#hire cab for events

[chetantravel]

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[too-deviant]

mdni 🃏

thinking about luke as your mom’s friend’s son who only comes over when your parents hang out…yk the one….anyway here’s a shitty drabble

being all awkward smiles and painful small talk for the first hour of whatever family event your parents had dragged you to this time.

indulging in more than a few cocktails that your older cousins snuck to each of you from the bar.

(the dodgy bar in the dodgy events building that had been hired out for whatever birthday party/baby shower/bat mitzvah was happening. you didn’t really care all that much, anyway.)

the liquid courage fuelling the conversation, pulling up old memories you had buried and bubbling over the giggles you shared as you drank in the corner.

getting progressively tipsy, sharing secret smirks when your mom passed a comment about how “it was as if you two had never been apart!”

luke’s hand in yours — older, mature, callused; so different from how they used to feel when you were kids, although those memories were fading, being replaced with something much more carnal. something you were less likely to share over a cocktail at a family party.

sneaking away from the crowds — easy enough, everyone was drunk.

cutting through hallways, passing the drunkards who lingered outside of the chaos. they were smoking, arguing on the phone, waiting for a cab, looking for the bathroom. you?

you were being pressed against the wall of an empty stairwell, gasping quietly at luke’s mouth on yours. his hands on your waist, then your back, your arms, the sides of your neck. everywhere he’d been thinking about touching since he knew what touching meant.

and you were the same. fingers under his blazer, dipping into his waistband for a teasing second before returning to the outside world — but he noticed. how could he not? the firm pull of your body against his was response enough, his right hand coming down to hitch your leg around his hip.

your crotches burned with desire, rubbing against each other with every small movement of your bodies. aching for more whenever you paused for just a second because you thought you could hear someone passing the bottom of the stairs a few feet below you. all they would have to do is ascend the first set, and they’d spot you there. but neither of you cared.

luke inching a hand up your dress, dipping his fingers beneath your panties and huffing into your ear when your wetness coated them after one stroke. your own hand, fiddling with his belt and making sure nobody heard the clanging of the buckle as you undid it with fervour, eagerly searching for his cock once you could stick your hand in there to your wrist comfortably.

moaning in each-other’s ears. grinding on each-other’s hands. sucking in deep gulps of air whenever you got too loud, whenever the slurring speech of an uncle you’d never met faded in, and then out of shot.

luke cumming in his underwear, your hips spitting and sputtering against his palm only moments later.

cleaning yourselves up, catching your parents at the bottom of the stairs just as they passed by in search of you. sharing a look.

in the years you’d known him, you’d never exchanged socials. you didn’t need to. you just hoped he would be at the next family function.

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part one.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), slow burn, eventual smut, sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part two. | masterlist

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest singles near your area.”

God, even the automated voice sounds porn-y.

A breathy feminine voice straight out of a 1975 VHS tape croons into the dead air of your small apartment bedroom, setting your nerves on edge.

God forbid the noise travels through the walls into your next-door neighbor's bedroom. Harriet and Miro do not need to hear what you’re up to this Friday evening.

Maybe, up to this Friday evening.

You haven’t decided yet, though one could argue that calling was half the battle.

Dressed head-to-toe in an emerald cocktail dress with a face full of tear-stricken makeup, you feel utterly ridiculous sitting at the foot of your bed — not even the edge of the mattress, but the goddamn floor.

Even your black heels, now scuffed from someone stepping on them on your way out to fetch a cab, remain dangling at your toes.

(As non-committal as your last relationship, ironically enough.)

The experts say don’t shit where you eat. Dating someone you work with typically goes up in flames as fast as a rogue wildfire — and you should have listened to all of the warning signs, but Porco Galliard had been so damn charming that you’d forgotten just about everything.

Including your dignity, apparently, since you seemed to conveniently forget the part where he has had an on-again, off-again relationship with Pieck Finger well before you got hired at this place.

Not exactly side chick behavior, since he technically didn’t cheat, but the sting of being second place before the race even started lingered deep.

(Didn’t you know? He always chooses Pieck. It’s just one of those things.)

Well, no missing that now.

Especially since the two of them were so cozy at the annual shareholder event — right in front of your fucking salad.

The event’s slated to end at eleven so you’ve been nursing a wild array of drinks since seven, with little breaks.

In retrospect, the napkin with scribbled chicken scratch that Annie Leonhart, your closest colleague, shoved into your hand in the midst of your brooding at the bar may have been a joke:

You need to loosen up. Call this stupid sex line and get that stick out of your ass.

She wasn’t kidding. 

Every muscle in your body is too taut, including your brain.

So you took a cab, stumbled into your apartment, and landed — here.

Your phone sits right in front of you next to one of your half-worn heels, on speaker at the lowest setting.

Maybe it’s best to let the pre-recording list the entire numerical menu.

Maybe it’ll deter you from pressing anything at all.

“If you already know your match’s extension, press one.”

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

You tap the napkin carelessly against the stem of your glass of wine, contemplating exactly how Annie Leonhart managed to find the information for this service to begin with.

Did she already have a match?

Did she regularly call them to blow off some steam?

She's always so chill. It would make sense.

There’s a chance this is a nasty prank at your lowest moment, but you don’t think Annie cares enough about other people to plan such a masterful takedown. 

At the work event, she seemed pretty serious about the legitimacy of Scout Services Hotline, and honestly?

Even if you had been drinking all night at the event, you were going to need way more liquid courage to even consider trying your hand at calling a sex line to quell weekend loneliness.

So naturally, you opened a new bottle of wine.

At the first glass of wine, you still weren’t ready.

The second? The napkin sat adjacent to your laptop as you played compilations of sad break-up songs further aggravating your spiraling depression.

The third was the charm to get you to pick up the fucking phone to see what the fuss was all about.

“If you’re looking for someone specific — whether it’s the man, woman, or person of your dreams — press two.”

Tempting.

Your finger reaches out for the ‘2’ on your screen, but you wait it out.

“If you don’t have a preference for your delicious match, press three.”

“You could’ve done without the delicious part,” you mumble to yourself, picking up the glass of wine to take a generous sip. An involuntary grimace tugs at your cheeks.

“If you’re looking to speak with one of our representatives or need more assistance, press four for more options.”

For a solid five minutes you wait.

Contemplating.

Deciding.

You could press the red circle to hang up and go to bed.

It wouldn’t be the first time you rubbed one out and called it a night.

After all, what’s one more lonely weekend?

The spiel starts up again on a loop with the same seductive, breathy feminine voice.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest—”

You smash a button, but you’re not sure which one you’ve clicked.

Before you can lean over to see on your screen, a different feminine voice comes over the speaker.

It’s a little higher pitched than the menu screen voice, but it’s still inviting. Warm.

“Thank you for choosing the Scout Services Hotline. You’re speaking to Petra. May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of the person I’m speaking to this evening?”

A name.

You should give a name that isn’t your real name.

But technically wouldn’t your name be on the credit card if you go through with this anyway?

“You can give a nickname, too, if that makes you feel better,” the woman named Petra adds as if she's a mind reader, breaking the running silence on your end of the line. “A lot of our clients like giving a fake name for security and anonymity.”

“Doesn’t that break once you put in your credit card information?” you blurt, not realizing the thought has spilled on your lips.

Petra laughs musically.

“Technically yes, but if you prefer to be called something, then we’ll be sure to add that to your profile. I take it it's your first time calling.”

Why are you doing this again?

“Painfully obvious, right?” you lament, staring down at the scribble on the napkin. 

Did Annie have a fake name with this service?

“Not painfully at all,” Petra promises. “It’s a learning curve. So what may I call you?”

Real or fake?

Committed or just testing the waters?

“Scarlet?” you suggest, wincing immediately at the on-the-nose literary reference.

Letters, passion, blah blah love — it’s about the only creative thing your wine-addled brain can muster.

“I like Scarlet,” she hums, and immediately your brain is set on fire.

Are you going to be seriously this easy?

“Are you female, male, non-binary, genderfluid, prefer not to say…?”

“Female.”

"Pronouns?"

"Um, she and her."

“And you’re over eighteen?”

“Definitely over eighteen.”

“Perfect. So, Scarlet — did you have a preference on who you wish to speak to today? If you have a fantasy you wish to fulfill, then I can select someone for you.”

You want to scream.

Neurons fire as you try to come up with a cool and collected answer, only to allow the elixir of truth on your tongue to spill the beans.

“Just someone who’s got their shit together, honestly.” You exhale an awkward laugh. “I don’t know. I’m just calling because — I mean, I know you don’t care, but I like… um, deep voices? Stronger voices. Honestly I have no idea what to—”

“I have just the person.”

You pause.

Blink.

But you didn’t even describe anyone, not really.

A voice, maybe, if they cater to kinks of that nature.

You can only imagine they do — it’s a sex hotline, for crying out loud.

“Wait, you do?”

“Mhm!” she perkily states. “Is a man alright for this evening?”

A man with a deep voice who allegedly has his pretend shit together.

Granted it isn’t the opposite of Porco, he’s fairly capable at his job and out living his life just fine, but maybe you were just looking for a copy.

(Or a clue.)

“A man is… fine,” you hesitate. “Wait, so when do I give you my credit card information? My friend hooked me up with this, um — I don’t know if you have her name or if I should even say it, I know there’s probably some confidentiality—”

“Hold that thought,” Petra interrupts cheerfully. “You get the first fifteen-minute session for free, actually — you called just in time before our first-timer coupon expires.”

You can’t hide your surprise.

“Really?”

“Really!”

Ha, your fucking luck.

“If you're enjoying the call, just tell your match and we can set up your card and keep it going. All we ask is that you take a survey after your session. Then you’ll be in our system with this phone number! We’ll never solicit you for calls, but it’ll make the process faster the next time should you call our hotline again.”

You drop your head back on your mattress, sighing heavily.

“...okay, yeah. That sounds great.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“Give me one moment, Scarlet,” Petra giggles.

You hear something shift on her side. 

Maybe she’s swiveling her chair. Are they located in an actual office building?

God, an office where people just do this for a living sounds larger than life.

“I’ll connect you with your match in a moment.”

Then the line cuts out to the opening notes to Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On, and you’re pretty sure you’re this close to chugging the rest of this bottle in one gulp.

“Is this seriously what you do on weekends, Annie?” you mumble to yourself, enduring the brutality of the waiting music while Petra connects you to your alleged match.

A man with a deep voice who has his shit together.

Is that even a real kink?

Has the bar really gotten that low?

Should you have described someone’s appearance? It wasn’t like it mattered over the phone.

As soon as it gets to the high note of the song, the line cuts again — silence.

Immediately you scramble to sit up taller, your hands fumbling to grab the phone from the floor.

You bring it up to your face, cupping the device in both palms to muffle the noise if it becomes downright pornographic in seconds.

Moment of truth.

With bated breath you wait — the person on the other line sighs, heavy and deep, before answering with the most nonchalant tone.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re speaking with Levi. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

Holy fuck.

Immediately you forget your own voice listening to the hum of the receiver.

While you’ve only joked in passing that you have a voice kink, it’s screaming in neon lights here and now: this man’s voice may be monotone, but there is a growl to it. 

A rumbling.

At this very moment, you completely forget that this man is on speaker phone and you’ve just returned home from the worst work event in the world.

You don’t have an ex-boyfriend.

You don’t even know your home address.

You’re simply… existing, lips parted, taking in the sheer tingle rolling through your torso.

“You there?”

Right, you’re meant to talk back.

“Huh? Oh — yes! Yeah,” you recover poorly. “Hi. It’s, um, it’s Scarlet.”

“Mm, Scarlet… Scarlet, Scarlet, Scarlet…”

The way the name drags along his tongue nearly makes your mouth water. 

His voice — Levi — is smooth, like the velvet on your dress you’ve yet to take off.

“A pretty name for a pretty thing like you.” Something ruffles and Levi makes a small noise on the other end, likened to a cut-off hum. “Tell me what you look like, Scarlet.”

All you can do is stare at a chip in your wooden dresser directly across from you, listening to him speak.

“I’m…” 

What do you even say? 

How come you have to say anything at all? 

Can’t he just read a takeout menu to you and call it a night?

Before you can answer, there’s an amused huff. “Someone’s nervous.”

Your face turns — well, a certain shade of scarlet.

“Ha. Sorry, I’ve—”

“Never done this before?” he finishes for you.

How mortifying. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“It’s cute,” he relents, and you feel your face turn a degree hotter. “Don’t worry — I’ve been told I’m a great teacher, so you’re in good hands.”

“You’ll have your work cut out of you, trust me,” you breathe, feeling like you’ve been injected with an overdose of a truth serum. “Because I just got home from this stupid work event. My ex-boyfriend brought his new girlfriend — who also works with us — as his date — yay, me — except I feel like I was the side-piece-in-waiting for them. So he’s off getting laid and I’m calling a complete stranger on a random Friday because my work colleague recommended this phone sex hotline for a quick solution.”

Silence.

You blink twice as dread settles in your cut. You tap the phone off of speaker and push the device close to your ear, balancing it with your shoulder.

Did you scare him away? 

Was that too much of a depressive dump? 

You suddenly want to crawl under your bed frame and hide there forever.

But then — a gentle chuckle sounds from the other end of the line, and arousal shoots straight to your lower belly.

“Good thing all of the dirty talk is my job, then,” he muses. “You’re supposed to lay back and listen.”

“Listen?”

“Yeah, unless you weren’t looking to get bossed around.”

It isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever heard, that’s for sure.

“If I’m honest with you, Levi, I don’t know what I’m looking for,” you confess, running a hand down your face.

“Then let me figure it out for you. We have time.”

The man calling himself Levi pauses on the other end.

“Did you want to get fucked, Scarlet?”

Well, shit, he didn’t have to say it like that.

“Yes,” you blurt without thinking, then fumbling to recover. “I mean— Sorry, clearly I called thinking about sex, and your voice is extremely lovely and actually very hot—”

“Oh, you think so?” Levi interrupts, honey-smooth voice humming with amusement with that same hum that’s going to make you scream.

“Absolutely. Completely. Are you serious?” you sputter. “You’re like an ASMR wet dream.”

“A what?”

“A wet dream?”

“No, the other thing — ASMR?”

“Um, like when people make really niche quiet noises to a microphone with their mouths, and it gives you the tingly sensation in the back of your head.”

“Interesting,” Levi says. “So are you saying that’s what I do to you?”

For the umpteenth time, your brain blanks.

God, you could scream into your pillow.

If you weren’t so afraid you’d forget to mute your microphone first, then you already would be.

“Yes! — I mean, yes, but — wait, can we just pause this for a second?”

For a moment he doesn’t answer, but the tone of his voice shifts: still just as sultry, but with a hint of confusion and a dash of concern. 

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

No, this entire night is weird.

If you don’t say something, then this is going to just keep looping and wasting his time.

“Okay,” you start, mustering the courage to get through your speech, “I know I’m spoiling the first-caller coupon for a free call and I’m sorry, I’ll totally pay for the session since you’re great and sound insanely hot and I’m sure you’re amazing at your job, but I just…” 

You trail off, collecting your swimming thoughts.

“...I’m something like six or seven drinks in, I am craving potato chips, and I’d really like to just talk to someone for a few minutes.”

There.

It’s out in the open, your confession to the liminal altar.

You half-expect him to hang up rather than wasting his time with someone like you, but to your surprise, there is no click. No call ended. No new automated message.

“Six or seven is a lot,” he comments, and you can picture a brow furrow even if he doesn’t have a face. “Does this mean you handle your liquor, or is this a one-off rager?”

“I think I’m only still functioning because I ate my weight in dinner rolls at the party.”

“Do you have a glass or bottle of water near you?”

The switch up lessens the tension in your shoulder blades in an instant.

His voice is just as crooning, deep and inviting, but it’s nice to simply be asked.

“Nope.”

