#home window tinting prices

[bunnys-kisses]

daughter dearest

simon 'ghost' riley

cw: smut/pwp, implied age gap, price's daughter!reader, daddy kink & daddy issues, simon still works under price, doggy style, hair pulling, a tiny bit of choking, manhandling

bunny says: good girls end up in heaven, bad girls end up with simon

he was so handsome in that sleek black car of his. with the tinted windows, you could see that he was in the driver's side as there was a bit of cigarette smoke coming out from the open window.

you were quick to get out of the house that you lived with your father. you had a night bag over your shoulder. in a cute little skirt and an even cuter top. you were the beloved daughter of captain john price.

but tonight, you were simon's good girl.

you and simon started up a "relationship" around the christmas party last year. it was harmless flirting. he was stubborn and you got right under his skin. of course this ended with him tossing you into the back of a jeep on base and fucking you until you couldn't even form your own name.

since then you've been simon's pretty little thing with an age gap to raise an eyebrow out.

the drive to his flat wasn't long, but the entire time under the cover of night, he had his large hand on your thigh. he palmed at the skin and muscle. his fingers dug into them, which made you whimper from his strength.

scary.

but simon would never hurt you. even as he kept a protective hand on your lower back. his lips were on your neck with you pinned against the wall of the elevator. only to pull away when the doors opened to let in more people.

there was little formalities when you both got through the front door of the flat. even as you tried to undo the laces of your shoes, simon was over you with his large hands on your hips and his cock up against your ass.

"you dog." you whined as you managed to get them off.

when you were standing back upright, you felt the strength of your boyfriend's chest against your back. then soon his strong hand was loosely around your throat.

you whimpered.

"whatcha call me, princess?"

you whimpered, 'sorry, daddy." you didn't want to hear about the long stretched of absences your father did when you were going up made you seek out older men to pleasure you. you didn't care to know!

he held your throat for a moment then leaned in to kiss your jaw, "good girl. i'd hate to take you through training again."

your daddy issues to culminate into a bratty attitude, especially around base. simon had to 'train' you, which meant everything from spanking to time outs. it meant having cum covered panties and giving his head in public bathrooms. you'd behave, simon hated brats.

he always felt the need to break 'em.

you were a good girl for him, most of the time. so when he picked you up like you weighed as much as a bag of potatoes and tossed you on the bed in the bedroom.

you bounced on the bed before simon was on you, he pulled at the clothes on your body. you managed to get your phone out of your pocket before he started to almost rip your clothes off your body! you felt your cheeks heat up from the feeling. you were stripped bear and grabbed by the hair.

he gave it a good yank and you felt wetness between your legs. you felt like such a whore, but part of you loved when being strong men used you to their pleasing.

"your daddy isn't going to like when i bring you home and ya got cum runnin' down your leg. when ya walk a lil weird and can't sit down. make sure your old man knows what i've been fuckin' his sweet little princess."

you whimpered as you ended up on your hands and knees with your ass in the air. your core throbbed as he got his cock out his thick black jeans. it was a hefty cock. thick all over with breeding balls.

his cock was shoved without much prep into your slick hole. you jumped but his larger body kept you pinned to the bed. his cock felt like a heavy weight between your legs.

your buried your head in the pillows and arched your back. you entire body felt amazing from the feeling of his thrusts. your cunt ached with want for your boyfriend.

"that's my good girl. see, maybe m captain is right. maybe he does have the most perfect daughter in the world." simon's words were harsh but they made you warm all over.

"daddy please." you moaned as you felt him slap you across the ass. your body felt hot all over as he continued to fuck you. this wasn't sex, this was fucking. he was pushing all of his length, stuffing you full of him.

so you'd know when you gave your old man a hug, that a piece of simon was still in you.

you'd be a riley soon enough.

"please, ah! please!" you whined.

"i got ya, princess." his pace was brutal, it almost brought tears to your eyes. it made your stomach twist and your cunt soaked.

you soon could hear your phone ringing on the nightstand, but simon's cock had made it impossible for you to find the strength to grab it.

"who's that, love?" simon asked in a gruff voice, "is that your old man callin'? better pick up." he held you by the waist and leaned over you to grab it. it was still ringing.

you took it with weak hands and answered it, "hi, daddy." you tried to keep your voice steady but the way your core was throbbing from simon's heavy thrusts.

"where are ya?" your old man asked.

"oh! remember, i told you i was staying with a friend tonight." you tried not to moan or seem like something was off. your father was painfully smart, it was hard to get anything past him.

"right, right. that girl you go to school with? tiffany? rachel?"

your voice was a little tight when you replied, "andrea." you felt simon pull at your hair which almost made you cry out, but you just had to keep it together for a little while longer.

"right, right. well, ya got a ride home to come home?"

you swallowed and bent to simon's will, "yes, daddy. i'll be home around 2!" you squeezed your eyes shut

there was a pause, "are you alright, sweetheart? sound a little sick."

you grit your teeth for a moment, could the old man just stop yapping? you replied, "no, daddy. i think i'm just really tired. we- we went for a hike earlier, just worn out!"

simon gave a silent chuckle as he continued to thrust, worn out was right. he wanted to slap your ass, but you were squirming enough as it was.

"alright, i'll see ya tomorrow. remember to come home early enough so we can have dinner together. love ya."

'love you too, daddy." you voice cracked a little as you felt yourself on the edge of your orgasm. you hung up the phone and you looked over your shoulder, but simon pushed your head back into the pillows to fuck you into the mattress.

"that's a good girl." simon growled, "i know he's your father, but i'm your daddy." he bruised your hips with his feverish pace.

you arched your back and clutched onto the covers tightly. your head was pounding as you felt the pulse of warmth through your body. your mind was a mantra of his name. "fuck, daddy!"

simon chuckled and slammed his hand down on your ass, "that's what i like to see, princess. i love how you feel against me. tight cunt, thick thighs, chubby hips, my fuckin' dream."

you whimpered as you tensed up. you climaxed and as you reached your peak. everything else went dark in your head before you ended up face first in his soft bed. the smell of your lover was polluting your head as he had you bouncing on his cock.

"now that's a good girl." simon purred, "now let's give this cunt what she be needin'." with a few more jolts of his hips, he finished inside of you. his cum spat into the back of your womb with purpose.

he wanted to see it leak out all over your pretty pink panties come morning. but that might take a few more rounds.

"look alive, princess." he said as he tapped your face a little harder than you liked, "not done with ya, yet."

but you had all night.

-

the next morning, you came home and greeted your father with a kiss on the cheek and a cheery smile. when you went upstairs, price though he caught the glimpse of a bruise on the back of your thigh, right where your skirt ended.

but he looked away rather quickly and crossed his arms. he said, "glad ya had fun, sweetheart!" he was a supportive father, he loved you! you were his beautiful daughter.

little did he know that under your skirt was two large purple hand prints from his trusted lieutenant. <3

[calgarywindowtinting]

House window tinting restricts the entry of harmful rays, scorching sunlight, etc. So, learn about the different home window tinting options before you choose one.

[wttcsms]

we play our fantasies out in real life ways ; shouto todoroki.

pairing shouto todoroki x f!reader  word count 2.7k  synopsis knocking up his sugar baby seems (and feels) like a dream come true for the future ceo and youngest son of japan’s richest conglomerate family. content contains sugar daddy!shouto, yandere themes, car sex, creampie, breeding kink, quirkless au, ceo!shouto, tiny daddy kink author’s notes this is a repost of an old fic but pls tell me we are still horny 4 shouto. also ignore the Tesla promo, i was feeling silly when i wrote this </3

He can have anything he wants, you know.

And of course you know this. Of course you do. It’s hard to ignore this fact whenever he’s the exact reason your closet is overflowing with more dresses than you know what to do with; why your dresser can barely stay shut due to the amount of lacy lingerie you’ve had to shove in them; why you’re a third year college student driving to campus with a brand new Mercedes that technically isn’t even supposed to be out on the market ‘til next month. 

He can have anything he wants, and because you’re his, by extension, you have the power to make all your material wishes come true, too. All you have to do is ask him.

All you have to do is look up at him and give him those puppy dog eyes of yours and say, “please, daddy, can I cum?” and he’ll let you. You know he will, because stoic Shouto Todoroki, the future CEO and prized son of the Todoroki clan that happens to be one of the most famous conglomerate families in all of Japan, just can’t seem to say no to you. He signs off multi-billion yen deals as easily as one blinks and running multiple companies is just something he’s been born to do. It’s no easy feat to give commands to such a powerful man. 

And yet, one look and a tiny whimper is all it takes to turn him into putty in your hands. 

It’s always an out of body experience when you’re with Shouto. Being with him is like constantly being the main character of a movie. He rents out entire restaurants so the two of you can dine away from prying eyes. He sends you good morning and good night texts every single day. (One time you joked about him forcing his assistant to do it because there’s no way a busy man like him would ever have time to do something so insignificant; he didn’t like that you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the concept of you being someone very important to him.) Shouto is incredibly good to you, incredibly good for you.

He’s incredibly good with a lot of things. Taking care of you, for one. Taking care of all his businesses, for another. And right now, he’s taking real good care of your cunt when he’s got three of his fingers knuckles deep in you. 

The windows to his sleek, outrageously priced car are tinted so dark, even you struggle to see through the windshield. You always tell him it’s dangerous, but he reminds you that there are always reasons for the things he does. You wonder if getting tinted windows so he could fuck his college student sugar baby with some semblance of privacy is the reason. 

And then all thinking on your end comes to a stop when he nips at the skin of your neck, biting down softly and getting you to let out a tiny whimper. It doesn’t hurt. You don’t think Shouto is even capable of hurting you; not because you’re some unbreakable being, but because you don’t think the calloused hands that have caressed every centimeter of your body is capable of harming you. 

The two of you are currently parked in the lot right outside the building where his main office is located. In about ten minutes, the parking lot will be flooded with employees who have just clocked out and are getting ready to speed home. In about ten minutes, anyone could accidentally (or purposely) become a little voyeur to the activities going down in the future CEO’s luxury car. 

