#i’m using the flag i was given in the request what do you want from me here

[puckinghischier]

Cart Girls & Curly Q’s

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: luke has a crush on the cart girl

notes: for once, i feel like i didn’t really struggle while writing luke. this probably isn’t one of my best works, but i loved the idea and i’m so glad i was able to try to bring it to life. hope you enjoy!! happy reading! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say yes.” with Luke and maybe a cart girl at the golf club close to the summer lake house?

[3k]

Most of your friends absolutely hate going to work in the summertime. They hate being stuck in an office or storefront all day, no chance to enjoy the high UV and prime lake hours.

You, however, never wake up dreading your work.

During the cold, Michigan winters, you work as a bartender at your college’s local bar. You attend your classes in the morning, do your homework in the afternoon, then clock into your shifts at night. You have the routine down to a science.

During the summers, though, you found a job as the cart girl at the uppity country club closest to the large community of expensive lake houses you drive by every morning.

The tips are amazing, and getting paid to drive around in the sunshine and watch attractive men play golf all day is what you call a small piece of paradise. Not to mention you’re off by five o’clock every day, allowing time to join your friends and family out on the boat for night swims and evening rides.

Today was especially good, with it being one of the hottest days of the summer, your sales were sky high.

You’ve already had to restock your beer cooler three times this morning, and it’s barely even noon.

Your boss has really been pushing the sale of liquor, so you inform every group you pass about your buy a double, get a single shot half off deal, but nothing calls to a man more than a cold beer on a hot golf course.

Many of the men you’ve served today have given you a tip simply because you’re out working in the heat, delivering beers ‘like an angel’ one middle aged man told you, handing you an extra ten.

You just laughed and told him thank you, pocketing the cash. You always loved weekend mornings, locals and vacationers alike all over the course, upping your sales, and as a result, your tips.

As you’re leaving the club house after yet another restock, you see a group of guys that you assumed were around your age.

They were being loud, but not obnoxious, as they piled into two carts and sped their way out to the course, eager to get their game started.

You wondered when you would see them, having been told not to bother people until they’re at least on hole two. Apparently, people get mad when you try to sell them alcohol in the middle of their first stroke.

Making your way around your normal path, you start at hole eight and work your way in a circle until you get back to the clubhouse, the later holes being your big money makers. People are either celebrating their lead or mourning their loss at that point, wanting a drink either way.

You sell a few shots, making your boss happy no doubt, but run out of beers for the fourth time that day around hole sixteen. You stop and offer to each group after that, selling a few more liquor items, but were mostly told to come back when you had beer again.

Flying down the cart path, you see the same group of guys from earlier around hole seven, one out of the group flagging you down as you speed by.

You slow your cart down to a stop and they walk over to meet you, grabbing their wallets from their carts as they approach you.

“Sorry, boys, out of beer. On my way back to the clubhouse now to restock if you want to wait a few,” you tell them once they’re within ear shot, not wanting to get their hopes up.

“Well, do you have anything you can sell us? I’m getting beat pretty bad out here and need a pick me up. Don’t really care what it is,” a brunette pleaded.

You tell him about the shot deals, and he hands you his I.D., requesting a double shot of crown and ginger-ale before turning and asking his cart buddy what he wanted.

“Jack, what do you want?” he calls over to a guy that looked similar to him, thinking to yourself that they could be brothers.

He explains the discount to the other brunette, saying he’s already paid, just to pick what he wanted.

After viewing the second player’s I.D., your brother theory is confirmed by their matching last name.

Jack, you learned, asked for a simple, funnily enough, Jack and coke.

“Alright, gentlemen, anything else I can do for you?” you ask, turning to face the last member of the group.

You make eye contact with a tall, curly-headed boy, noticing the pink tone of his cheeks when you catch him staring at you.

“Anything for you, curly Q?” you ask him, taking note of how attractive he was. You always play up the flirting a little when you find a player on the course attractive, figuring it’ll help your sales while simultaneously allowing you to have a little fun.

His cheeks turn an ever-deeper shade of red when he realizes you’re talking to him, freezing up and averting his eyes. You feel a little bad for putting him on the spot, but you find his shyness endearing.

“Nah, Lukey here isn’t old enough, is he Quinny? Still got a few months till you can drink with the big bros. Isn’t that right, Luke?” the brunette named Jack slaps who you’ve now learned is Luke on the back.

You let out a chuckle, witnessing the deadly glare Luke shoots at his older brother.

“Don’t worry, they picked a cart girl that isn’t even old enough to drink, either. Won’t be able to drink the concoctions I make until next spring,” you tell him, hoping to alleviate a little of the embarrassment you caused him.

“Oh, wow,” is all he utters out, bringing out another laugh from you.

“Alright, well, I’ll let you boys get back to your game,” you tell them, walking back over to get back into your cart.

You ride off, thinking of the tall, curly brunette the whole time.

Three hours later, you’re tending the clubhouse bar.

When you came back in for restock, your boss told you it was too hot for you to keep your role as cart girl all day, insisting you switch out with one of your coworkers.

You weren’t too upset with the trade off, now in air conditioning but still getting tips from buzzed players after their game, either nursing their loss or celebrating their win.

The clubhouse gets busier as the day goes on, people dipping in for a quick cool off after playing eighteen holes in the heat.

“Hey, new body down on the end. Care to get it for me?” your co-tender, Brady, asks you, the two of you working in tandem.

You nod at him as you finish pouring the beer in your hand, walking down to the other end of the bar.

“Hey, player, what can I get for ya?” you ask the stranger, not looking up as you place a coaster in front of the patron.

“Just-Just a water, if you don’t mind,” he asks, slightly stumbling his words.

You look up to see the curly brunette, Luke, from earlier.

“Oh, it’s you. Curly Q,” you say, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice.

“Name’s Luke, actually,” he tells you, the redness from earlier returning to his cheeks.

“Yeah, I remember. Just think Curly Q fits you better,” you smirk at him, placing the glass full of water on his coaster. “I’m Y/N.”

He mumbles a small thanks, taking a sip from the glass.

“Anything else I can get for you?” you ask him, glancing down the bar to see if any new customers have sat down.

He stares at you, his eyes caught like a deer in headlights.

You wait patiently for an answer, letting out a small giggle when he just continues to stare at you.

“Alright, well I’ll let you think about your answer and be right back,” you laugh as you start to walk away.

“Wait!” Luke startles you, stopping you in your tracks. “Uhh..do you…come here often?” he stutters out, closing his eyes tightly in embarrassment as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Your eyes shine at him with amusement. “Well, I work here, so I think I’d have to say yes,” you respond, smiling.

Luke peeks one eye open at you, seeing your amused expression and sighing, letting his body sag.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I asked that,” he runs his hand through his curls nervously.

You rest your arms on the bar in front of you. “Ehh, don’t worry about it,” you tell him, scrunching your nose as you shake your head.

Luke gives you a nervous smile, sliding his water towards his body and running his finger around the rim of the glass.

“I’m sure you talk to all kinds of idiots like me when you’re serving drinks, huh?” he asks, making your face fall a bit at his defeated tone.

You stand a little straighter. “Nah, not really. Most of the idiots I talk to are just old and creepy, not my age and charming,” you tell him, finally earning a laugh from him.

His laugh was more of an amused scoff, but you already want to see the shy smile that makes its way onto his face afterwards, again.

“Yeah, cause a guy that asks you if you come to your job often is the epitome of charming,” he looks up at you.

“Well, it’s kept me here talking to you so far, hasn’t it?”

Luke blushes, making you think the man in front of you is unable to go two minutes without his face turning red.

“Yeah, I guess it has,” he casts his eyes towards his lap.

“So, Luke, you a local or here on vacation?” you ask him, glancing down at the quickly clearing stools. You know Brady is getting all of your tips right now, but you can’t bring yourself to move from your spot.