His voice sharply changes, authoritative and firm. “Then go get one.”

The demand does something to you. 

Without thinking twice you begin to rock up on your heels, standing at full height.

“Okay, Mr. Bossy.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks with a sprinkle of sarcasm. “Someone who has their shit together, if I read the notes right.”

“They write that stuff down?” you ask genuinely, minding your step as you pad barefoot across your apartment to your fridge.

“It’s your session,” he reminds softly. “We do whatever it is you want to do.”

“Even if it’s just to talk?”

“You’d be amazed at how many people call just to talk. Though I can’t say it’s my specialty.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not much of a small talker.”

The refrigerator door swings wide. “What’s your specialty, then?”

“Kink play, mostly. Dom and Sub. Guided masturbation. Edging. Making decisions for people who want to forget about making them for a while.”

One second the bottle of water is in your hand.

Next it’s on the floor.

“That’s, uh… a wide array of specialties,” you say. “And your rate, it’s…?”

“Not cheap.”

“Got it. So I’m really flubbing this free call.”

It’s small, but you hear a chuckle on the other end. “You said you wanted to talk, Scarlet, so we’re talking.”

Bending to grab your water bottle, you untwist the cap.

“Does this bother you, wasting your time talking?”

“You’re not wasting my time, Scarlet,” he says with such a promise that you almost believe it’s genuine. “You have a pretty voice, and you’re funny.”

“Shut up.”

“You do, and you are.”

“Uh-huh. And do you talk to a lot of people during your shifts?”

“That’s confidential.”

“So a lot.”

“Confidential.”

“And the length of calls,” you test, “are they hypothetically confidential, too?”

“It’s per minute, so.”

“Per minute?” you gawk. “Jesus, I’d go bankrupt talking to you.”

“Well, premium members receive bills per half hour,” he explains. “More bang for your buck.”

“Quite literally," you mumble. "And what’s a premium subscription get you?”

“Didn’t you check out the website before calling?”

“I told you I stumbled out of my cab and called the number on my napkin, Levi,” you chide. “I didn’t exactly do my research in my sexually frustrated state.”

“Fair, can’t blame you there.”

There’s something of a grunt on the other end, like he’s stretching his arms over his head.

Maybe he’s sitting in an office chair, too, going through the motions of his profession the same way the Petra lady had been.

You keep wanting to imagine what he’s doing on the other line, but you realize you haven’t asked the titular question yet.

“Hey, Levi?”

“Yeah, baby?”

It’s breathy, a roll of thunder in his tongue.

Instead of an office chair, you imagine a man lying on his bed.

Maybe his tie is half-done, hanging loosely around his neck.

Button-down open, exposing the planes of his chest; dress trousers unbuttoned and loose around his hips, so he can easily slide a hand—

Whoa.

You stop walking back to your bedroom and blink twice. “Oh, so you like pet names.”

Your face, in miraculous humiliation, grows another degree hotter at how amused he sounds with himself. “I never said that.”

“Sure,” Levi replies with a smirk to the concession. “What is it, Scarlet?”

(Maybe you’ll permanently change your name to Scarlet after tonight if it sounds this good on a man’s lips.)

You finally unzip the side of your dress and wiggle out, before finding a cozy spot in the middle of your mattress.

“How much time do I have left on this freebie?”

“Approximately three minutes.”

Time flies when you’re too busy gawking over someone’s voice, apparently.

“Can I ask what you look like?” you finally decide, playing along.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask,” Levi responds, returning to that same seductive tone he’d used when he first picked up the line. “Black hair, guess it’s a little shaggier than usual. Undercut.”

You squint to your ceiling. “I’m thinking of Dimitri from Anastasia right now but with black hair.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“You’ve seriously never seen Anastasia?”

“It’s a movie?”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry for your childhood.”

“It’s an animated movie?” he scoffs. “Even worse.”

“You wound me,” you joke, pressing a hand over the cup of your beige bra. “What color are your eyes?”

“A gray-ish blue,” he tells you. “Sharp nose. High cheekbones. I’m a daily gym go-er, so I’m mostly lean muscle. I can probably pick you up, easily.”

So a fit man with an undercut hairstyle with gray-blue eyes and a relatively sharp face. 

Now you have a face to the image of a man lying on his bed, still in that button-down shirt and dress trousers.

His happy trail is probably dark, too, disappearing just under the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Or boxers?

Maybe nothing.

Your hand moves on its own accord to the waistband of your panties, toying with the fabric.

Contemplating.

Wondering if it’s wrong — when it really shouldn’t be wrong at all.

“You sound handsome,” you murmur. “I wouldn’t mind being picked up.”

“Wouldn’t be the only thing I’d do to you,” he flippantly states, and your brain blanks to pure putty. “You sound a little more winded than before. Doing alright over there, party animal?”

“It’s late,” you lie even when you damn well know you don’t have to lie. “Lots of drinking, first water of the night, lying down…”

“Better make it two waters before you fall asleep,” Levi states. “That’s an order, Scarlet.”

“Uh-huh.”

Your hand dips under your underwear, testing the waters.

But—

“Final sixty seconds,” he adds. “Any last words you want to get in before the line disconnects?”

“Only one minute left?” you protest, ripping your hand out of your underwear to pull the phone away from your ear.

14:02

So it really had been a fifteen-minute call.

God damnit.

Tapping the speaker icon once more, you stare at your phone and press your tongue against the inside of your cheek.

“What’s your extension?”

Because you have to know.

Even if you don’t call again, it’s a comfort to have it on hand.

Levi waits a moment before responding.

“Two-five-one-two.”

2512.

You swipe away from the call to quickly pull up your notes app, tapping the number down with a noted reminder: the guy with the hot voice!

“Are you going to call me again, Scarlet?”

You open your mouth, but you struggle with an answer.

(You only have a few seconds! Think, idiot, think!)

“I’m not sure if—”

Click.

“Hello? Levi?”

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. Please stay on the line for a quick two-minute survey so we can better serve your fantasies in the future.”

Out of time.

You drop your phone to your stomach and groan.

Instead of calling back, you close your eyes — and, not before long, fall asleep to a dream of only one voice.

.

.

— —

.

.

    Saturday is a wash.

You wake late, missing an invitation to brunch.

For the better half of the day, you wonder about him.

Levi.

Your arbitrary match that doesn't feel so arbitrary anymore.

(It's placebo effect, you tell yourself. They're supposed to make you feel wanted.)

Punishing yourself for your excessive liquor and stupid plans, you trudge to your local gym and do your best to stay focused on your workout.

Every nameless person with dark hair that walks past you on the sidewalk from your apartment; anyone could be him.

The man waiting in line at the coffee shop.

The man who accidentally walked into you while you were switching the song on your playlist at the crosswalk.

The man weight training in the corner of the room, fringe cascading down his face as he drips sweat.

You keep the napkin in your gym bag, then transfer it to your purse as you run errands.

You could call.

It isn’t like you’re strapped for cash at the moment.

Granted it’s very wish fulfillment and it isn’t like he’s actually into you, but the attention is nice.

Besides — you haven’t thought of your ex once since you woke up.

Annie texts you twice within ten minutes of each message, which is unheard for her.

 [A. LEONHART]: So? Did you call?

[A. LEONHART]: Hello, earth to moron. At least like my message to tell me you’re alive. I’m not being interviewed by Dateline for you.

(Ah, there she is. Classic Annie.)

 [YOU]: Yeah, I called. Not sure if it’s my thing.

[A. LEONHART]: Sometimes they match you with a dud. 2nd time’s the charm ;)

[YOU]: Do you ever use someone’s extension?

[A. LEONHART]: Duh. I’m a regular of one guy.

Okay, so she talks to a guy. Something grips your stomach as you type your reply.

 [YOU]: Can I ask his name?

[A. LEONHART]: Why, so we don’t eiffel tower this?

[YOU]: jfc annie

[A. LEONHART]: lmao his name is Bert

    So not Levi.

For some odd reason, you breathe a sigh of relief as you close out of your messages.

Maybe you're one of a million, but at least you're not sharing with Annie.

Once you return home from your errands, it's close to dinnertime.

You cook something simple for yourself, occasionally glancing over at your purse like you can x-ray vision through the fabric to see the napkin.

Then again, it isn’t like you actually need the napkin.

The number is already in your phone.

Pulling out your device, you set it on the kitchen counter and draw a slow, calculative inhale.

One more call can’t hurt.

Levi may not even be working.

Hell, he could be talking to someone else. 

A regular.

Several regulars.

For over five minutes you stare down at your most recent calls list, willing yourself to just get brave for one second to press the button.

(It isn’t like Porco’s going to call you.)

The soured thought propels your hand without thinking, fingertip pressing the green phone icon faster than you can think. 

You brace for the ringtone, fists balled tight on the cool kitchen surface.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest singles near your area. If you already know your match’s extension, press one.”

You continue staring.

Are you really doing this?

It isn’t like it means anything, which is exactly what you need with the upcoming work week.

A distraction.

A very expensive distraction, but hey — you’ll avoid takeout for a few weeks.

How bad can it get?

“If you’re looking for someone specific —”

You press one.

.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading part one of my zany little 'Sleepless in Seattle' modern au! This has been a bluesky idea for a while now, and I needed a little reprieve from my other angsty Levi longfic silver underground, so I hope you enjoyed the ride.

There will be actual smut in part two, but as a Reader!Writer I had the thought of 'would I be suave enough to do the first phone call flawlessly or totally waste my free coupon'? and this chapter was born, lol. I promise this is not Porco slander.

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this new series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

[alchemistc]

Oh, those prompts are so good! If you’re inspired, either 21. listening to someone’s heartbeat or 23. wearing someone’s clothes for Buck/Tommy? Thank you!

He's so fucking tired, is the thing. He's tired, and he's cranky, and this shift had taken ages to end, so when he sees the slash of bright bright blue bleeding out of his duffle and knows immediately what it is, something soft and achy blooms in his chest, and he ignores the subtle eyebrow from Lucy when he pulls it out.

The problem is she's seen Evan in this sweatshirt, less than a week ago when he'd dragged everyone out to trivia, when they'd all been well rested and happy to pepper Evan with stories about Tommy and the more sedate hijinks that Harbor station gets up to. Tommy ignores her look and shrugs it over his shoulders, dragging his head through the neck hole and not minding too much when the hood goes crooked, half stuck in his hair as he gets a wash of pleasant smells - Evan's aftershave, the detergent he uses, a hint of musk, Christ, he'd tucked it in to Tommy's bag unwashed like he knew exactly how much Tommy would want that.

Tommy does his level best not to look like he's huffing glue as he adjusts the hood around the back of his neck.

Donato bites her lip. Sighs, heavily. "Did you steal that, or are you guys in the part of the courting ritual where you do this exhausting shit on purpose just to point out how single the rest of us are?"

Tommy sends a half-hearted glare her way, gets another whiff of aftershave and tries his absolute hardest not to sigh like a lovelorn idiot. He's maybe half successful.

"You are choosing to be single. You have a great guy who'd absolutely love to lock you down, Donato." Tommy stuffs his hands into the front pocket and cocks a hip, and Donato frowns.

"He likes me too much. Don't trust it."

His huff of laughter cuts through the quiet of the locker room. "Hate to break it to you, Luce, but you kinda gotta open yourself up to the possibility of someone enjoying your company, if you want a glimpse at annoying, exhausting, stupid relationship shit."

"I'm trying to mock you, not get relationship advice from your domestically blissed ass."

It's not the first time someone has pointed out Tommy's supposed blissful status, but his body and his mind are so fucking tired and there are apparently, if Evan's last text is to be believed, a couple good cuts of steak seasoned and waiting for Tommy to fire up the grill at home. Which means there is also a man waiting for him there, too, a man with seemingly limitless energy and pockets of technically useless information, a man with silver-cast blue eyes and a birthmark over his brow that Tommy wants to bite every time he catches a glimpse of it out of the corner or his eye, a man he'd given his spare key months too soon just because he liked the idea of coming home to him, liked the idea of him creeping in while Tommy was passed out across his bed or shifting tools around in his garage or -

"Ugh. Gross. I'm leaving, now, tell Buck I said hi."

Tommy isn't actually sure he's going to do that, because he's just realized something that takes precedent, and no offense to Lucy, but she's already wormed her way into one of Evan's defining relationship moments and he's not giving her this one.

He waves her off and shoots Evan a text to let him know he's on his way.

Going home right away doesn't feel right, actually, now that he's thinking about it. He should get flowers, or - maybe learn a foreign language. How much Spanish have Christopher and Eddie taught Evan? Does Jee have some event he could crash?

(Tommy would like to point out that while he hasn't quite said it in words, he's not exactly upset about the way he and Evan are maybe a little batshit insane about each other. If Evan doesn't have any complaints, he's not going to put a damper on it, either.)

The drive home gives him enough time to talk himself down from hiring a skywriter, his cab awash in the scent of the armor-all Evan had spilled in it last week when he got distracted from 'helping' Tommy clean, the hints of scent from the hoodie that's maybe a little tight around the shoulders but still a perfect fit. For him. For Tommy.

Fuck. He should at least get the flowers.

Tommy makes himself keep driving. He's delirious with exhaustion, actually, that's why he keeps overthinking this, there's a steak dinner and a beautiful man waiting for him at home and Evan had probably gotten flowers at the market anyway. Because he does that, constantly, to the point that Tommy had run out of vases to keep them all in.

Tommy sits in the cab once he pulls in and tries hard not to romanticize the idea of Evan's Jeep looking right at home in the spot next to his.

Evan greets him at the door with a wide grin, a spoon in one hand, the other held under it to keep from spilling. "Taste," he says as a greeting, and Tommy opens his mouth more for the pleasure of seeing Evan's eyes light than any expectation for what's being put there.

Cucumber, vinegar, dill - he moans around the mouthful and barely chews before he swallows, suddenly intent to get his mouth on Evan's mouth. His duffle lands in the entryway with a thunk and he gets two hands into the hem of Evan's shirt, intent on tugging him in. "Hi," he says, and swallows whatever greeting Evan tries to return.

When they come up for air Tommy's pulse is racing, Evan is breathing heavily, and he's pretty sure there is a spoon tucked into his back pocket, left there when Evan slung his arm back to get a handful of Tommy's ass.

"Hi," he says, finally, eyes lingering on the neckline of the jacket he'd snuck into Tommy's bag.

The significance of the moment finally catches up to Tommy - the memory something Tommy sometimes falls back on when he gets too in his head about where this is going - stumbling through the emergency room doors with the leers of exhausted firefighters echoing in his ears, Evan a vision in blue (this blue) barely letting him get an apology out before trying to eat his face off in front of three amused nurses.

"Hey," Tommy says, feeling the day just slough off of him. His left hand has tucked itself neatly between Evan's impressive pectorals, and he contemplates, for a moment, just saying fuck it to the steaks and shoving him back until he can press Evan to his sheets, blanket himself atop him, press his cheek there instead of his hand and listen to the steady beat.

Evan blinks back at him, his eyes doing something unbearably sweet, and Tommy has to tell him, he really, absolutely does, only -

"I'm in love with you," Evan says, laughing a little breathlessly once the words are out, hands pressing in at Tommy's waist, a sort of wondrous expression leaking in around his smile lines.

Tommy should maybe feel like the wind has been ripped from his sails, but the fever-pitch beat of his heart won't let him.

"Y-you don't have to, like, say it back. I just. God I like you so much but I'm also - I love you," he repeats, or amends, or - there's something settled, in his expression, like just saying it was enough, like he doesn't expect Tommy to feel the same.

Tommy waits a beat. Slides the hand on his chest up over the rasp of his end-of-day stubble, thumbing the crook of his chin, fingers dancing over his cheekbone. "Evan," he says, sounding a little breathless, which should be embarrassing but Tommy doesn't care, and Evan's gaze catches and holds as he waits for whatever Tommy has to say next

[yoitsjay]

Dad or Daddy

Pairings: Ghost x gn!reader

Summary: laswell bragged about how great of a babysitter you were. So Ghost just had to find out for himself.

