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mjolnirswriststrap · 7 months ago

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Just Another Notch

Bucky Barnes x Plus!Reader Masterlist

Summary: If Bucky thinks his charms will work on you, then you’re gonna put up one hell of a fight to prove him wrong. Part 5/?

Word count: 1,682

AN: two chapters in one day because I can 💋🤷🏻‍♀️

So here you were, dressed in the most expensive fabric you’ve ever touched. Tony had a dress tailored for your mission, the style was nothing like anything you saw at any of his cocktail parties. It felt vintage, like old money. The dark green was almost black, but in certain lights you could see the emerald reflection. It was long, but not in a slim, skin tight way, it had a bust, and it flared out at the hips, dark tulle flowing to the floor. It was like the dress was actually made for you, designed for your body, not sized up.

Your hair and makeup was done by no one other than yourself. You didn’t trust the makeup artists Tony hired, if their faces were any indication of what you’d look like, you’d rather go bare faced. You were good enough at makeup, understanding that for this look, you needed to look classic, rich. To achieve it, a tiny black wing with a white shimmer on your inner corner was more than enough for your eyes. You didn’t touch your eyebrows or put foundation on, though you usually like to. You had to know that the other women there won’t be wearing nearly as much makeup. You brush a coral rouge powder over your cheeks, then dabbing it off with a big powder brush, practically blending it into your skin.

The only thing you knew to go all out for, is you lips. Dark red, almost purple: the bloodier the better. Nothing said evil conglomerate like a red lip. And your hair, no one touched your hair. You had that covered, heat was never applied, gel and foam rollers helped you achieve the thick curls that sit on your shoulders. You sucked in a breath as you walked out of your room, down to the elevator felt like a thousand steps.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflective metal elevator door, and now you felt the same as you did this morning, practically naked in a sports bra. When it dings and you step out onto the roof, you see your team, suited up like they’re going on a mission, as they climb into the quinjet. How lovely, they get bullet proof armor and you get priceless crushed velvet. You know what else is priceless? Your life.

You focus on walking in heels, keeping your eyes on the ground infront of you, when you step up onto the platform you look around, seeing where you should sit. Of course Natasha and Steve take the pilot seats, leaving you and Bucky to figure it out. You find a seat near the exit, your nerves getting the better of you.

Of course Bucky sits right beside you. You try not to make eye contact as you sit back and cross your legs, it’s gonna be a long ride. “I’m sorry, about this morning. I didn’t know he would say that.” He whispers to you, as if Natasha and Steve aren’t allowed to hear his apology. You roll your eyes, whatever you thought you were doing with Bucky, is over, too much has happened.

You had a job to do, and playing hard to get would be saved for a later date, never. He notices your eye roll and places his hand on your exposed shoulder, trying to relax you. But it does the opposite. “You look beautiful, doll.”. You nod your head, you couldn’t call him a liar, you knew you looked amazing. But that didn’t mean you had to be grateful for his compliment.

The thought sat in the back of your mind, he’s only trying to add you to his roster, don’t fall for it. You look over and your eyes connect with his and you can’t help but to feel a little guilt when you see the sincerity in his eyes. You always expect the worst from him, and every time he proves you wrong, except for this morning, you had no clue what he said to Steve after you left, he could’ve scolded him or laughed with him. You’d never know, cause you’ll never ask. You didn’t care to, you don’t want to be another one of his numbers.

Bucky can see the uncertainty in your eyes, moving his gloved hand from your shoulder to your jaw. “I mean it.”. The way the words fell from his lips had your skin igniting. Now here you were, betraying your own thoughts instantly. He runs his leather covered thumb over your bottom lip, he watches as it pulls with the friction. “I love this color on you.” He says in his hushed tone, but it didn’t feel hushed anymore, every breath he took reverberated off your eardrums. You were so focused on his mouth as he spoke you didn’t notice him scoot closer to you on the bench.

It’s like another person inside of you spoke, “Thank you.”, you’re not really sure what you’re thanking him for, but maybe it will make him ease on his intensity. He smiles genuinely as you accept his compliments. “It’s a shame, can’t take you out tonight, looking like this.” He smooth talks. And you hate yourself for blushing, so you try to play it off “What made you think I’d go out with you?” You squint slightly, watching his reaction.

He’s an award winning actor apparently, his parted lips forming a smirk, “You saying you wouldn’t?” He says lowly, his grip on your jaw tightening slightly. You don’t know, if you’re honest with yourself; you liked how he was making you feel right now, and you couldn’t imagine how it would be if you were on a date with him.

You decide, in that moment of lapsed judgement, that you did wanna play his game after all. You close your mouth, that hung agape giving him the permission to keep his thumb there, your lips subtly wrap around his gloved finger, it was a barely noticeable innuendo. You pull away before you can even taste the leather; shaking your head. “Depends, are you asking me?”.

Bucky’s eyes darken at the sight of your lips wrapping around him. It’s like a switch was flipped, this wasn’t another office fuck. The way you made him feel was primal, he never needed anyone like he needed you right now. “Do that again, see what happens.”. He says, practically groaning the words out.

Your heart starts pumping deep in your stomach, you could feel that nauseous feeling some would consider butterflies. Bucky wasn’t gonna answer your question about asking you on a date, because in his mind, once he had you, there was no need to pretend with dinners and movies. Bucky leans in, pulling your face closer to his with the strong grip he has on you. “I dare you.”.

You couldn’t back down now, you had him hooked, and you were obviously winning the game. You smirk at his possessive eyes, then you wrap your lips around the thumb again, a little more of it this time. Your tongue being able to flick against it, you would die at the thought of others blood staining it. But in this moment, it didn’t matter.

Bucky’s eyes watch your mouth intently, a little gasp escaping him. He was shocked, he didn’t expect you to do it. Now he had to figure out just what he was gonna do about it. He presses his thumb down on your tongue, paralyzing it. His eyes are almost black as they study your face. “You have no clue do you?” He presses his brows together.

You shake your head in his hand, not being able to speak. You don’t really know what exactly he’s referring to. “What I’m going to do to you when this mission ends.” He clarifies, pulling his thumb from your mouth, dragging his hand down your neck, a trail of your own saliva wetting your skin. Thank god you weren’t wearing foundation.

He presses the wet digit against your pulse point, and you can feel the blood stop rushing to your brain. Your mind starts racing with the possibilities, but the lack of oxygen is fogging it. Maybe you played the game a little too well. Maybe you want him and you’ve been denying it to yourself this whole time. “I-“ you begin to say but the shuttering of the quintet landing and the sound of Steve and Natasha unbuckling their seatbelts make you and Bucky snap out of the lust filled bubble you were in.

“We’re here.” Steve says, looking between you and Bucky, his eyebrows raising at seeing you to pressed so tightly side by side. Bucky removed his hand the second he realized we were about to be seen. But he didn’t care what Steve thought, so he didn’t move from his spot, just scowling at his so called friend from across the quintet. He gave him one more chance after the “needing to eat already” comment. But when he said you needed to lose weight, that was enough for him to feel differently about his friend, telling him to fuck off, and come back when he has some common decency.

He didn’t expect to be paired with him on a mission so soon. He ignores Steve’s hopeful eyes, turning to Natasha. “Coms on?” He says, sliding an earpiece over to you. Natasha gives a thumbs up, already typing away on a laptop, trying to find the blue prints for Bruno’s yacht.