Your back is pressed against his chest. More often than not, you find yourself naked while he’s practically still dressed, and it’s the same thing that’s happening right now. The buttons on his shirt are digging into your back, but you can’t find it in you to complain. Instead, you focus on gripping the wrist of the hand that’s in between your thighs. The sleeves of his button down shirt are rolled up, and if you take your tiny fingers just a bit higher, you can feel the veins running down his arm. 

“Tell me what you want, baby.” The baritone of his voice is smooth, calm, collected — in control. Because you can make any request in the world, and Shouto will fulfill it for you, but that does not mean that you are the one who makes the final decisions. At the end of the day, everything you have, everything that is given to you, is because of him, because of the decisions he makes for you.

His eagerness to gift you the world thinly veils the true depth of your submission to him. A subconscious part of you is well aware of the power imbalance in this relationship, but if all has been well these past two years, then surely it’ll only be smooth sailing from here?

You lean back, leaning into his warmth, breathing deeply to inhale the scent of his spicy cologne that costs more than your textbooks (that he bought for you). 

“D-daddy.” You moan out, trying to coax him deeper in your tight little cunt, as if his fingers aren’t already as deep as they can go, spreading out your hole to prep you for what he knows you truly crave. 

“You’ve got to speak up, love. I can’t give you anything if you don’t tell me what to give you.” His breath is warm against your ear, and it’s so hot in the car. So, so hot. You wonder if it’s just you feeling the heat, though. Shouto seems as collected as ever, not the least bit uncomfortable at all. 

“Mmm — w-want you.” You wriggle a bit in his lap, but his free hand grips your side and squeezes you with a firm, nonverbal command to stop moving. You do, immediately. Because that’s what you always do: follow his command. 

“I know you do.” He coos, finally moving his fingers. It’s agonizingly slow, too slow. The car is silent save for your little pants and the obscene wet sounds that come as a result of his fingers thrusting in your wet cunt. 

“Faster, daddy.” You whine out, looking up at him. The sun is setting, and despite the tint of the windows, the orange glow from the sun still shines against his smooth skin, casting his face into something that’s half sunset/half shadow. It’s a good look; a sharp contrast that matches his hair. Seeing your blatant admiration of him only spurs him to give in and go faster. He had planned on drawing this out for as long as he possibly could. He had originally wanted to coax you into as many orgasms ‘til you were nothing but a fucked out little mess, too worn out to pay attention or even care when he finishes your little session with you plugged up with his cum. 

The lives of children born into the Todoroki family are more cursed than it is blessed, and Shouto had, a very long time ago, made a vow that he would never continue the bloodline. He would have no children, which would be easy because he planned on never having a lover.

And then he met you, started providing for you, realized how much he enjoyed providing, and realized even more that the only way to strengthen this transactional relationship is by forcing your hand. He likes to think that you would stay with him willingly, but there are some chances that he’s just not willing to take; there are some extremes that he’s all too entirely happy to go far to, though. 

Your sweet moans mix in well with the lewd sounds of your pussy getting thoroughly fingerfucked. His fingers are so much longer than yours, can reach spots inside of you that you can’t quite reach yourself. He’s efficient with anything and everything he does, and you’re not surprised when he doesn’t slow his pace. The consistent strokes of his fingers, your lowered inhibitions when around Shouto, and the look on his face (equal parts concentration and adoration) all help in making you cum all over his hand. 

“Good girl.” Shouto whispers, removing his fingers and holding his hand up. The sunlight beaming through makes his digits glisten even more, and you’re enraptured as you watch him bring his fingers to his lips to suck your essence off of them. Piercing heterochromatic eyes never leave yours as he sucks on them, and you have to turn away from embarrassment. How can he keep such a straight face when literally licking your cum off his fingers? 

“Don’t turn away from me.” His hand — still wet — grips your chin and forces you to look at him again. “I don’t like it when you shy away from me.” 

You nod meekly, and Shouto sighs. 

“You shouldn’t be shy around me. I don’t like making you feel uncomfortable, you know that, don’t you?” 

You nod again, a subtle, barely there move. He’s not impressed. 

“Answer me properly.” There’s a hard edge to his tone, and you sit up a little straighter. Shouto would never lay a hand on you with the intent to physically harm you, but he’s not above roughing you up during sex. You’ve heard him get this way before, and the imprint of his fingertips and the purple hickeys littering your poor body took three days to fade properly. 

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You say with a pout, trying to conjure up any sort of leniency he can spare. Judging by his facial expression and the wavering look in his eyes, he’s already softening up. You just have to make it up to him now to have his complete forgiveness.

Maneuvering in the limited space the driver’s seat gives is no easy task, but you manage to shift positions to where you’re straddling his lap, finally facing him properly. He’s leaned back, watching you with a hungry glint in his eyes that makes you feel like the most wanted girl in all of Japan. A surge of heat flows through your body, from the tips of your ears to your cheeks and all the way down to between your thighs. If you were in a different position, you could clench them together, try to rub your thighs in an attempt to ease the need for friction. 

Your fingers make quick work of his belt and his zipper, pulling down on both the waistband of his slacks and his briefs to finally free his cock. He’s already hard, and you admire the way your hand can’t even wrap fully around him. The tip is flushed red, pearly beads of precum already present. 

This is the part where you look up at him, almost as if you’re unsure about what to do. You don’t know what it does to him, to see you sitting on his lap with his cock looking outrageously large in your tiny hands. He can see your pretty pussy practically dripping all over his slacks. Now’s not the time for you to be playing the role of an innocent, unsure little girl, but then it hits him: you’re asking him for permission. He almost lets out a bark of laughter. 

“You’ve already taken it upon yourself to tear into my pants and make a grab for my cock. Surely you don’t expect me to beg to fuck your little hole now, do you?” He has a cold smile on his face as he brings you closer to him. “I thought this was my apology. Don’t tell me you’re going to make me do all the work?”

“O-of course not!” You look startled at the suggestion, eyes going big and round. He looks at you expectantly, as if telling you to do something. 

It always burns when you first take him. It doesn’t matter how many times he makes you cums, doesn’t matter how long he spends stretching you out on his fingers. By now, your pussy should have memorized the feel of his dick, should have been moulded to fit him and only him. And while there’s a tiny flash of pain and discomfort for you (which Shouto hates), it’s hard not to be in love with the feel of just how tight you are. 

The stinging pain is brief, though, and is easily replaced by one of satisfaction from being stuffed by the prettiest, fattest cock you’ve ever taken in your life. 

You moan, rocking your hips back and forth. Maybe this was originally supposed to be an apology to him, but it feels more like you’re using him as your own personal toy, and Shouto really couldn’t care less. After all, if it brings you pleasure, it brings him pleasure. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, baby? What would happen if I never met you, hmm? Are you willing to spread those pretty legs of yours for any man?” He says the last sentence with a tone sharper than usual. You shake your head as you continue to rut against him, chasing after your own high because you might not be a simpleminded slut for anyone, but you are nothing more than a cockslut when it comes to Shouto. 

“Ah — fuck, fuck, fuck!” You moan out, falling against his chest, burying your face into the space between his shoulder and neck. “D-daddy, fuck!”

He holds you close to him as you cum, not even minding the mess you’ve made of his work pants. “Daddy’s got you.” He coos, his hand finding the back of your neck and squeezing you there, gently. “You must be tired now…”

You’re still too fucked out to really comprehend what’s exactly going on ‘til it’s happening, but even with your slow reaction times, you still manage to let out a slutty moan as you feel Shouto thrusting up into you. It must be uncomfortable, you think. This position doesn’t make it exactly easy for him to chase after his own pleasure, but then you remember that Shouto Todoroki doesn’t back down or break down when it comes to challenges.

He perseveres. 

You’re like a rag doll, like a personal little fucktoy, made for him to use (and maybe even break) as he pleases. Every thrust is sharp and intense, and his teeth are clenched as he continues to use you, enjoying the warmth of your tight walls and admiring the ring of white that coats and clings to his dick every time he pulls out. 

It doesn’t take him much longer to finally finish; he grabs you by your hips, raising you slightly before abruptly pushing you down on his cock, making sure that he’s nestled as deeply in you as he can be when he finally cums. He’s breathing a bit harder as he comes down, and then he’s grabbing you by your hair, making you stare at him. 

His cheeks are flushed, there’s some slight sweat building up on his forehead, his shirt is wrinkled. He’s never looked better. You’ve never felt better. 

Or, more accurately, never felt fuller. 

“Shouto, did you c…” You can’t even finish the sentence. Did you cum inside? Not like you have to; you know the answer. Some of it is dripping out of you. 

All he does is give you that small smile, the one that he rarely lets anyone see, and starts up the car. 

If he doesn’t want to talk now, there’s no way you can get him to answer properly. You try to remove yourself from his lap and make your ungraceful, disgusting journey to the passenger seat, but Shouto places a firm hand on your waist, forcing you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Shouto, you can’t possibly drive while I’m sitting here on your lap.”

“I bought a Tesla for a reason.” 

Right. Because everything Shouto does has a reason for it.

You think about this on the drive back to his penthouse, a little bit of fear building up in your lower belly. Shouto does everything for a reason, and what’s the reason for any man cumming inside?

[mistydeyes]

opposite occupations

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summary: all the 141 boys have different plans while on leave, each having their own idea of how to spend the time. but when they run into a lovely civilian, they realize that all the long hours, deployments, and trainings worth it.

pairing: 141 x civvie!fem!Reader

warnings: swearing, all fluff :)

a/n: I love me a good little meet cute

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price - florist

Everyone knew that the minute Price went home, he would be making the trek to his favorite cigar shop. It had been one he frequented for years, the familiar sign welcoming him home. Most shops on the street stayed the same. He liked the constancy, the familiarity.

As he rounded the street corner, he noticed a new shop had filled the unoccupied next door. The pale pink awning and rose-tinted glass were a new sight to see. "Sentiments of Carnations" he read as he walked past. He could see through the window that the shop had not yet been opened, noting the smell of fresh paint and empty displays. He wondered what grandma had put their retirement money into this florist shop.