Warnings: sexual innuendo, but no action. Cliffhanger

Word count: 1,639

Render credit: @ave661

You had gained a reputation originally by being a very good babysitter for laswell and her wifes adopted baby, you were a trusted friend of Kate's wife, hence the immediate job, and then Kate started to brag about how you were the only one who seemed to put her baby to a dead sleep, your voice and the warmth that radiated off of you was alluring, and it soothed a lot of people, babies included.

One day you were relaxing at home, you already had a plan to make your way to a local bar that night and had told kate and her wife all about it and that it was a new bar and grill that some other friends of yours had been raving about. Little did you know she would be giving a certain someone your location, and you would end up having a very eventful night.

So when that evening drew in, and you were dressed and ready in a cute ish outfit you put together to perhaps attract some attention to yourself. Maybe you would get lucky… Can't help but dream really. Regardless, you take a cab to the bar, planning on having a few drinks. It doesn't take long to get to the bar either since the location wasn't far from your home, however you did not want to walk home drunk, since something could happen and you wouldn't be in the right mind to defend yourself.

Upon entering the bar and grill, the strong aroma of savory food and alcohol fills your nose, however the smell is anything but repulsive. There's a small dance floor placed in front of a DJ booth on the right side of the room, directly in front of you is the large bar with a huge shelf filled with bottles of different alcohols and mixers. and on the left side of the room are booths and tables to seat at if you're there to grab dinner with a friend, family or other. You were hungry, but since you were alone you just walked straight up to the bar.

You order one drink and a water to start, switching from alcohol and then to water, just to make the night last a little bit longer, you had no plans till monday and it was saturday. After the two drinks you ordered a couple appetizers, munching on some potato wedges when you suddenly feel a tap on your shoulder, it was light, but you could feel warmth from the hand that poked you, and you turned your head, resting a hand atop your full waterglass, just in case. "Hi?" You asked out in a questioning tone.

The man who had tapped you was tall, and muscular and he was wearing a black hoodie and jeans, however the most unusual thing was that he was wearing a skull ski mask that obscured his face. "Are you Y/N?" he asked, and you raised an eyebrow before speaking. "I am, who are you?" You asked him, and the man sits down beside you on the free bar stool to your right. "Im Ghost- Laswell told me a lot about you, you're a close friend according to her? and I hear that you're one damn good babysitter." He explained, and your previous defense dropped when he mentioned Kate and being a good babysitter.

Upon hearing that a soft chuckle escapes your lips and you nod. "Yeah thats right… you must be the silent killer from the 141 if i remember correct. she doesnt talk a lot about her work around me, but i do know that The Ghost is one mysterious guy… so how can i help you?" You asked, and watched as the large man rubbed his knee slightly. "Well- i have a 5 month old daughter, and i can never find a decent babysitter during the months im on deployment, i dont get a lot of breaks so its hard to see her, and her mom isnt in the picture." he explained, and you nod to show him that you were following along.

He continued a moment later. "All the other sitters i've hired have flaked after a month, or less than that, and well, Laswell says she is going to be home a lot more often which means you'll probably need work… What im asking is if you'd like to babysit for me? you would stay in my house, semi-permanently unless im home for breaks and whatnot, you'll be paid 100 per hour and all of your grocery expenses will be payed for too, and of course you can use any streaming service, my room- all of it. i just really need a reliable babysitter who doesn't flake out on me."He explained, somewhat breathless at the end of his request. You stare at him for a few moments, a smile slowly growing across your lips.

"Take me out to a nice dinner, and I'll be your permanent babysitter for 75 an hour." You stated, extending his hand out to him to shake. You didn't know if he was smiling or not, but the crease by his eyes told you that he was relieved, and just like that you shook hands and the deal was made. The dinner happened the next weekend, but Ghost took you to one of your favorite restaurants in town which just so happened to be your favorite as well. You talked and got to know him a bit, his interests and what life was like in the special forces. You couldn't help but admit to yourself that even with the mask you could tell this man was attractive, with the way he spoke and carried himself, he knew he was good looking too.

On monday he introduced you to his five month old, and she was an absolute sweetheart of a baby. He had a few more weeks left of his break so in that time he got you used to his apartment. It was a two bedroom, one bath apartment, a perfect size for him and his kid, and maybe a lover if he chose to have one. The apartment was simple though, one plant in the living room that was withering away, most likely a house present. And for the most part the apartment was clean, save for some scattered kids toys on the ground.

And in a blink the weeks had passed and You were back at simons apartment, this time with a suitcase full of clothes, and he was getting ready to leave, you said your goodbyes and off he went, and you stayed, living in his apartment for months. you took young charlotte everywhere with you too, back to your apartment on some occasions to clean up some dust, your friend was house sitting for you so it did not get too bad.

You and Ghost face timed every night so he could talk to his daughter, though of course she couldn't talk back, but she knew that the man in the skull mask was her father and she was filled with glee whenever she got to see him through the screen. On top of that you started having your own little chats with ghosts after Charlotte was put to bed. At first it started with little flirty messages, and then heart emojis or kissy faces, and Ghost wasn't shy with his responses with flirty remarks, though he didn't use emojis yet. You weren't a rookie so he didn't have to be professional with you it seemed.

One night seemed to be a gamechanger for you and him however, you had once again put Charlotte to bed and she was out like a light, no sound could wake her. You had a drink or two, and decided to get out of your uncomfortable clothes, making his way into his bed where you had made your home after the first three months of staying in his home, and still as naked as the day you were born you took one of the blankets off Ghosts bed, posing in front of the body length mirror in his bedroom, and with the blanket hanging from your lower torso, hiding the important its, you posed and took a scandalous picture of yourself, with a sultry expression on your face.

Immediately you hopped into his bed, and sent it to him, a grin spread across your lips as you sent him the picture without a word before or after. You shut your phone off, not wanting to see him type out a response to take a picture. However you were growing concerned when more than five minutes passed without a response, so you checked yours and Ghosts chat, seeing that he had read it.

Just as you checked the chat, you saw him begin to type out a response, and your face grew red in anticipation, and his reply finally appeared.

"You've been teasing me for months darlin' and now this? Buckle up sweetheart because when I get home you're not leaving my bed for weeks."

His response had your eyes blown wide open, and you could feel yourself get aroused at the thought of him doing.. everything to you. You quickly messaged him back however. wanting to tease him just a bit more.

"Oh shit- That picture wasn't meant for you ghost, it was for another cute guy- don't take things the wrong way, i'm just your babysitter,"

You sent that reply quickly, and immediately he was typing again, only sending you a red angry face.

"I'm taking the next plane back home. you and i will be having a long… chat… when i get back. cuz i know damn well you ain't talking to nobody but me."

And that's when you knew that you were smitten with your little kids dad, absolutely smitten.

[wandussyfantasy]

Free Use (WandaNat)

Summary: After the events of Feeling Twenty-Two, Wanda invites you to stay with her and Natasha as long as you please. With the condition that they can have you whenever they want.

Word Count: 2.1k

WARNINGS:

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!!

bottom fem reader, g!p Wanda, g!p Nat, oral, threesome, legal age gap, praising, degrading, creampie, and freeuse

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

“I just don't understand why you won't tell us where you're moving to?” Kate gripes as she moves a box of your things into the moving truck. Wanda was happy to pay for it and even offered to hire movers but you didn't want to explain something you couldn't afford to your friends. After your trip to your home town, you returned to start a new semester at school. But you couldn't stop thinking about the women who made your twenty second birthday the most memorable birthday ever. They even took care of you the next morning and you never wanted to leave but you told them you had a flight a couple days from then that you couldn't miss. They understood and Wanda made you an offer that she allowed you to think about. She didn't want an immediate answer. She wanted you to think about it.

Which you did, every moment of every day. It was an unusual offer. But it was also a very beneficial one. It took her until the end of her summer break to feel confident in an answer. She had gone on several bad dates within that time and no one caught her eye enough to have a one night stand with. But she had plenty of nights by herself, masterbating to the memories of that night. 

“Kate, will you please drop it? I’ll come visit when I can. Besides, we have a few classes together. It's not the end of the world,” you say to comfort your friend. When you finally called Wanda and agreed, she invited you to her office. She is a lawyer, so she had a few legal documents of the arrangement drawn up. There is a discretion clause, meaning that you couldn't just parade around that you agreed to be a sex object for the couple. She said that you are allowed to have outside relationships and even have friends over at the house. But until you could figure out a way to explain your situation without explaining it, you didn't want your friends and family to know anything.

“Alright, I guess I can't say anything to make you stay,” Kate throws her hands up in defeat. “Just know, it's your fault if I end up in prison.”

You laugh at the thought of her blaming you for her actions. “How would that be my fault?”

Kate shrugs, “You keep me from doing stupid stuff. Now I can do all of the stupid stuff I want.”

You shake your head, “I’m sure your new girlfriend will supervise you.”

“Yelena will be in the cell with me, excuse you,” she pretends to be offended. 

The two of you share a laugh. You look around to see that everything you own is inside of the moving truck. “I’ll see you in class next week,” you pull your now former roommate into a tight hug. 

“I’m not going to see you for a whole week!” she is upset by the idea, but you couldn't promise any sooner. Not when it's your first week on the job. 

Live-in Nanny, is your official title. They don't have kids or even pets for that matter. But it looks good on paper for when you have to get a job after graduation and employers won't ask too many questions. “You’ll be fine without me for a week,” you say as you shut and lock the truck. 

You pull Kate into a quick hug before getting into the cab of the vehicle. You are anxious to get to Wanda and Natasha’s. Wanda had messaged you that they have a special welcome home celebration planned. You wanted to be there several hours ago. 

Arriving at the mansion again, your pussy gets wet at the first memories made here. The night of fucking and the morning of aftercare. Oh how excited you are to be back here. Once you park the vehicle, a moving team is ready to unpack the truck. You climb out and look at Wanda and Natasha with confusion written all over your face. “As excited as we are for you to move in, we aren’t going to waste time with that,” Natasha explains. 

“It’s not a waste of time,” Wanda corrects her wife. “We would have been happy to help you move in,” Wanda guides you into the house with an arm around you. “We just thought it was to preserve our energy for… other things.” You shift as you think about what the energy will be spent. 

“The little whore wants to ride our dicks while the movers work,” Natasha says to her wife in a low tone. Wanda shakes her head.

“Well, she will have to wait. I made a special dinner.” Wanda surprises you with a kiss on your neck. “But don't worry, babe, we'll have fun as soon as your stuff is moved in and the audience is gone,” she promises. 

“Of course, uh, what are we having?” Walking into the dining room, your question is answered without either having to say a word. Displayed among an extravagant dining table is a full spread of delicious looking food. “You really didn't have to,” you say to Wanda. 

“We know,” Natasha says as she pulls a chair out for herself. “But that's what makes Wanda so amazing,” she blows a kiss to her wife. She blushes and you love the way the couple interacts with each other. Wanda informed you that they've been together for close to eleven years but only married for four years. You asked her why they wanted to include you if they were happy with each other. Wanda told you that they have always wanted to have a more polyamorous relationship. But never could find someone that worked for both of them. Sure, there were people that were okay with being with a married person. But there weren't many that were okay with being with both Wanda and Natasha. You are the first. 

The meal is fun and easy. You were worried that although there is a great sexual chemistry, there might not be any other connection. But, those fears fade as the three of you engage in conversation for hours without an awkward silence. The food was amazing and you made sure to compliment Wanda. She flushed and asked you to stop raving, “You can thank me later,” she continued suggestively.

“I most definitely will,” you say as you imagine what you're going to do with her once you can. 

The three of you move to the living area to watch a movie. They insist that you sit in the middle and snuggle up to you shortly after the film starts. Halfway through the movie, the manager of the moving crew informs you all that they are finished. Wanda gets up to pay the man and his team. She leads him away and once the front door shuts, Natasha nudges you onto her lap. You comply out of curiosity and feel her erection at your entrance. She tries to pull down your yoga pants but finds it difficult to do so. Annoyed, Natasha rips the pants open so that your ass and pussy are exposed. She roughly massages your ass as you continue to watch the movie while getting increasingly aroused. 

Then, Natasha unzips her jeans and pulls herself out. She rubs her cock along your entrance, getting it covered in your juices. “Of course, you're ready for me,” she slips inside and you let out a low moan. Natasha bounces you on her cock. “Oh I hate this part of the movie,” she says. 

“Yeah, it's, it's, it's not my favorite,” you respond. When Wanda returns, she has a bowl of popcorn and she sits comfortably next to you and Natasha. You get turned on even more as they go about things as normal while Natasha is fucking you. When you had signed the contract and agreed to the FreeUse clause, you had no idea just how much you were going to enjoy it. 

Natasha cums inside of you and plops you back onto the sofa. She tucks her softening cock away and they pick the next movie. Wanda takes your hand and places it over her bulge. You hungrily release her penis from the tightening pants and put it in your mouth. You love the taste of her cock, especially her cum which you are working hard to earn. Already on your first day, you have cum dripping from your pussy and cum in your mouth. You are going to love it here.

A few weeks later, you are laying on your bed as you study for an exam when Wanda enters the room. Her cock is standing out of her pants and she climbs onto the bed, hovering over your body from behind. She enters you without warning and you gasp. “Hey Wanda,” you greet as she slowly humps into you. 

“Hey darling,” she kisses your neck. “What are you working on?” 

“I have an exam at the end of the week, just getting some studying out of the way,” you say. Wanda reaches around your body to play with your clitoris, causing you to clench around her thick cock. 

“That’s great, I love how studious you are.” Wanda praises. “You’re going to make a great business woman one day.”

“Thank you, baby. That means a lot coming from you. Oooh,” Wanda picks up her pace a little bit and you start to lose focus on your notes. She rubs your clit harder and harder until your body is spasming around her cock, milking her cum out of her. 

Wanda doesn't leave before eating out the mess from your pussy, giving you another organism. She kisses you and wishes you luck with your studying. You thank her and she is gone. 

A couple days later, you are making breakfast when Natasha walks in with her morning wood. “Wanda already left for work,” she says as she roughly enters you. She doesn't have a lot of time so she pounds into you until she is ready to cum. She pulls out and shoots her sperm on your back. “That looks good, have a plate ready for me when I come back down, please.” 

“Of course,” you say as you finish making the meal. 

One day, you arrive home after class to find Wanda and Natasha fucking on the kitchen table. You drop your things to join them. Gravitating to Wanda’s cock to suck on her as Natasha rams her cock into the woman's pussy. “Welcome home,” Wanda says through gasps. “How was your day?”

You pop her cock out of your mouth to answer. “It was good, I'm happy to be home though.” You take her cock back into your mouth and Wanda's head falls back at the over stimulation of her cock and pussy at the same time. When she is cumming, Natasha swiftly pulls out of her and pulls you off of Wanda by your hair and shoves her cock into your mouth. Wanda's cum continues to shoot out, making a mess on her stomach and table. Natasha fucks your face ruthlessly until she is releasing her orgasm in your mouth. 

“We’re so happy to have you back,” Natasha says through her grunts. She pulls out of your mouth breathlessly and looks at her dirty wife. “Clean her up,” she orders you as she walks away. 

Dutifully, you nod and start to lick up all of Wanda’s cum. “Thank you, baby,” she says as she lazily strokes your hair. You kiss her belly once it's only glistening with your saliva. She looks so beautiful and delicious splayed out naked on the table. You can't help kissing the rest of the way down to have your tongue in her sensitive pussy. “Ohhh,” Wanda says as you lick her just the way she likes. “I’m so happy you agreed to love us,” she says. 

“Not as happy as I am,” you reply sweetly. “Besides, it's easy loving the two of you.” 