He turns back to you, and Steve checks his watch, you had to go now, the boat was gonna undock soon. He presses the button that releases the platform, the heavy metal door slowly descending to the ground. Bucky had done such a good job distracting you, you almost forgot your mission entirely. Now you were in action mode, but you didn’t have the hang of your action mode quite yet. Bucky takes your hand in his. “I’ll be with you the whole night, okay?” He says, noticing the fear in your eyes. You nod, taking a cooling breath. “I’m ready.”

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drdemonprince · 1 year ago

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Hey, I just wanted to thank you for your honesty and willingness to explain how queer spaces can be a lot less transphobic than discourse within the trans community can make it seem. A lot of the past few years for me have been spent closeted out of fear that reactions around me would be uniformly hostile. Things are obviously going to be different for me as a transfem, but I have a much easier time being optimistic now!

I am so glad! Listen, the people who post online all the time about how miserably hard it is to find a place for oneself as a trans person create a kind of reverse survivorship bias. They are the people who have already convinced themselves it's best to forever remain closeted or that forging any kind of accepting community for oneself is impossible. Often, they are also people who once harbored unrealistic fantasies about just strolling up one day into a pre-existing community that was perfect for them, not realizing that we must form our relationships painstakingly one by one (it tends to be the white eggs/unhappy lonely trans people who are most prone to thinking of community in that way). there's plenty of trans guys who are doomers like this too and they really tend to actively encourage one another to remain locked away. it's like incel kind of behavior when it's taken to its most extreme form. sometimes, it can be outwardly really nasty homophobic shit too (especially among "afabs" who complain about "cis gays" never accepting them and being super privileged). in its milder form, it's just extreme trauma brain.

The people you do not hear from so much are the people who are busy out in the world going on dates, acting in plays, getting their asses spanked in dungeons, playing tabletop roleplaying games, and going to farmer's markets with their three also transgender wives. Those are the people who know (that is to say, have learned!) how to interact with their fellow queer people, have spent some time out in the community, and in all likelihood have many rich friendships with cis lesbians, cis gay men, enbies, asexuals, bisexuals, straight ish poly people, and everybody else under our big umbrella.

I don't want to be overly pollyannaish because of course trans people have a tough time, and especially trans women have unfortunately to be on the lookout for really vile transmisogyny. But I think when people are wounded and traumatized by these things, they sometimes make the entire world sound incredibly unwelcoming, which creates a self-limiting feedback loop of isolation and mistrust. That is what trauma does! But it is not the truth. and we only learn otherwise when we give other people the chance to prove our worst fears wrong.

Like, just for an example, this Sunday I was at a silent book club at Dorothy, a gay bar on the west side that skews lesbian but is for everyone. I'd never been there before but it was an absolutely charming experience! Dozens upon dozens of lesbians draped over couches and curled up in chairs with their books, quaffing cocktails, alongside a few random dots of gay and/or trans men. Trans women were just a natural completely unremarkable feature of this environment. I couldn't even tell you how many t girls were there. It would be like counting plus sized girls or butches at this lesbian function. If it's a good lesbian function, there's gonna be a diverse crowd and it won't be weird or a big deal to anyone, they'll just be like any other women there. a lot of the big lesbian events here in Chicago (like Strapped) are organized by trans women, so of course there's a robust trans femme presence there.

And all of these groups at this function were getting laid. the couches were overflowing with women, so many that girls were grabbing pillows to sit on and huddle together with their books on the floor. Girls canoodled and cuddled on couches. I saw a cis alt girl covered in facial piercings flirting with a very prim and proper trans girl who was dressed like a victorian governness. they didnt know one another, but after the silent book club hour was done, they left for a while together, then came back with some food. across from me and my friends, i watched them gathering up on the couch, the space between their bodies slowly closing up into nothing over the course of the evening. they flirted and touched and then left the bar together to (and im no expert on body language but i could pick up on this one) fuck eachothers tits right off.

and of course plenty of other lesbians and wlw paired off or tripled off and had their fun too. again, just like steamworks, fat people, thin people, black and brown people, white people, disabled people, neurodivergent people, trans people, older people, younger people, everybody was there. like any good queer space, it was just a reflection of humanity. there is always more that can be done to make these spaces more broadly accessible to full community. but part of that is by putting ourselves there.

again i dont mean to make it sound like finding and making one's space is easy! especially not for trans women! but I also don't want people to get seduced by the hopeless jadedness that some foment online. there are spaces that some trans women I know will never go to -- even an explicitly trans affirming bookstore like Women and Children First gives many trans women I know bad vibes they cant quite explain but all feel (the store is owned and run by old white cis lesbians, it's not surprising to me that it's a little fucked no matter their good intentions) -- and ive heard people say transmisogynistic stuff at events, particularly from "ill date anybody but cis men" type t boys (my brothers, i hate you). shit can be tough. very tough. but also, the world isn't all uniformly as hostile as it's made out to be. there are people who are desperate to meet you. I hope you will come out to find them.

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ryuzakemo128 · 8 days ago

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Can the Living Haunt You?

Pairing: Poly141 x Loser! Welsh! Female Reader

Content Warnings: Swearing, Cussing, Female Reader is a loser, not relatively known, a tomboy. John Price, John 'Soap' MacTavish, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, Simon 'Ghost' Riley are popular, well known, well liked, and did I say popular? Well they are. College au!, polyamorous relationship. Female reader in this is an artist in college with sex work defined as a broad defined 'side hustle' (If you don't like this topic I suggest you read something else). Graphic descriptions of injuries and traumatising events.

Note: Female reader has defining traits like: Tomboy, height of six foot ten (to make it clear she is a giant in this), gothic, heavy metal, & punk mixture of an aesthetic. I also like to this she's plus sized with a large chest in my own personal headcanon. Female reader also has body pircings and piercings in general.

Note 2: If you don't like how this female reader looks. Please turn around and leave. There are many, many writers out there that can cater to your tastes I am sure of it.

Masterlist

Word Count: 7,311

Divider Credit: @Cafekitsune

Summary: You always bid on yourself, so you didn’t have to suffer through the awkward conversations between you and another person.

The college charity auction wasn’t something you had interest. You donated money to it. But you never did it to bid on the popular guys or women there. No. You always bid on yourself, so you didn’t have to suffer through the awkward conversations between you and another person.

You were more than happy to decorate both the canteen and the auditorium. To leave at that and that alone. You didn’t have someone to ‘talk’ you into attending. It was through your own curiosity and to see what kind of chaos you could weave in. The brand of chaos you were known for, that is.

You didn’t account for Nikolai attending one of these. You hoped you could find something inside your closet to wear that radiated ‘Don’t come near me’ vibes. You hoped you could go there and still have people mind their own business like they have in the past.

You knew your roommate would be staying at her boyfriend’s apartment. You would have the place to yourself for the night at least. Or at least until the couple decided to change plans again.

As you were about to get settled for a longish night of being alone and getting drunk from your homebrew cocktails. You didn’t account for the five hundred pounds you would spend on welsh gin, mixers and other things.

Nikolai finally saw you in person, you were four cocktails deep and three burgers eaten. You were enjoying yourself at the college auction, a rare event where the most popular guys went up for a date. You didn’t know why you were here; you were the kind of person that didn’t get noticed, didn’t get picked, and certainly didn’t get asked out. But here you were, in the middle of it all, a sea of glammed-up girls and guys dressed to the teeth. And you?