“Well, a little bit of both. Technically on vacation because I live in New Jersey now, but my parents have owned a lake house here since I was a kid, so I claim the title of a local,” you finally get him to loosen up a little, his body language relaxing. “Plus I went to U of M for a little while, so I’ve spent quite a bit of time over in Ann Arbor.”

“Ahh, a city boy,” you tease, grabbing a glass to wipe down, making it look like you’re at least partially doing your job. “Why’d you leave Ann Arbor?”

“Got a…uh…job offer in Jersey,” he tells you cryptically, eyes darting around the room.

“‘A uh…job offer?’ What are you, in the mafia?” you ask him, mimicking his words and poking fun at his nervousness at telling you about his job.

“Well, not quite,” he starts, laughing a real laugh this time, causing you to mentally record the sound and store it in your brain. “I…ahhh…I play hockey up there.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Like, professionally?”

He sinks back into his seat, looking like he wants to hide.

“Yeah. For the New Jersey Devils. My brother, Jack plays for them, too,” He tries to pass some of the attention off of himself.

“Wait, you and your brother both play in the NHL?” the impressed tone of your voice gives Luke a little boost of confidence.

“Well, both of my brothers, actually. But Quinn plays for the Canucks up in Vancouver. Jack and I are both in Jersey, though.”

You let your mouth hang open at him, not being able to hide your shock.

This earns another laugh from Luke.

“What kind of superhuman DNA do your parents possess?” you ask him.

“Not sure. We’re still being studied as we speak,” Luke leans closer, whispering like he’s telling you a secret. “The big wigs in the NHL haven’t found out yet that they grew us in test tubes in their basement.”

You let out a laugh so loud that you gain the attention of several men on the other end of the bar, slapping your hand over your mouth.

Luke leans back in his seat, a fond smile on his face as he sees your embarrassed expression.

“Hey, Y/N, you gonna come help me do your job or what?” you hear Brady yell, annoyed that he’s been working the whole bar alone for the past ten minutes.

You roll your eyes while still facing Luke, removing your hand from your mouth and turning your head to respond. “Yeah, don’t get your club all bent, I’ll be right there.”

Luke’s still smiling at you when you turn back to face him.

“Guess that’s my cue to get back to my job and quit talking to cute boys sitting at the bar, huh?” you spew, realizing what you just said a second too late.

Luke’s eyebrows shoot up, his back straightening in surprise.

You pause all movements, staring at Luke.

“Uhh…anyways, gotta go do my job. Y’know, the thing I come around often for?” you make a call back to Luke’s attempt at a line earlier, hoping it take some of the attention off of what you just said.

Luke chuckles at you. “Yeah, I need to go meet back up with my fellow lab rats, anyways,” he tells you, reaching for his wallet, placing a twenty down on the bar.

“You do realize water is free, right?” you tell him, sliding the bill back to him.

“Yeah. Figured I’d try to make up for the tips I caused you to lose, though,” he shrugs his shoulders, standing from his chair.

“Nope, I’m not taking your money. Feels like you’re just paying me for talking to you,” you tell him, holding the money out towards him and shaking it around, trying to make him take it.

Luke shakes his head at your stubbornness. “C’mon, just take it. Your coworker collected all kinds of tips while you were over here.”

“Nope,” you shake your head, leaning over and grabbing Luke’s arm, placing the money in his hand.

“I need to do something, though. I feel bad causing you to lose out on money that should’ve been yours,” he insists.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you make it up to me,” you start, watching him try to lay the money down again and shooting your arm out, preventing him from doing so. “By giving me your number,” you decide to be bold.

Luke goes still. “Uhh, y-yeah. Sure,” he snaps out of his momentary freeze, fumbling for his phone, handing it over to you.

You put your number in his phone, sending yourself a text before handing it back with a wink.

“I guess I’ll talk to you later?” Luke asks, pushing his stool in.

You nod your head yes, turning to go back to your job duties.

You turn back around after you take a few steps, seeing Luke walking away with his back turned.

“Hey, Curly Q!” you call after him, causing him to turn to look at you. “I get off at five, in case you were wondering,” you shout towards him, flashing a smirk before you walk away.

Luke smiles and shakes his head, making his way towards the other side of the clubhouse.

You watch his figure as he moves across the room, stopping to make small talk with a man, shaking his head before joining his brothers at a small table on the restaurant side of the clubhouse, picking up his menu and browsing the food selection.

You smile to yourself and go back to stacking glasses.

As you’re transferring a new stack of clean glasses to the cooler under the bar, you hear someone call your name from above you.

You stand, rattling off your typical greeting to the new customer.

“Someone named Luke asked me to give this to you,” he tells you, handing you the same twenty-dollar bill Luke had tried to hand you a few minutes prior.

You pick up the bill as the stranger walks away, looking down at it before raising your head and looking for the curly headed culprit.

You meet Luke’s eye, raising a brow at him while lifting the paper money, pointing at it.

Luke shrugs his shoulders and grins from across the room.

Months later, when you’re attending your first ever Devils game in support of your newly titled boyfriend, you watch him skate out on the ice for warm ups, making a bee-line to the seat he provided for you.

He looks at you in his Jersey, a sight he pictured from the moment he first saw you on the golf course last summer, wondering how he managed to impress the pretty cart girl he embarrassed himself with, what feels like so long ago.

Your smile took up your entire face as you waved at him, excited to finally see him play in person. He smiles back, pointing down to the ground, asking if you wanted a puck.

You nodded your head yes, watching him pick up a puck and take the cover off of a small cut out in the plexiglass separating the two of you.

When he slides the puck through the hand sized hole, you grab onto his glove, replacing the puck with a piece of paper before pushing his hand back towards him.

He looks down at his hand, confusion written all over his face. He opens his glove, looking down at his hand, his head snapping up to look at you once he realizes what you had done.

“There’s your tip, hot shot!” you shout at him through the glass, smiling in amusement, seeing the same twenty-dollar bill from the first day you met him resting in his red glove, never imagining that the nervous, bumbling boy sitting in front of you at the bar that day would make you feel like the luckiest girl in all of Michigan, and now New Jersey.

[propertyofwicked]

STARE - LN

based on this request ✧ my inbox is open for requests (or if u just want a chat!) ✧

warnings - smut! MDNI!! unprotected, praising, sorta soft!dom, co-workers to lovers??? not proof read

masterlist the playlist

the energy of the mclaren garage was palpable, with engineers and mechanics scurrying around, ensuring everything was perfect for race day. y/n had been working with mclaren for a couple of years now, her role integral to the smooth running of race weekends. but today, something was different.

in honouring the master of monaco, ayrton senna, the two drivers had been given race suits that showed tribute. yellow and green suits that screamed heritage, elegance, and - in y/n’s opinion - undeniable charisma. both drivers looked good, they always did, but every time y/n caught a glimpse of lando, time seemed to slow. he looked every bit the part, embodying the spirit of senna effortlessly.

she couldn’t help but stare, her eyes seemingly glued to his form as he interacted with the team, each glance lingering a little too long. maybe he caught her a few times, heat rising her cheeks every time she quickly averted her eyes. maybe he hadn’t even noticed her, though had she not been so eager to hide her face, she would’ve seen the way he smirked to himself.

lando felt smug.

the race was typical for monaco, aside from the first-lap crash. oscar finishing P2 was significant for the team and for him, marking his best finish of the season so far. after the chequered flag waved and the celebrations began, y/n tried to busy herself with post-race duties, wrapping up some paperwork in hospitality whilst the rest of the team fulfilled media duties and packing away equipment.

or at least she tried. the room seemed to be filled with tv screens, all displaying lando’s post race interviews, hand on his hip, sweaty curls and a boyish grin. y/n was distracted, trying to avoid looking at the screens for too long, but she couldn’t help but let her mind wander at the sight of his black fireproofs clinging tightly to his frame - she was just a girl, after all.