Your words make Wanda emotional and she sits up on the table, requesting that you stand up. She pulls you into a deep kiss as she wraps her legs around your middle and her arms around your shoulders. “Please don't leave us.” 

“Never,” you promise, because you have no plans on ever doing so. 

“Nat and I have been wondering,” she starts a little nervously. Suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “Would you start sleeping in our bedroom, with us?”

You grin, feeling giddy as the relationship progresses, “Of course!” 

Wanda mirrors your expression. “I’m glad because,” she pulls your ear close to her lips, “I want to wake up with your tongue inside of me,” you get wet at the idea of how much more access the three of you will have to each other now. You never thought when you agreed to go home with her almost a year ago that this would be your life. But you are so grateful that it is.

[retrievablememories]

lady cab driver | seulgi (m)

pairing: chauffeur!seulgi x celebrity!fem!reader genre: smut, pwp word count: 2.1k warnings: car sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, slight power play? (employee-boss dynamic) a/n: don’t let me listen to prince songs past 12 a.m. or this is what happens. also, hurray for the first (completed) gay fic on this blog despite my years of posting...how embarrazzing. this was fun to write

sequel to this fic is here!

---

you don’t know how you’ve currently found yourself crawling between the legs of your attractive new chauffeur in the backseat of a limousine, both your clothes disheveled and hair already out of place.

or maybe you do know. all of her flirting and subtle moves over the past few months have paid off, surely, for the both of you. the way she smirks at you now as you peel up the hem of the pencil skirt that fits her so perfectly, exposing her underwear, says it all.

her chauffeur's hat has long slipped off, landing somewhere on the floor for the both of you to forget until your tryst is over. the first few buttons of her blouse are loose and bare the cleavage underneath. her blazer still hangs off one arm, forgotten in the middle of your earlier make-out. you had thought of the whole chauffeur getup as a bit silly and on-the-nose when you first hired seulgi. your past drivers hadn’t bothered with the formality of a uniform, instead wearing whatever business casual clothes they desired. but, seulgi seemed to know what effect this uniform had on women—including you—if the glowing praises from the other stars she’d driven around said anything, and so it stayed.

 it all began about a half-hour earlier, with a fairly simple statement.

“if you’re often lonely, i’m more than happy to provide you with any company you desire,” seulgi says. you stare at the back of the headrest as if that will make her see you, and when it doesn’t, you look right into the rearview mirror, but she keeps her eyes on the road. convenient for your safety, but annoying in every other way.

“do you think i’m lonely?” you ask, unsure whether you should feel offended. you’d made an off-hand comment about your frustration of not knowing who to take as a plus-one to an upcoming event, but you didn’t think it would inspire this reply. plus, you’re pretty sure this statement couldn’t be considered professional—though you could guess many of your past interactions with seulgi weren’t exactly professional either, with the barely-veiled flirting.

“you seem lonely, if you’ll forgive me for mentioning. i’ve noticed there are always other people accompanying you on your rides, but you don’t seem very moved or engaged by them.”

you sit back further against the cushy seat, like it could envelop you and shield you from view if you simply tried hard enough. “i don’t know.” you shrug. “i don’t care. i just don’t like being bothered much. i interact with people daily because i have to. nothing else to it.” seulgi hums and nods to your answer, apparently not going to push her assertion—which is fine with you. you are relieved to have quickly shut down that line of conversation because you aren’t in the mood to be psychoanalyzed today, but something inside of you is still curious. “but what kind of company are you offering, anyway, that would be different from theirs?”

“any kind you’d like. the way we’re talking right now and have been doing for months now, if that’s all you need. or anything else.” her eyes flick to the rearview mirror to look at you when she says or anything else. it’s a quick glance, but you see the rise of her cheeks as she smiles subtly, and you suddenly feel exposed.

you let a stretch of silence settle in the air between you after she says that, wondering if you want to go there—if you want to change things in this way between the two of you. a moment of cold apprehension creeps into your chest when you wonder if maybe you’re misinterpreting her meaning, but there have just been too many signs to say otherwise. the gentle way she holds your hand when she helps you out of the car, how her palm settles on your lower back to steady you when you’re balancing in those wretched high heels, the knowing glance she gives when she catches you watching her adjust her hat or the collar of her blouse in the limo’s mirrors.

“anything…else?”

“you’re the boss here, aren’t you? i merely do what you ask of me,” seulgi replies, her voice low, the words delivered emphatically.

that simple statement makes you throb, your crossed legs tensing. the promise of seulgi letting you take control of the situation… surely, over these past few months, she’s picked up on your need for having control of everything all the time. which is often framed as a major character flaw by most, but you don’t really care as long as you’re getting what you want.

you’ll be arriving back home soon, and you feel like you’ll miss your chance if you don’t respond now. If you don’t—she’ll just let you out of the car, letting her hand linger the slightest moment in yours, and you’ll go inside your big empty house, slumping onto your bed and fishing your vibrator out of your drawer once again. perhaps there will be other chances later, but this one feels like it needs to be grasped immediately.

finally, you unglue yourself from the seat, shuffling forward so you can look through the window where the partition would otherwise be raised. you lean your arms against the seat backrest and try to sound casual.

“stop the limousine, please.”

seulgi is silent for a beat, then says, “anywhere?” like she’s trying to hold back a smile you can practically hear in her voice.

“anywhere.” then you consider this. the car has blackout windows, so it shouldn’t matter, but… “okay, maybe look for a back street or something?”

back street secured, engine cut off, legs spread. you look up at seulgi with her body sprawled across the seat where you were just sitting, legs askew and face painted with anticipation. you laugh quietly at the blended stain of your brown lipstick and her own red shade on her lips; your mouth must look similar. her eyebrows furrow intensely as she watches you press more kisses up her inner thighs, leaving stark traces of lipstick on her flushed skin.

“i’ll admit, this wasn’t quite how i imagined it happening,” she says, voice already a little breathless and catching on certain words.

“how did you imagine it, then?” you ask, pressing yourself closer between where her thighs meet and pushing a thumb against the dampened seat of her underwear. you rub your thumb slowly over her clit, eliciting a low exhale from her.

“that i’d be doing all the work of pleasing you. which i still wouldn’t mind, you know.”

“what a cute way to say you’re eager to taste me, but you can have that later,” you reply, circling the pad of your thumb steadily. “right now this is how i want to solve my loneliness, since you’re so concerned about it.”

“i only want to…” her voice trails into a low moan, her body slouching when you push her underwear to the side to make room for your fingers and mouth. you delicately spread her open with one hand while pressing your mouth against the throbbing bud in a kiss. “...make you happy.”

you feel one of seulgi’s hands slide across your back, which is freely exposed to her touch from the barely-there halter top you’re wearing. the sensation sends a shiver up your spine as you push your tongue against her entrance, only teasing and not entering.

you want to ask her why, but you’re unwilling to separate your mouth from the warm and inviting space between her legs to do so. that may also be too much emotion for what’s supposed to be a quick and dirty fuck in the back of a limo, so you let the question rest and focus on finally slipping a finger into her, ears perking up at the gasp that follows. smirking at the sound of it, you allow your tongue to circle around her clit a few times before you pull your finger back out, and seulgi’s hand stills on your back.

“why’d you stop?” she asks, and it sounds like her voice is edging into petulance but she’s trying very hard to keep it from reaching that destination. you shift away, and your hands go to her hips so you can hurriedly pull her underwear down, leaving it in the growing array of strewn clothes on the floor.

“better access,” you mumble, pulling her closer by the hips and putting her legs firmly over your shoulders. her moans bounce off the interior of the limo when you bury your face back in between her thighs, pressing your tongue flat against her clit and using your finger to search for the spot that will make her scream.

you know you’ve found it when her thighs tense and twitch around your head, her voice pitching up in a new way you haven’t heard yet. you crook your finger into that area a few more times to recreate that sound, smiling to yourself at how easy it is to get a reaction. then you slide in another finger to intensify the effect, still suckling her clit all the while like it’s a sweet little candy made just for you.

“oh–y/n–” she lets out another quavering, desperate moan before biting the sleeve of her shirt, seemingly remembering you’re still technically in public and not wanting to make too much noise.

with your free hand you tug the sleeve away, stopping your actions on her increasingly sensitive core to speak. “no one’s around to hear,” you murmur, “and if they do, it doesn’t matter.”

she makes a sound that’s something like a scoff or a whine but doesn’t attempt to cover her mouth again. rather than being preoccupied with quieting herself, other things are busy calling for her attention, like the mounting tension throughout her body. the restlessness of her legs increases as she nears the precipice, and you must go back to trying to hold at least one of her legs still while your other hand asks her for more with the hurried strokes of your fingers stimulating her g-spot.

her head lolls back onto the seat and her body tightens even more, and you feel an abrupt shiver of pain from her nails raking your back—not enough to be injurious, but enough to make their sharpness known. you watch every one of her reactions, both miniscule and overt, as that glorious electricity running through her expands until it can no longer be contained, and you feel a sudden sense of pride that you’re the one responsible for it all.

she comes with a moan that, if someone were to ask you later, sounds like the personification of “overjoyed.” it’s pure pleasure concentrated in the form of her voice, and it provokes the heat between your own legs, but you ignore that to guide her through her orgasm. you continue kissing her lower lips sweetly and fingering that spot as she comes in your mouth, her hands grasping onto you for dear life and her thighs posing the continuous threat of closing entirely around your head.

it ends when seulgi cries out that she can’t take anymore and you finally pull away from her, easing up your tight hold on her leg and sliding your fingers out of her. you’re satisfied, especially when you study her wetness sticking to your fingers and subsequently suck it off, but you’re already beginning to miss the experience.

seulgi presses her hand against the window to steady herself, her chest heaving as she tries to stabilize her breaths. you sit back on your heels, your hands trailing away from her thighs, and push back some misplaced strands of your hair. you know your silk press must already be sweated out by now. “did you enjoy the ride?” you ask. you scoff at your own silly joke, rolling your eyes when you realize how corny it sounds as soon as it’s said.

seulgi sits up and places her hands on your shoulders for balance, pressing her lips on yours in the next second. you readily accept her kiss, your tongue slipping against hers as she tastes herself on you. your embrace deepens as her hand settles on your neck, the other hand finding itself at the back of your halter top and finally pulling the strings holding it together apart.

when she separates from you, her hand still on your nape and her lips a pale pink from the mere memory of her red lipstick, she says, “i’d tell you yes, but it’s not over yet.”

[black-rabbit-razumikhin]

Raz Reads Les Mis (XXIV)

Marius - The Noxious Poor

From the title alone, I think I need to re-look at my thoughts on the previous chapter

Marius is lovesick and misses Lanoire/Ursula/(Cosette?) and not even partying with his friends will help him

On a walk, he bumps into two girls, sending the letters they were carrying tumbling

He takes them and reads them, because they weren't sealed so obviously he can

Marius that's not how that works

All the letters are begging letters, signed with different names, but the same handwriting, paper and cadence

Which could just mean they're all transcribed by one person helping the illiterate

But the addresses of the benefactors aren’t on the letters either, so he doesn’t understand how to return them

Enter evening, enter eldest daughter of his neighbor, the Jondrettes

She is - honestly a bit of a force of nature, I like her more on paper than I would in real life

She proves that she can read and write and wants food - going so far as to eat moldy bread

She’s also the author of the letters

So there goes that scribe idea

She tells Marius how her family is always hungry (she’s also dressed in rags and is not looking the greatest) and the letters are for people that her family knows are rich in order to beg for help

She calls Marius a very pretty boy

From descriptions I can agree, but I need to warn her that his logic leaves much to be desired

Especially in chases of people he’s infatuated with

I know Marius gives her five francs and I know somehow Leblanc and Lanoire end up visiting the Jondrette family as one of their benefactors, but how we got from point a to point b I cannot remember

This was a long chapter, I should have made notes while I was reading

But we move on, Marius is peering through a gap in the upper part of the dividing wall that he didn’t know existed

And has also never heard anything through the paper-thin walls until it was imperative to the plot that he did

Not your best work, Hugo. But I’m invested so I’ll let it slide

Marius, upon knowing that Lanoire/Ursula/(Cosette) is right there!! right on the other side of the wall!! he can’t help but try follow her to her address

But he’s not dressed in his best clothes at the moment and the cab driver refuses him a lift unless he pays in advance

Marius has given most of his money away to the Jondrette daughter, he can’t pay, he can’t follow

Curse his charitable heart!

Why have Leblanc and Lanoire gone? Leblanc is getting Jondrette more money to pay his rent

But what’s this? A plot on the other side of the wall? A plot that Marius would have missed had he been able to follow the infatuation of his heart?

Jondrette wants to employ the bandits of Patron Minette to set up an ambush for Leblanc

And if Marius had followed them he would never have known, never have been able to take measures to protect his precious Ursula

Bless his charitable heart!

Immediately off to the police station we follow Marius, who wants to speak to the chief inspector, but he’s out so his associate will have to do

They devise a plan wherein Marius will pretend he’s gone out, but instead be very quietly hiding in his apartment, listening to the goings-on of the Jondrettes and their hired hands and the goings on of the ambush

Once these are set and an agreement culminates (which, as a lawyer, surely Marius will recognize) he will shoot a pistol shot into the roof of the apartment

That will be the sign for the police raid

So as long as Marius does exactly what is required of him, the Jondrettes and bandits will be apprehended and his precious Ursula will be safe

Obviously events don’t go like that because (1) this is Paris and (2) someone entrusted Marius with something important

The hour comes, everything is in place (it's only Leblanc, the girl has not come with this time) and a reveal is made

Jondrette recognizes Leblanc

And, what's more, Jondrette's real name is Thernadier

Leblanc, who has to be Valjean, is completely unphased

Marius, on the other hand, is shocked. So much so that he forgets his one job

Thernardier? The brave, bold Waterloo fighter who his father has told him to defend with his life? This is the Thernardier who has put the wellbeing of his crush in jeopardy? Has called an ambush on this man? The Thernardier upon whom Marius himself has set the police?

Marius is torn between his heart and the responsibility he is meant to uphold on his father's grave

Never a dull moment with this man, is there?

Thernardier says that Leblanc can keep his daughter, the Lark, but he wants 200 000 francs

A small sum for a pseudo-bourgeois such as Leblanc/Valjean, surely

I know this has to be Valjean, but I don't think Hugo has said so explicitly in this chapter

Overcoming his shock, Marius comes up with a plan in order to release his conscience from two bad decisions

The eldest daughter who visited him, Eponine (an amazing name, really, my favorite name so far), she left a writing sample

A writing sample that looks like code for a means of quick escape in this situation

He bundles up the sample and chucks it through the hole in the wall, everyone thinking it must have come from the window

There is a commotion

A lot happens in the commotion, and the whole scene is more suspenseful than the action I've seen in most blockbuster movies

The lack of coordination, the fact that everyone is trying to save their own skin but also nobody knows whose side anybody is on anymore

They end up deciding to draw lots to see what order they all get to leave

(Anyone remember where Valjean is in all this?)

And then

The best intro of this whole book

Who could it be but Javert (!!) who swaggers in to the door, takes his hat off his head and offers it out with a smile to let them draw lots from his hat

It shows how much I dislike Thernardier if seeing Javert made me happy

Or that was just an incredible entrance

Genuinely well done, man knows presentation

The Thernardiess tries to throw a whole paving stone at Javert, but she misses

Needless to say, Javert and the rest of the police are successful in capturing everyone save one man

And the rope ladder Valjean used to escape hasn't even had time to stop swinging yet

The chapter closes with a little boy looking for Thernardier

And only now as I've typed that have I realised that he's their neglected son from way back when

This was a long, long chapter to work through, but it all felt worth it. It was so exciting! I've condensed a lot of it or we'd be here all day, but that's Marius's book over? That was too short. I feel like there's so much more to be learned about his character that hasn't been covered yet. Also I won't be getting over that Javert reveal any time soon. That was exquisite.