Black Sabbath shirt with the sleeves cut off. Black high rise denim straight jeans with a belt with a white gold skull metal belt buckle in the middle. Knee-high black leather steel capped combat boots lined with metal studs on the sides. The studded choker with a pentagram pendant.

Black smudged eyeliner with a Smokey eyeshadow with black ombre lipstick. Combined with your nose ring on the left side and the 9mm black gauges in your earlobes. The industrial piercing in your right ear too. The stainless-steel tongue piercing. Your hair in a long wolf cut with your hair dyed jet-black.

Your fingerless leather gloves with studded spikes along the knuckles. Along with a few other things like the coffin shaped bag and the studded black bracelets with spikes on the outside. Your wallet, motorcycle keys and coin purse inside your bag too.

You weren’t planning on staying there longer than maybe an hour to two hours at the most. This type of thing amused you a little bit. But not enough to make you stay too long. You didn’t want to give them the wrong idea. The idea they were what you were there for. As you drank the gin you brought in there inside your bag.

Your art usually gets displayed on the screen when there is an intermission for auctions. Last time it was tiny, small, palm sized obsidian breathing red glitter fire and demanding flamed grilled chicken every Halloween.

You weren’t going to be picked at this kind of auction. You thought people wouldn’t care if you got drunk and started drawing on your massive tablet with your stylus in your right hand. You started off with drawing a strawberry shaped frog, the demonic bunny wooing his angelic bunny lover, a love fairy trying to pull a sword from a boulder, a beaver smoking a cigar who is a loan shark demanding its money paid back with huge 25% added interest.

The addition to it all you added walking, talking carrots you added in a cultist formation wearing deep red robes lingering in the redwood trees you slowly added into the background. The lingering footprint indents of poltergeists still walking around unseen in the foreground. Making the art piece slowly eerie. But the gothic witch cottage with an even scarier version of yourself drinking hibiscus tea in the doorway.

As you were about to leave for something rather sweet and pleasant like pancakes. A six stack of thick pancakes smothered in hot butterscotch and chocolate fudge sauce. Whipped cream and strawberries on top. The type of thick souffle style pancakes that tasted so good that you never had any other type ever again.

You didn’t think about whether someone might have cared if you left so abruptly or not. In your mind. No one cared either way, and you preferred to keep it that way. While you were eating, you had a cartoon style video of a cat hanging onto a wire with a Welsh flag jumper, with ‘Be right back’ and ‘Artist food break in pastel pink bubble writing. Enjoy some cat videos’. Which were all of your own cats from the backlog of videos you have already. Including some of the older ones you have shown them already.

As you were delving into your pancake desires at your table. As you were eating your favourite kind of dessert, whenever you drink copious amounts of gin. In the moment of pure ecstasy, someone decided to interrupt you. You didn’t think you could pull such erotic looking facial expression. But according to the person interrupting you?

To him? It was one of the most beautiful sights he’s ever seen. You were enjoying yourself a little too much and someone wanted to make sure you were tamed. As if someone could ever do such a thing as to ‘tame’ you to begin with is laughable. Most guys love to brag about that kind of thing to your face or behind your back.

It didn’t annoy you as much as people loved to assume. It amused you more than anything. The thought of you being domesticated. You wonder how that would even work and how that would even look. And the person interrupting you? John ‘Soap’ MacTavish and John Price. You heard they had the knack for ‘brat taming’ whatever that means. You never asked for more details. You never plan to either.

You were too busy thinking, ‘I hope no one can see the nipple piercings through my shirt’ to really notice them approaching you. You wonder how someone react if they did see them, and she didn’t notice. A warm feeling blossomed on your cheeks at the mere thought of it occurring.

You were dead certain you placed on nipple covers before heading out this afternoon. Now you’re sitting there while you eat pancakes thinking about it some more. You were so sure you made sure that you were dressed and ready to leave your dorm too.

As you continued to ponder whether you had remembered to place on the nipple covers. Nikolai smirked as he watched you haphazardly ponder the question mentally. He automatically knew one of your many weaknesses were your boobs. How did he know this you ask?

Well, it’s simple, he touched your breasts once by coincidence and you whimpered accidentally. You didn’t mean to. It just………slipped out of your mouth. “Pretend……... Pretend you didn’t hear that.” You stated at the time your face heating up.

Nikolai still remembers how you left so hastily afterwards. You weren’t going to let that accident happen a second time. That would make YOU look bad. But Nikolai wasn’t the type of man to keep that to himself for too long. Especially since he hung around Price a lot. There wasn’t a moment when he isn’t around Price.

You hoped he would have forgotten that you exist or ever existed. But apparently. Luck just isn’t on your side this week. Though, luck is rarely ever on your side when you want it to be. You didn’t think how it would affect the guy long term now, did you? That whimper is now engrained into the back of Nikolai’s mind like a saucy, sultry catchphrase.

When they spotted you at the gym swimming pool the next day? The two-piece black bikini you always wore when you did your morning swimming routine? The routine of fifty laps in breaststroke, backstroke, freestyle and butterfly. And that is what she calls a warm-up rather than a plain exercise.

And the stretches you usually warm up before you swim? The ones you learned through gymnastics, hot yoga and your love for MMA? As you were doing the rest of those stretches as they walked in? Perhaps it was when they walked in while you were midway through your morning exercises.

As yesterday, you pushed yourself a little harder than usual with the bicep curls and the deadlifting amount and the sparring. You hoped swimming wouldn’t be as intense on the body as the gym. But, oh boy, you were wrong by the time you reach in Backstroke. You were about to take a break for fifteen minutes to thirty.

You were resting on the chairs beside the pool drawing in your art journal, sketching a few new ideas to bring to life through ceramics or pottery. You often looked up to make sure they haven’t spotted you, you hoped the divider you made from recycled wood, black fabric and a recycled plastic sheeting in the middle of the wood. The over-all design of a gothic cathedral blocking the line of sight of anyone who might want to ogle you.

As you switched back to reading your Lovecraft book collection on your waterproof tablet. While you sipped your cold water. Ignoring the people around you as you normally did first thing in the morning. You were happier at this time of day because no one is usually brave enough to approach a giant like yourself in this state.

Especially considering you haven’t eaten your breakfast yet. You hoped the calorie deficit would be enough to keep you going through the exercise. You were resting and thinking what you should be having for breakfast. Would it be better for you to eat Semolina porridge? Would it be better for you to have soft boiled eggs drowned in a sweet & sour sauce with paprika, salt and pepper? Or maybe just a bowl of porridge with honey? Or perhaps something more substantial like a full English breakfast with extra black pudding.

Your stomach rumbled at the thought of breakfast. You were already planning the recipe in your head. Semolina porridge with a side of fruit and two cups of sweetened coffee. Though it after you were finished your morning exercise routine. Heading straight to your dorm with a dark blue beach towel wrapped around you.

Taking your homemade divider with you too. As you were about to leave the pool area to have breakfast inside your dorm. You heard the gruff voice. You ignore it. Obviously thinking the person behind you was either coughing or talking to somebody else. Either way. You weren’t sticking around.

Breakfast on the brain. You couldn’t think about anything else. No. You refused to think about anything else. Determined to have your breakfast. In peace and quiet. Like your father does at this hour. Though he is a night shift working as a line cook in a diner open 24/7. His need to try out a different type of breakfast each morning is just another one of those things you got from him.