He continued, opening the cigar shops store and smelling the musk of smoke and tobacco. "Ah John, I have your regulars set aside," the old shop owner said with a smile. "Back again for long?" he asked upon his return with a dark oak box. "Just waiting for another phone call from his majesty," he joked and slid over the usual bank notes. "I'll be seeing you," Price said as he opened the door and exited with the familiar chime of the bell.

As he embraced the warmth of the summer England weather, he pulled out one of his fresh purchases, excellently wrapped and balanced. He flipped open his lighter from his pocket and sat down to have his first smoke at home. He closed his eyes and savored the notes of espresso and hickory. As he sat in his small nirvana, he heard the florist's doors open.

He turned as he saw you, a flower behind your ear and a pink apron that perfectly matched the outside of the shop. You were not the grandma he had expected and instead were beautiful, the sun catching your lovely features. You had placed an antique table outside, along with a bucket of a colorful array of flowers adorned with a handwritten tag. You hung a small sign on the table that read, "Take one for a friend, family member, or loved one." You smiled at yourself, proud of the little display. You turned your head and noticed the mature man enjoying his smoke only a meter away from you. You picked out a scarlet carnation and walked over to the man, handing it to him.

"Here, you go," you said as his calloused fingers held the flower delicately. "A flower to brighten someone's day," you said with a smile. "Thank you, although I am not a man for flowers," he replied and extinguished his cigar. "Well, flowers can be for a variety of reasons, a friendly gesture, a gift for someone you fancy, or even something to brighten up your flat."

You ended with a sweet smile and he could feel himself melt on the spot. Something about the floral aroma emanating from the flower behind your ear along with your soft voice and pleasantries added to his current state of nirvana. You were so radiant in this light and he appreciated the kind gesture, especially upon his return home.

"No one to give a romantic gesture to, but thank you," he replied. "Well if that ever changes, my shop opens later this week! The shop's number is on the tag" you said before giving him a small wave and wink. He could hear the shop's door close as you began to set up your display and paint a mural on one of the walls. As he twisted the carnation in his hand, he knew he would be adding your shop to his routine becoming your most frequent customer.

soap - tattoo artist

Soap looked at his phone, making sure he was in the right place. His favorite tattoo shop near his Scottish home had closed and he was taking a recommendation from Ghost.

"She's got an attitude but her work is amazing," Ghost had said before Soap's deployment. He couldn't deny the craftsmanship of her work on Ghost's arm. He marveled at the attention to detail as Ghost proudly shoved off his ornate sleeve.

Soap had an appointment for today, previously approving of the artist's rendition of his vision. A black-and-white thistle, a charm his mother had said. It was commonly known to keep its owner away from danger and bad acquaintances. Something Soap needed on the battlefield.

He pushed the maroon door open, admiring the many gold frames with what he assumed were some of the artists' work. He let out a light chuckle as he noticed a framed sketch of Ghost's sleeve. He was just about to snap a picture when a voice called out, "Hey Mohawk, this isn't a museum."

He turned around to see a woman, a gorgeous one at that. You were wearing a tank top that showed off a collage of various tattoos in different styles. You had been taking a break and relaxed, sitting behind a desk, feet propped up.

"Actually, lass, I'm here with an appointment," he said, walking over to you. "Name's John MacTavish." he finished with a cheeky smile.

"Ah MacTavish, one of Riley's military boys I'm guessing. How's that masterpiece of mine doing?" you joked, Soap didn't know what to say. Were you and Ghost a thing?

You laughed at his pause, "My tattoo, Mohawk. There's no way I'd be shagging his Halloween-looking-arse." Soap appreciated the heads up about your attitude and knew this was gonna be a fun session.

"Looks gorgeous, Sweetheart. Just like yourself," he poked back and you let out a loud laugh, almost doubling over. "Don't flatter yourself, you can go make yourself comfortable in my station over there. Looks like you're only getting a bicep tat, so I better not see your shirtless arse back there."

Soap made his way to where you motioned, sitting down in the black velvet chair. You came in a few minutes later with your sketch and supplies. You closed the scarlet curtains behind you before walking over to prep his arm.

As you sat in relative silence, Soap asked, "So what do the tattoos mean, Lass?" You finished your prep work and were working on the correct tattoo placement. "Travels from around the world. I took it upon myself to get a tattoo in every new country."

With that, you offered him a mirror so he could approve of the sketch and placement. The tattoo rested on his right bicep and he made sure to look at it at every angle and made sure to flex for your enjoyment.

"Alright, muscle man, this should only take a few hours as long as you don't pass out on me," you said and began to tattoo your next masterpiece. During the next two hours, you made conversation about the tattoos meaning, his life in Scotland, and you even shared more intimate details about your travels.

The hours flew by like minutes to Soap as you let him know you were finished. He admired the detailed flower and you handed him some care instructions with some cream. "And your buddy paid for you ahead of time, so you're all set, Mohawk" you replied and Soap got off of the chair.

"See you around, my world-class woman," he joked as he exited the door. You slightly cringed, wondering if writing your number on the tube of aftercare cream was a good idea or not.

gaz - primary school teacher

Gaz looked at himself in his flat's mirror. He brushed a hand over his freshly cut hair and evened out his dress shirt. "Just a favor for a friend," he said to himself as he walked to catch the next tram. Two days ago, an old colleague during his days working with the metro police force had reached out to him. They called in a favor, "Kyle c'mon it's just a couple of primary students, all you need to do is give a little talk about stranger danger." Knowing he had nothing else better to do, Gaz agreed.

As he signaled the tram to stop, Gaz looked at the brown brick building reminding him of his younger days. Gaz walked in, checking in with the receptionist who directed him to the classroom where he'd be giving his talk. He was early, the school had not yet opened but he was asked to have the presentation at the beginning of class before the children's lessons. He admired the walls filled with the artwork of the students, silly attempts at drawing their families. He finally reached your classroom, noting the smiling sunflower on your opened door. He knocked softly and he saw you lift your head to greet him. If he had known you would be so beautiful, he would have not needed his friend's encouragement.

"Ah you must be Sgt. Garrick," you said, beginning to get up from your desk to greet him. You smoothed out your skirt and placed your glasses down. "It's just Kyle," he said and returned your friendly smile and warm handshake.

"Well Kyle, the children should be arriving in a few minutes. I'll get them settled and introduce you for your small talk today," you said with a grateful nod. You motioned for him to sit at your desk as you stood at your door to greet your excited second-year students. Gaz played on his phone and smiled as he heard you return the children's happy good mornings with a similar high-energy one. The students began to file in, placing their bags in their cubbies, and sitting with their friends. You heard small whispers from the children, wondering what you were doing at their teacher's desk. He let out a chuckle when he heard one boy whisper, "Is that Miss Y/N's husband? He's sitting in her chair."

Finally, with all the children in their seats, you walked to the front of the classroom and greeted your students warmly. "Good morning everyone, today we have a very special guest with us. This is our friend, Kyle, and he's here today to tell you all a little something before we start our lessons."

Kyle knew this was his cue, he rose from your desk and swapped places with you at the front of the room. "Hi everyone, today I'm going to teach you smart kids about something called 'Stranger Danger'." The children oohed in response as Kyle waved his hands in a fake menacing manner. You smiled as he was a natural. The children were attentive, writing down the information as he spoke and working together with their classmates to fill out the worksheet answers. Kyle ended his talk and asked if anyone had any questions. One child raised her hand and Kyle called on her. "Is Miss Y/N a stranger? I'm confused."

"I'm your teacher, Amelia. Teachers that you know aren't strangers," you responded and Kyle nodded in agreement. Another kid raised their hand and asked, "But you aren't Kyle's teacher, so you're a stranger to him."

Before either one of you could respond, his friend boasted, "It's because they're married, your Mum and Dad aren't strangers to each other." Both you and Kyle shared a look and he saw the soft blush rise to your face. "Ah we're just friends," he said and saved you the embarrassment.

Little did Kyle know, his email would chime that night with a thankful message from you along with your number at the bottom asking him to breakfast that weekend.

ghost - veterinarian

Unlike most people, Ghost loved the quiet ambiance of London's rainfall. The streets were empty and peaceful as people were cozying up in their homes with a blanket. Enjoying the evening air and cold, he walked with an umbrella in one hand and a warm cup in the other. His boots resounded on the cobblestone street as he sipped his Earl Grey tea. His chest was warm from the bold citrus and bergamot liquid. This was, in his opinion, an ideal leave well spent.

The rhythmic rain fell and his walking was interrupted by a soft mewing. Simon hurried down the street to find the source of the noise. In front of a grocer's, he noticed a small cardboard box being drenched by the unrelenting rain. He placed his cup down and gently lifted the box. Underneath was a small grey cat, cuddled into a ball to experience some semblance of warmth. Simon placed his umbrella to shield the box and lifted the tiny meowing animal into his hands.

As he cradled the cat to his chest, he heard a click of heeled boots behind him. He turned his now-drenched head to notice you walking up with a bright orange umbrella adorned with cat paws. "Excuse me, Sir, but is he yours?" you asked gesturing to the ball of grey that laid meowing in his arms. "Uh he's not, I found this little fella underneath this box here."

"Ah a Good Samaritan, I see. Well, I own the veterinarian shop down the way, I can take him off your hands if you'd like and make sure this little lad gets the care he needs," you said and offered a hand to hold the kitten. You noticed his slight hesitation and said, "If you'd like, I'll give you my card so you can take the little one home when he's all better."

"That would be nice," he smiled underneath his black face mask. Simon loved animals, never being permitted to have one as a child. As you held the kitten in your arm, you handed him your umbrella. He initially tried to refuse but you insisted saying, "You're soaked, I'll be alright." You ended with a small giggle which made Ghost warmer than his now cold cup of tea.

"The least I can do is walk you back to your shop," he replied a little too quickly. He instantly realized the surprising force he had said that with and followed up with, "You know, just so you and Earl Grey can make it there in this weather.

"Earl Grey, I like that. That's my favorite order, especially on days like this." Simon moved slightly behind you, holding the umbrella to shield the three of you on your walk. The air was filled with the familiar scent of rain and the notes of your floral perfume. "I'm Dr. L/N by the way, but most people just call me, Y/N," you said as you continued on your way. "I'm Simon, a pleasure to meet you doc."