[davycoquette]

random dreamscape snippet

Collaborative writing character intro. Silas, the "cabbie," is a witch who can enter people's dreams. He works as a private investigator, and has been hired by Dalton's wife to confirm her suspicions.

Oh, Dally-Wally. What a mess you’ve made of things.

Dalton Waller was prone to false awakening dreams. He’d always been, ever since he was a kid growing up in Bumfuck, North Dakota. He’d go through the whole process: hear the rooster crow, rise from bed, brush his teeth, inhale some lukewarm oats, wait for his bus in the biting cold, hit the same pothole day in and day out, get to class, listen to the demonic snickering roll like a wave through homeroom: the classic Forgot to Wear Pants to School nightmare. He stopped falling for it, after a while. Learned to pinch himself, and eventually just to sit up; then he was awake in earnest.

It didn’t stop the dreams from happening. When he met the future Mrs. Waller in physics class in Oregon, he once dreamed he woke and sneaked into her dorm room. A few years later, he dreamed he rose from bed and immediately spoiled the proposal he’d planned for their California trip the following week.

But tonight, Dalton wasn’t dreaming about Ava Waller. He was dreaming about Sierra — oh, what was her last name, again? — and a taxi ride over to her place for an early morning romp. Part of him knew it was one of Those Dreams. They couldn’t do this — they had jobs; they’d met at work! She’d catered an event at his firm. Hit it off, exchanged social media under innocuous pretense. Exchanged likes, comments. Private messages. Life stories.

Since it was a dream, he didn’t mind swatting the usual nagging thoughts about his two kids out of his head.

Dalton had never actually hooked up with Sierra, but it did occupy his every waking (and sleeping, but we’ll get to that) thought. He spent his free time messaging her, grinning at his phone. All the while he became increasingly distant from Ava. Stayed later at work for the privacy it afforded. Told himself he was just working harder for his family. The usual song and dance; the emotional affair preceding a physical one.

He didn’t realize Ava was onto him. She didn’t know the details, of course, but she had her suspicions, and she’d be damned if she was going to let Dalton keep pulling the wool over her eyes.

Anyway, the taxi ride: Dalton felt vaguely lucid and wanted to fast-forward through it, but traffic seemed pretty congested in the dreamscape, this morning.

The cabbie fucked with the radio dials, changing from a station that apparently aired nothing but the nonsensical babbling of an infant to a laugh track.

“Can ya turn that down?” Dalton asked.

The cabbie grinned back at him. A Cheshire grin. Dalton found his driver's sleepy blue eyes ominous. He willed himself to wake up again, but the eyes pulled him back in, holding him as if underwater.

“Sorry, boss,” the driver replied, and turned down the laugh-track station. “Hey, it’s a right up here, yeah?”

Dalton squinted, then said, “No, not this next one. Field House, a couple blocks down.” He pulled a double take at the tall yellow grass passing by the windows. “…Where are we, again?”

“Where are we?” the black-haired cabbie echoed.

“Devil’s Lake.” Dalton furrowed his eyebrows. “North Dakota.”

“Is this where Sierra lives?”

“Sierra lives offa Field House. On Third.”

The cab-driver gave a little hyena chuckle, then pulled over onto a busted curb. Dalton hurried to let himself out, and looked over the roof of the taxi at the cabbie as he too climbed out of the car.

They were in a North Dakota field, alright, except Sierra’s semi-high-rise apartment building stood in the middle of it, and the sidewalks were in apocalyptic disrepair, and while familiar, nothing was right.

And his cab driver was wearing the kinda hat a ship captain might wear paired with a Hawaiian button-down.

“My fare,” the cabbie prompted.

Dalton passed him a handful of oxidized pennies, which the young man palmed into his mouth.

“Alright, champ.” The cabbie slapped him hard between his shoulders. “You have fun, now.” Something in his voice — his voice itself — it had the cadence of Dalton’s father, and the moment was almost precisely the same as one in which he was dropped off for a middle school baseball practice. Late March, unseasonably warm. He could feel the baseball mitt in his hand, but when he looked down, it was just his hand, and the cabbie wasn’t his father but a stranger with eyes he couldn’t stand to look into. They seared his retinas like he'd stared into the sun.

He turned and strode away toward Sierra’s apartment building, and the cab driver sat on the hood of the taxi, apparently to wait.

As Dalton put distance between them, the gravitational pull of his body dragged the edges of his dream until the cab and the driver sat at the fringes. Time and space grew tenuous here, and from his perch on the hood the driver felt content to wait on this precarious ledge with yellow prairie grass swaying on his right, a surreal swirl of cloud and celestial dust encroaching on his left.

I feel bad for tagging because this one is so weird and disjointed but @fortunatetragedy 👀 If you want fewer like this pls let me know!

[silentmoths]

Breakroom Spaghetti

Christmas drabble for @dustofthedailylife's winter wonderland event!

I chose Zhongli, obviously.

With the prompts of: "I think the power just went out.” & “I guess we’re stuck here until the snowstorm dies down.”

Zhongli x AFAB Reader.

SFW, Fluff, Office AU because yes please and thank you.

Not proofread, 2.3K words, weird title is weird.

Curse your inability to just leave things alone.

You were meant to go home an hour ago- wait no, a quick glance at the clock tells you that you were meant to clock out two hours ago, but the sooner you got these reports done, the happier your boss would be. 

The sun had long-since set, the bright white-out of snow slowly drifting into a dark flurry outside your office window. You’d been so focused on getting this done, you hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights once daylight had faded, likely doing some choice damage to your eyes as you continue to stare at the brightly-lit computer screen in otherwise darkness.

That is until the screen flickers and then dies, along with the rest of the power in the building.

Your work? Gone. 

The groan? Loud.

What a time, what a goddamn time for the power to go out on you. You’re sure you spit every slur, swear and insult at that damn computer screen, offensively dark and lacking of your documents as you push yourself out of your chair, feeling several vertebrae in your back crackle and pop after hours of sitting in one spot.

Welp, if the power was out, now might as well be a good a time as any to head home, frustrating, but what could you do? 

You just needed to pop down the hall to the front desk; likely no longer manned, your receptionist having gone home at four, always like clockwork she was - to sign your timesheet.

You barely make it two steps out of your office before you collide with someone else, only just managing to hold in your horrified scream.

“Miss l/n? What are you still doing here at this hour?” Now that was a voice you knew well. 

“S-sir?!” you splutter, thankful that your boss was, despite his graceful, handsome, upper-class appearance, very casual with his workers. 

Zhongli chuckles, you hear a rustling before his handsome face is illuminated by the light of his phone’s torch. “I do believe I asked first.” He retorts with a cheeky almost-grin.

You huff, crossing your arms at him. “Well, I was just about finished with those reports you asked me to complete…I figured I’d stay behind to finish them but then…well.” you motion at the darkness engulfing his office building.

“Ah, I see….you know you did not have to push yourself to have them done immediately, they’re not due until next week.” He points out, motioning with his head for you to follow him down the hall towards the front desk. 

“Yes but…with the holidays approaching I figured you could use the break, the sooner things get done for the year…the sooner you can relax.” 

Your boss hums, you’d always been rather taken with him…smart, funny, understanding…really you couldn't have asked for a better boss. He was always looking out for his workers, and that’s what made everyone want to work hard for him, they all knew he would look after them in turn.

Case in point when you’d broken your ankle not three weeks into being hired as a fresh-faced administrator. You had attempted to force yourself to come into work, despite your need for public transport (driving was scary, even without the damn moon-boot.) and the pain.

The moment Zhongli’s golden gaze had landed upon it, he had called a cab and sent you home, despite your protests that you really needed to work, honestly you thought you sounded pathetic, but instead of just telling you to rest, he told you he’d handle it. Sure enough, by the time you arrived home in your pre-paid cab, an E-mail was waiting for you, with a list of tasks he wanted you to complete from home, whilst also reminding you that your benefits included medical care and leave.

Even now, he simply smiles at you as he leans over the desk to sign your timesheet for you, adding in the two extra hours you had worked, and another for good measure, before signing it himself, ignoring your flustering.

“I know you, Miss l/n, you wouldn’t have charged your overtime.” He chides, and while yes, he was absolutely right, how dare he. 

The rattling of the large window in the break room catches your attention.

“Huh…when’d the snow get so heavy?” you ask, Zhongli’s gaze follows your own and he quirks an eyebrow, quickly checking his phone before both brows furrow.

“We had best get out of here, The snowstorm is only likely going to get worse… come, I’ll drive you home.” 

“O-oh no sir I couldn’t possibly-” You’re quick to try and politely decline, but he quickly shushes you with a single, serious look.

“I will not have one of my best employee’s attempting to brave the outside world to wait for a bus that has likely already been cancelled. Come on.” He urges, leading you towards the stairs (goddamn power outage meant the elevators were a no-go.) with a gentle, guiding hand on your back. 

However, you both come to a stark realization when you reach the underground carpark, more specifically, Zhongli’s shiny black way-too-expensive-for-you-to-be-sitting-in car.

The garage doors were shut…and couldn’t be opened without…power.

For the first time in your years working here, you hear Zhongli curse. 

Plan B was to catch a cab, first to your home, and then your boss would take it back to his; but another problem swiftly arises as you both emerge from the staircase and into the main foyer of the building.

The snow had already built up several feet against the doors…

You get to hear Zhongli say fuck a second time. 

You sigh quietly, pulling your own phone from your pocket to check the forecast yourself…yep, that certainly wasn’t looking good… curse you and your inability to just leave things alone.

But if you had…then Zhongli would have been here, all alone…and that somehow doesn't sit right with you either.

“Guess it can’t be helped.” you concede as you put your phone away, wanting to conserve what little battery it had left. “Looks like we might be stuck here until morning..”

Zhongli grumbles, but eventually sighs, you only just make out his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

“You’re right…come on.” He coaxes, leading you back towards the staircase to ascend, you don't question where he’s taking you this time, he knew the building better…he owned it.

However you’re not exactly surprised when you both end up in his office. A comfortable space, large and furnished with a few couches and comfortable chairs for anyone visiting or in personal meetings. 

“Make yourself comfortable, we might be here a while.” He tells you as he fiddles with his phone “I’ve let the security agency know we’re stuck in here, but I wouldn’t count on them being able to help in this climate.

—

The night draws on, and you find yourself settling into a strange comfortability, Zhongli had asked you to help him shift one of the couches to face the window, so you both could watch the city below as the snowstorm rages. 

You both talk, he talks of his days in college, working at his father’s firm first, before he branched out and opened his own, you talk about your own college days; living off nothing but ramen noodles and eggs, taking more than a little amusement in the look of horror on your boss’ face.

You both raid the breakroom like gremlins, the food in the fridge needed to be eaten after all, it was just a shame all of it had to be cold. You felt a little bad, but Zhongli simply waves it away, and tells you he’ll send out an email when the power returns…and buy everyone lunch the next day.

However, you’re taken off guard as you sit, munching away at what you can only assume is spaghetti,it was difficult to tell in the dark, when Zhongli opens his arm.

“You’re shivering, come here.” It doesn't sound like an order or a demand, but you were getting a little chilly; so scoot closer you do, glad for the shroud of darkness covering your flustery face as he pulls you into his side, removing his jacket to use as a makeshift blanket for you both.

“So…what were you doing here so late, sir?” you eventually work up the gall to ask, glad you didn’t have to look him in the eye. It feels…nice…when he hums as he thinks on his response.

“I was organising everyone's christmas bonus.” he eventually admits; ah, the yearly bonus…Zhongli was a strange one for that, asides from a nice amount of money, he also had a tendency to give a physical gift to his employees as well, last year you’d gotten a set of the loveliest tea…it had taken you months to finally open and try it because it just looked so fancy and nice…but you were glad you had because wow, what flavor!

“Oh really? Don't suppose I can sneak a hint at what my bonus is this year, can I?” you giggle up at him, only just making out his amber eyes in the darkness.

“Usually I would give you a hint, but it’s you that’s causing me the biggest problem this year.” He retorts, and you feel your stomach twist.

“O-oh..y-you don’t actually have to get me anything sir! Really, put it out of your mind I’ll be fine-” your flustered, anxious stammering is quickly shushed by a finger pressing to your lips.

“Absolutely not.” He states with such determination that it kind of spooks you “You are one of my finest, hardest working employees, and I want that reflected in my gift to you.”

Goddamn him.

“It’s fine sir…really.” You press “I’m still working my way through that expensive tea you got me last year.” “Oh? Are you enjoying it?” His sudden shift from absolute seriousness to what you could only describe as…curiosity is somewhat alarming, but not unwelcome as you nod.

“It’s lovely…I try to only drink it on special occasions but it’s so nice…where did you get it?” 

You feel your boss’ chest rumble for a moment, almost like a purr as he hums. “It’s one of my favourites…It’s from a small-batch family business in Qingce…I’m glad you enjoy it.”

“I…wouldn’t be opposed to more of it as my-”

“Not a chance.”

Damnit.

You both once again lapse into a comfortable silence, his warmth, presence and scent all mingling so wonderfully, that you find yourself nodding off, trying to remain awake, atleast until a hand gently rests your cheek against his chest, stroking down your back and lulling you further into the realm of sleep.

“Rest…” His warm baritone is the last thing you hear before your eyes flutter shut.

–

You both wake with a start when the power suddenly flicks back on, every light, computer and thermostat blaring to life at once.

You’re saved from jumping out of your skin and likely falling to the floor by Zhongli’s firm hand on your waist, as you both rub sleep out of your eyes.

“Wh-whatimehissit?” you mumble, trying to hide away back into the warm darkness of your boss’ chest as he flicks his wrist, finally able to read his watch.

“S’two in the morning…” he mumbles back, just as sleep-drunk as you were.

At least with the return of power, came the return of the heater, a wave of fresh warmth washing over you both, only serving to make you sigh contently, nuzzling back into the crook of Zhongli’s neck with a quiet huff. Tomorrow you would definitely scream internally, but you and sleep had a precarious relationship, and you felt like you could still settle back into it like this.

“Bare with me for a moment.” Zhongli’s voice is softer now, and you vaguely feel his arms wrap around your body as he shifts and lifts you into his arms, his jacket still draped across your sleepy frame as he shuffles towards the office door, just to hit the lights and return back to the couch.

“S’not like we’ll be getting rescued until the morning anyway.” he mumbles, deigning to kick off his shoes before settling back down with you “n’ this is comfortable.”

Well, at least you weren’t alone on that front.

Rescue comes just after dawn, Zhongli’s phone ringing rather loudly, and shocking you both awake. 

Thankfully there is enough time between his phone alerting him that security had finally gained entrance to the building after shovelling several feet of snow out of the garage door, and them actually arriving in his office for you both to look presentable. 

Your boss gives you the day off, and makes good on his offer to drive you home. The car ride is a little awkward at first, not knowing how to bring up last night, was this something you were meant to talk about? Or was it something you just…forgot happened?

Zhongli answers that for you when he pulls up to the curb by your apartment building, turning to regard you with a fond look.

“I think I know exactly what to give you for your bonus this year, miss l/n. He tells you, a small smile tugging at his lips when you tilt your head. “Shut your eyes for a moment?”

“Really? What’re you gonna do, pull a puppy from the back seat?” you tease, giggling at the look you recieve.

“Humor me.” 

“Oh, just for you.” You sigh, shutting your eyes. 

You expect something to be placed in your hands, but instead a pair of lips press to yours for just a moment and you can almost hear the gears in your mind scream to a halt.

You almost don't believe it, and you don’t dare open your eyes until that pair of lips pulls away, and when you do, you’re met with the most charming smile from your boss.

“That and…would you like to join me for dinner tonight? Something warmer than breakroom spaghetti?”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthefailylife @theheartshaker @rjssierjrie Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

[armpirate]

Kalla | Choi San || Chapter 21

MASTERLIST Previous || Next

Pairings: CEO!San x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers.