Your walking pace kicked up a notch. Maybe two. The premise of food always won you over. Far more times than the whispered promise of sex. The statement alone is usually met with judgemental snickering from women. The ‘then maybe you haven’t had good sex’ grated on every nerve in your body. Sometimes sex isn’t the end all, be all of someone’s personal journey, Linda. Maybe you would have learned that if you weren’t so busy sucking cock all the time to actually take care of yourself, LINDA.

But that conversation is for another time. At least one when you’re not already hungry. You didn’t think about them talking to you. Food is on your mind, and you were ready to get it. You were keen on your breakfast. Too keen according to some. A real grouch without food too. Not as grouchy as your ex-boyfriend Damien. And you haven’t spoken to that guy in months.

And the last time you spoke to the guy in almost a year. You would reach out more if he weren’t so much of a cunt to contact most of the time. Part of you missed the guy something fierce. Not like you would admit it out loud. Not like you would admit it even if someone waterboarded you either. Keeping all your personal things wrapped inside yourself until it hurt. Till your bones ached.

You didn’t have to speak to get your point across. He didn’t have to lecture you about picking up after yourself. You don’t know why you don’t find yourself liking others as much as you did for him. Sometimes you have to remind yourself that his father murdered him out of spite. The kind of spite you only ever read in Shakespearean Plays or Greek tragedies. But it happened to you, didn’t it?

And now, you’re a recluse that enjoys the company of animals more than people. You weren’t going to find another Damien. Yours is long dead. Mourning for someone who you wouldn’t have again. In your eyes. In your mind. You wouldn’t have that again.

But that’s your business, right? Yours and yours alone, right? No one else’s. You don’t expect people to fix you. You don’t want to be ‘fixed’.

People, most people, love the idea of ‘fixing’ someone they deem ‘broken’. But you don’t like the term or the idea you can ‘fix’ a living human being. You never had. Flaws are flaws. Inherently human nature. Defined by innate nature of being born human. People forget we are still learning new things about the human body.

The ringtone you were listening to on your phone. Damien’s voice. Even when he’s dead was enough to keep you going a little bit longer. A taste of the past amongst the pointless lingering in the future. You don’t know why you still had it. You had a feeling it was a way to keep a part of him with you.

You call it a breakup, in reality, he was ripped from you one night and his father didn’t have the guts to turn himself in for six months. You don’t know what snapped in his father’s head when he found out Damien was going to move out into the apartment you were living in at the time. You don’t have the guts to ask.

You have the scars to remember. To ache. To writhe inside your own skin. The night he was killed. You were both nineteen. It’s easy to forget it wasn’t just yesterday. Sometimes it feels like it was a lifetime ago. Sometimes it feels like it was only minutes. The cold steel of the knife on your throat. The warm blood splatter on your face. The way your heart stopped in your chest.

John price saw you texting your ex-boyfriend, despite the fact you knew you wouldn’t get an answer. It was something to keep you from dissociating entirely. The friends you had weren’t yours in your mind. They were your boyfriends. And you stopped talking to them because in your heart you believed they were never YOURS to begin with.

Religious people pissed you off now. More than they had before. It was like the way dismissed your pain as part of their ‘god’s plan’. Like some kind of sick joke. The kind they loved to repeat. Again. Again. Again. As if your life was some sort of sick joke to be played at their whimsy. You didn’t believe in that shit anymore. Not after one of their own did something as heinous as murder.

People love to say they like helping people. But when it comes to actually helping them? Especially those who aren’t religious. They say things like, “Everything happens for a reason,” or “It’s all part of God’s plan.” As if that’s supposed to make you feel better. As if that’s supposed to justify the fact that you’re now left with nothing but a dead body and a shit-ton of guilt.

You didn’t believe in that shit anymore. Turning to the absurdist philosophy did more for your life than any religion had ever done. Once you started living it? It was like a weight is lifted from your shoulders. A weight you hadn’t known existed there. You didn’t know what to do with your newfound freedom. Thus, you pursued things you wanted to try out without any meaning behind it all.

You didn’t believe in destiny or fate anymore either. You believed in chaos. In the chaos of life. In the randomness of the universe. In the cold, unfeeling abyss that swallowed you up whole. But you liked that. You liked that there weren’t any strings attached to your life anymore. No expectations. No one to live up to. No one to disappoint. Just you. Your thoughts. And your art.

You suppose it’s when you started going to brothels. Or in your case when you started working in brothels for ��1000 a night. Setting it credulously high on purpose. If someone couldn’t afford you. You’d be able to sense it from a mile away. Besides, setting it that high made sure you had the cream of the crop. You weren’t going to deal with anyone who didn’t respect you or your boundaries.

You made sure they were tested for STDs, vaccinated, background checked, no criminal record of previous criminal activity, and that they had the money in full ahead of time. You weren’t going to risk your health for anything less.

He must have heard about your side hustle or something, you didn’t think it could have been anything else to give that part of you away to them.

Simon overheard rumours about it, the rumours you were a ‘lady of the night’ or something equally ridiculous. Until he heard you charged £1000 a night for it. Solidifying truth from supposed fiction. He didn’t know what was worse. The fact that you had a side hustle or that you were good at it.

As you were showering, you were thinking about whether you should just get dressed straight away or take your time this morning. As you were washing your hair in black shampoo which helped your dyed hair keep its dyed black colour to it. As you were washing it out a second time.

Slowly adding in the black conditioner into your hair, started at the tips of your hair and ending midway. Leaving the conditioner to soak into your hair follicles. You were about to pick up your goat’s milk body wash to wash yourself with the black loafer you bought from the discount store yesterday to replace your old one.

You weren’t expecting anyone, your roommate is usually having breakfast with her boyfriend in his apartment at this hour. The freedom of not having to be modest first thing in the morning has always been a blessing in your opinion. Often walking to your room naked sometimes to get dressed there after you got dried in the bathroom.

You weren’t worried or fussed with the concept of modesty when it came to your own place, your own space or your own dorm. You had your porridge ready to cook and you were keen on getting straight to eating breakfast as soon as possible.

Yet, even as you were getting dressed in your bedroom, you didn’t exactly clock the fact that Simon just saw you walk into your bedroom naked as a jaybird. You weren’t particularly shameful in doing so, either. He didn’t expect to see you in such a state. As you slipped on your black lace underwear and shorts.

Slipping on an Iron Maiden shirt. It used to be a stark white until you ultimately decided it would look better tie died in deep purple and blue. The shirt had seen better days, it had stains of various art projects and paint splatters all over it. It remains to be one of your favourites. You didn’t bother with a bra today. Letting your heavy chest breathe a little. You weren’t expecting anyone to see you today.

You also didn’t expect the two johns frowning and trying to figure out how to cook semolina porridge. “Do you need a hand with that genius and shorter genius?” you asked raising an eyebrow at the pair. “I thought you were gym bros into calculating all that healthy stuff and cooking.”

“Semolina Porridge is Semolina flour, milk, water, salt and butter.” You added in. “There is more than one type of porridge in the world my confused puppers. Cute, confused pups I might add.”

“I have the recipe typed out, laminated and held with magnets in case I forget how to make it.” You pointed to the side of the fridge. “It SHOULD help you.”