Three weeks later Simon's house was filled with all the necessities for a new cat father. As he grabbed his coat, he pulled out a water-stained business card with the vet's office address and your number written on the back. He smiled to himself as he traced his fingers over the small handwriting saying, "To Earl Grey's owner, fancy a cup of tea with me?"

[archangeldyke-all]

can we get dealer!Sevika & hyper-feminine reader plssss 👁️👁️

reader has long ass nails so she sucks at rolling but thankfully since Sevika has a liking to her, she sells reader pre-rolls with a huge discount, and says it’s just a special deal for her only. & maybe one day she invites reader to smoke with her in her car and they just act all cute and high 😭

hhhghhhg... yeah. i'm a sucker for sevika. i'm a sucker for weed. let's fucking goooo

check out the nail inspo for the nails in this fic hehehe

men and minors dni

be outside in 5. the text on your phone reads. you grin, then look back up in the mirror, putting a fresh coat of lipgloss on and fixing your hair.

you suppose you could just buy in bulk. it would save sevika the two or three trips to your house a week. but she doesn't complain, and you've got a pretty good guess as to why.

a horn honks outside your home. you giggle, give your outfit one more look over in the mirror, spray a bit more perfume on, and run out of your house.

sevika's windows are tinted so dark it has to be illegal, and the presence of her car makes the whole block smell like weed. she rolls her window down as you come out of the house, turning down the music she was listening to, to grin and wolf whistle at you.

you giggle, spinning in a little circle in front of the driver's door, giving her a good view of your outfit. she chuckles. "c'mon, get in." she says, nodding to the passenger's side. you quickly run around her car and let yourself in, pressing a quick kiss to sevika's cheek as she pulls off.

she groans, scrubbing where your lipstick has stained her cheek-- a bright, glittery pink print left behind, now being smeared by her hand. she's driving the two of you to the abandonded lot you guys always sit in-- what used to be a strip mall is now cracked pavement and giant, overgrown trees. it's the perfect place to park, in the shade, and remain unbothered all day as you smoke and chat.

sevika's been your dealer since you met her at a party last year. your old dealer, a grimy old man, was... fine. he grew the weed himself and gave you real good prices... but he was also your history teacher in the sixth grade.

you gave up on him when you met sevika, gorgeous, charming, sevika. sevika who had woman sitting all around her at the house party you'd met in, but whose eyes only caught on yours. sevika who'd snatched her blunt that had been being passed around out of the nearest girls hands, and into hers as she rose from her seat and approached you.

sevika who you've been in love with ever since.

you guys have been spending a few evenings or afternoons a week together. sometimes here, in your spot, sometimes in a park, sometimes at sevika's place. sometimes she'll take you along to her deals, driving you to houses all around the city as you help her weigh bud and count cash.

it's fun. a lot of sevika's customers are old friends of yours, people you thought you'd never see again. you get to catch up and chat with them for a bit-- then spend the rest of your night gossiping about them with sevika once they leave.

she's your best friend.

you're just trying to make her make you her girlfriend.

you know she wants you. she doesn't even let you pay for weed anymore. and when she's high, her eyes all pink and her lips curled in a goofy little smile, her gaze wanders. and it catches on your lips, most frequently, but also your tits, your thighs, your stomach-- really, anything she can see.

but she doesn't act on it. because she's a gentleman.

and you don't act on it because... well... sevika's attractive. and she makes good money, and you know that you and sevika don't hang out on weekends because she goes to parties to sell on weekends.

and you wouldn't be surprised if you aren't the only girl riding in her passenger seat.

it's hard to know.

people leave shit in sevika's car all the time when she's doing house calls. they'll sit, chat for a bit, and leave behind their water bottles or hair ties or cigarette butts or press on nails when they get out.

and besides, if you confront sevika, who'll roll your joints for you? certainly not you. not with your nails.

speaking of...

"show me your nails." sevika demands as she pulls into your little spot, under a big willow tree. it's like your own little world here, under a green dome of leaves. sevika rolls all her windows down, and you wiggle your fingers over the middle console.

you told her you were getting a new set last time you smoked together. you asked for color recommendations-- she suggested purple, her favorite color.

so, of course, you got purple.

"fuck, they look sharp." sevika smiles, poking the pointed tip of your nails. you laugh.

"i forgot i got 'em so sharp 'n almost took my eye out this morning putting my lashes on." you admit. sevika giggles, still holding your fingertips in her hands and examining the way they shine in the light.

"so shiny. fuckin' pretty, baby."

you're pretty damn sure you're the only one she calls baby but... you happen to know that back in the day when sevika was scamming rich idiots by selling them baby powder and grass in exchange for hundreds of dollars, she had a lot of women riding along in the passenger seat of her car. and getting fucked in the back seat. which has yet to happen to you.

so you don't know. you just tell yourself you're here for the free weed.

"how's your day been?" you ask, snatching your hands away from sevika. you recline your seat, putting your feet up on the dash as she opens her center console.

"meh. been lookin' forward to this all day." she says. then. "oh! look." she reaches between your seats into her back seat, grabbing a plastic bag and pulling it into the front of the car. "snacks!"

"you're the fuckin' best, sev." you moan as you tear into a bag of chips. she chuckles, and hands you a preroll.

"strawberry flavored wrapping paper, you'll like it." sevika promises. you chew on your chips, take a quick swig of your drink, and then put the joint between the lips. sevika lights the tip for you, her eyes locked on yours.

you tear your eyes away just in time to jerk back before the entire joint goes up in flames, and take a long drag. it's truly delicious, like candy flavored smoke, and you hum, happy. sevika grins.

"good?"

"very." you nod, leaning back against your seat and taking another puff. "oh, i'm sorry." you pout, like you do every time you smoke with her. "i got lipgloss on your joint."

sevika giggles, snatches the joint back, and takes her own puff. "fuck off. i like it. 's like extra flavoring." she shrugs. your stomach twists. she blows smoke out in your face, then takes another puff, her eyes dragging up and down your body.

you guys smoke in silence for a while, passing one joint, then a pack of chips, then another joint, then a bag of candy between one another. and now, the sun's setting and your little world under the willow tree's all golden-greeen, and sevika's rolling another joint.

you sigh, happy, and your eyes trail down sevika's exposed arms-- she's wearing her signature wifepleaser. you speak before you can help yourself. "you look delicious today." you mumble. sevika raises an eyebrow at you.

"'s that mean you got the munchies or is that your way of flirtin' with me?" she asks. you giggle, then shrug.

"whaddya think?"

"i think you stole my line." she says around her joint, smirking as she lights and takes the first puff of it. her eyes dart down to your outfit-- intentionally skimpy, showing a little more skin than necessary for this pleasant spring day.

she lets you take a puff. you feel like you've melted into the seat. all your inhibitions are lowered. the words come out before you can stop yourself... again. this is what you get for smoking so much fuckin' weed. "'m i the only person in your life?" you ask.

sevika blinks at you. "what?"

"like... the only person you flirt like that with." you clarify, cringing. sevika's confused smile grows wide.

"has that not been obvious this whole time?" she asks. you gulp.

"uh." you whisper. your heart's beating a mile a minute, and you suddenly sit up from your relaxed posture in her passenger's seat. "i don'--"

"yes. am i the only person you let dictate your nail color?"

"yes." you whisper. sevika grins.

"so..." sevika trails off. you gulp.

"y'know... it's really hard for me to roll my weed with my nails like this." you say. sevika takes a drag off the joint nodding along as you speak. "it'd be nice to have a girlfriend who could help with that." you say. she grins, blowing the smoke out the side of her mouth as she leans across the center console to speak, her lips an inch away from yours.

"i coul--"

"okay." you agree, grinning. sevika giggles, then leans forward to kiss you. you stop her with a finger to lips and she pouts. you chuckle, take the joint from her hands, and take a long drag. when you exhale, you speak again. "the nails also make it really hard to keep myself satisfied." you whisper, intentionally shifting in your seat, squeezing your thighs together.

sevika chokes, and she's not the one with the joint. you smile, then pull your finger away from her lips, letting her speak again.

she doesn't. instead. she reaches out, grabs the joint, and flicks it out the window, smirking at you. you bite your lip in anticipation (and trying to hold in your scold about wasting good weed.)

"only if you promise to scratch the shit outta my back with those claws, baby." she whispers, her lips brushing against yours as she speaks. you shiver. "your place or mine?" she asks. you gulp.

"...the backseat? i've kinda been fantasizing about it since the first time we smoked in the car together..."

sevika doesn't answer. she just bursts into laughter, and launches forward to pull you in a kiss.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

[zumicho]

home┊002┊004

003: monsters under the bed

© zumicho all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my works on any platform.

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[ RINTARO POV ]

“do you think we’re bad people?”

she stumbles into my room, dispatching yellow tinted light to disrupt the peaceful darkness of my sleep. If she were a different person, it would’ve been a problem. It’s unexplainable why I can’t bring myself to treat her the same way I treat everyone else. 

yelling and exaggerated laughter spill in from outside - a sign that my teammates haven't stopped abusing the ‘freeflow sake’ perk we were gifted by reception. I was lucky enough to slip out before it got too crazy; from the looks of it–she wasn’t. 

her head tilts, a supposedly small movement, but it does wonders. she frowns down at me–and for a minute I think it’s my bedhead. 

“..what?” 

“you didn’t answer my question.” oh.

"'bad' is subjective."

and she pouts, amplifying her already apple-red cheeks.

"do you think I'm a bad person?" I ask.

our hands brush together as she leans over the bedframe, conducting a scientific analysis of my nose (it feels like). "yes."

"why--"

"you invited me over, but you only really talked to me at the door. saying hi when you let me in and ignoring me for the rest of the night makes you a terrible host. and a bad person." I would usually laugh at someone this drunk, but no one's ever been this offended that I didn't talk to them. I sit up, guilt stabbing at my side.

"I would try and make it up to you," I squint at the clock above the window. "I can't think of anything other than walking you home though." that earns me a sigh.