Warnings: dom!San, sub!reader, voyeourism, use of sex toys, bondage, dirty talk, BDSM, exhibitionism, rough sex.

Summary: She was surprised by how fast her life went from the perfect fairytale to the destructive mess it had turned into. Dealing with a cheater ex boyfriend, having to move out to a different place because the house she lived in belonged to that man she once dreamed of spending the rest of her life with, while continuously being underappreciated at work... It was as if life was telling her to stop dreaming big, to go back to her small town, Bibury, and help her parents run the small farm her family had owned for decades.

At least until she received a call from her friend.

A sudden vacancy as an assistant showed up on one of her friend's system, having her being encouraged to take that big step and apply for it. She had no hopes for it. Mainly because she didn't have any experience on the field, and she didn't comply with most of the requirements that were added on the offer -and which most of them sounded ridiculous and exaggerated for the position, making her wonder who was the freak who needed so many guidelines in order to hire someone to pick up the phone and schedule events. 

Although that hotel she'd be working on was much more than anything she could've come up with. 

Choi San wasn't someone easy to deal with. After his previous assistant presented his resignation letter on his desk, he felt forced to start the whole selection process again -after merely two months. 

Sure that he was being way too strict, enough to find that anyone who applied for the position wasn't enough, he asked one of his friends to be in charge of the interviews and the selection of the most adequate candidate. 

Little did he know Wooyoung would hire the imperfectly perfect candidate for him, sure that she'd help him in many ways other than just in dealing with the responsibilities of his position. 

A new challenge will come their way as soon as she steps inside the hotel. 

Y/n will have to learn how to mold onto him and deal with all his small habits and requirements, and San will find himself trying to open up and let out all those same things that turned him into the person he was. 

The more she digs in Kalla and all of its secrets and exciting corners, the deeper she'll dive into San's heart and soul... Although, maybe, she won't be able to take it. 

Kalla opens its doors to you, sharing the vast amount of filthy and erotic plans it offers, and that you can join with a partner... Or maybe just by yourself. 

Hope you enjoy your stay.

Chapter duration: 17 minutes

Her legs felt heavy as they walked across Heathrow, feeling grateful to have chosen those sneakers and the comfortable combination of a t-shirt and jeans, instead of the usual outfits she tended to use while she walked around the hotel. It also surprised her to see San wearing similar clothes to the ones she was wearing, breaking through the constant black pants and vests that she was used to seeing him in.

—You look tired —San pointed out, turning to her for a brief moment while they waited for their cab—. You should go to sleep as soon as we get to the hotel.

—I should've slept in the plane —Y/n pouted, throwing her head back.

—Oh, look at you. Not only speaking in Korean, but also adopting the gestures —he teased her.

—I'm way too tired to fight back. Don't take advantage of that.

—I mean it though. You should take a nap —he advised her—. We won't be doing anything today, so it'd be good if you charged your batteries. You can also take the chance to meet up with your friends and family.

—Five minutes in London, and you're already trying to get rid of me? —her head tilted to the side as she tried to read his features.

—I'll also get ahead and do some things I need to do, and I don't need you there —San explained himself.

Her lips were trapped against one another as she pressed them tight, staring at his wide back under the black thin coat he was wearing, trying to guess what were those things he needed to do, and that didn't need her presence at all. They certainly weren't work related, that was for sure. Because, if that were the case, San would be the first one trying to get her there.

Compared to the past few days they were together, or even an hour before their plane landed, his features were rough, looking tense and uneasy while he walked to the cab waiting for them.

His choice of words wasn't the best, and he was able to see right through them when he noticed how her smile slowly vanished to turn into a straight line that mirrored his serious expression, barely dedicating one look in his direction despite sitting side by side.

Did she have any reason to be mad? She wasn't sure, but somewhere deep in her head she tried to omit that feeling building up in her, knowing that sudden change in him was mainly related to whatever connection he had with the city she was born in. That mix of anger and discomfort was always reflected on his features whenever he mentioned that side of his life, she could quite understand all of it overwhelming him like a big wave once he set foot there.

—Can you take me to Windmill Road in Brentford? —Y/n asked the driver, bending herself a little forward on her seat as if that would change the volume in which she was heard.

If there was anything she needed to do other than sleeping, it was seeing her friends. It had been months since she last saw them, she definitely needed to get back to her roots. And, after what San commented outside the airport, paying a quick visit to her parents was something in her mind.

He could only look at her from his side, feeling stranged at hearing her speaking her native language after, almost, getting used to hearing her defend herself with her special Korean -based, mostly, on phrases and words she had memorized from hearing them.

—Do you want me to send you a cab here? —he tried to suggest.

—One of my friends will drive me to the hotel —Y/n tried to calm him down.

—Is Andrew going to be around?

Y/n didn't discard the idea of her ex boyfriend still roaming around Seoul after almost a week, but she also didn't erase the possibility of him returning back to London and managing to see her there.

Although it wasn't something she thought of deeply. It also wasn't something that worried her. In either case, he was the one wasting time, money and energy.

—I doubt he knows I was coming back —she let him know.

—Call me if something happens.

—I doubt it'll... —she scoffed while pronouncing those words, before his serious words stopped her from ending that sentence.

—Call me if something happens —he repeated, slowly.

His eyes pierced through her until her head moved, nodding to his petition. And, as much as she couldn't quite understand why, she liked how overprotective he was despite his nervousness, and how he still managed to make her and her safety his priority when he clearly had more important things to worry about.

—Don't worry. I'll be with my friends, who are way scarier than you —she finally smiled, grinning while shaking her head.

They could only bow to each other gently when they arrived on the street, with San informing her that he'd take her luggage to the hotel so they would carry it to her hotel room. And she didn't oppose that, the last thing she needed was to carry around a suitcase while trying to explain herself what was going on through her head whenever she thought about her boss.

One last wave, and the cab started driving away from her with San looking back to the front.

Her breathing was heavy as she walked the stone path on the floor after crossing the small and short door to Lizzie's home. If there was someone who could help her keep her thoughts straight, and make some sense out of them, it was definitely her. Rosie would coddle up the most rebellious side of her while encouraging her to do the most mind-blowing idea she'd come up with. Rosie was amazing, but not the friend she'd run to for mature help. And Joanne had enough dealing with the break up. It had been two months, and she could tell her friend was just as heartbroken as the day she left.

Two knocks at the front door and a loud scream had her whole body squirming and jumping, looking strangely at the white wooden surface before it opened widely to reveal the wide smile on her friend's face.

—My baby —she celebrated, rushing to wrap her arms around her.

It was a nickname she certainly missed. Despite being only four years apart, Lizzie always managed to highlight the fact that they met when she was almost a kid and she was already a teen with one step in uni.

—I'm only four years younger than you, don't mess with me —her voice sounded muffled against the thick jumper her friend was wearing.

—Come on in —Liz ignored her, dragging her inside her home—. Why didn't you tell us you were coming? Oh my god, I missed you so much.

Before Y/n could answer her question, her arms were wrapped around her again, keeping her from speaking, or even making a sound.

—Do you want a cup of tea? I'll make you a cup of tea —she quickly answered to herself on Y/n's behalf.

Keeping up with Lizzie whenever she entered that rush space was difficult, almost something Y/n and the rest of her friends gave up on because there was no way to find some space to speak. It was better to let all that rush to die by itself, just like it did when Lizzie returned with two cups of tea, sitting next to her on the couch with a bread smile.

It was always nice to speak with her when she calmed down.

They both were on the same page professionally, both having similar backgrounds and areas of work, so when it came to reaching for professional advice, Lizzie was the one to go to.

Their conversation flowed from one experience to another, going from talking how Liz had a huge fight with her boss -which ended with her giving a raise to her friend-, while Y/n only felt comfortable speaking about how difficult it was adapting to Seoul at first, and how she slowly was loving the experience.

—Wait —Lizzie interrupted her when she was about to start talking about San.

—For what? —Y/n frowned— Why are you looking at the window so much? You're starting to make me nervous.

—Nothing, nothing —Lizzie's hand laid a few pats on her knee—. Is the weather nice in Seoul? —she casually asked.

—For now, yeah —she muttered—. Winter is about to start, but that's not really what I wanted to talk about right now.

She found herself being interrupted again, only by the doorbell ringing. Lizzie's smile told her everything she needed to know and, unless she was expecting a delivery she was looking forward to, her big mouth told the rest of the girls she was there while she was in the kitchen preparing the tea.

And she hated how much she knew her friends. Because as soon as that thought crossed her mind, Joanne and Rosie crossed the door.

The house turned from a calm environment to loud giggles and screams as soon as they walked in, and Y/n couldn't explain how much she missed all of that while a big smile started forming on her face.

Having them around was like going back three months, when all of them were inseparable to the point of doing everything together.

—Now that we spoke about general things —Rosie commented after they all caught up with one another's lives—, go to the interesting part that you kept avoiding on calls and that you were about to tell Liz.

—It's not interesting.

—Fucking your boss isn't interesting? —Joanne almost interrupted, her words overlapping Y/n's.

—No —she muttered—, fucking him twice is.

—Oh my fucking god —Rosie exclamed with a smile.

—Oh my god —Joanne and Liz whispered at the same time.

—Mystery sex again?

—No —Y/n shook her head—. We were both aware of who we were with.

—This is more interesting than the time I went on a date with that rockstar —Rosie giggled—. Tell us more, give us details. We want everything!

—There isn't much to tell —she played with her fingers.

—How not? Liar —Joanne called her out—. You're looking down like you always do when you lie.

—Bitch, we know you like we gave birth to you —Lizzie continued—. So start speaking by yourself.

—You won't judge me?

—We don't judge Rosie, and that says a lot —Liz continued.

—Well... We're both... you know... really attracted to each other. Like really —she scratched her nape—. Neither of us understand why or how, but it is what it is. But we aren't dating.

—Good for you. Getting in a relationship now would be a mistake —Rosie patted her back.

—But we're in a relationship. Well, not a relationship per se. It's definitely not the typical one. We don't go around holding hands and having heart eyes to each other.

—Y/n, cut the crap and go straight to the point —Joanne called her out.

—It's a special relationship —her head tilted to the side while explaining herself.

—Shit —Rosie mumbled—. He's married and you're the other one.

—No, no! Fuck, no —Y/n rushed to deny—. After being through that, I would never put another woman in that position because of me. A million times no.

—Then fucking tell us what it is —Rosie rushed her to continue.

—Do you remember when that Fifty Shades of Grey wave started and everyone turned out to be into that kinky stuff out of nowhere? —her lips were pressed together— Seems like it caught me a few years later.

—So does he tie you up and make you call him daddy? —Rosie joked.

It started as a joke, but Y/n's serious expression while admitting her guilty pleasure had the three of them turning as serious as her.

—Oh shit, he does —Lizzie almost giggled at that.

—Not really —Y/n commented—. At least not for now. But we're both having that type of relationship. It isn't serious, and we made sure to leave clear we aren't exclusive. So it's jsut fun for now.

—I'm so proud of you —Rosie celebrated, body bouncing on the couch.

—I really want to meet him —Joanne almost laughed while admitting that.

—He knows what he's doing, right? —Lizzie asked.

—Oh, sure he does. His hotel is even themed after that.

—Oh my lord, we love one kinky ass man —Rosie clapped—. So what does he do? Does he take you to a red room when you don't transfer calls properly?

—Now I really want to meet him —Joanne repeated with a wide smile.

—We just started —Y/n quickly shut down—. And yes —she answered, looking at Lizzie—, he's really careful and cautious.

—It's not like the bar was too high after Andy, but he seems like a good deal —Joanne shrugged.

—Don't speak about Andy —Y/n sighed—. He went all the way to Seoul to try to get me back.

—That asshole did what? —Lizzie jumped out— Now I understand the twenty missing calls out of nowhere —she sighed.

—He showed up in the hotel, and in my house —Y/n shook her head—. Thank god San was there the two times it happened.

—A savior knight in latex armor —Rosie winked at her, making Y/n roll her eyes.

If Y/n had known that juicy update on her life would follow up to her friend coming up with going out that night, she wouldn't have said a thing. The last thing she wanted was to go out and party, especially considering how tired she was from the trip.

***

It always made him feel tense to surround the places he used to be at before he was forced back to Seoul. He never really wanted to go back there, with his main plan being remodeling his mother's house to live there and building up Kalla in one area she kept dreaming about. It infuriated him to think it was something that he'd never have the chance to see happening, because he was tied to all the problems he kept carrying in Korea, to all the issues his father kept generating.

His shoes dragged on the floor, feeling the small stones and dust on the sole, while he looked around at the place, before supporting his back against the wide arch that led to the living room.

Just the thought of his mother spending the last few days of her life there, alone, made his blood boil. All those years he went looking for her in the short spare times he had in between jobs, only to find out he'd have never been on time to see her. His mother slowly faded alone, by herself, holding onto the idea of seeing her son again, but he took way too long to take the decision of breaking off from his father and go out to look for her.

Just like he used to do when he lived there, he hid himself inside one of the pubs, taking his time with the glass of whiskey served in front of him, while he let regrets and remorse get over him. He kept biting the skin on his inner lip, moving his tongue behind it shortly after, while his finger tapped over the curve of the short glass, ignoring the rhythm of the music as he came up with his own rhythm.

It was always like that, and it was always the only way to get himself distracted.

Until he saw a familiar figure from the distance, followed by a cackly and happy laugh that had his spine straight while looking around the pub to focus on the woman he illogically set his eyes on.

Y/n was a happy pill, there was no doubt of that. And he could easily tell by the way her lips never formed a straight line ever since he first started admiring her from the counter. She was such a restless ass as well, always moving, always dancing, always doing something other than staying still. And he loved the energy she radiated while her arms moved in the air.

Their eyes briefly connected among the few people standing in between them, and he knew she wasn't going to approach him first.

It didn't matter, because her friends did it for her after she mumbled something while lowering her head.

—So this is mister Choi San —the auburn short woman of the group spoke first when she first chose to interrupt the cycle of thoughts in his head—. Don't ask how I know, Y/n has spoken loads about you. You have no idea.

Before her eyes could lower any more on his body, she was pulled away by Y/n.

—Holy fuck —she whispered when brought back to the group.

—I'm sorry, I told them not to walk to you, but they didn't listen —Y/n tried to apologize—. We'll get going again.

—Why? I'm not bothered —he stopped her.

—That's what we told her —Joanne continued—. We saw you so lonely, that we thought: How can we not go to this man and keep him company?

—San, seriously, it isn't a good idea —Y/n tried to convince him in Korean.

—Using another language in the presence of people is of poor education —Lizzie called her out.

Y/n could do nothing but facepalm herself when she saw Rosie pulling San out of the space he was occupying, to drag him to the table they were sitting at. San, who loved his personal space even when he was in the Spadix. Yet it was more surprising to see him just walking with them, following her friend while Joanne picked up his glass to take it to their table.

—Y/n has already told us you're a really good boss —Y/n's eyebrows raised threateningly at Lizzie's comment.

—Really? I had the idea I was too rough on her.

—She likes it rough, by what it seems —Rosie grimaced shortly after, with Y/n's sneaker kicking her leg.

—Don't you have a friend? Or a brother? A cousin? —Joanne asked, receiving a slap from Y/n.

The teasing lasted less than she expected. It only took them some shots and their favorite song to shift their attention from San to the improvised dance floor they created, while San and Y/n stayed at their table, watching them from afar.

—I'm sorry about this morning —he whispered, turning to her.

—It's alright —she tried to shrug it off, but she knew San wasn't going to be so easy on himself.

—I didn't mean I didn't want you there, just that I needed time for myself.

Having someone apologizing for something so small, and that she didn't even have in mind since it happened felt different from what she was used to. It was an emotional responsibility she wasn't used to seeing. And she could tell how he meant those words by the way his jaw clenched just by remembering the tone.