“so,” lando began, smirking as his eyes sparkled with mischief, “you think i look good in the senna suit, huh?”

her heart skipped a beat, and her whole body jumped, not expecting lando to be stood directly behind her, his hands resting on the back of her chair.

“what? no! i-i mean, yes, but –” she stammered, “paperwork,” she added, unable to form any sort of coherent sentence. he chuckled teasingly, though his smirk grew more smug as he noticed her cheeks going red and her hand shooting up to play with her necklace.

“i saw you looking at me. a lot. couldn’t help but notice.”

“i wasn’t – i mean, i was just –” y/n stuttered, trying to regain some composure as he leant down, using the chair to support him as his head dropped to rest closer to hers. she refused to make eye contact.

“it’s okay, you know. i’m flattered,” he muttered, glancing around to ensure no one was in earshot before continuing, “but if you keep looking at me like that, i might start to think you’re more interested in what’s under the suit.”

“lando, i...” she choked out, finally turning her head to face him. he was grinning, his mouth curling into that cocky, confident grin that she had seen too many times - but this time it was directed at her, and y/n was enthralled.

“how about we discuss this further in my driver’s room? less chance of interruptions,” lando told her, his tone leaving no room for an argument, though it wasn’t as if she was going to refuse. his eyes flicked around the room once more, before grabbing her wrist to tug her along behind him. once inside the room, he closed the door behind them, the small space suddenly feeling much more intimate.

“so,” he said again, turning to face y/n, “you think i look good, huh?”

“yes, i do. very good,” she told him, suddenly deciding to put on a brave face. his smirk softened into a genuine smile.

“good to know. because i think you look pretty good too,” lando replied, stepping closer, his hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “especially in that skirt you wore a few weeks ago.”

she looked at him puzzled for a moment, she knew exactly which skirt he meant, but how did he? how had he noticed her enough to remember what she was wearing?

“how did yo-”

“at least when i stare at you, i don’t make it obvious angel,” lando grinned, before dropping his head to press a kiss to her lips quickly, almost hesitantly at first. she kissed him back quickly, her arms wrapping around his neck as his hand moved to cup her jaw, the other settling on her waist. his hand pushed her head back, allowing him better access as he deepened the kiss, all whilst moving the two of them towards the sofa.

“it wasn’t that obvious,” she retorted in defence, pulling away from his lips quickly to catch her breath.

“it was,” lando replied, shifting the two of them so that he fell comfortably on the sofa, her landing on his lap, “even oscar noticed.”

“shut up?” she replied, tucking her face into his neck to hide her embarrassment, but trailing kisses down his skin.

“make me?” he replied, matching her tone as she nipped at his skin lightly, “good thing i’ve finished media for the day, isn’t it?”

“sorry - i didn’t mean t-” she started, pulling back to look at the red mark forming on his neck, but found herself interrupted by the shake of his head.

“i’d say do it again, but we have…20 minutes until everyone needs to leave,” lando told her reassuringly, his fingers gripping at her hips as his fingers rubbed harsh circles into her skin. her grips rolled into his, as if instinctually, whilst he moved back to kiss her, harsher than before.

“as much as you like this suit, it’s about time i take it off - don’t you think?” he asked, watching as she nodded quickly, her hands moving to the zipper. her hips rose momentarily to help him strip down, a pile of his clothes forming on the floor next to the two until he was left in just his boxers, her in equally as little clothing.

“lace?” lando asked, smiling up at her, his fingers trailing the hem of her underwear teasingly, “id ask if this was for me but there’s no way you could’ve seen this coming.”

“no, id say you were right,” she shrugged, her hand moving to grip his cock through the fabric, “i like to come prepared.”

“and ‘come you will,” he joked, which she couldn’t help but smile at despite the intimacy.

lando pushed a rugged finger past her panties, moving the fabric aside as two fingers slid through her folds, circling her clit a few times. he looked at her face, watching how she reacted to him. her mouth had opened slightly, already feeling pleasure from the anticipation, but it widened as the two fingers pushed into her, stretching her out around him. her hand was still working up and down his clothed length, thumb finding his tip as his precum leaked through the fabric of his boxers.

“did you say 20 minutes?” y/n suddenly asked him, her eyes widening at the realisation.

“i did,” he nodded, stuttering slightly as her hand pulled at his waistband.

“have we got time?”

“from the way you’re working yourself on my fingers, id say we have time to finish this, get dressed and be back at mine with 5 minutes to spare,” he exaggerated slightly, though continued twisting his fingers into her, engulfed in the way she rolled her hips into him as her walls tightened around him.

though lando didn’t give her time to get embarrassed about how quickly she was coming undone for him, before his fingers moved away from her. she whined slowly at the loss of contact, but lando ignored her, moving to take his fingers in his mouth, tasting her on his tongue.

“so good,” he muttered. he grabbed her face harshly, kissing her again so that y/n could taste herself, his hips lifting from the sofa to free himself completely. her hand resumed it’s ministrations, thumb resuming a circling motion on his tip. lando found himself distracted the moment her fingers dragged precum down his cock, following the patterns of veins that spread across his length.

“fuck,” he mumbled, the two of them trying to stay quiet as footsteps could be heard from outside his door, “need you now.”

y/n raised herself up on her knees quickly, lando’s hand on her waist guiding her towards him. his free hand gripped at the base of his cock, tracing it through her folds quickly and lining up with her entrance. the hand on her waist pushed her down slowly, helping to lower herself on him.

“big,” she whined, unable to form a full sentence, her head dropping to rest on lando’s shoulder as she sunk down further.

“thanks,” he laughed out, though the action made his body move causing y/n to slip, taking the rest of his length in all at once.

“fuck,” y/n mewled, nipping at the flesh of lando’s shoulder quickly to distract her from the stretch.

“you’re fine, you’re ok,” he reassured her, his voice soft despite him fighting the urge to thrust up into her.

she nodded into him quickly as her hips began to roll into him, feeling the way his length filled her. small grunts and incoherent mumbles from lando urged her to move more, so she raised her hips slowly before dropping back down over and over again until she settled on a good pace. lando’s fingers dug into her hip, barely guiding her movement whilst his fingers left bruises in his wake.

“wanna see you,” he told her, a hand pushing her shoulder back to look at her face. the new position awoke something in her, the angle sending her into overdrive as she used him to get herself off.

“and these…” lando added, moving to grip her breast in one hand, neck straining to take the other in his mouth.

“fuck, lan- fuck,” y/n uttered, feeling the way his tongue flicked at her nipple quickly before moving to nip and suck at the surrounding flesh. her chest was littered in red marks, sure to form into a constellation of bruises that would adorn her skin for weeks.

“taking me so good baby,” he told her, feeling the slowing of her pace with her legs growing tired, “you need me to help?”

she looked at him intently, before nodding. lando’s eyelids were half closed, but she could still see the way his pupils were blown with lust - he groaned deeply as she came to a stop, returning to rolling her hips into him instead.

“need to hear you say it,” lando insisted, his fingers trailing circular patterns up her thighs before settling on her clit. he felt her tense around him, the rolling of her hips coating his length in her slick as shoots of icy pleasure seemed to move directly from his fingertips to her brain.

“please, lando.”

“please what? what do you need, baby?” he teased, his own hips beginning to slowly jut up into her.

“need you t-to take over,” y/n stammered, gripping at lando’s shoulders tightly, “please.”

as much as he wanted to hear her beg, the way she had whimpered the word please was enough for him to pull her into a tight embrace, her legs anchoring around his back before he started thrusting himself into her at a brutal pace. oh how she prayed no one was stood nearby at this very moment, as all they would hear was the distant sound of skin slapping against each other, slightly muffled by the two of them panting.

