

“You’re looking a little sleepy there,” Angel chuckled, no doubt watching your drooping eyes and longer blinks.

“No way,” you denied, shaking your head.

“Oh yeah?  Well, how about a story?” Angel grinned.

“Very Hungry Hellhound?” you requested.

“Sure, baby,” Angel laughed, reaching over to the nightstand to grab the book.

As the two of you settled down and Angel’s voice drifted through the air, your eyes gradually grew heavier and heavier.  Your paci bobbed in your mouth and your plush was tucked under your arm.  Even Fat Nuggets was dozing off.  Before Angel could even finish the story, you had fallen asleep.  Safe and sound.

[stellarspecter]

stwg daily prompt 4/10/24: guitar

1.8k, steddie, modern au, guitar teacher eddie/guitar student steve (+ dustin as steve's brother)

so this is literally just me giving eddie my exact job and letting the plot bunnies do as they may. will be up on ao3 in a day or two once i've had time to look it over and think of a title but here it is! divider graphic by @saradika-graphics

“Let’s try that verse again, okay? 5, 6, 7, 8…” 

The little girl in front of Eddie plays with the utmost concentration, her little brow scrunched up as she tries to switch to a D chord. 

“It’s our little triangle, remember? On the — good, exactly,” Eddie nods and keeps strumming. “And to C, slide down to the first fret… 1, 2, 3, to E minor, yep, 1, 2, 3, 4.” The last notes fade into the slightly stale air of the practice room. “Good job! You did a lot better with your chord transitions this time. We’re about out of time for today, but try and practice that verse and chorus at home, okay? And then we’ll see about that bridge next week,” he tells her.

She nods with a big gummy smile. “Okay!” Eddie helps her put her guitar back in its case and walks her back out to the little waiting area they have behind the lessons desk. It’s honestly a little cramped, but before they hired him, he hadn’t even known that Guitar Center offered lessons at all, so it makes sense. He sends the girl off with her parents and a promise to practice every day before he slides behind the desk to check his schedule for his next student.

Usually he has a half hour gap on Wednesdays that he uses to practice for his band or chat with his coworkers, but today there’s a new name on the schedule: Steve Harrington.

“Huh,” he mutters. His manager hadn’t mentioned any new sign-ups to him. Maybe it was from online? With a shrug, he settles in to wait for the guy to show up. It’s 5:57, so he’s still got a few minutes.

After a minute or two of dicking around on his phone, someone calls out, “Hey, Eddie!”

He looks up to find his 6:30 student standing in front of him, an excitable kid named Dustin Henderson. He’s fun to chat with, and Eddie looks forward to his lessons — especially since it’s an opportunity to get yet another young mind hooked on metal. Sure, he’ll play and teach whatever is required, but he’ll never forget his one true love.

“Henderson,” Eddie responds, standing up and leaning against the pillar bracketing the desk. “You know your lesson is in half an hour, right?”

“I know!” He replies, chipper as ever. “I’m after him!” He jerks a thumb back behind him, and Eddie finally notices the most beautiful man he’s ever seen standing behind Dustin.

Dear god. If this is his new student, he’s absolutely fucked.

“Hi,” the man says, extending a hand when it becomes clear Eddie is incapable of forming words. “I’m Steve.”

Eddie forces himself to act normal and grabs his hand, shooting him a smile that he hopes comes off as confident. “Eddie,” he replies. “Munson. I play guitar.”

“I’d sure hope so,” Steve jokes, eyes dancing, and Eddie is fuuuuucked. Completely and absolutely. How is he going to be able to be alone with him in a tiny practice room for a whole half hour? 

“Well, you’re in luck,” Eddie says, kind of operating on autopilot while his brain reboots. “It’s. Guitar Center.” He mentally facepalms and claps his hands together, spinning and walking them back towards the practice rooms. “So, Steve, what brings you here on this fine day? Are you Dustin’s… dad?”

Usually, his mom is the one to drive him and wait in the lobby, but it’s not out of the question that Steve could be his stepdad or something, with their different surnames. He seems around Eddie’s age, but maybe he’s just into milfs or something? 

He can’t be single. The universe is never that kind to Eddie.

Dustin bursts out laughing. “My dad? Dude, he’d had to have had me at like, twelve!”

Eddie flushes. “Well, I don’t know!”

“He’s my brother.” Steve swoops in and saves him from embarrassment. “The Hendersons took me in when I was sixteen, that’s why we have different last names.”

Eddie nods. “Oh, cool. So I assume Dustin got you to take lessons too?”

Steve laughs a little, just when Eddie thought he could finally cope with his unearthly beauty, the dick. “Yeah, he’s dead set on us starting a family band or something. I told him I could just dust off my piano skills, but he insisted. Little twerp.” He goes to ruffle his brother’s hair, and Dustin expertly ducks — clearly a common occurrence in their household.

“Cool,” Eddie says again. “Well, you ready to get started?” 

Steve nods, and Dustin goes to look around the store and mess with the DJ equipment. 

“So, you said you played piano? How long ago was that?” Eddie asks as he ushers him into the practice room.

“Oh, years and years. My parents made me take lessons when I was a kid, stopped in middle school, so it’d have to be… ten years or something now? Eleven? Jesus, I’m getting old,” Steve answers.