—And you casually ended up here, huh? —her eyebrow lifted, trying to change the topic to a lighter one.

—Oh no —he quickly tried to shut down—. I didn't...

But her smile brushed away any worry crossing his mind.

—I know, I was kidding —she shook her head—. Although it's curious. London is so big, yet we ended up in the same place.

—Sometimes it seems like we're forced to be together.

Although he thought more like she always showed up when he needed that boost the most, almost as if it was done on purpose.

—What did you do today?

Without answering, she pointed at her group of friends, with Joanne and Lizzie rubbing against each other, while Rosie was on a random man sitting in one of the tables.

—My batteries are crying for help after a whole day with them —she admitted—. What about you?

—I've been... visiting some old friends, too.

—I hope it was good —she mentioned, placing her hand on his forearm over his black jacket.

—I'm better now —he admitted, making her smile grow bigger—. So, is this what you do when you're out?

—Well, Joanne also did this —she took a sip of her drink—. Staring at the two crackheads and hoping they don't do something that meant us involving ourselves. We were the ones with a serious and stable relationship, so we were like the cops of the group.

—And now you're the only cop, I see.

—I could be doing that —she assured him—. I swear.

—I'm the one keeping you here, right? —he teased her.

—Well, it's good you're seeing it for yourself.

—Please, don't let me hold you back —he asked her—. Go ahead and dance.

—I would —her tongue clicked—. Of course I would. But I'm not going to, because I need to keep some professionalism in front of my boss.

—Kitten, I think that word flew out of the window the day I fingered you in my office —he bent towards her—. Besides, as much as I want to see you dancing and fuck you later loud enough for everyone in the hotel to hear, your eyes are almost closing —his finger softly brushed one lock of hair away from her forehead—. You need to take that rest your stubborn ass didn't take. I need you in full shape for tomorrow.

—For the meeting or for something else you have planned? —she giggled, words almost mumbled.

—Both.

A few minutes later, and with Y/n's eyelids almost closing with every breath she took, San apologized to her friends when he told them they were going to leave, excusing them over the fact that he needed Y/n present in the next day's meeting.

Neither of her friends fought against it too much, only making Y/n promise them they'd meet again to say goodbye properly.

As he walked ahead of her, he suddenly felt something pulling from the sleeve of his jacket, finding Y/n holding a tight grip on the fabric to follow his steps.

Her head started moving in sync with the movements of the cab, until San moved his shoulder a bit closer to her to give her the stable surface she needed to finally sleep on the way to their hotel. And he didn't wake her up when they arrived either, picking her up and carrying her until he arrived in her room. He managed to take off her jacket, to take off her shoes, and admire her for a few seconds while she slept, hoping he could get infected with some of the peace that evoked from her, before he realized what he was going and walked out of her room.

There was something strange in the way he felt around her, but he liked it a little bit too much. 

Taglist: @brown88

[chetantravel]

Tour And Travels Near Me: How To Save Money On Your Next Vacation

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[grimmcheems]

The blonde trio after the Quirk War

So I did a continuation of the my previous Villain Aoyama AU art lmao. Ig it’s not rly an AU canonically?? (Though idk how the manga has been handling my boi since I dropped it after his reveal oop) anywayyssssss…..these babies now have to live with new identities and frequently change jobs every year in order to keep a low profile.

Monoma works as a Cab/Taxi driver and street food chef(think like hole in the wall restaurant?/place with frequent customers but within the backstreets of cities) Toga is a Sales Clerk💀(don’t ask how she even managed to get the job, the hiring manager was probably too scared by her aura to refuse her) AND Tutor(don’t ask how she landed that either since she never got to finish high school to begin with) and Aoyama works as a Bartender in a HOST CLUB(Kurogiri helped him land the job and taught him some cool stuff from his experience of working their dingy bar they used to live in with the LOV[which has since been disbanded after the quirk war].

Btw I added the “Kumo/Kuro” bc Shirakumo and Kurogiri get it? Idrk why I decided to add him in last minute but I thought it’d be funny if he pretended/acted to be their dad when they escape during their trial and onto living in the streets (for the sake of being brief: which ends in them faking their own deaths. I thought to make an art of the events leading up to this but who knows how long that will take me or when I’ll get to it🗿it is also pretty gruesome with the way I imagined it for my AU so I’m not sure if many people would even be up for seeing that oop)

They have to frequently dye their hair since they can easily be recognized by just their blonde hair and facial features, which is also why Monoma and Toga wear color contacts. Aoyama doesn’t need them since he wore different colored contacts when he became a student at UA, so there’s no need for them since everyone remembered him to have the color contact eyes instead of his natural green eyes.

They all will work multiple part time jobs to keep up with their rent and budget etc. However there are times where they will all quit to just take time to themselves. They all live together in the same apartment. Everyone also thinks they are dead, so there’s no need for them to really hide, but they’re too traumatized by heroes and their peers(hero students) to not stay in the hidden parts of towns and cities and lowkey jobs. There’s more to that on the “trial” I imagined for them (I dropped the manga some time ago but I heard that my baby Aoyama may POSSIBLY get actual time in prison for his affiliation and that was the forefront of the idea I came up with that they would all go through a trial process as they are still just children)

ALSO, in my AU Aoyama ends up with Dark shadow at some point (don’t question it I’m still trying to figure out how to fit it in so it makes sense👩🏽‍🦯, but they sort of form a bond and Dark Shadow develops depression after his “death”. He does go back to Tokoyami at some point after Aoyama realizes that Toko must be in ruins not having his best bud anymore and ‘gives’ him back?

I also mentioned that this is AFTER the “quirk war” I’m not sure if they actually use that title but from what I remember they distinctly called it that when I last read the manga. I could be wrong though.

One last thing, idk how the whole Oboro thing would work out, since he can use his quirk on command in this(hence the lack of purple mist) but technically he IS dead canonically….LIKE FRFR. Bro ain’t coming back and his body was just harvested and being used, but ignore that for this……he was just in a deep slumber and awoke after breaking out of the high security quirk prison he was in and decided to take care of the three because he would’ve wanted someone to do the same for him when he was younger and “died”.😫🖤

I know I write a lot so I highly doubt anyone read all of this😅but it’s so hard to JUST post my art and NOT WRITE ANYTHING since they all spawn from these ideas I get and I NEED to provide the context lmao Σ('◉⌓◉’)otherwise I feel wack that no one will ever know what I was aiming for lol🥲

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera Ch 6 - Safe

(Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5)

(Sofasurf’s Recrudescence which is the foundation for all of this)

Scott’s fled for the skies. Estera needs to find someone’s inhaler. But what happens next?

Well. Some details follow.

My usual blend of fluff and “Yikes”…

Confession - this got a teeny bit dark in the last section. If you want to stop reading at the end of the fluffy bit (you’ll know it when you see it) then there is zero judgment from me. I even make myself go “Yikes” with that one…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The authorities had called her a cab home, the hired coach having been sent away when all the parents arrived in person to collect their children. Although she had protested at the expense - surely there was a bus route somewhere nearby - she hadn’t had the energy to argue.

Thus she sat alone in the back seat trying to collect her thoughts. They resisted collection in a way that made cat herding look like a relaxing past time. So she fidgeted, putting on her cardigan then removing it again, retying her hair, rearranging the contents of her rucksack. Which she’d already done ten minutes before. She tried to force herself to calm down and turned to look out the window, her forehead meeting the glass with a surprisingly loud clunk.

“There’s a universal charging cable under the seat, Miss, and free WiFi if you’d like to use it.”

Of course there was. Couldn’t escape it these days. She didn’t want to appear rude so she smiled, thanked him and dutifully plugged in her battered mobile.

It flickered to life and within seconds several messages popped up… from her sister, a couple of friends, her elderly neighbour, even her hairdresser - clearly today’s events had hit the news. She drafted a quick reassurance, copied it to everyone and put the device down. She felt weirdly detached. It seemed strange that everyone was freaking out about her having been stuck in a cave when that had paled into utter insignificance compared to the shock she had experienced afterwards.

How could it be possible? He couldn’t have escaped, could he? If it hadn’t been for his reaction she’d have persuaded herself she was imagining things. But his reaction had been… compelling.

She picked up the phone again and opened a browser

‘International Rescue Scott’

An overwhelming plethora of photographs and articles and, wow ok, actual fan pages sprang up.

Most of the photos were distant, or amateur and blurry but his unmistakeable blue eyes shone out at her from the official ones - profile shots for International Rescue, some charity positions and… she gulped… he was the multi-billionaire CEO of one of the biggest companies on the planet. Even she knew of Tracy Industries - they were one of the good ones. A school in one of the more difficult neighbourhoods nearby had just had a complete IT infrastructure upgrade thanks to a grant from them.

His official TI profile confirmed his Air Force background, with honourable discharge after active duty. It didn’t say where that was but she knew.

Oh, she knew.

She skimmed some of the more gushing articles. All fairly light on objective facts but weighty on opinion and that opinion was pretty much universal - he was a hero, beloved by millions, a undoubted force for good in an often cruel and selfish world.

And she’d left him to die.

She closed the browser, no longer able to bear the accusation in his eyes.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

The taxi driver was watching her in the rear view mirror.

“I’m fine. Thank you.“

She let out a breath as his eyes returned to the road ahead. But he wasn’t done:

“Long day was it?”

“Something like that.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

For the second time in as many months Virgil vowed to chase Brains up on the speed upgrade to Two. It was absolutely pointless trying to catch up to his brother who could be halfway to anywhere by now. Thankfully, he had John and Five.

“Virgil! He’s heading back your way.”

“What?”

“One just did a U-Turn. She’s heading straight for you.”

“What do you mean “straight”?”

“A collision course. Virgil, I think you should get ready to take evasive action.”

Even at a moderate speed the two birds making any kind of head on contact…even a wing clip, meant mutually assured destruction. Was Two nimble enough to avoid that?

Scott would never risk Virgil being hurt.

But… he remembered the cold, unfamiliar look on the former fighter-pilot’s face as he’d spun to face him not ten minutes before. Was his brother in a state to know who was flying the ship chasing him down?

Virgil bit back a scream.

“Can’t EOS…?”

“No. She can’t. He’s blocked her access.”

Virgil looked down at the Atlantic far below him. Could he drop his ship safely on the surface of the water? He cut his speed.

“I’m tracking her path, I’ll tell you when to move.”

This couldn’t be happening. He tried the comm again, fighting to keep his voice calm and unthreatening:

“Scotty? Can you hear me bro? It’s me, Virgil. Please pick up? Please?”

“25 seconds, Virgil. Start reducing altitude.”

White knuckled, he tipped Two’s nose downwards and went to accelerate.

“Wait!”

“What? What???!”

“It’s ok. It’s ok, he’s adjusted course to pass on your port side. I’m… I misunderstood what… I’m sorry to have worried you.” John sounded almost light headed.

With her familiar crack-boom One shot past in a blur. Virgil flinched as her vapour trail crystallised on her sister’s windscreen for a few moments. He levelled Two off and pulled up the graphical readout of One’s tracker. Scott appeared to have done one of his signature handbrake turns and was heading back towards him at a more sedate pace… the rocket’s trajectory heading safely to the left of Two. Gleaming silver came into view alongside and Scott matched the green ship’s pace, the way he often did on journeys home from the more difficult rescues. Those times when Virgil knew his big brother needed company more than the adrenaline rush of g force and extreme speed.

The comm remained muted, but they were together. And that, until they got home at least, was all that mattered.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The lift was broken again and Estera truly empathised with it as she dragged herself to the 5th floor. Her limbs were jelly and once she was on the right side of her front door she considered just lying down in the hall and having done with it. At which point 60 kilos of floof and enthusiasm canonballed into her and she realised with a quiet groan that she had to take him out before he destroyed everything in her apartment. Glancing down at her dusty sleeves as they contrasted with Bez’s snowy fur, she resolved to shower and change first else people would think she’d just escaped from a disaster zone.

Not so different from the state she was in when she first got here come to think of it. The darkness of the following few days in Processing crowded in on her and she didn’t have the energy to push it away. It was all too close to the surface today.

Bez licked the salt off her cheek.

With what felt like superhuman effort she dragged herself upright. At least here she had her own shower. And clean towels. Squeezing past the wall of hair she made it to the kitchen, draped her coat and bag over the back of a chair and spotted the note on the table:

Walked Niebieski. Soup in fridge. Glad you are safe.

Edith & George

She blinked back more tears. The elderly couple next door were an absolute godsend.

Ok. Shower. Soup. Stupid movie to prevent too much thought. Could maybe make some popcorn. That was a plan.

She did like a plan.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The pool slid closed overhead and Scott allowed himself a few moments to sit back and breathe before regrouping and running through the comfortingly routine process of post-flight checks. His shoulder twinged sharply and that itchy trickling sensation reminded him that steristrips were no match for the physicality of flying a supersonic jet.

His vision lurched as her voice came back to him and he desperately focussed on grounding himself. He could hear the creaking of cooling engines, feel the harness over his shoulders, the seat beneath and around him. Wait, something else was off too. Something was pressing uncomfortably into his hip… he leaned to the side to extract the item from his baldric. A tiny Thunderbird 2 looked up from his palm, accusingly. His hand shook and the toy dropped, hitting the deck far below with a distant ping.

He stared down into the abyss.

Virgil was right. It wasn’t safe. HE wasn’t safe. If he couldn’t trust his mind to stay on track then he couldn’t be trusted. How could he keep his brothers safe from the world when he couldn’t even keep them safe from himself?

He tightened his fingers around the levers, every inch of the ship’s controls so familiar it was like an extension of his own limbs. Closer to him than his flight suit in a way. One was a part of him. IR was a part of him. Maybe the majority part. Certainly the best part.

If he couldn’t do this… then…

No. He shouldn’t think like that. He just needed more time. He flicked the switch to extend the chair and took a purposeful step down on to the gantry.

He had an apology to deliver.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Virgil looked down at his twitching, sleeping brother and fought back the urge to bear hug him and never let go. There had been plenty of those earlier. Scott begging for forgiveness he didn’t need. Virgil and John trying to reassure him, their words seeming so powerless and both desperately hoping that holding him tight could somehow piece their hero back together.

He hadn’t expected the honesty. That was new.

Scott had looked Virgil in the eye and told him he was right. He wasn’t ready, he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t ok. Virgil had shaken his head, denying the words he’d said over and over this last week. He didn’t want to be right. It was too painful. It wasn’t fair.

But Scott had been adamant - he was grounding himself for another fortnight. He needed time to process. Something had triggered him, he acknowledged that much, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. He’d lowered his eyes and quietly asked if they wouldn’t mind staying with him because he didn’t want to be alone.

As if he could stop them.

And so the six of them crowded into the lounge in a nest of blankets, fluffy cushions and rogue bits of popcorn. Scott had sagged against Virgil’s shoulder and passed out not half an hour into the film. John curled on big brother’s other side, if he was asleep it was likely with one eye open. Allie and Gordon were a tangle of limbs on the floor while Kayo dozed with her head atop the pile.

They’d get through this together as they always had. As Virgil watched, Scott sighed in his sleep and his face relaxed. He was here and he was safe. Hopefully tonight the nightmares would leave him in peace.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Estera braced her feet and shoulders against the splintering wood and bit through her lip as she tried to remain silent despite the terror of the world tilting and sliding. The rumble of aircraft engines filled her head to the point where she wondered if she could even remember any other sound. But she knew where she was. This was to be expected. It would end soon. It had to.

The unsecured packing crate slammed into something again, her head rebounding painfully off the inside and she was consumed by nausea. The tiniest sob escaped and she froze. With a click the lid was opened and blinding light flooded into her streaming eyes as she tried to focus on the figure leaning towards her. It was him! Was she saved? Was she safe?

No.