"unless you want to sleep over." my mouth has a mind of its own. "there's only one bed in this room." her liquid courage is contagious.

she bites at her bottom lip, and I stare. I'm not ashamed. I'm just being relatable. atsumu would agree. anyone else would do the same. this is normal. not just me.

"no." her hands meet her hip, a failed attempt at being stern. "that would make me a bad person too." she lectures, all the while crawling under the covers and laying her head on the pillow beside mine. aran's going to complain in the morning, but that's a tiny price to pay for this view.

an hour passes, and I think she's asleep, but as I close my eyes, I find out we were both awake. her fingers intertwine with mine as she whispers: "are there monsters under the bed?"

I smile. real & big. "you're baby in a grown woman's body." is all the sarcasm I can manage. looking at me through her eyelashes, all starry-eyed in a I-could-kiss-you-right-here-and-now-but-that-would-absolutely-destroy-the-both-of-us kind of way, she asks, "so you don't believe in monsters?" "I do. but I bet they'd be scared of me," I joke. I swear her grip on my hand tightens, and she's closer than she was. maybe it's just hopeful imagination.

I’ve never been akin to commitment; why is it now that I feel the need to change? 

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ib: @/wipsbymaya on tiktok, it’s embarrassing how much inspiration I get from that app but it birthed this so I guess it’s not so embarassing

author’s note: how we feeling chat

@phoenix-eclipses @thechaosoflonging @yuminako @nbcvs @tenjikusstuff4 @intergalacticrory @sonicsolos @yenonnoff @wyrcan @cnnmairoll @causenessus @reads-stuff-quietly @giocriedpower @applepi25 @gra-eae @lilchubbyyy @thvvluvr @toges-cough-syrup @steiins

[ghostlywhiskey]

Ok, ok, hear me out. Price (or Simon) with a 2023 GMC Sierra 1500 Double Cab Standard Box 4-Wheel Drive Pro. Most likely black or white, tinted windows, and a lift kit. Sexy trucks for sexy men. 🤭

this is so very american i fear (i say this as an american...and because my lovely pals who are not american said the same thing<3)

but i do like to think simon & price both drive trucks, but i don't know if they would be newer trucks, definitely older/vintage trucks. they either restore it themselves when they are home from deployment or just happen to have it through a family member or something like that. like this is what im picturing for them - not these exact colors but the look and overall aesthetic of the truck. simon's is also probably lifted.

[konigsblog]

hello! I hope you've had a good day/night. I was wondering if I could request yan! Ghost, König, Soap, and price with a y/n who actually liked the fact that their yanderes? like, when they yanderes reveal their yan like tendencies y/n is all like "you did all of that....for me?! Thats so sweet!!!!". If this makes you uncomfortable you don't have to write it

yandere captain john price with a darling whose a bit delusional

warnings: yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, possessive behaviour, cursing: i do not condone any behaviour i write about, all of this is fiction.

A/N : i'm only doing john today! and i don't know how many more yandere themed things i'll make, i'm kinda running out of ideas for yandere stuff (req if you want!) and i don't want my page just to be about yandere stuff. i want to mix it up and do non-yandere themed smut/fluff because i know not everyone likes that. if you wanna pop in and give me a req/ask there always open! i don't judge and if i don't want to do something, i'll delete it :)

want more? previous

price

john kidnapped you a week before your birthday, just in time for you to celebrate it with eachother. whilst you were walking home, he pressed a cloth over your mouth, a cloth that smelled medical.

you woke up in a cold, dark basement. everything felt gloomy, somber. fear washed over you like a gigantic wave as tears fell from your eyes and down your cheeks. thudding footsteps could be heard above you before the door creaked open with a whining sound.

he made his entrance clear, you could hear the sound of the stairs groaning beneath his weight. you could feel his breath near your neck as his hands glided over your face, pushing hair out your face.

a bright light was shone at your face, you squinted your eyes. the difference between the darkness compared the blinding whiteness made your eyes burn. his voice, a accent you couldn't place your finger on, it didn't sound familiar to you though, nothing you'd heard before.

you could feel the scratching of his thick beard, you felt it before you saw it. his blue eyes, the colour reminded you of saxe; a light blue colour with a greyish tint.

his hair was a woodland brown, not too long nor short.

you began to speak, opening you mouth before you were hushed with a large hand over your mouth.

“i know you're probably confused, call me john. i'll explain everything in a few days.” a few days? without any windows and being in a dark, musty room, you had no way of knowing when it was dawn.

maybe you could use meals, everytime he gave you a meal maybe that would tell you the time, dinner was usually a 6pm thing, that means in a few hours you should be rested.

but, when the time came, you couldn't manage to fall asleep. restless nights gave you huge eyebags under your eyes and some hair came out when you ran your fingers through it.

he only came down when he remembered you existed, what was the point? taking you to forget you for the next day, sometimes leaving you hungry and dirty.

eventually, he came downstairs. his hard boots thumped against the cold concrete that you laid on.

“come on, love.” john was dragging you already, your bones felt weak. muscles that hadn't been used in such a long time ached as you finally used them.

daylight came from the windows once your reached upstairs, it was mid-day but the sun was still shining. a cake sat on top of the table, as many candles as your age were lit as well. “happy birthday, my love!” his hands rested on your shoulders behind you.

you rubbed your eyes, sleepy from the nights. the nights you spent crying and feeling worthless wondering when you'd be free. tears that you couldn't stop ran down your face. “baby?” john cooed, sitting you down on the seat.

“it's okay, blow your candles out.” and you did, through you weakness, you blew out all candles as he clapped softly.

he began to explain why he took you, everything he did; “the reason i took you is because i love you, i've loved you for as long as i can think. i do this because i want the best for you and can't stand the idea of someone else having you or hurting you, dear.” his hand rested in yours, his other wiping the tears that fell.

“really? you did all that for me?” your voice chokdd on a sob as more tears fell out rapidly, he sighed, smiling broadly at you while chuckling softly. not once did he think you'd have this response to this.

but why did you feel so grateful? perhaps it was being locked in a basement, dark and cold, revealing no light to you. human interaction was what you once had but now craved, something itched at you, begging for touch, love. john was gonna give you that, he explained to you everything he wanted. he wouldn't hurt you, right?

[chaewon2000lover]

Tentacle game!!

Episode 0

(This is basically just an short introduction to how our MC got into his situation, you can skip this part and go straight to episode 1 if you want)

It was another typical day for you, a poor office worker who lived a simple life.

You worked hard to make ends meet, but it seemed like you could never catch a break. As you slowly walked home from work, you couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness wash over you. You were tired of struggling and constantly worrying about money. But little did you know, your life was about to change in a way you never could have imagined.

As you neared your apartment building, a sleek black car pulled up beside him. The tinted window rolled down, revealing a man dressed in a smart black suit. 'Excuse me, sir,' he called out to you. 'Do you have a moment to talk?' You hesitated, but something about the man’s confident demeanor made you stop in your tracks. 'Um, sure,' he replied cautiously. The man smiled. 'My name is John,' he said, extending his hand. 'I have a proposition for you.' Your eyes widened in surprise. Was this man serious? You had heard of scams where people were promised large sums of money in exchange for something, but you never thought you would be a target. 'I'm sorry, I'm not interested,' you said, starting to walk away. But John wasn't deterred. 'Wait, please hear me out,' he pleaded. 'I represent a group of wealthy individuals who are looking for a man like you.' You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. 'What do you mean, a man like me?' 'A man who is willing to take a risk for a chance at a better life,' John explained. 'My clients are offering you 10 million dollars in exchange for a small favor.' Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of such a large sum of money. It was more than he could ever dream of. 'What kind of favor?' he asked cautiously. John leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. 'You must have sex with them,' he said. Your jaw dropped in shock. 'What? That's outrageous!' 'But think about it,' John continued. 'With that kind of money, you could pay off all your debts, buy a new house, and live comfortably for the rest of your life. It's a small price to pay for financial security.' You were torn. On one hand, you desperately needed the money. But on the other hand, you couldn't imagine being paid to have sex , let alone group sex. 'I don't know,' you said, shaking your head. 'It sounds too good to be true.' John smiled and handed you a card. 'Think about it,' he said. 'If you change your mind, give us a call.'

You watched as the car drove away, leaving you standing on the sidewalk, confused and conflicted. You tossed the card in his pocket and continued on your way home, the thought of 10 million dollars swirling in your head. That night, you couldn't sleep. The offer was tempting, but you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about it. You pulled out the card and dialed the number, half expecting it to be disconnected. To your surprise, a man answered. 'Hello, this is David,' the man said. 'I understand you are interested in our offer?' You hesitated before speaking. 'Yes, I am,' you admitted. 'Excellent,' David said. 'We will send a car to pick you up tomorrow at noon. Be prepared, the goddesses are eager to meet you.'

You nervously fidgeted with the seatbelt as you sat in the back of the car, your palms sweating and heart racing. 

You still couldn't quite believe you accepted to do this. The car came to a stop, but when the door was opened you couldn’t see much, two men hurried you along, until. A woman who introduced herself as your stylist led you to a dressing room and handed you a robe, instructing you to change into it.

Next, you were led to a room where a team of hair and makeup artists were waiting for you. 

They immediately went to work, cleaning up your appearance with a flurry of brushes and hairspray.

After what felt like hours, you were finally brought out to a dark room, surrounded by cameras. 

You hear what sounds like an emcee talking, joking and explaining while you stand in a pair of jeans and a white shirt, before you feel some hands pushing you forward.

You see a door appear seemingly out of nowhere, understanding what your meant to do.

You walk inside, bewildered but excited, your hands sweating and your knees buckling just a little bit.

You turn to see…

To be continued.

Hope you look forward to the next fic, whenever I decided to release it.

[more-than-a-princess]

@fairlybeloved asked: 025.   an abandoned scrapyard

Setting Prompts - Still Accepting!

Well, this definitely wasn't where she was supposed to be.