“so responsive,” lando praised her, slowing slightly to sneak a hand between the two of them, fingers finding her clit once more, “fit me so well. like you were made f’me,” he grunted.

y/n’s mind had gone blank as lando mindlessly praised her, he himself unable to think about anything else.

“you gonna cum f’me?” he cooed, feeling the way she began to claw at his back, raking her nails into his skin and she grinded her hips into him, matching his pace.

“mhm,” she muttered out, her lips returning to his in a heat kiss - the type of kiss that overall had too much tongue and too much teeth but fit the haste of the moment so perfectly.

“go on then,” he prompted, “show me how good i make you feel.”

y/n didn’t respond verbally, she couldn’t. no, instead she came hard and fast, letting lando grip at her hips to hold her down harshly so that his length stayed deep inside of her.

“fuck me,” she panted out, though tried to keep the rolling motions of her hips to bring lando to his own finish.

“so good to me,” he grunted, taking in the sight in front of him, “you feel so good,” he added, barely able to utter another word before he was pulling her off him, ropes of cum shooting onto his stomach as she hovered over him.

“you didn’t have to do that,” she told him after a few moments of silence with lando catching his breath, “im on the pill anyway.”

“i didn’t think,” he told her, laughing lightly as she clambered off his lap, searching for her clothes, “now i know for next time.”

“next time?”

“yes, next time,” he doubled down, “trust me, ive wanted this for months. and now i’ve had you, i don’t think i want anyone else.”

heat rose to her cheeks again - she’d hoped this wasn’t a one time thing, but she was now blushing at the thought of it being a regular occurrence.

“tonight?” she asked him, cautiously.

“eager?” he teased.

“sorry i-” y/n started to apologise, stuttering slightly in her nervousness.

“y/n - tonight, tomorrow night, next week. my schedule is clear, for you.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To Those Who Wait

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: this is intended as a one shot but you also know I'm easy to influence.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

“Happy birthday!” Vivica shoves the plastic teeth of the dollar store tiara into your hair. 

You try not to glower as the rest of the table roars with laughter. It’s a happy night. You can’t spoil it just because you hate gimmicks. They mean well, you’re just a downer. Like always. 

You force a smile, “thanks, guys.” 

“Don’t thank us, it’s your night,” Jerrod chirps. “Which means you drink for free!” 

Big whoop. You barely drink. You’ll have one or two for the occasion but you don’t like the way it makes your stomach feel. Ugh, stop being such a tight ass. It’s about you but it isn’t. They went to all this trouble planning the night. For you. Your friends. You can at least be thankful for them. 

Yeah, you have friends but how much do they really know you? For as long as you’ve known them, they should know that this isn’t you. They are the ones that want to go out, that want to drink, that want to wade into the unpredictability of the general public. That’s not you. 

“So, what are we having?” Mila asks. 

“Hm, I don’t know. You know I’m not picky.” It all just tastes like alcohol. 

“Ooh, cucumber gimlet. That sounds nice,” Jerrod says. 

“Oh, it really does,” Vivica agrees. 

“I’m going to try the gummy bear. I’m in the mood for something sweet,” Mila says. 

“Sure, I’ll try that,” you shrug. 

Jerrod flags down a server and puts in the order. As he does, Vivica stirs around under the table. Mila claps as she reveals the gift bag from beneath. 

“My favourite part,” Mila wiggles with excitement. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to--” 

“It’s only one part of our gift,” Jerrod laughs knowingly. 

You give him a wary look. You don’t like his tone. You accept the gift bag and look inside. You can’t tell what it is. You pull out the tissue paper and a small box wiggles inside. Slowly, you slip it out and just as quickly shove it back in. 

“That’s it. You wanna do it just like that,” Jerrod guffaws. 

Your mouth drops open as you look around the table. The bright pink dildo has your cheeks on fire. You can’t believe they’d bring that out in public. 

“What is wrong with you guys?” 

“Oh, come on, everyone can use a good six inches or so,” Jerrod snickers. “That’s our backup gift. Our real gift is somewhere around here.” 

“Huh?” You peek around the bar. “Like a scavenger hunt?” 

“Oh, it’s a hunt,” Vivica juts out her chin. “You set the target and we’ll take him down for you.” 

“What?” You scoff. 

“Come on, honey, you’re thirty. You need to get one last hurrah in,” Jerrod insists. “When it’s my turn, I want three beefy boys. One in each flavour, blond, brunette, and even a redhead.” 

“I’ll have the same,” Mila smirks. 

You’re embarrassed. Uncertain two. You can’t tell if they’re mocking you. Out of the four of you, you’ve always been the boring one. The sober one. All these years, and you were the one saving them from regrettable drunken mistakes and making sure they don’t leave the bar with creeps. It wouldn’t be hard for them to guess, would it? 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be your wingmen. Wingwomen. Wingfriends!” Vivica says. “How about him?” She points as the server lays out the drinks. “He’s cute. Oh, look at his eyes.” 

“Wow,” Mila preens. “A bad boy. That would be adorable.” 

You want to disappear. You want to dissolve into the cushioned bench. Become a part of it. Life as a piece of a furniture must surely be nicer. 

“And his friends, not bad, huh?” 

You’re speechless. It’s a joke. Even if they don’t mean it as one, it is. All these years and you’ve never been the one approached first. You’re the straggler. You get the odd one out and they get stuck with you. Maybe, all this time, your friends had been too self-absorbed or too drunk to notice that. 

You don’t mean to be bitter. You shouldn’t be. It isn’t their fault you’re so lame. That you’ve gone another year without a single thing to be proud of. Without any change. 

“Right, well, they look busy.” 

“Booooo,” Vivica hovers her glass in front of her mouth. “Who wants to break the ice?” 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Mila stands. 

“Wait.” You blurt out but she ignores you. 

Some birthday. You get to spend it awkwardly making small talk with another disinterested stranger. You try not to show your discomfort. You grab the skewer with gummy bears impaled on it and stir the vibrant red drink. You sip through the thin straw. It makes your cheek pinch painfully. The sugar will do worse to your stomach than the vodka. 

You keep your head down as Mila’s fluttery giggle wafts over. Vivica giggles as she watches and Jerrod cranes to see. You stare at the table and distance yourself from the moment, detaching from your body as the bar hazes around you. 

“Hey, you guys, come on,” Mila calls over, “lots of room.” 

Her waving hand brings you back to the present. Vivica nudges you with her elbow as Jerrod jumps up. He grabs Mila’s drink and you shuffle along behind them. The group of men sit at one of the tall tables. They rearrange themselves and you stand back as the others claim their seats. 

You climb up on the last, balancing your drink and the gift bag, unable to bring yourself to look at the men on either side of you. You fixate on your drink and taste it again, even as the sickly flavour curdles in your mouth. Your friends introduce themselves and you choke on your name before Mila says it for you. 

The men take their turns. Your eyes dart around evasively. A sweltering heat forms a sheen across your face. The one with the frosted tips and glasses is Jensen, the broader brunette in the button-up and blazer is Nick, the biggest with his bushy beard is Sy, and the last one, beside you, with the buzz cut, is Curtis. 

“Nice crown,” Jensen says. “Happy birthday.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you reach up and take of the tiara. “Thanks.” 

“You from here or visiting?” Jerrod asks the men. 

“We work at Stacks.” 

“Programmers?” Vivica snorts. “You might know my ex. Two of them actually.” 

They laugh. You don’t know what’s funny. This is weird. You hate that invisible barrier between you and them, that makes you feel like you’re on a completely different planet. You don’t get this part of the script. The prologue is as far as you ever get. 

“How old are you?” Curtis’ deep timbre startles you as it rolls beneath the chatter of the others. You shift in your seat and twist the glass around. 

“Thirty,” you pick up the Tiara, the 3 and 0 nearly hidden by the feathers. 