Dread filled every cell of her body. Vivid blue eyes looked down at her but they were unseeing. A dark line ran from the corner of his mouth and then red, sickly gleaming red was everywhere. His blood was everywhere and it was her fault. His body fell heavily on top of her and the lid was slammed shut and she screamed for help until her throat burned.

Nobody came.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Chapter 7…

[myemuisemo]

"The Strange Story of Jonathan Small," part 12 of The Sign of the Four in Letters from Watson, is indeed strange. The truth turns out much more convoluted than the Moonstone-esque "stolen from a temple" explanation I'd been expecting... but still manages to reflect badly on everyone involved.

First, though, there's the small matter of the policeman waiting for Watson in the cab. I'm utterly confused by giving an "inspector" this babysitting duty, since that should be a managerial rank; and the rank did exist in 1890. But that could be my misunderstanding of some change in nomenclature. The real issue is this:

His face clouded over when I showed him the empty box. “There goes the reward!” said he, gloomily. “Where there is no money there is no pay. This night's work would have been worth a tenner each to Sam Brown and me if the treasure had been there.”

How bad is pay if a member of the Metropolitan Police is working for tips?

According to the Friends of the Metropolitan Police Heritage Charity, typical pay in 1890 was 25-35 shillings a week. (This source also provides other juicy tidbits, like the first official rules on handling a murder scene were set as recently as 1879, which explains why so many detectives at Holmes' crime scenes were sloppy about crime scene contamination. And the first Thames Police steam launch was floated in 1885!)

The midpoint of 30 shillings means about USD 266 a week in today's money, or an annual salary in today's USD of $13,832. The current poverty line for a single person is $15,060. Even as approximations, these point to policing not being a well-paid job.

And then we get the story of Jonathan Small.

Small is from Pershore, a village left being by Worcestershire's industrialization and losing population. His "chapel-going" family means he was raised as a Nonconformist: Protestant but not Anglican, most likely Presbyterian or Methodist. By the time of Small's youth in the middle of the 19th century, most civil rights had been restored to Nonconformists, though his family would have been taxed to pay for the Anglican parish church, and he could not have enrolled at Oxford.

The latter seems not to have been an aspiration, since Small was, by his own account, "a bit of a rover." He didn't seek employment in the carpet mills or glove factories -- where, in the usual Victorian manner, conditions were dreadful for most laborers. (Revolutionary Players does a terrific slideshow on the Kidderminster carpet mills.) His "spot of trouble over a girl" would likely have been getting a local young woman pregnant, or perhaps raping a young woman. The subsequent crocodile incident confirms he was a heedless fool, but nothing thereafter rules out being worse than that.

(I'm not dealing with the 3rd Buffs because I understand nothing of Victorian UK Army divisions.)

Small lands on his feet (well, foot) by being hired by The Man With the Most Overtly Racist Name, Mr. Abelwhite, as overseer on an indigo plantation.

From our dear friend Wikipedia:

The demand for indigo in the 19th century is indicated by the fact that in 1897, 7,000 km2 (2,700 sq mi) were dedicated to the cultivation of indican-producing plants, mainly in India. By comparison, the country of Luxembourg is 2,586 km2 (998 sq mi).

Indigo was grown on plantations, farmed by slave or near-slave labor, so yep, Jonathan Small is a slave overseer.

Then comes the 1857 Rebellion. A good ThoughtCo piece explains:

The Sepoy Mutiny was a violent and very bloody uprising against British rule in India in 1857. It is also known by other names: the Indian Mutiny, the Indian Rebellion of 1857, or the Indian Revolt of 1857. In Britain and in the West, it was almost always portrayed as a series of unreasonable and bloodthirsty uprisings spurred by falsehoods about religious insensitivity. In India, it has been viewed quite differently. The events of 1857 have been considered the first outbreak of an independence movement against British rule. The uprising was put down, but the methods employed by the British were so harsh that many in the western world were offended.

The piece goes on to detail the ample reasons that Indians would want to rebel against the occupying UK Army and the British East India Company. The uprising itself was incredibly bloody -- possibly the only thing I recall about Flashman in the Great Game is the graphic descriptions of the carnage, which is not what one reads the Flashman novels for.

Caught up in the fighting, Small ends up at the Agra's Red Fort, which was completed in this form in 1573. The British captured it in 1803. It is enormous -- 94 acres -- and designed to defend from, among other things, battering down the gates with elephants.

This was a real battle site in the 1857 Rebellion... and so here is Small, assigned to guard duty with two Sikhs, who are somehow loyal to the colonizing force.

Many Sikh were loyal soldiers for Great Britain, to the point that Sikhs were popularly idolized as the perfect soldiers. This excerpt from Faithful Fighters, by Kate Imy, gives a sense of how thoroughly British imagination defined Sikhs as loyal soldiers, and how this was problematic on so many dimensions. It's also generally agreed that Britain could not have quashed the 1857 Rebellion without Sikh soldiers.

From this point, everybody becomes driven by greed and pride, including the unfortunate Major Morstan, father of Mary. The only exception in this general degradation of spirit is, surprisingly, Tonga! Being loyal-unto-death to the white man who saved his life is absolutely a trope ascribed to "primitive" peoples, but it's also nobler than anything anyone else does at this stage in the story. (Admittedly, Small tries to be loyal to his Sikh co-conspirators in his original plans for escape, but he's so damn stupid that his loyalty is worthless. He also treats Tonga no better than he would a monkey.)

And so the story winds down, and Watson drops the bombshell that he's engaged to Miss Morstan. Holmes' response raises what I'm sure are false hopes:

I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way: witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father.

Yes! Include Miss Morstan in your adventures! She is sensible and organized!

I feel in my bones that nothing of the sort will happen. But in a few decades, Dorothy Sayers will devote Gaudy Night to exploring Holmes' claim that love has a bad effect on reason.

Meanwhile, we still don't know what Watson was sending at the post office, back at the beginning.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Part 4

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Language, creepy stalker guy

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

---

You stepped out of the coffee shop and took a deep breath, shaking off the indignity of having to literally beg your boss not to fire you. Unsurprisingly, she wasn't too impressed that you'd missed almost a week of work without so much as a call but, luckily for you, since the event employers had to give employees more leeway with "stress-induced absences".

In any other circumstance you would’ve felt bad for exploiting new laws forged as a result of citywide trauma but, by this point, you were skirting dangerously close to the brink of a stress-induced breakdown, fuelled by stress-induced binge drinking and stress-induced inhalation of any high calorie food that was unlucky enough to cross your path. You needed to be cut some slack.

Days came and went. You woke up, rode the subway to work, tried to make the day pass as quickly as possible and then travelled home. Your evenings mostly consisted of sitting on the couch, crying and eating takeout; you'd most definitely overestimated how well you'd adjust to a sudden return to normal life.

One thing that did keep your mind occupied, however, was a new game that had replaced Siblings or Dating? You now spent your days playing Spot the Spy. Bucky had said that they'd send someone to keep an eye on you, and that you wouldn't notice their presence at all, but you weren't expecting them to hire an actual fucking ghost. Despite hours and hours of searching, you never once spotted someone who seemed to be watching you.

That was, until the night when the subway station by the coffee shop was closed. It was undergoing major works, just like everything else in the city, and the nearest alternative station was a fifteen minute walk away through some incredibly seedy side streets. You optimistically checked your banking app but quickly realised you couldn’t justify splashing out on a cab. That's what you get for ordering out every night for weeks.

You kept your headphones in your bag, turned the corner and hurried along as fast as you could move without running. It was only a short walk away, no problem.

You could only have been walking for a couple of minutes when you heard heavy footsteps behind you. Problem? You increased your pace to a jog and heard them do the same. Problem.

You started to run. Too scared to glance behind you and too short of breath to scream, it felt like your only option. Everything else just fell out of your head. You cursed yourself for being so caught off guard, after the amount of fucking self-defence classes you'd attended when you moved to the city, the amount of fucking money you'd spent to make sure every single bag you owned had a can of Mace insi-

The Mace. You pulled your bag off your shoulder and started frantically searching, not breaking stride as you did so. You were just a few short steps from the safety of the well-lit main street, fingertips about to grasp the small metal can, when a hand grabbed your shoulder and yanked you backwards. You were instantly knocked off your feet.

The shock of the impact winded you for a second but you still managed to push your feet against the ground and shove yourself backwards, away from the sinister silhouette back-lit by the streetlights. Your hand was still in the bottom of your bag. While straining your eyes through the darkness in a futile attempt to make out any of your attacker's features, you finally managed to grab hold of the spray, wrenching it out and pointing it towards them as confidently as you could.

You never got a chance to use it. Before the shadowy figure had even come close to being in range, they were intercepted, thrown violently against the crumbling brick wall by another indistinct body. You watched the two of them straining against each other for a few seconds, your whole body frozen in shock. The interceptor eventually landed a punch so hard that the crunching of broken teeth was clearly audible even from six feet away. As he did so, you saw the light from the street glinting off something silver, something metal.

You took that as a cue to scramble to your feet, the attacker going limp and slumping down against the wall. Jesus, there must've been a good chance he was actually dead.

You swallowed harshly and tried to speak but your voice was shaking, a faint whisper all that you could muster.

"Buck? How did you-"

"Are you hurt?" He sounded more pissed than concerned, throwing an accusatory look in your direction. You shook your head feebly. "The hell are you doing walking around here in the dark? What, you can’t look after yourself?"

A pathetically weak gesture towards the pepper spray still gripped in your palm did nothing to appease him. He marched over, grabbed it from your hand, removed the cap and detached the plastic safety tag that you didn’t even know was on there. Whoops. He just stared at you sternly for a second as you stood in front of him, shaking, holding back tears. You would’ve given anything in that moment for a kind word, for any kind of comfort, but you got nothing from him. He picked your bag up and started walking towards the main street.

"Come on."

Your legs were trembling but you just about managed to propel yourself forwards. As you passed the lifeless body sprawled on the floor you looked over, wincing at the blood weeping from his open mouth, but relieved when you saw that he was still breathing. You didn't care whether that piece of shit lived or died but you did care about whether or not Bucky had just straight up murdered someone in front of you. You really hoped that leaving him alive was intentional.

Your short-tempered saviour briskly walked you towards the subway stop, staying a few paces ahead of you the whole way. You would've yelled at him to slow down but the prospect of trying to make conversation with him after all that was more than you could handle.

He reached the top of the stairs leading down to the station and abruptly stopped, holding your bag out but intentionally avoiding looking directly at you. After taking it from him you waited for a second, but he didn't speak.

"So, is that it?"

You got no answer. Not a look, not even a nod.

You scoffed, shaking your head in frustration as you headed down the stairs. Maybe this was how it would work now, you had no choice but to stay away and try to heal but he was allowed to just dive back into your life whenever he saw fit and make you feel guilty for needing help.

The very least he could've done was send someone else to follow you around, at least then you wouldn't have to start trying to forget him all over again.

---

You were tired the next day. You’d barely slept, going over the events of the evening over and over again in your head. It happened so fast that you’d barely had a chance to process it but, as soon as you lay down in bed, it all hit you at once. Once the floodgates opened they were almost impossible to shut off.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the shiny metal of the coffee machine and sighed at how red and puffy your eyes looked. This was just your default appearance now. Moving over to the window, you scanned your eyes up and down the street in search of your invisible escort. You figured that, now you knew who you were looking for, he'd be easier to spot. You were wrong. For the whole day, every time you got a free second, you were back in that spot. There was no sign of him anywhere.

The clock eventually ticked over to closing time, so you locked yourself in and started cleaning up. Another thing that had been playing your mind all day was how the hell you were going to get home. Your subway station was going to be closed for the rest of the week but you were convinced that, if you attempted to walk to the other one on your own again, Bucky would drop out of a tree, bundle you into a burlap sack and try to drown you in the river.

You checked the tip jar. There were four dollars in there, barely enough for a cab ride to the end of the block. Eventually you just said fuck it, you had no choice other than to just start walking and accept whatever punishment that would afford you.

As you stepped outside and locked the door behind you, you noticed a cab idling in front the shop. You ignored it, assuming it was for someone living in the apartment upstairs, and started to walk past. The driver spotted you, rolled down his window and shouted.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

He looked annoyed. "I’m the cab you ordered."

"I didn’t order a cab."

"Well, someone with your name at this address did."

"Must be someone upstairs."

"Not unless there's a coffee shop up there, too."

He was talking to you like you were a complete fucking idiot, so that was nice. You folded your arms defiantly.

"I don't have any mon-"

"It's prepaid, sweetheart."

You raised a suspicious eyebrow and asked him what destination address he'd been given, it was yours. Dropping your arms, you approached the window and leaned in slightly.

"Did I have a deeper voice and a Brooklyn accent on the phone, by any chance?"

"Now that you mention it, yeah."

"Great."

You rolled your eyes. After thoroughly checking all of the credentials displayed in the rear window, you pulled the door open and flopped down into the passenger seat.

"Jesus lady, it's just a cab ride," he fired up the engine, "the stakes aren't that high."

"You have no idea."

---

You kicked open the rickety door of your apartment and slammed it behind you, dropping your keys on the counter and abandoning your bag on the floor. It was lucky that you only lived a twenty minute drive away from the shop because, if you'd had to listen to that fucking driver complain about how his ex-wife maxed out his credit card and fucked his best friend for any longer, you would've exploded. You were so ready for a calm, quiet evening in front of the TV.

Rubbing your eyes, you flicked on the lights and wandered from the hallway into the living room. You almost had a heart attack when you saw Bucky sitting in your arm chair.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck?" Your hand shot up to your chest, heart racing. "Are you trying to fucking kill me?"

"No, you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself."

"Huh?"

"You just get into a car with anyone who knows your name?"

Oh hell fucking no. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Had he seriously broken into your apartment to chew you out for taking a cab that he'd sent for you?

"What, you’re testing me now? What the hell is the matter with you?"

He launched himself to his feet. "What choice do I have? You keep putting yourself in danger, you expect me to just stand back and let it happen?"

"Yes, Bucky. That's what breakups are, okay? You're not supposed to keep fucking following me after telling me you don't want me around anymore."

"I never said that," he took a few steps towards you but you backed yourself up to the wall, "and I'm not following you, I told you we had to make sure you're safe."

"Someone else could've done it."

"I didn't trust anyone else."

"Whatever."

You were so exhausted. Resting your head back against the wall, you wiped your hands over your face, taking a deep breath and attempting to collect your thoughts. You were trying desperately to think of a way to continue this conversation without it devolving into more arguing, but you were coming up blank.

"For the record," you let your arms drop to your sides, "I only got in the cab because I figured there probably aren’t many Siberian Hydra agents with a thick Brooklyn accent."

"That's a stupid reason."

Yep, time to argue again.

"Look, if you’re just here to lay into me, you can kindly fuck off. I don’t need a babysitter."

"You sure about that? Do you even understand what the stakes are here?"

"Apparently not," you shrugged and gave him a sarcastic smile, "maybe you should explain it to me like I’m a fucking idiot."

"Don't be like that."

"Like what? I'm fine."

You could tell that your casual manner was pissing him off even more. He thought you weren’t taking this seriously, but you were, you were scared as hell. What he obviously didn't understand was that his condescension and patronising anger were just making the situation so much worse.

"I’m not being paranoid here, your life is in danger."

"You don’t say."

"Can you take this seriously?"

"I honestly don't know anymore but, at this point, if this is the alternative, I’ll take my chances with Hydra."

"You don’t know what you’re saying."

"Stop treating me like a fucking child." Now you were shouting. "You think I wanted any of this? I just wanted a date, Buck. Now I’m scared for my fucking life while being followed around by someone I thought I was in love with, who now just treats me like shit. I’m so fucking sick of-"

Your words were swallowed as his mouth crashed against yours, the length of your body becoming pinned against the wall under the weight of his huge frame.

---