You didn’t think you would have to help two buff guys how to cook as something as what you thought was simple like ‘Semolina Porridge’. But here you were helping them out like they were lost puppies in the middle of nowhere.

You eventually took charge and showed them how you made it from scratch. The hot plate you bought ages ago still working luckily. You didn’t expect to use it today, but here you are. You combined the milk, water, butter, and salt in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Bring to a boil, stirring gently with a whisk.

You then removed it from the heat. Pouring in semolina flour in a steady stream, whisking constantly to prevent lumps.

Afterwards, you placed the saucepan back over medium heat; whisking until porridge comes to a boil, for about 2 minutes. Reducing the heat to low, covering with a saucepan lid, and cook, stirring occasionally, until porridge thickens. It takes about 20 minutes.

You didn’t miss the glances exchanged between the two Johns. They were clearly out of their depth. It was like watching two hunks try to navigate the art of cooking without burning down the place. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself, feeling oddly superior in your kitchen skills.

“Now we stir occasionally for the next 20 minutes.” you remarked, adding things like cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar. It was your own little twist to the recipe. Soap sniffed the thickening porridge with a nod of approval.

You then removed the saucepan from heat; stirred in sugar. Only to let it sit on a cold plate for five minutes before serving it with a dollop of cream.

“Make sure to tell me if you liked it or not. I’m not a mind reader. If I was, I would be making at least ten grand a week.” You remarked setting a bowl in front of each of them. “And before you ask, no, I have no intentions on adding eggs to my porridge.”

As you were about to make a head start on your second breakfast because classes didn’t start until later. You were cleaning out the porridge to get it ready to make some soft-boiled duck eggs. Kyle wandered over after he showered in the gym lockers.

Kyle remarked with a grin on his lips, “Someone’s got a big appetite this morning.”, he cooed.

You raised an eyebrow at his comment. “I eat four duck eggs a morning.” You reminded him. Just in case he forgot how much of a high metabolism you still have.

You placed the duck eggs in the saucepan and filled the pot with cold water. After you placed it onto the hot plate you went back to getting back into your normal routine of cleaning your bedroom, cat litter boxes and general garbage from the bins.

Bringing out the steam mop however, John Price decided to say why they were there. As if the mop suddenly just reminded him for some reason?

“We noticed you didn’t go to bed with anyone last night.” He began awkwardly. You looked at him like he had suddenly sprouted another head.

“What’s your point? I don’t work if I’m drinking all night.” You remarked. Thinking this was about why you didn’t ‘work’ last night. Your work that allowed to be able to get things you normally wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise. “And in terms of dating, I haven’t dated anyone else since I was 19.”

You didn’t mention the fact that you had a mishap that ended up with in the hospital and getting at least 45 stitches in your arm. You didn’t think they would notice either. You were certain of it. Too certain perhaps?

As you were about to eat your duck eggs, Simon spotted the bandage. You were mixing the sweet and sour sauce with soy sauce into a small saucepan, combining crushed garlic, finely sliced ginger, and dried sliced jalapeños.

“What the fuck happened to your arm?” Simon asked, growing a little. At least it sounded like he was growling according to your own ears.

“I tried to jump a wired fence after having one too many drinks last night. I didn’t account for any loose wires in the fence.,” You answered his question. Silently hoping this answer would be good enough and they wouldn’t ask further questions about it. “Technically, this is my fault and mine alone.”

There. You have admitted it was no one else’s fault but your own. That should cover everything. Right? They can’t be mad if you admit the truth first. They can’t be mad at you if don’t have something on you to get angry about.

They can’t find something to get mad at you for.

You have won their little game.

Whatever that game was.

You don’t know.

But you like to think you won anyway.

As you continued to make the sauce. You weren’t sure who brought up the subject first or why it was brought up in the first place either. But the topic polyamory is brought up up and the look on your face made Soap snort.

You looked like you had decided to suck on sixteen lemons at once. “What you get up to is not my business.” You reminded. “Its like you enjoy torturing me.”

“Ok why did you want to talk?” you asked John Price this time allowing Simon to taste one of the duck eggs. “Is everything tidy?”

You were rather suspicious over their need to talk to you now. You were content with how things have been in your life so far. Things didn’t have to change. Things were fine the way they are. Change brought in potentially being abandoned and left behind. You don’t want to take that risk like you had the first time.

John cleared his throat, looking a bit nervous. “We were wondering if you’d be interested in a polyamorous relationship with us?” He said it so casually that it took you a moment to process it.

Now you were just rather confused. No, you weren’t offended by the idea. You were more or less confused because this is the first time you ever heard of such a thing. “How does that even work?” you asked frowning deeply. You knew a lot of things. It became blatantly clear that you haven’t dated someone in so long that you have forgotten what it's like to be in a romantic relationship.

“You’re going to need to write this down. I won’t be able to understand otherwise.” You added in. Hinting at your learning disabilities this time. You handed him your tablet which is larger than he expected it be.

The tablet wasn’t what John expected you to have. The screen size of 16 inches, a thickness of 8.2 inches, weight of 718 grams, storage capacity of 1TB with a micro-SD of 1.5TB, Moonstone Grey coloured, and a battery that lasted for 16 hours. It came with a 2 year warranty and 16GB of memory.

You used this when you were going on the train, and your professional artist display tablet is too expensive to risk breaking just by carrying it everywhere. Soap looked around your office part of your dorm. The vintage porn movies posters hung on your office walls. The Welsh flag on the door to your office and the shark themed foot mat to the office.

Other things like the Welsh gin inside of a black and white bar fridge. There is a jug of mead fermenting in the corner of the room. There is a black coffin shaped bookshelf with Absurdist philosophy books, a lava lamp and many art history books. Beside the art easel from the 1980s.

The walls are painted a midnight blue with black trimmings. The vintage posters brought out your absurdity far more. Though it was the 3D printer, the 3D printed figurines around the room you made for yourself that were more than a little raunchy in theme.

Figurines of busty women in different stages of undress along the top of your coffin shaped bookshelf. The other figurines you had displayed? Some of which were of women in playboy bunny costumes with the character names on the base with small décor items like a bouquet of flowers. Something to give more personality to the character.

It was how you got comfortable with your sexuality, sexual orientation and how you looked on the outside. It happened to be pansexual. You liked whoever you liked regardless of gender. You had your preferences, everyone did. But when you found someone. Someone you liked, you liked them for them.

Other small things Soap noticed was the desktop computer with a giant mechanical keyboard with LED lights that changed colour and the mouse pad that had a dragon on it. It was like something out of a gamer’s fantasy. Though the only games you ever play on the thing were all soulsborne games, Doom Games, Fallout Games, and Skyrim.

Which inspired most of your art. Whether some could say it was on purpose or not is purely conjecture because some of the normal people around you are stranger than you are sometimes. So much so, that most of the art you sold were inspired by those same people.

Not like they noticed. Much to your own relief.

As John continued to write down the fundamentals of a polyamorous relationship. He knew you weren’t easily swayed by charm, you were someone who preferred actions rather than just the simplicity of words because talking is easy. Everyone can talk. But it’s the actions that speak louder than words.

They scream louder than words from somebody’s lips. They were more telling sometimes through someone’s body language at any given time. Plus, it was easy to ignore somebody’s words. It was harder to ignore someone’s actions.