“Ah, the big one,” he comments. 

“Yeah, just another year,” you put the plastic crown down. 

“What do you do?” 

You sniff and tap your fingers on the cup. You lift it and drain the last of the fruity juice and stringent vodka. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“Do what?” He asks. 

“My friends are just being goofy. You don’t have to act like you’re into me.” 

“Well, I’m not much of an actor. Never was into theatre,” he says. “I wouldn’t know, would I? Just trying to get to know you, figure that out.” 

“Really,” you give him a sideways look. “Ah,” you hiss in false disappointment, “hate to break the seal but I gotta go the ladies. Excuse me.” 

“Right,” he accepts dully. “How about I get you a refill, for your birthday?” 

“You don’t have to but if you really want to, I could use a ginger ale. Thanks.” You accept as you climb off the stool. 

You cross the bar and stop just at the threshold of the hallway that reads Girls and Boys above. You glance back. Mila has her charming smile on, Vivica is leaning into Sy, and Jerrod and Nick are watching something on his phone. Why can’t you be normal, like them? 

You flinch as you catch Curtis’ eye. His eyes flick to you as he talks to the server. You quickly spin away. You’ll wait until the third round when they’re too tipsy to care. Then you’ll make your exit. 

🍹

The hotel clerk hands you the key card. You don’t make eye contact. If you do, she might see right through you. You shove it in your pocket before the tremour is noticeable. You hurry away to the elevator and tap the button three times. 

You’re not impatient because your eager. You just want to get this over with. Finally. It only took you thirty years. 

The doors open and you step in, relieved that no one else gets on with you. When you’re shut in, you shudder. You’re disgusted. With this. With yourself. But you’re tired. You just want to pull of the bandage. You want to know what all the fuss is about so you can say you’re not missing out on anything. 

Ever since your birthday, since that pathetic deja vu of going home alone, of your friends stealing the attention on what the claim was your night, you haven’t been able to stop those thought. You’re pathetic. A loser. No wonder it’s hasn’t happened yet. Who would want to touch you? They barely want to talk to you. They wouldn’t if you weren’t a leech on your friends’ ankles. 

The doors open and jar you. You stagger then march out. You slide the card out and check the room number again. Your hands shake so bad it takes you five tries to get the green light. 

Inside the room, the nausea swells in your stomach. Your teeth chatter. You go into the bathroom and put the bag on the counter. You dig out the anti-nausea medicine and read the insert; take one or two. Do not take with alcohol. 

You pop the pink pill in your mouth and swallow. You look at your reflection. You look as scared as you feel. No time to waste, you’ve done enough of that. 

You start with the shower. You wash every crook and crevice. You check your legs and under your arms. You only shaved yesterday night but you don’t need any pricklies. And your pelvis. You did a decent enough job trimming that down. 

You get out and moisturise. You don’t want to smell. For once in your life, you don’t want to feel repugnant. You’re not some romantic. You thought of buying lingerie but that only seemed sadder. So you put on a pair of grey jersey pajamas, just a tank top and shorts. 

You don’t want to look like this is a big deal. That you tried too hard. You do your hair and a little bit of makeup. Too much would just get messy anyway. Deodorant, perfume, and mouthwash. You’re as fresh as can be. 

And anxious! 

You take out the box of condoms. You don’t think the pills are working. You want to vomit, even though you haven’t eaten. You grab your phone and check the messages. Shoot, it’s a lot later than you thought. 

‘Cashapp?’ 

Fuck, you forgot. You quickly flip over to your menu and sign in. You send the money and your chest drops. This is it. That’s a hefty wad of cash. You hope it’s worth it. 

You reply to the text; ‘sent’ then the room number. There. Done deal. It’s going to happen. Then you can say, yeah, did it, no big deal. 

You go into the suite and put your phone on the night table. You sit on the bed for a whole second before you bounce off. No, you can’t stay there. No, no, no. You pace and wring your hands as you wait. 

The knock trips you up. You turn to stare at the door and like a horror movie, your eyes widen and your ears ring. He’s here. 

You near the door and stop to look through the key hole. There’s a trickle of relief. He looks like the pictures her sent. That’s good. 

You open the door a crack and look out. He looks annoyed as he checks his watch then tugs on the lapels of his jacket. It looks like a designer; the lining has little emblems on it. He says your name, “that’s you, right?” 

“Hugh? Right?” You blink and he nods as he cheek ticks, “er, come in.” 

You pull back the door and press yourself to the wall. He struts in and clicks his tongue in his cheek. He examines the room as he shrugs out of his jacket and slings it over the small bench against the wall. You close the door and he whistles. You face him as he tilts his head, looking you up and down. 

“Smells good in here,” he grins and smooths his tidy hair. 

Despite who and what he is, he’s handsome. Well, that probably helps. It’s why you paid half your savings for one night. You sway slightly then swallow down the despair. You’re doing it. You’re really going to do it. 

A fucking prostitute. That’s as good as you can do. 

“How about some music,” he approaches the speaker under the television, “think these things have bluetooth now.” 

“Sure,” you croak, watching him as you cross your arms. It’s not too late. No, you don’t think you’ll get a refund now. 

He takes out his phone and swipes around. He holds a button on the sound bar and it chimes. Soft R&B drawls from the speaker. You bite your thumb as you stare at him. 

“So...” he looks at you. 

You nod and clear your throat. You don’t know what to do. You don’t think the whole foreplay thing is going to happen. 

He drags his hands down his cream sweater. He doesn’t really dress like an escort. Or maybe you just put too much trust in movies. He lifts the hem as you stay as you are. Your feet are glued to the floor. 

He strips off the sweater and reveals a muscled torso and a thicket of dark hair across his chest. You don’t expect it as he sports a clean shave on his jaw. You clamp down on your arms as you keep them folded across your chest. 

“Like what you see?” He winks and bites his lips. 

He’s good. You almost believe him. If you weren’t missing a chunk from your bank account, you might. 

“Come on, baby, why don’t you get some wine going,” he purrs. 

A distraction. Thank god. You go to the bar fridge and take out one of the mini bottles of white wine. You peel off the foil over the cap but can’t break the seal. You struggle, trying to hide your effort, but sense him coming close. 

“I just need to find some glass,” you say. 

He chuckles and takes the bottle. His blue eyes devour you as he cracks the seal and flicks the cap away. He drinks directly from the bottle and smirks. 

“No need. Go on,” he offers it up. 

Your lips twitch and you take the bottle. You drink, nearly gagging. You swallow and hand it back. He swigs as he watches you. 

He is so good looking. You wonder how he even got into this. He’s built like a god. No, a gladiator. You’re such a frigging dweeb. 

“Hey, you don’t gotta be uptight,” he gives the wine back to you, “relax, enjoy the wine. You paid for the night. No hurry.” 

You nod and drink again. It goes down easier. You return the bottle to him and he strides to the bed. He sits and pats the other side of the mattress.  

“Come here, sweetheart.” 

You quiver and lock your arms straight. You are conscious of every single part of you as you near him. You sit stiffly and stare ahead. The music drones as he gulps again. He bends forward to set the empty bottle on the floor. 

You wince as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. He traces the strap of your tank top and pulls you against him. You shiver as he brushes up your neck. 

“This your first time?” 

You twitch then make yourself nod. You wait for him to laugh. He doesn’t. 

“Well, let’s go slow, then.” 

“No,” you erupt. “I mean--” you grip your knees and steady yourself. “I want to just do it. Get it over with.” You grit your teeth and force a breath out your nose. “There’s condoms in the bathroom.” 

Now he laughs. “Huh, you know what you want.” 

You don’t reply. You can’t. That was the last of your courage or whatever you want to call it. 

He goes into the bathroom and you list as he opens the box. He emerges and examines the square wrapper. It looks even smaller in his large hand. He rests his other on the top of his pants. 