Eddie laughs. “Oh, trust me, I get it. Every time I say I’ve been playing guitar for over a decade a little part of me dies.” They share a laugh as they both get situated on their matching stools and guitars on their laps. “So that’s a little bit about me, that I’ve been playing for over a decade. I didn’t go to school for music or anything, but I’m in a metal band in my free time, and I like to think I have a pretty good understanding of music theory and techniques after all this time, so don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” It’s easier than he’d expected to slip into his practiced first lesson spiel, but he’s still hyper-focused on Steve’s reactions, taking in every hint of a smile. “I’m actually self-taught, so I learned basically by just watching YouTube tutorials and spending a lot of time on Ultimate Guitar,” Eddie explains with a wry smile. 

“That’s really cool,” Steve says, impressed. “I could never do that.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, right?” It’s a familiar back and forth to Eddie. Maybe he can do this. “I like to run my lessons the same way — instead of learning some random two-measure exercises from a book, we learn songs that you want to learn, and through that we can learn some new chords and strumming patterns and techniques. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Steve says. “That was always the worst part of piano lessons. The music was so boring.” His nose wrinkles in distaste.

“Awesome,” Eddie says, and pulls out his phone, already open to his notes app. “So, what kind of music do you want to learn?”

“Uh.” Steve pauses. “I, uh, I listen to a lot of, um, pop? And, like, indie? Kind of just top forty radio type stuff.” 

Eddie nods as he writes that down. “Cool, cool. Any artists or songs in particular? Or just pop as a whole?”

“I dunno,” Steve admits. “I like most of the popular stuff. Oh, there’s this one artist my friend has been getting me into — Chappell Roan?”

“Nice,” Eddie responds, somehow managing to keep from jumping with joy that he might actually have a chance with this guy if he listens to gay people music. 

“You don’t… mind?” Steve asks hesitantly. Eddie looks up at him, confused. “I just mean, you don’t exactly look like you would love all that girly pop music.” He waves a hand at Eddie’s Metallica shirt, ripped jeans, and patch-covered vest. 

Eddie shrugs. “Well, maybe, but it’s my job. You wouldn’t believe the amount of Swifties I’ve got, I couldn’t avoid it if I wanted to. And I mean, it is pretty catchy,” he concedes, if only to see Steve smile again. “And,” he continues, “even better, really easy to play.”

“Oh, good,” Steve laughs.

Eddie pockets his phone and reaches for his folder, taking out a sheet of empty chord diagrams. “So usually for a first lesson, we just learn a few basic chords, and then get started with our first full song next week, sound good?”

Steve nods. “Yep.”

“Great.” Eddie sets the sheet on the stand in front of them and pencils in two little dots on the first diagram. “Here’s our first chord. This is called an E minor. You wanna put your first finger on the second string…”

He goes on to teach Steve an E minor chord, then a C chord, then a G chord, and by the time they’re done learning D, Eddie thinks that Steve’s fingers are going to haunt his dreams. He’s not mad about it. Just sad that he won’t be able to see them in person again for a whole week.

They make their way through the lesson, stumbling from one chord to another, but by the end of the thirty minutes, Steve is already doing pretty well with his chord transitions. Eddie’s honestly impressed. He drops him off in the lobby and exchanges him for Dustin, who is bouncing up and down with excitement.

“How was he,” he bursts out as soon as the door is closed.

Eddie snorts. “He was good. Just learned a few chords.”

Dustin waits expectantly. “And?”

“And what?”

“And how was he! Like, was he excited? Did you have a good time? Are you guys gonna be friends now?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly and takes a seat. Technically, he’s not supposed to be actual friends with students, or even talk with them outside of work, but with Dustin and now Steve, they don’t feel like paying customers so much as friends he’s doing a favor for. “He was good. I’m sure he’ll tell you in the car on the way home.”

Dustin groans. “Come on.”

“You come on. You better have been practicing, show me what you’ve been doing.”

With that, Dustin drags himself to his seat, and the lesson goes great from there, both of them distracted from Steve by the intricacies of Stairway to Heaven.

When he brings Dustin out, he’s almost taken off guard by Steve waiting for them. In just half an hour, he’d already forgotten his stunning resemblance to a Greek god. It’s honestly unfair for his memory to do that to him. 

“Hey,” Steve greets them. “Had a good lesson?”

“Obviously,” Dustin scoffs.

“He did great today,” Eddie tells him, “And so did you. Just remember to practice, alright? Gotta build that muscle memory.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, too used to hearing it, but Steve nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, of course. See you next week?”

It’s a simple phrase. He says it every day. It’s a contractual obligation that yes, he will see them next week. But when Steve says it, it feels like a promise. Eddie can’t wait to fulfill it.

“Yeah,” he breathes, mesmerized by the way the fluorescent lights bring out the green in Steve’s eyes. “See you next week.”

Steve smiles and turns to leave, picking his way through the aisles of musical miscellany. Eddie can already hear Dustin interrogating him about his lesson. He leans back against the wall with only one thought in his mind: only seven days until he gets to see Steve Harrington again. 

He’ll be counting every single one.