Sonia Nevermind, in her pressed skirt suit and heels, raised her head and sniffed the air around her in apprehension. She'd convinced her security detail that she was confident enough in her own sense of direction to walk home from her meeting on foot and that they could follow behind, as always, in the black sedans with tinted, bulletproof windows.

In reality, the Princess of Novoselic needed a break. To celebrate, initially: she'd gotten a notoriously difficult Japanese politician to bring a proposal to the Prime Minister. Someone who, usually, reserved his attention for her father and her father alone. But he had put her in charge, now that her school years were behind her and she worked full-time for the Royal Family, of her own initiatives as long as she could deliver the results. It seemed, then, that she had a real chance and she wanted to celebrate it like a real person. Or at least, someone more believable than her own sense of 'normal.' A walk on a busy street, maybe stopping for a meal or a treat, and not chauffeured by private car home.

However, she'd overestimated her sense of direction, and had ended up decidedly not in her neighborhood of Aoyama, where the Novoselic Royal Family's Tokyo condo was located. She was somewhere else, somewhere considerably more dodgy and filled with discarded metal. The scent she'd picked up reminded her of her old classmate, Kazuichi Souda, and the constant automobile parts and oil he'd been surrounded in. She wondered if there was a garage nearby, or at least somewhere with someone more knowledgeable about the area than she was. Her fine clothes already made her look out of place, her foreigner status and appearance a second reason to indicate she didn't belong there.

She needed help, and fast: she'd promised her security that she wouldn't cause trouble for them. Or too much of it anyway: she thought once she'd ducked down a side street, hidden behind a door, and then waited for the car to pass before continuing that she'd been clever but not too dangerous. Overly confident in her sense of direction and all. And now she was paying the price. Looking around, she breathed a sigh of relief as she spotted a tall man, with dark hair and hopefully a better idea of where exactly in Tokyo she was. Squaring her shoulders, she strode up to him: in the most likely case, he would be kind enough to converse with her in her fairly above-average Japanese and give her directions. In the worst case, she'd run into a serial killer and honestly, her day would be much improved by meeting a serial killer in the flesh, and not behind prison bars. She'd have so many questions to ask!

"Excuse me, sir?" She called out to him with a small wave. "Hello! I have found myself a bit lost. Could you tell me where in Tokyo I am, and the best way to get to the Aoyama neighborhood? I would appreciate it ever so much."

[ostdrossel]

Recently, on a quest to make my apartment feel more like "home", I've been decorating the walls and I came across a window mounted bird feeder. Well, once getting that I went a little crazy for my tiny budget, bought several bags of seed. It was a rocky journey of "why won't they stay!!" But I have two seed feeders with different mixes, I hung a potted plant (and I'm working on windowsill plants too since I'm far from cover) and attached a suet feeder to it, and bought and applied blackout window tint so my cat isn't scary. I was thinking of you and your amazing variety the whole time, because all I've got coming is cardinals. But today, at the suet feeder, I had a red bellied woodpecker! It made my heart soar! He was too quick for a picture but here's a cardinal

I used to do bird tagging (cardinals are so mean) and work with red cockaded woodpeckers, so I didn't expect the excitement, but I was so thrilled I had to share and thank you for the inspiration.

I love that project of yours! And who would complain about Cardinals? :D You could try to experiment with a hummingbird feeder too. The nectar is cheap and easy to make (1 part regular white sugar, four parts water), and feeders come in all price classes. Or add a bowl of water. Birds love to bathe and drink, and it is awesome to watch them do it. Yay for your little oasis! May the birds flock your way!

[daisyapples]

That is one hell of a car.

Jason stared at the matte black SUV, admiring the silver grill that extended all the way to the bumper. It sat high off the ground on big tires with an engine that echoed down the street. The windows were tinted so he couldn’t see the driver, but he was pretty sure that was a Lexus they were driving. In Crime Alley. Not that he cared, but that was basically just asking to be carjacked.

The tires would have gotten him a pretty penny a few years ago though.

He shivered in the icy air as he stared. His tight leather pants and lace top did little to ease the painful bite of winter. He buried his fingers deep into his armpits, and shuffled up and down, watching as the car drew closer.

It slowed down as the driver noticed him.

He freed his hands, flexed his fingers and jutted out his hip in the hope of being more appealing. He had been standing on the street corner for two hours and had only had three john's so far. It was mid January; few people were willing to leave the warmth of their shitty apartments for a shitty hook up with a shitty hooker.

Everyone else who usually worked his corner had gone home.

But Jason's pimp was a dickhead who insisted he be paid every night; rain, hail or goddamn shine. Sixty percent of everything Jason made and at least one hundred a night. When Jason couldn't pay Roman jacked up his percentage, again, which made no fucking sense, but that was exactly how Jason had ended up with so little control over his life. He barely made enough to survive, and was caught under Roman’s thumb, living in one of his rat infested apartment buildings.

Just another way he controlled Jason.

Jason had been sixteen when the prick had claimed him by old Gotham rule.

At twenty three, he still hadn't figured a way out.

The car slowed down and Jason grinned; maybe the driver of this nice ass car could alleviate some of those worries. He had no problem upping his prices if he thought his client could afford it. The SUV stopped beside him. He watched as the window lowered with the whirl of automation before leaning forward and resting his forearms on the rubber edges.

He dropped his voice into as sultry a tone as he could manage when he said, “Hey, sweatheart, looking for some company?”

The man raised the eyebrow over his one exposed eye. The other eye was covered with a dark patch that wound around his gray hair. Some faded scars tightened the skin on that side of his face. His broad shoulders stretched across the seat, seeming to make the whole space smaller.

“Any chance you can give me some directions, kid?” His voice was rough and low.

Jason ignored the fact that he liked it. “Sure,” he replied with his best coy grin instead, “but it'll cost ya.”

[mariacallous]

This summer, a Vancouver car mechanic named Max got a perplexing ping on his phone: Betty White was in Ukraine and needed his help. This was surprising because she had died on a Canadian highway back in January.

When Max last saw Betty White, his nickname for his Tesla Model Y Performance, they were both in rough shape after getting sideswiped on the highway. Max’s rotator cuff was torn in several places. The small SUV had bounced off multiple concrete barriers at high speed and was bashed in on all four corners, its wheels ripped to pieces. Coolant appeared to be leaking into the battery chamber. From his own work on EVs in the garage, Max knew that Betty was done for. “No auto shop would put a repair person at risk with that kind of damage,” says Max, whose last name isn’t being used out of doxing concerns. A damaged EV battery can become dangerous due to the risk of shocks, fire, and toxic fumes. His insurer agreed, and Betty was written off and sent to a salvage yard.

Months after he had last seen the car, Max’s Tesla app was now telling him that Betty needed a software update. It showed the car with an extra 200 kilometers on the odometer, fully charged, and parked in Uman, a town in Ukraine’s Cherkasy Oblast, midway between Kyiv and the front line with Russia’s invasion force. Minutes after that first ping, the app showed the car in service mode, suggesting Betty was undergoing repairs. “I thought it must be a mistake,” Max says.

There was no mistake. WIRED tracked Betty down to a Ukrainian auto auction website, looking good as new, maybe even better, with newly tinted windows and rearview mirrors wrapped in black. Betty 2.0 was being sold by “Mikhailo,” who wrote that the car had suffered “a small blow” in Canada and been repaired with original Tesla parts. The price, $55,000, was roughly the same as a new Model Y Performance costs in the US.

Betty White’s intercontinental resurrection was impressive but not unusual. For a long time, cars written off in North America have found their way to Eastern European repair shops willing to take on damage that US and Canadian mechanics won’t touch. In 2021, the most recent data available, Ukraine was a top-three destination for used US passenger vehicles sent overseas, close behind Nigeria and the United Arab Emirates. And Ukraine’s wreck importers and repairers are particularly known for their ingenuity. Some have made fixing EVs written off across the Atlantic into a specialty, helping to drive a surge in the number of electric vehicles on the country’s roads, even as the war with Russia rages.

Though few automakers sell new EVs in Ukraine, the share of newly registered vehicles that are fully electric, 9 percent, is about the same as in the US and nearly double that of neighboring Poland and the Czech Republic. Most of Ukraine’s refurbished EVs come from North America, and many arrive with major damage.

There’s a ready supply of crashed North American EVs in part because electrics are becoming more common, and also because in recent years, relatively new EVs with low mileage have been written off at a higher rate than their gas-powered equivalents, according to data from insurers. US and Canadian repair shops and insurers see them as more dangerous and difficult to fix. Scrapyards find it hard to make money from their parts and instead ship them abroad.

Ivan Malakhovsky is not afraid to work on cases like Betty White. His five-year-old repair business in Dnipro, in eastern Ukraine, fixes about 100 Teslas a month, roughly a fifth of them from overseas, and employs a staff that varies between six to 10 people. He’s currently away from home, serving with the Armed Forces of Ukraine, but he manages his workers, and sometimes makes software-mediated repairs, remotely. “We have problems in our lives and can fix them, whether a battery or a full-scale invasion,” says Malakhovsky. “Electric cars, electric car batteries—it’s no problem.”

An electric vehicle battery is made up of thousands of individual cells, which store and release energy. Sometimes, Malakhovsky says, he and his coworkers will break up large EV batteries damaged beyond repair and repurpose the cells to power electric scooters or even drones for the war effort. He says the vast majority of Teslas on Ukrainian roads were once involved in wrecks in North America.

The war has even boosted Ukraine’s EV resurrection business at times, by driving up gas prices and making electrics more attractive to drivers. Ukraine has a public charging network of some 11,000 chargers, according to Volodymyr Ivanov, the head of communications at Nissan Motor Ukraine—that’s more than the state of New York, and double the number in neighboring Poland. Since 2018, Ukraine’s government has removed most taxes and customs duties on used EV imports. In the US, electric vehicles tend to be expensive, and the average EV driver is still a high-income male homeowner. North American wrecks, Ukraine’s EV incentives, and its relatively low electricity prices have created a different picture. “There is a joke here that all poor people are driving electric cars, and all the rich people are driving petrol cars,” says Malakhovsky. “Tesla is a common-people, popular car because it’s very cheap in maintenance.”