“How do you want it?” He asks. 

You stare at him. How do you want it? You don’t know. You raise your brows helplessly. 

“Wanna get naked?” He suggests. 

You look at the bed. You blink long and hard. Your head feels fuzzy. Must be the wine. 

“Right,” he sighs and undoes his zipper. You peek up long enough to see the top of his boxers. You back away and crawl up the bed. 

You face away from him as you strip off your shirt, then your shorts. You jitter as you lay down flat like a plank. You stare at the ceiling as the wrapper crinkles. He groans as he comes closer to the bed. 

“I like these ones,” he puts a knee on the bed. 

Your breath is like thunder. You feel like your suffocating. He touches your leg and you squeak. 

“Gonna have to open up, baby,” he pets your knee. 

You let him drag your legs apart. You can’t do it yourself. You wipe your face with a shaky hand. 

“Don’t worry, I got you.” 

Your eyes snap to him as something clicks. He holds a small bottle with a black label. He squirts the clear oil onto his fingers then reaches between your legs. You return your gaze to the ceiling before he makes contact. 

He rubs the cool lube between your folds. Your thighs quake as he glides up and down. Over and over until the moisture is more than just from the bottle. 

He tickles your entrance and you tense. He rasps as he circles around, “relax.” He pokes a finger into you and you clench. He wiggles it and hushes you as you whimper. “Look, you’re not gonna like it if you don’t chill.” 

He sinks his finger further in then pulls it out again. You blow your breath out and suck it back in as he dips inside once more. You clasp the duvet beneath you as he fingers you rhythmically. Your pussy trembles around him. 

“That’s it, baby,” he pushes a second finger into you. “You wanna be ready, huh? I mean... it’s your first time, you gotta be ready.” 

The comment is like a slap across the face. Still, you can’t focus on his words. Your eyes feel fuzzy and your body is alight with a spectrum of tingles. 

He rocks his hand and you lift your pelvis slightly. He presses his thumb against your clit and you gasp. The mix of pressure and motion is intense. You’re not completely clueless. That toy your friends gave you isn’t the only one you have, you just never used one inside of you. 

You push your head down into the pillows and moan. He hums in approval and brushes his other hand up your stomach. He rolls his thumb around your nipple. 

“Yeah, like that, relax,” he pushes deeper and you whine, little pouts coming as you dig your heels into the mattress. “Oh, my god, baby, you’re going to cum, aren’t you?” 

You squeal as you spasm. It’s not your first orgasm but it’s the best one you’ve ever had. It’s wild how different it is with someone, anyone, else. You shake as your voice unfurl and your cunt squelches around his fingers. He cooes at you as he eases you through your climax. 

“Was that so bad?” He wiggles his fingers before he pulls them free. “Huh? Think you liked that.” He gets up on his knees and moves between your legs. He strokes his dick, swollen inside the rubber sheath. “Think you’ll like this a whole lot better.” 

You lift your head dozily and stare at him. He’s big. Long and thick. That dildo was probably smaller than him and you left it in the package. 

He moves closer and you let out a surprised chitter. He caresses your thigh and hushes you as he grips your hip. He pumps himself with his other hand and angles his tip along your lips. 

“You said you wanted to get it done,” he pushes his blunt tip along your entrance. “Don’t hold your breath, baby.” 

He pushes into you and you cry put. Oh. That’s not good. The blinding pain ripples through you. This is different too. Not like his fingers. He’s... 

“Too big,” you rasp. “Please-- ah, ah, ah.” 

“Come on, baby, you can take it,” he growls as he inches into you. “Once it’s in, it’ll feel better.” He impales you down to his base and snarls as he leans his head back. He rolls his shoulders and shudders. “Fuck, it’s been a while since I had a virgin cunt.” 

Flames of humiliation lick at you. This man who fucks for a living is taking your virginity like it’s a prize. Another deposit in the bank. Why did you do this? 

“Hugh,” you eke out his name and reach down, pressing your fingertips to his stomach. “I don’t want--” 

He thrusts and you shriek. Your lips form and O as your head falls back down. You whimper as your body shakes uncontrollably. Your fingers furl into fists and your toes curl. 

“Baby, you said you wanted this. You paid for it,” he grabs your wrists and moves your hands above your head, locking them there as he holds himself above you. “Ah, fuck.” He rams into you again and your tears spill over. “Ah, ah, ah,” he continues to thrust, “you are fucking tight. Ah.” 

He closes his eyes as his nostrils flair and he groans, “the way you’re squeezing me--” 

“Please,” you snivel and he snaps his pelvis into yours. You push your legs wider, trying to ease the pressure. “Ow. You’re hurt—ing me.” 

“Argh, yes, oh,” he ruts into you harder and harder. 

The springs of the bed bounce you against him as his pace turns furious. He puffs like an animal as his eyes blare down at you. You writhe and sob, your face wet with horror and humiliation. Your flesh claps together slickly as he raises himself only to drop down with all his weight. Again and again and again. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Baby, you hear that. Your first time and you got about to blow,” he sneers. “Tell me you want me to cum.” 

You gurgle helplessly and he slams into you, “tell me.” 

“Please--” You squeal. “Please just cum. Just...” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grunts as he batters you. 

“Please cum--” 

He bucks wildly and lets out a bellowing roar. He pushes his head up and drones through his climax as he fucks you into the bed. You close your eyes and turn your head away. He slows as your heart pounds in your temples and your skin scalds. What did you do? 

He lets go of your wrists and pulls out of you all at once. He leaves you splayed on the bed. His footfalls slap away to the bathroom and the faucet runs. You don’t dare move, hoping that if you don’t, this will all just turn out to be a nightmare. 

🛏️

You touch your wrist and rip your hand away as if you’ve been burned. The bruises are tender. All of you is, but especially... that part of you. 

You have a pillow under you as you sit on your couch. You can barely put your weight on your pelvis. Each time a pang strikes, you remember that horrible mistake. Now you can really say that it isn’t all it’s made out to be. It’s not worth it. 

You lean on the armrest and stare at the television. You don’t see the faces or hear the words. Like the rest of the world, it’s now a fog. Like that night. The box for the pills said not to mix with alcohol. 

You lean your head in your hand. You don’t want to think about it. That’s worse than what happened. The memory. That never ends. 

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it. Vivica called several times. Jerrod once, and all Mila sent was some Tiktok you don’t care about. 

The table continues to vibrate. It agitates you. You get up and stumble. You cup between your legs. You wear only a sleep shirt. You don’t want anything to chafe. You grab your phone and check the ID. Who the heck? 

You answer, “hello?” 

“Hi, is this...” the timbre asks. Do you know them. 

“Uh, yeah, is this the pharmacy?” 

There’s a silence, “uh, no, it’s Curtis.” 

“Curtis,” you repeat. 

“From the bar?” He says uncertainly. 

You already know that. You just don’t believe it. You frown. 

“How did you get my number?” 

“Your friend. Viv. Sorry, I... I guess I shoulda asked you but you left so early.” 

“Why?” You ask then cringe at your own stupidity. 

“Why... because... I want to ask you out. I’m not good at beating around the bush, you know, but you don’t really give a guy a chance.” 

“Asking me out?” 

“Trying.” 

You’re quiet again. It’s like sledge hammer shattering your reality. A couple days ago, you’d be giddy. Not it’s ironic. After what you did. Another laugh in the face. 

“So, did I... just embarrass myself here or...” he huffs. You feel bad. 

You never gave him a chance. You never gave yourself a chance. And now you spoiled it all. You can’t bring yourself to take out your self-hatred on him again. You can humour him for one date. Then you can say, at least, that you’ve done that too. 

“Um, alright,” you agree, wishing it was happier, wishing that it could be different. You’ll have to figure out how to let him down easy. Although Mila says ghosting is even easier. “Sure.” 