Perhaps this is why they were drawn to you to begin with? Your actions were always closely tied with your words. It also meant your face gave away what you were feeling all of the time, and you weren’t going to be ashamed of it either.

“I am very surprised you didn’t go for, what was her name again? Was it Linda Paulson or something?” you asked the five of them. “Because she is the type I see you being into.”

They looked at you with a puzzled look. “What makes you say that?” Soap asked.

“Blonde, chipper, bright in aesthetic, Five foot three, cute as a button, bubbly in personality, nerotypical, untraumatised. she doesn't look 'dirty' with all her tattoos. Obsessed with baking cookies, the typical girls girl. The whole nine yards and far better suited to you.” you answered. “People like to think they want different. But in reality they just want the kind of different with the same cover on the outside.”

They looked at each other, unsure how to respond. It was clear your words had struck a nerve. “You don't think we'd be into someone like you?” Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow.

“In truth, I don't think anyone would be. I am more of an artist watching, like a perverse creep watching art pieces walk and talk around them. Never able to participate in any kind of meaningful manner.” you answered. “Absurdist theory on life made things easier to understand. Removed the mystery rug from over the top and left it bare-bones enough to see what it actually is beneath those layers.”

Nikolai replied, noticing you have taken the absurdist philosophy to heart, specifically philosopher Albert Camus' notion that life is inherently absurd and the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche’s idea that one must embrace the chaos and live life to the fullest. Both of which you read before bed each night according to the lines along the spines of the books on the coffee table.

Nikolai knew you were more or less weren’t going to take things at face value or just because they ‘found you intriguing’ or ‘unique’. You more or less looked like you despised those two terms and loathed the idea you can slap those two things together to win you over.

Nikolai walked out of your dorm to speak to John in private, you didn‘t think much of it. As you cleaned up and started writing down questions you had in your notepad. As you were writing them, Soap decided to take a look at the books on your bookshelf. “Camus and Nietzsche, huh?” He murmured, holding up 'The Stranger'.

“At the moment, yes, I haven't had the time to read more than those two so far.” you answered.

Soap nodded, looking thoughtfully at the book. “I can see why you'd be into that. Life is pretty absurd, isn't it?” He said, flipping through the pages. His thumb brushing over the words that you had underlined, the ones that had struck a chord within you during your late-night reading sessions.

“Innately. Sensually. Romantically.” you stated.

The questions you wrote down were the following:

1. How do want to deal with living arrangement?

2. Do any of you have any allergies?

3. Are any of you allergic to cats? (I have eight this is why I asked you this question specifically.)

4. How do you feel about someone who has a past with the sex work industry?

5. What are your expectations of me in this relationship?

6. What are your intentions with me?

7. What are the rules? (If any)

8. How will we handle jealousy? Is there a preferred way? If so what is it?

10. Are you willing to get tested for STD’s?

You passed them over to John. Who then gave to Nikolai to give a look over too. They both read over them. They weren’t expecting you to be so straightforward. You didn’t bother with the fluff and frills that came with these kinds of conversations.

“We can manage living arrangement. We’re not allergic to cats, thankfully.” Soap spoke up as he put the book down. “But we do have a dog and a snake, so I hope they get along with your clowder.”

“Lovely.” you stated trying to be nice, but you have a phobia of dogs, a phobia running so deep and thorough.

Soap looked at you with a bit of a smirk. “Oh, you're afraid of dogs?” He said, his tone teasing. “Well, we'll just have to introduce you to ours gently, then.”

“Fear is a rather tame way to say the word phobia.” you stated. “And before you ask. I don't hate dogs. I just don't particularly trust them.”

Soap saw the scars on your left leg. The chaotic mess of teeth marks that you got from a large stray dog when you were only six years old. When your mother wasn't paying close enough attention to where you were. That was when you learned not to trust dogs. It was when you couldn't trust your own mother because she would rather continue her affair than be an actual parent.

You had taken upon your to call that day, ‘The Mauling & Blatant Disregard’. A day where you have etched so deeply into your memory that you remember it vividly even years later. You were just a child, and your mother was too busy with her lover to hear your screams. The skin, flesh pulling away from your leg like it was nothing but chucks & pieces of meat to the stray feral canine biting its teeth into your leg.

The way the fact you could feel the dog's teeth on the bone of your leg. it was a miracle that the dog hadn't bitten through. The way the pain had shot through your body and how you had screamed until your voice had gone hoarse. You were certain it would have. You feared that it did.

It was the neighbour that saved your life, not your mother like she wanted your father to believe at the time. He didn’t say much to her face, but he most certainly made sure to get everything in writing and stored away in the big metal filing cabinets he always kept in the garage at the time.

You had to get surgery. Relearn how to walk properly. You were put through therapy to learn how to cope with things after the traumatic event. Fundamentally it was the reason why you didn’t trust dogs, even if they were just pets. They had teeth. They could bite. They could kill.

Soap's opinion of you changed a little, a giant afraid of dogs, spiders and enough emotional trauma to sink a proverbial ship. It was a new layer to your onion that he wasn’t expecting to peel back so soon. But his opinion of your mother? He had none. It was clear she was a shit parent.

“Well, the dog is pretty friendly. But we’ll definitely keep her on a leash until you’re comfortable around her.” John Price assured you, his eyes sincere as he took the list of questions from Soap. “And as for the STD testing, we’re all clean, but we can get tested again if it makes you feel more at ease.”

“Probably for the best.” you answered.

Nikolai nodded, looking over the list with John. “We’re looking for someone who’s honest and straightforward. Someone who’s not going to sugarcoat things or play games.” He said, his gaze meeting yours. “And we can tell you’re all of that and more.”

Nikolai looked at your own answer for that question, ‘I want someone who can take accountability for their own actions and instead of just simply stating the word sorry. They should be able to put in the action of trying to be better about it afterwards. Another thing, they should be ok with the possibility of being wrong because being right all the time is border line impossible and implausible. Not mention. The definition of being an automated system. Thirdly, I want a conversation. A conversation requires two people not one. This includes any philosophical discussions. A discussion requires two people’.

They both nodded at your answer. “We can manage that.” John said, a hint of a smile on his face. “We’re not perfect, but we’re willing to learn and grow with you. And we’re definitely open to discussing anything, especially philosophy.”

Simon noticed how your shoulders relaxed further at the last part. It seems philosophy is far more ingrained in your mindset. How ingrained your reading is right now.

The answer for your expectations for them. The detailed answer of, ‘I expect you to be kind to yourself when you fail at something. I expect you to count failure as part of the learning process and to be kind yourself when or if it happens. I expect you to be able to cry when you’re sad, scream when you’re angry, laugh when you feel joy and to let those emotions be. To allow yourselves to feel things.’

‘To allow yourself to just exist as you are. I expect you to be human. That’s all. I expect you to be human. Nothing more nothing less. I expect you to be you. And for that I expect you to be honest about your feelings. I don’t want to be with someone who is going to hide their emotions from me. It’s exhausting. And I won’t lie, it’s incredibly annoying when people do that to me.’

‘If you can do that. If you are willing to do that for yourself. Then I can do the same for you.’ you added in the cursive writing.

You listened intently like your feline Walter when he was high on silver vine, Soap noticed how the weed incense made you this calm and collected. The rules and expectations they laid out were straightforward, much like you. Honesty, respect, and open communication were at the forefront of their relationship guidelines. You nodded, scribbling down notes on your notepad, the tip of your pencil tap-taping against the paper as you thought.