That’s a relatively recent development, says Hans Eric Melin, head of Circular Energy Storage, a UK-based consultancy that tracks the international flows of used EVs and batteries. He began watching the Ukraine market in particular a few years ago, after he noticed more ads for Nissan Leafs on auction sites listed in Ukrainian than in English. At the time, the Leaf, a pioneer among EVs, was essentially the only one that had been around long enough to develop a healthy used market. Over time, Ukraine’s electric fleet grew to encompass the full range of EVs sold around the world, including Teslas, as more cars hit the roads and aged or got into crashes.

Melin had suspected Ukraine’s EV boom would end with the war. “I was completely wrong,” he says. By this summer, Ukraine’s EV fleet had doubled since July 2021, to 64,312, according to data compiled by the Automotive Market Research Institute, a Ukrainian research and advocacy group.

Roman Tyschenko, a 25-year-old IT worker who lives in Kyiv, decided last September that he was sick of his Jeep’s $400-a-month gas bill. Friends had purchased used, damaged electric cars on an online auction website called Copart, a US-based public auto reseller with 200 locations around the world. He logged on and spent $24,000 on a gray 2021 Tesla Model Y that had taken a solid blow to its passenger side in Dallas, Texas. Its bumper was almost fully detached; its hood was tented; some of its airbags had deployed.

That Texan Model Y was likely declared totaled by an insurer. From there, it probably moved to a salvage auction in the US, where licensed exporters, salvage shops, and repairers tried to figure out how much value they could squeeze out of the wreck. The winner, or perhaps the insurer itself, listed the car on Copart, which made it available to anyone around the world who wanted a smashed-up Tesla and was willing to pay for shipping.

If Tyschenko hadn’t brought the Texan Tesla to Ukraine himself, it had a good chance of being shipped there anyway by someone who professionally flips cars to countries like Ukraine. These exporters look for wrecks potentially worth more than their scrap value, but little enough that an expensive US repair and resale wouldn’t make sense. Some ship vehicles directly to Ukrainian repairers and pay for the fix, while others import damaged cars and relist them for sale to Ukrainian buyers who can figure it out for themselves.

It takes a damaged North American car between one and five months to reach a nearby port. Before the war, wrecked cars headed to Ukraine’s Port of Odessa on the Black Sea. Since Russia invaded in 2022, they come through Klaipėda in Lithuania on the Baltic Sea, or Koper in Slovenia on the Adriatic, and are brought to Ukraine by truck. A shop like Malakhovsky’s can fix a Tesla in somewhere between one week and one year, depending on the damage.

Tyschenko arranged for his Model Y to be shipped to a local repair shop in Kyiv, where it arrived in February 2023, five months after he hit the Buy button online. The technician sent him videos of the EV’s ongoing revamp every few weeks, and Tyschenko stopped by to visit a handful of times. By May, he had paid the technician some $25,000 for his work and was driving the Model Y around Kyiv.

Two months later, the battery died and Tyschenko spent another $4,000 to replace it—a demonstration of the risks of electric vehicle rescues. Still, he’s happy with how things worked out, and now pays just $10 to $100 a month to refuel his car, depending on whether he charges at home or at public stations.

Finding parts to repair Teslas and other EVs can be a challenge. On Facebook and Telegram, groups like “Renault Zoe Club Ukraine” host thousands of EV owners who barter with each other for spare parts. Oleksandr Perepelitsa, a 25-year-old electric vehicle repairer in Kyiv, says that when he first began his work three years ago, he and his business partners would buy two wrecked Teslas from overseas to create a single working vehicle to sell to local Ukranians. “Even that was profitable for us,” he says. Now, business connections can send Tesla parts from the US or Europe, or repairers buy cheaper Chinese reproductions.

The success of Ukraine’s EV resurrection industry is the flip side of the failure of insurers and manufacturers in North America to figure out what to do when a shiny new EV becomes roadkill.

US insurers are more willing to write off vehicles of all kinds that in the past may have been fixed. New vehicle repairs have gotten more expensive, in part due to vehicles getting more complex and computerized, as well as a shortage of vehicle technicians. In the past decade, the damaged cars up for auction “are better and less damaged,” Copart CEO Jeff Liaw told investors on an earnings call this year.

Industry-wide data is hard to come by, but numerous sources suggest that EVs are more likely to be written off than gas-powered cars, and can be declared unfixable after even minor crashes. A Reuters analysis this year found that a “large portion” of damaged EVs sold for scrap were low-mileage, nearly-new vehicles. While one in 10 new cars sold in the US and Canada this year are forecasted to be electric, the infrastructure and expertise needed to assess and fix damaged EVs can be patchy. “In an ideal world, electric vehicles are as easy to repair as internal combustion engine vehicles,” says Mark Fry, research manager at Thatcham Research, which crunches auto market data for insurers and other clients. It recently found British EVs get written off at disproportionately high rates.

The main reason EV repairs are so tricky comes down to a lack of agreement on how to handle EV batteries after a crash. Worldwide, there is no industry standard for measuring battery health. Vehicle manufacturers sometimes refuse to sanction battery repairs because of liability concerns. “If you repair the battery, what's it going to be like after another two, three years and another 50,000 miles?” Fry says. It’s easier to let nearly new vehicles be declared dead than to find out.

The North American scrap industry is also somewhat leery of EVs, says Megan Slattery, a researcher at UC Davis who studies what happens to damaged EV batteries. Scrap businesses generally make money by taking cars apart to extract the most valuable widgets to resell. But dismantling a battery takes dedicated workers, equipment, and—most important of all—space, due to the fire risks of storing lithium-ion cells. Many mom-and-pop dismantlers don’t have any of that.

Plus, EVs tend to have simpler drivetrains, with more plastic and large, prefabricated body components that can’t be easily pulled apart. In some electric vehicles, the battery is built directly into the car’s structure, making it especially difficult to dismantle or repair. All of that means that exporters looking to sell to eager buyers abroad have less competition when bidding on totaled cars.

In the US, there’s increasing pressure to keep broken EVs from heading overseas. Regulators are concerned about safety, hoping to better track broken batteries through shipping channels as fears rise of fires sparked by used EVs, including on cargo ships. Another is to avoid dumping e-waste on countries without the means to recycle or repurpose, and instead keep the valuable minerals inside batteries local. Battery recycling startups have received vast amounts of private and public investment—both in Western Europe and the US, with funds from the Inflation Reduction Act—with a promise to help shore up raw material supply chains. But so far, they have received only a trickle of used batteries.

Policies that wind up choking off the export of EV wrecks would in some ways be a shame, Slattery says. More stringent European Union export rules for used cars and EV batteries in particular are one reason why the supply of Teslas to Eastern Europe is so dependent on North American wrecks. Without them, the electric revolution would be much less advanced in places like Ukraine, where US and Canadian write-offs have helped support the emergence of charger networks, trained repair specialists, and a wide familiarity and acceptance that electric propulsion is not just green but also practical.

In North America, there's a widespread belief that “people don't want electric vehicles and that it's just laws and regulations that push us to buy them,” says Melin, the used EV analyst. “There are other markets that want to have electrics.” It’s a testament to a system that is working, Melin adds, that used EVs end up in places like Ukraine, where new models are difficult to come by.

For Max in Vancouver, Betty White’s reappearance overseas did cause some headaches. The car was still logged into his Google, Netflix, and Spotify accounts, potentially allowing the new owners to access his personal data. When he asked Tesla support, he was advised to change his passwords, Max says. (Tesla did not respond to WIRED’s questions.)

But looking back on the crash, and now driving a new Model Y—named Black Betty—Max says his old car’s resurrection is the best possible outcome. “I’m happy to see that Betty White has lived to see another day,” he says.

[undressmewithyoureyes]

Let There Be Light - Thirty Seven

**Ghosts POV**

               ‘It’s not her’

               A couple hours went by and with each girl that was sold off, I gripped the ends of the chair I was sitting in a little harder – knowing good and damn well that I was about to break this bitch apart. There was nothing I could do without blowing my cover, Nik’s cover and the guys outside. It was too risky. No doubt, I could probably obliterate every soul in this shit hole, but I needed to play this smart if I wanted to find my girl. I just need ten minutes with Michael, and I could assure you, he’d be talking.

               The guy’s chime through my earpiece throughout the hellacious show I was forced to watch – thanks to the room being bugged. Luckily, the same drugged waitress kept coming by asking me if I needed anything and I could use my words to answer her, but really it was to answer the guys.

               Another hour went by, and I was hoping the drugged girl wasn’t done making her rounds. This time, I had a question for her. My patience was wearing thin the more I watched these girl – too young at that, and to be sold as if it was a cattle auction. Thank whatever God was listening that the windows were tinted because I was ready to rip throats out.

               A soft knock to my door perked my ears as I roughly told whoever it was to come in – hoping it was the waitress. To my luck it was. “Do you need anything sir?” she asks as her words were slurring.

               “Actually, there is,” I reply. I watched as her face dropped lower than what it already was. She probably already thought I was some sleazy guy buying a few girls and just wanted to take advantage of her even more than she already had been. She never responded, but dropped her eyes so she couldn’t look at me.

               “I would like to speak with the host,” I pause as I watch her face light up just a bit realizing I’m not here to hurt her. “I believe his name is Michael.” The girl nodded her head as she now kept her eyes locked onto mine.

               “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I hear Price demand in my ear. I ignore him. I had a game plan that hopefully would work, but Michael was a smart fucker.

               “I will come get you when we are done sir,” the girl says as she struggles to walk out of the room. I look down at her feet. She’s still wearing the heels that are too high for her to walk in and I took note that blood was starting to creep out of the top strap on top of her foot.

               I sit back down in my chair watching these poor innocent souls get sold to their ‘new’ homes. A part of me hated myself for not doing anything, while the selfish side of me was glad it wasn’t Harley – because there’s no telling what I would do.

               Another hour went by, and my earpiece remained rather quite, which was odd considering the request I had asked from the waitress. Another soft knock came from the door behind me, and I knew it was her. I get up out of my chair to open the door, but before I could grip the handle, the door opened.