“Sure,” he echoes you. “Don’t sound so excited.” 

“Ha, sorry,” you turn and rub your neck. “Yes. Let me know what works for you.” 

“I can do that,” he sounds relieved. “I’ll text you in a minute.” 

“Alright,” you hold back a scoff. “Thanks for calling, Curtis.” 

“No, thank you.” 

He hangs up and you turn the phone to silent. Your eyes sting as you lay it face down on the table and walk away. Things could have been so much different if you weren’t so damn stupid. He’ll figure that out and maybe you won’t have to be the one to break it off. 

[fairy-writes]

I read your 'Young Prodigies' fic I could help feeling softie reading this. Could I request what if the twins have a baby sister? The baby inherited her father's a cheerful personality.

How would the twins and papa soshiro interact with the little girl?

LITTLE HANDS, BIG HEART

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

Word Count: 0.6k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Original Child Characters, Fluff, 

Notes: So this starts in the hospital when the little girl is born. This implies that a: reader gave birth or, b: you adopted her, or c: you had a surrogate and picked her up at the hospital. Either way, I tried keeping this gender-neutral. 

The names I picked and their meanings are as follows (pls lmk if I got any meanings wrong, I’m using a website for said names)

Katsuo: Victory and/or hero

Osamu: Discipline/study

Sachie: Happiness and/or good luck

The twins call you “Poppy” in this :)

__________________________________________________________________________

The hospital nursery was quiet this time of night. 

Soshiro held Katsuo and Osamu’s hands in his as the little trio made their way down the hall where you were waiting. 

“Dad? Where’s our baby sister?” Katsuo asked and tugged on his father’s hand. It was a cute gesture for the ten-year-old. One he had never quite grown out of since he was still a toddler. Holding their hands was also a habit that Soshiro never grew out of. 

“In the nursery. We’re almost there.” He said simply, spotting you outside the window to what he assumed was the nursery.

“Poppy!” The twins shout in unison, letting go of their father’s hand and scampering to your side. You turn and spot them, your face breaking out in a grin, and you kneel to give them both a tight hug. 

“I hope traffic wasn’t too bad?” You direct your question to your husband as he approaches at a more leisurely pace. 

“Not at all. It’s like midnight. How’s the little tyke?” He said, leaning in to kiss your temple as you stood up. You hum and pull his lips in to meet yours in a quick kiss. 

“She’s wonderful, sleeping right now, but she’s good.” You say against his mouth, only pulling away when Osamu gets your attention by waving a hand in your general direction. 

“Which one is she?” He asks, face pressed against the glass separating the sleeping babies from the rest of the world. Katsuo joined his twin, and together, they squinted at the names written on the little bassinets. You approach the boys, your hand in Soshiro’s, and you point to one on the second row away from you. 

“Second row back, third one from the left.” You say gently. Soshiro looks and sees a little pink blob swaddled in a pastel pink blanket and a matching hat over a soft head of curls. 

The twins chatter eagerly and babble excitedly about all the things they want to teach their little sister when they get to bring her home. You smile warmly as you watch your sons and ruffle their hair. 

“Do you want to go in and see her?” You ask, and it’s like a record screeched to a stop. They stop dead in their tracks and stare at you with wide eyes. Soshiro can’t help but grin as he flags down a nursery doctor. 

“Can we go in and see our little one?” He asked, and the nursery doctor nodded happily. Your little family is given instructions and overgowns to wear before entering the nursery. The gowns drown Katsuo and Osamu, but they’re practically bouncing in excitement, so they don’t mind much. 

Inside the nursery was even quieter than outside. Inside was filled with the quiet cooing of babies or sleeping noises. There wasn’t a crying infant in sight. 

You lead the way, talking in soft tones to your boys as Soshiro watches on fondly. The gowns rustle as you arrive at the bassinet containing their baby sister. 

Her eyes are open now, and she’s cooing up at them with a wide and curious gaze. Her arms are swaddled to her sides, but Soshiro bet she’d be reaching up if she could. With the okay from the watching attending nurse, you picked up the little girl. You handed her gently to Soshiro as Katsuo and Osamu coo happily at their new baby sister. 

Surprisingly, Soshiro feels a pinprick of tears in his eyes. 

“Are you crying?” You ask and he turns his head away to scrub it on his shoulders. 

“‘Course I am. She’s adorable.” He said, turning his watery smile back to the cooing newborn in his arms. 

“Welcome to the family, Sachie.” He whispered, and she squealed in delight. 

[bambiiboop]

That’s My Girl - [ Joel Miller x Reader 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ ]

Anon requested jealous, possessive Joel with a filthy mouth, so here you are! General CW for spice, unsafe sex, Joel with a filthy mouth, & a slightly red flag possessive streak.

Joel slammed the door behind you, expression mutinously annoyed as he crossed his arms and turned to you.

“What the fuck was that back there?” He demanded.

You had to resist the urge to smirk; if you weren’t so annoyed yourself, you’d feel smug about pissing him off. Joel liked to pretend he didn’t give a rat’s ass about you, but it was obvious that you were more than… whatever he thought you were. A quick fuck. Something casual. There was nothing casual about the way he’d grabbed your hand and practically dragged you out of the bar.

“What was what?” You asked sweetly, enjoying the way his eyes darkened.

“You know damn well what.” He glared, “letting that random fucking informant buy you drinks.”

“Maybe I like free booze?” You suggested, innocent. Oh, you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Not enough to let someone like that put their hands on you, surely?”

Your own temper flared. “What’s it to you, Joel? I’m not your goddamn property. Besides, you can’t lecture me on exclusivity when-“

You stopped, still angry, still hurt, by what you had seen. By what had driven you to provoke him, to try and draw out his jealous side in blatant vengeance.

“When what?” He demanded, exasperated. Honestly he had no damn clue what had possibly driven you to act the way you had, flirting with anyone and everyone. You were his, dammit. Nobody else should be able to hold your attention. Nobody else was worthy of it.

You were so angry at the memory, you wanted to cry.

“When I show up at your place looking for you and Tess answers the door wearing your fucking shirt and says you’re busy.” You snapped, glaring at him. “You don’t get to demand I don’t look for attention elsewhere when you’re clearly more than happy to fuck both of us.”

He stared at you. He hadn’t been home at the time, had been at work. He knew which shirt you were referring to, though. It was an old one he’d given her on a laundry day, almost a year ago.

“That… is not what’s happening here.” He said flatly.

“No? You think I’m stupid?” You demanded. Honestly if he wasn’t so worried about fixing this, wasn’t so pissed about you letting that fucking rat touch you, he’d almost find this funny.

“I haven’t been with Tess like that for… Fuck, almost five years.” He shook his head, “that shirt was too small for me, I handed it down on a laundry day when she had nothing clean. And I was at work, by the way.”

You cut your building tirade, mouth open but nothing coming out, feeling monumentally stupid.

“Oh.” You manage, knowing full well how lame you sound.

“Yeah, oh.” He frowned at you, “you know better than to let her rile you up.”

He was already making a note of talking to Tess, though. He’d have a few choice words for her, that was for damn sure. But that wasn’t his focus.

“Now we’ve cleared that up, you wanna tell me again why you were getting so cosy with our good friend the local rat, there?” He backed you right up against the wall, one arm on either side of you, effectively trapping you there.

“I-“ You had absolutely no good answer for him.

“I’m gonna take a guess,” he suggested, “that you thought it would be a good idea to piss me off, by acting like a complete slut.”

“No, I-“

“No? You weren’t? Cause that’s not what it looked like to me, baby.”

You could feel the heat coming from him; in a very short sentence: you’d fucked up. Big time.

“I just-“

“I don’t care what your damn reason was, honestly. But I have a suggestion for you.” He was leaning in close now, mouth so close to yours. You leaned in, wanting so badly to kiss him. He turned his head at the last minute.