“What's your take on personal space?” You questioned, your voice a mix of curiosity and wariness. You had your own quirks, your own need for solitude and chaos, and you weren't about to compromise that for anyone, not even the likes of them.

Gaz looked at you, his eyes serious for a moment. “We respect personal space. We won't invade it without your consent.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt. It was clear that they had discussed this before, had thought about what they were getting into, and were ready to meet you on your terms.

John saw the design of your future disconnected office for when you moved into the family house your father left to you in the inheritance when he passed when you were twenty-seven years old. He then saw the pictures of the place you were going to move into with monster trucks, motorcycles, dirt bikes, and the rock-climbing wall you had painted with glow in the dark paint.

Alongside other many, many things people consider typically masculine. But you also had things that were feminine like the seamstress area which used to be your mother’s work-from-home office. The sewing machines and fabrics that smelled faintly of her perfume, the one she used to wear before she left your life.

Not like you missed her like she might claim to her many friends of her new husband. You weren’t interested in getting to know her again or the man she married. He was a good man, you had to admit. He took care of your younger brother, and he was kind to you. But your mother was never going to be the woman she was before she had you.

John flicked through the images of the house. You call it house. But it seems incredibly clear that he didn’t think it looked like a house at all. Which amuses you because this is the same place you grew up inside. “That’s not a house. That…. that is more like a compound combined with a circus and a garage for those who like to play with fire.”

“Do you see the image my father wanted to cultivate?” you asked. “The chaotic side his art works have in common with in terms of theme and homage.”

John answered, “Yeah, I see it. It’s like he knew what kind of artist you’d become.” He handed you back the tablet. You took it with a smile, feeling a warm sense of pride for the space you’ve created.

“My grandmother oddly enough wanted to be buried there too.” You revealed.

Soap raised an eyebrow, “In the house?”

“No. In the backyard underneath an apple tree.” you clarified pointing to the gravestone underneath the ominous looking apple tree.

Note 3: If you want to see more of this female reader. Let me know and I will write a part 2.

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dreadsuitsamus · 5 months ago

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Rich & Sad | Jiraiya x Reader |

author's note: this was in the wip graveyard for like a year plus, ngl, though @yeowangies admitting to being an old man fucker helped revive it. this is based on a song of the same name by post malone (i know, big surprise coming from me)

pairing: jiraiya x fem!reader

warnings: angst, mentions of alcohol, typically all the sadness you would think of in a jiraiya work tbh

I just keep on wishing that the money made you stay.

Jiraiya's pen flicks easily along the notepad; most authors opt for computers these days, and he supposes he should get with the times. But his old method of writing by hand on whatever scrap of paper he could find got him this far: sitting in a mansion with no spared expense and every amenity a man could dream of. Hell, it all started in a bar with an idea written on a cocktail napkin as he watched the bartender serve her regulars and newcomers through a peaceful reverie. It was the look in her eyes, so clearly not present unlike the rest of her working body, that flooded through the dam of his writer's block that sent him through a flurry of those little square napkins.

It's cold, though. Even with all the money his bank account could ask for, he finds turning the furnace on pointless; there's nobody to keep warm, and he's been numb to it for quite some time now. Perhaps he should relocate to the mansion down in Mexico soon— tis the season.

You always hated that mansion.

"Don't you love the view, babe?"

"Yeah…" Your eyes shifted from his as you lied.

He should burn it to ash.

Jiraiya's latest novel is for a new series, and while he initially only intended a one-off, he's quickly coming up with idea after idea to turn it into the most dramatic story he's ever thought of. It may just rival any soap opera by the time he's done— and wouldn't that be something, if he could have a book turned into a show or a movie? He's already got more money than he knows what to do with; it'd just be wasteful at this point.

But maybe a few more zeros on his bank balance can convince you he's worth it?

Jiraiya sets aside the pen and makes a call whilst surveying the empty room, reserving his usual VIP room at a club downtown, preemptively adding a few extra bottle girls to his tab before the line clicks and he's off to dress himself. His closet is massive, the size of the three bedrooms he had the walls of removed just to accommodate this collection of suits, accessories and the like, most of which he's never worn.

“Jiraiya, those rooms were supposed to be for our kids, not some ridiculous closet!”

“Relax! I can buy another house, baby, don't worry.”

Even in his own home, he's got appearances to upkeep.

Though he has worn every single tacky Hawaiian shirt he owns, of which he has an entire corridor of this closet dedicated to. The club he's booked tonight has a dress code specifically against those, however (and specifically put in place because of Jiraiya) so tonight he's opting for a black suit with gold accents and leaves the shirt behind as he buttons the jacket about halfway. He's not sure who started this movement of showing up half dressed, but he'd love to get on his hands and knees and give them all of his gratitude.

Jiraiya walks by the empty, unlit portion of the closet, refusing to think about the day he’d finally unscrewed and tossed out the lightbulbs shining light on his darkest days.

The club is loud, packed and boozy when Jiraiya arrives. He's enough of a regular to be vaguely anticipated even without his reservation, and as such there's more than a conga line’s worth of women waiting for him. The symphony of “Hiiii Jiraiya~!” is intoxicating, along with the cheers when he announces the drinks are on him tonight. He's got a card on tab at all times here; he doesn't even remember what it looks like, but it's probably a black card.

“Babe, you gotta start spending more on your card. The penalties are kicking my ass!”

“Then cancel the card.” Your voice is dead, along with your feelings for this relationship. You can't remember the last time you spent time with Jiraiya rather than a product of his wealth.

Jiraiya goes through the throngs of pretty ladies itching to be his sole beneficiary, kissing them all with an obscene amount of tongue before he's even gotten to his private party room. The bottle girls are ready, serving what he's buying to every patron in the club. The atmosphere is rowdy and everyone's having fun, swapping drinks, pills and saliva. What else are Saturday nights good for?

“Can't we stay in for once? I'm not up for partying.”

“Well, what the hell else are we gonna do?”

In the center of the room, Jiraiya sits alone in the plush armchair, staring through the sexy bodies before him and rather at the wall. When you've done this once, you've done it a thousand times. He hasn't found joy in any of this in many years now.

He hasn't felt anything.

All this stunting couldn't satisfy my soul.

Jiraiya’s back in the mask the moment gentle fingertips touch his jaw, and when he looks up he could swear he's seeing you. But then one blink and the truth is before him: you're not here, and never will be. As the image of the stripper before him settles, he plasters on a smile and allows her to pour the liquor right into his mouth.

By closing time, he's got thousands on his tab and can hardly stand on his own. He's more than capable of holding his liquor, but frankly he's had much more than he should've. Truthfully, he's surprised he's got a liver at all anymore. Jiraiya stumbles out of the club, that big body crashing into a light pole as he fumbles for his cell phone, the device being the latest edition Apple has to offer, though the old man can hardly figure any of it out. It crashes to the concrete, shattering the screen that brightly displays a picture of you looking so bright and smiley and happy.

He stole the photo from your Instagram page when you posted it on a day many moons after you left him. And he made sure to crop out the man beside you that's wearing your wedding ring on his finger.

Jiraiya hits the ground hard when he bends over to pick up the phone, and with the cold air chilling the sidewalk he finds himself more willing to stay there than try to find a way back home in his inebriated state.