               The man himself stood before me. My jaw clenched immediately as I wanted to give this mother fucker the worst. One for Harley, and two for the innocent girls he was making money off of. I quickly had to remember who I was and where I was before I blow my cover. Two guards stood behind him. Pussy. One of the guards was a tall Russian with icy blue eyes while the other was Nik – his eyes wide.

               I knew what Nik was probably thinking – Fuck they found out. I reach my hand out for Michael to take – like a proper gentleman would. “Please to meet you,” I say with the fakest smile on my face. Michael stood there for a few seconds before returning the handshake, but his grip not firm. Coward.

               “I didn’t see you purchase any of our girls Mr. Mercer. Is everything okay?” he asks me narrowing his eyes. I knew he was suspicious and maybe I was scoping the place out. I mean if those were his thoughts, he wasn’t wrong.

               I withdrawal my had from his, “Not to my liking,” I say as Michael scoffs jerking his head back offended. “I’m looking for a specific type of girl if you catch my drift,” I start with. “Not any will do and I’m willing to pay whatever dollar amount that you see fit.” Hook, line and sinker. One thing I remember Harley saying about this fuckface was that he loved his money and his arrogance.

               “Ahh yes,” he starts off with. The offended expression on his face now vanished and replaced with a hungered look, “What exactly are you looking for Mr. Mercer.”

               I cock my head to the side, “Decent height. Not too tall and not too short. Hair has to be dark. Eyes, the brightest green. Skin, soft to the touch, but has scars because I want to know the stories behind them. Teeth, she has to have all of them,” I pause I realize how soft I am sounding at the moment. “And her body, it has to be fit and toned, so she can handle myself and the things I have in mind,” I end with a devilish smile.

               “Military?” he asks me nonchalantly.

               “Preferably,” I say looking at his eyes.

               Michael grins as his smile spread across his evil face, “I like them feisty,” I say trying to not sound so eager.

               Michael pats my shoulder as a low chuckle comes out of him, ���I have just the one for you. She just came in a few days ago,” he pauses, “But she’s not cheap.” His tone dark.

               “And I don’t have a price limit,” I throw back.

               Michael straightens his posture up and fixing the jacket to his suit. “Now that is what I’m talking about,” he says as he turns to his two guards. “A man with a purpose and not letting anything get in his way.”

               He was right. Nothing was going to stand in my way and if it or they did, to hell they go. My heart fluttered in my chest because I just knew he was talking about Harley.

               “When can we make these arrangements?” I ask him. My voice deep.

               Michael takes in a deep breath, “Mr. Mercer, this girl is of high value. My most expensive and most prized one yet. She will be at least one million out right. I would give it a week,” he says jauntily.

               “I’ll give you two million to put a rush on it and let me make the transaction tonight,” I reply coldly. I wasn’t trying to come off as needy or persistent, but I was getting tired of this fucker’s games and the last thing I did was trust anything he had to say.

               Michael clicked his tongue, “Needy needy Mr. Mercer. I would have to get her cleaned up and presented to you,” he says as he narrows his eyes at me yet again. I felt like he was catching on. “As a matter of fact, give me half up front and I can make this happen by tomorrow morning.”

               Fuck.

               I reach my hand out for him to shake, “Deal.” He takes my hand and nods his head.               

               “Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Mercer,” he says as he walks away. I clenched my jaw even harder knowing good and well my teeth were about to crack. Nik eyes me and shook his head just enough to where I could see him.

               Did I just fuck up? I ask myself.

               “You better hope you didn’t just fuck this up Simon,” I hear Price say through my earpiece. I hope I didn’t either. Nik led me out of my room and back to the main entrance – not saying a word. I walked back through and was thanked for coming by the guards as the black SUV pulled up from the valet. One of the German guards opened the door, and I climbed inside.

               The SUV drives off, but I wait to say anything. I don’t trust anything at this point. After a few turns, I spot a hotel not far from the place Michael held his fucked up event. “Stop here at this hotel,” I tell the driver. He quickly pulls over and stops in front of the hotel.

               I get out and walk inside. Thoughts of Paris filled my mind from walking in. As a contractor, its not often we get the luxury of staying in hotels, but my favorite time will forever be in Paris.

               “Excuse me,” I say as I walk up to the front desk. The lady turned around and grew wide eyed when she saw me, “Do you have any rooms available?” I ask her. I look down at her name tag, Rebecca. Her face is starting to blush as I roll my eyes. Here we go.

               “I have two rooms available, sir,” she says as she flashes me a flirtatious smile. “One is our queen room with two queen beds and then we have our king suite. It’s our best room on the top floor. One king bed with a balcony and large living ro-.”

               “I’ll take it,” I say cutting her off. Her voice was fucking annoying.

               “S-sure,” she says. I watch as she brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes as they lock onto mine. “Is it um, just you or will you be having anyone accompanying you?” she asks me seductively.

               “My wife will be here shortly,” I answer her coldly. Her face changed by the snap of a finger, and I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. I knew if Harley was here, she would have already drugged this poor girl from behind the desk and used it to pound her skull in. God, I love that girl.

               The sound of a key card getting slapped against the wood brought me back to reality, “Cash or card?” she asks with an attitude.

               “Cash,” I say as I pull out my money from my pants pocket.

               I pay the girl at the desk, take my cards and head to my room. Again, my earpiece was quiet. I wait to say anything until I reach my room.

               The lock to the door clicked open and I stepped into the suite – checking every inch of the place to make sure there weren’t any intruders or bugged. Nothing.

               “I need a favor,” I say out loud. I know to the normal everyday person I may look crazy and like I am talking to myself.

               “A million dollars?” Gaz says.

               “Yeah,” I reply.

               “And where do you think we have that kind of money?” Price was clearly aggravated.

               “Look,” I start off with dryly, “We get the money send it to him. Track the money and find the problem.”

               The voices in my earpiece silent.

               “He’s onto something Captain,” I hear Soap say taking up for me. I wouldn’t have just agreed to handing over a million dollars without some kind of plan.

               “Fine. Just let me know when and we will get it transferred,” Price tells me.

               I fold back the blankets on the bed before laying down. I cross my feet over one another before propping my head up behind my folded hands. She was close, I could feel it – and come tomorrow, she may just be back in my arms.

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

@blupjeansweek May 29th: AU

[remember when I said I'd write the arcade date from Starblaster Lanes?]

“How have I never realized that this place was so close to my job?” Lup asks, following Barry through the front door of the arcade. A rush of air conditioning tumbles over them. It’s dark inside the arcade, the windows treated with a deep tint. The flooring isn’t the garish nightmare carpet Lup was expecting to see in an arcade, rather some dark tiles with faint specks of holographic glitter adorning it. A synthy 80s pop playlist plays quietly, under the sound effects from countless arcade cabinets.

Barry hands the guy by the door some cash and gets a nod in return. “It’s one of those things that either you know someone who goes here all the time and they drag you here, or you just never find out about it. It’s not the flashiest building, you know?”

And it’s true. The facade of the building is a dilapidated looking brick. No large sign like its neighboring businesses, just a peeling decal on the front that lists the hours and the price for an all-day entrance. 

“How’d you find this place, then?” Lup’s astounded at the sheer variety of cabinets. Lots she’s heard of, countless others she never could have even dreamed up. 

Barry moves through the arcade with a confident kind of comfort; he’s in his element and it’s clear to see. “I moved here when I was first starting grad school and I didn’t really have a ton in common with my classmates. They were nice enough in lecture and everything, I just never got around to really getting to know them. So, I took a lot of walks and stumbled into this place by accident, But it was like my paradise, you know?”

Lup stops in front of a game that features what looks like Godzilla, King-Kong, and a werewolf. She nods to Barry. They pick the Godzilla and werewolf, respectively. “I get that. Embarrassing as it is, that’s why Taako and I dig the bowling alley so much. We got into so much shit in middle school that our aunt just started dropping us there with some cash on days she was at work early. And now we work there. And it’s lame, probably, but it was a nice place to lay down some kind of roots.” She grimaces as her character bites into a piece of building that was concealing a toaster and falls down, defeated. 

“It’s not lame! It’s nice, feeling comfortable somewhere.” Not too long after the demise of Lup’s giant lizard, Barry’s werewolf falls victim to a similar fate. They both share a laugh about this and meander to other cabinets, idly playing a few, laughing when they lose. 

Lup eyes the massive mural in the back depicting all manner of pop culture icons, and she and Barry take time pointing out the best ones. Lup’s especially fond of what seems to be Dot Warner, though she appears bereft of her brothers.

At long last, they approach the Space Invaders cabinet. Being his home turf, Lup lets Barry take the first crack at the machine. He racks up quite the respectable score; nothing that takes down his personal best, but something to knock poor old Bob outta seventh spot. 

Lup claps and rubs her hands together like a villainous cartoon spider. "Alrighty, that was a pretty good showing but there's a new sheriff in town." She sidles up to the machine and meditatively hits the new game button.

She dies fairly quickly.

"Yeah, see that's what we in the biz call a trial run," Lup says casually, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders. Barry laughs good naturedly. She bounces on her toes a few times before readying herself in front of the machine again.

She does markedly better this time, the trial run seeming to have worked magic. When she exhausts each of her lives, she's delighted to realize she's managed to snag a spot on the board. Near the bottom, but there nonetheless. 

"Just going easy on me, huh?" Barry asks, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Exactly right. Couldn't unleash my full force right here. Then you might get turned to goo and I can't in good conscience subject the employees here to goo cleaning," Lup says seriously. 

"You're just so kind and thoughtful."

"I am. I'm like the Princess Diana of this arcade."

Barry looks at her, bewildered. "I certainly hope you're not," he sputters.

Lup grins. "Yeah, I guess that wouldn't bode well for either of us, huh?"

"It wouldn't!" Barry nods toward the tiny snack counter in the back corner, boasting two empty stools and delicious 80s prices. "How about I buy you a soda while we figure out how to muscle our way into the line for the N64 over there?"

"Think you could throw in one of those dubious hot dogs on the rollers?"

"You drive a hard bargain, but I think we can make that work."

Lup grabs his hand as they slowly make their way to the counter.