Got a hundred big places but I'm still alone.

The bright light of the broken screen blinds him, but he still manages to dial your number through nearly-closed eyes. The ringer drones on and on, and just when he thinks he's going to voicemail, the line picks up.

“Jiraiya.” It's said with a sigh, softly. There's no irritation this time, and instead he's met with nothing but pure sadness. “You can't keep calling me.”

“What if I penned a new medical drama, hm? Those’re popular…”

“Why don't you do what fulfills you, like your first novel?” Before he'd waded into the world of smut and taken on those rabid readers, he'd written a thrilling book that sold poorly, but has a rather dedicated cult following after all these years. It was a truly brilliant read, and even now serves as a reminder of the man you originally fell in love with.

“Those books don't sell. The money didn't make you stay… So it's gotta be worth the trade, no?” He's far too late in the game to make it right; after your ex-fiancée has her fifth wedding anniversary, there usually isn't any salvation in pulling your head out of your ass.

I would throw it all away.

#jiraiya x reader #jiraiya x you #jiraiya #jiraiya naruto #naruto imagine #reader insert #x reader #fic

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fashionfrenzee · 1 month ago

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uniteddonationhelp · 6 months ago

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Where to Donate Prom Dresses Near Me 2024

Prom season is a magical time filled with laughter, memories, and of course, gorgeous dresses. However, for many high school students, the cost of a prom dress can be overwhelming and out of reach. That's why it's important to consider donating your prom dress after the big night is over. Not only does it give someone else the chance to feel like a princess, but it also helps reduce waste and promotes sustainability. If you're wondering where to donate your prom dress near me in 2024, look no further! We've compiled a list of organizations and locations that accept prom dress donations in your local area. Let's make someone's prom dreams come true while also making a positive impact on our community.

>>>Where to Donate Prom Dresses Near Me 2024<<<

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Many organizations are stepping up to accept prom dress donations in 2024, including:

1. The Princess Project: This organization collects gently used prom dresses and accessories and distributes them to high school students in need.

2. Becca's Closet: Becca's Closet is a non-profit organization that collects formal dresses and accessories to provide to high school students who cannot afford to purchase their own prom attire.

3. Operation Prom: This organization accepts donations of new and gently used prom dresses, shoes, and accessories and distributes them to high school students in need across the country.

4. Glass Slipper Project: This Chicago-based organization collects donations of new or gently used prom dresses, shoes, and accessories for underprivileged high school students.

5. Fairy Godmothers, Inc.: This non-profit organization collects donations of new and gently used prom dresses, as well as shoes, jewelry, and other accessories for low-income high school students in the Tampa Bay area.

6. The Cinderella Project: The Cinderella Project accepts donations of formal wear for both men and women to provide to high school students in the New Orleans area.

7. Prom Boutique: Based in Milwaukee, this organization accepts donations of formal dresses and provides them at no cost to underprivileged high school students.

8. Soles4Souls: This non-profit organization accepts donations of new and gently used prom dresses and distributes them to students in need around the world.

9. Cinderella's Closet: Cinderella's Closet collects formal wear donations and provides them at no cost to high school students in Central Indiana.

10. Dress for Success: This organization accepts donations of professional attire, including formal dresses, to provide to women in need who are seeking employment or career advancement opportunities.

Please note that this is not an exhaustive list and there may be other local organizations or charities accepting prom dress donations in 2024. It is always best to do some research and reach out to organizations directly to confirm their donation policies and needs.

Prom Dress Giveaway Exchange on Facebook

Facebook has become a vibrant platform for community connections. One of its popular features is the Prom Dress Giveaway Exchange groups. These groups allow individuals to donate, trade, or give away prom dresses to those in need.

Joining these communities is simple and often free. You can search for your local area’s exchange group by using keywords like "Prom Dress Exchange" or "Prom Dress Giveaway" along with your city name. Once you find a group that suits you, simply request to join.

Members post images of their dresses along with descriptions and sizes. Interested parties can comment on posts or send private messages to arrange pickups or exchanges directly with the donor. This fosters a sense of community while ensuring everyone has access to stylish options for prom night.

Moreover, many of these groups encourage sharing stories about past proms and future hopefuls, adding an extra layer of connection among members as they navigate this special occasion together.

Tax deduction for donating my prom dress in 2024

Donating your prom dress in 2024 can offer more than just a good deed; it may also provide tax benefits. Many charitable organizations qualify as IRS-approved, meaning they can issue you a receipt for your donation. This receipt is crucial for claiming deductions on your taxes.

The value of the dress plays a significant role in determining how much you can deduct. Generally, you should assess its fair market value at the time of donation. Consider factors like brand, condition, and original purchase price when estimating this amount.

Keep detailed records of your donation to support any claims made on your tax return. Photos of the dress and notes about where and when you donated it will help establish credibility if needed later.

Always consult with a tax professional or refer to IRS guidelines specific to donations for an accurate understanding of what you might claim. Doing so ensures that you'll maximize your potential deduction while remaining compliant with tax laws.

Impact of Prom Dress Donation

Donating prom dresses creates a ripple effect in communities. It allows young women who might not have the budget to afford formal wear to attend their special events with confidence and style. This is particularly important for those from low-income families.

Additionally, donating these dresses promotes sustainability. Instead of ending up in landfills, gently used gowns can find new life through another girl’s prom experience. This practice reduces waste and encourages a culture of reusing and recycling.

Prom dress donation also fosters community connections. Organizations often host events where girls can choose their dresses, creating a supportive environment filled with excitement and camaraderie. These gatherings build lasting memories beyond just finding the perfect outfit.

Moreover, many organizations use donations to raise funds for various causes, such as scholarships or youth programs. Each dress given has the potential to contribute positively not only to an individual but also to broader community initiatives.

Conclusion

Donating your prom dress is a wonderful way to make a difference in the lives of others. As we've explored, there are plenty of options available for where to donate prom dresses near you in 2024. From local charities and thrift shops to specific organizations dedicated to helping young people attend their own proms, the opportunities are vast.

The types of dresses accepted often range from formal gowns to cocktail attire, making it easy for everyone to contribute. Social media platforms like Facebook have also become hubs for dress exchanges and giveaways, providing another layer of community involvement.

Additionally, don’t forget about potential tax deductions that come with donating your items. This can be an added benefit while supporting those in need—an excellent reason to declutter your closet.

Remember that every dress donated carries the potential to brighten someone’s special day. Your generosity not only helps individuals but also fosters a sense of community spirit as we help each other shine during life's milestones.

FAQs

Where can I donate prom dresses near me in 2024?

Find local organizations and charities in your area that accept prom dress donations, such as high schools, youth centers, or non-profits focused on helping underprivileged teens.

Which organizations are accepting prom dress donations in 2024?

Learn about the top organizations accepting prom dress donations this year, including national charities and local initiatives dedicated to providing prom dresses to those in need.

How do I donate my prom dress in 2024?

Step-by-step guide on how to prepare and donate your prom dress, including where to drop it off, shipping options, and any specific requirements from organizations.

What types of prom dresses are accepted for donation in 2024?

Understand the criteria for donated prom dresses, including the condition, style, and size preferences of different charities.

Can I get a tax deduction for donating my prom dress in 2024?

Information on how to claim a tax deduction for donating your prom dress, including the necessary documentation and valuation process.

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