“You want to put that mouth to use? Get on your knees and show me.”

Fuck, he was mad. You were only starting to realise just how far you’d pushed him now, but there was no going back, and no hiding the thrill you were getting from it as you dropped to your knees to obey him, hands going to his belt.

“Not making a case for yourself here, are you darlin’?” There was a sort of wry amusement to his voice as you unzipped his jeans, wrapped your hand around his already hard length.

He kept one hand on the wall, the other reaching down to stroke your hair.

“Be a good girl now and I might be less mad.”

You looked up at him, staring into those depthless dark eyes, as you leaned in to lick a slow stripe along his cock, watching his reaction before you took him into your mouth. You didn’t hold back, sucking him eagerly.

“This what you were gonna do to that other bastard? Or am I special?” He was taunting you, he knew deep down you’d never have let anyone else touch you, but fuck, he was angry about it. You were his. His. Nobody else got to touch you. Even thinking about it made him see red.

You, of course, couldn’t answer, mouth otherwise occupied as he started to thrust shallowly into your throat. He groaned softly when you sucked him, swallowing around him. He knew exactly what you were doing, pulled out of your mouth and tapped you sharply on the lips with his cock.

“Not yet. Get up.”

You got up, a little shaky, only to find yourself pinned against the wall, your dress being pushed up around your hips.

“Tell me, is this what you’d let anyone else do to you?”

“N-no,” you admitted, voice shaking with a little fear, a lot of desire.

“No? Are you sure?” His lips grazed your throat, teeth nipping the skin.

“I’m sure…” you were absolutely soaked; you could feel your own wetness drenching your panties as he dragged them aside, wrapped your leg around his waist.

“Good.” He almost growled it, “you’re mine.”

He slid into you in a single, deep, rough thrust, drawing a cry of surprised pleasure from your lips.

“I don’t give a damn if you want to be a whore, as long as it’s only for me.” He kept one hand wrapped around you to steady you, keeping you braced against the wall with his other hand as he fucked you, harder and faster with each deep thrust.

“Fuck-“ you whimpered, tightening your leg around his waist, bringing him in deeper.

“None of that.” He slapped your ass sharply, “talk to me, baby, use your words. Tell me who you belong to.”

He was barely thinking straight himself, driven by a deep and primal feeling of jealousy, rage, and possessiveness. You brought out the best in him, but that was a double edged sword. You could also bring out the worst, when needed.

Luckily, you understood, knew how to play him.

“You, Joel,” you cried out as he hit your sweet spot, again and again, “I’m yours, I promise!”

Your cries faded into incoherence, loud and desperate sounds of pleasure as he brought you closer and closer, finally reaching the apex of your pleasure, tightening around him, soaking every inch of him that was buried inside you.

“That’s goddamn right,” he agreed, pressing a searing kiss to your mouth, “you’re all mine, darlin’, don’t ever forget that.”

He could feel his own pace start to get erratic as he drew closer and closer to his own release, incoherent growls and groans falling from his lips.

“Fuck, darlin’, you feel so fuckin’ good, prettiest damn pussy I ever felt, gonna fill you up so good…” he punctuated each word with a sharp snap of his hips, “gonna make you forget anyone else you ever had… fuck…”

He couldn’t control it any longer, feeling himself throb and ache inside you as he filled you with his release; usually he was so careful about pulling out of you, but well… accidents happen. And if that accident so happened to keep you around and with him? All the better for it.

“Mine, darling. You’re all mine.” He murmured into your ear, holding you close.

You sighed, kissed his throat.

“I’m sorry…” you admitted; you’d pushed him too far, and you knew it.

He gave you a small smirk. “Don’t be sorry, baby. You more than made up for it.” He paused, and then, “just don’t do that shit again.”

You smiled back, rested your forehead against his.

“I won’t. Promise.”

He kissed your lips gently. “That’s my girl.”

[lundenloves]

couples counselling II

Did someone say angst? Gimme an A, gimme an N— no? Okay. Listen I never claimed to be happy, and this is further proof. Welcome new readers, *leans on doorframe alluringly* I love writing character demise. Happy reading, kids.

↳ angst, angst and angst | 2.1k

part one | masterlist

javier being dismissive and nonchalant again. everyone calm down and stay together, this is a guided tour, follow the red flag i’m holding as we explore the peña mind.

The first seven days: in a word, torture. Well, not quite but it certainly came close by the amplified scoffs, sighs and arguments. Javier hadn’t managed to let go of the fact this whole thing was Aleta’s actual idea, a poor one at that, mumbling profanities to himself the moment he had stepped out the door. She followed behind him, refusing to walk by his side when he was being such an ignorant fuck about the whole thing.

“You want this to work?” He stopped, turning to face her in the middle of the parking lot — palms faced up in question. The sun had caught his glare, somehow injecting it with an extra dose of inconvenience just to add salt to the wound. “Huh, pateadora?”

Aleta cringed at the derogatory nickname he had used. Kicker. He’d coined it in El Paso following an onslaught of kicks to his shin under tables for inappropriate conversations, and he couldn't resist but stamp the name onto her. Like a medal to an athlete. She fucking hated it. “Get off the fucking road, pendejo.”

“Then walk with me.” His eyes followed her, condescendingly shaking his head when she’d pushed him from his stoppage. “Hardly asking for salvation, here.” Aleta groaned frustratedly at his mutter, rounding the car to enter the passenger side.

“No. You’re asking for death.”

Javier leaned his head against the steering wheel, finding his shoulders vibrating in laughter. This really was fucking ridiculous. He hit the dash with a thud, sitting back in his seat and pushing arms across his broad chest.

“This won’t work, you know.” He said, eyes fixed onto the near empty parking lot ahead of them.

Aleta studied his features, sighing at the familiar crease by his eyes and the way it loosened when he’d momentarily lifted his brow. The finger that traced across his bottom lip, then down to his jaw, smoothing over his cheek in visible stress.

“That’s only because you don’t want it to work.”

He’d snorted at that. “I’m paying two-hundred an hour for it, Aleta.”

“Fucking show interest then.” She berated loudly.

And to be fair, they’d tried. They really had tried on the task given to them. But staring at someone who literally boils your blood with a snap of his fingers was hard to do, Javier likewise, finding anything a better option than conceding to the request.

And admittedly, he’d been ducking out of it a bit. Purposely staying later at the office and tiptoeing around the house so as to not wake her when he had eventually gotten home late. He knew it would result in a chewing next Sunday at the session. He just didn’t care.

So one night when he had come home to find her sitting in the kitchen, it was endgame.

“Shit.” He dropped his jacket to the kitchen table, clutching a hand to his chest. “What the fuck are you doing?” A deep frown set across his brow, opening the fridge for a bottle of water before turning to look at her over his shoulder.

“Sit.” She near ordered, pushing out a chair for him with her foot.

He turned around. “Why.” Eyes cast downward to the floor with a sharp exhale before placing his hands on his hips purposefully. “It’s late.”

“Puto, sientas.”

Javier stared at her for a moment, his eyes twitching at her energy. He kicked the chair further wide of her leg, sitting down with his hand centre on the table. She locked eyes with him and he let out a long sigh, dropping his head to hang between his shoulders.

“You’re not trying. She asked us to try.” Aleta leaned forward onto the table, watching as he swiped his hand back toward himself.

“And you’re pushing mountains?” He quipped, sitting back and planting his feet a far distance from one another. “This isn’t a one way thing.”

“That’s what i’m fuckin’ saying, pendejo.”

Javier rubbed his face, dragging his skin down in fatigue before turning to her. “Well then let her deal with it.” An accusatory palm had been gestured toward the door, as if the Doctor was standing outside. “I don’t know why you're so insistent on us. We can’t even fucking look at eachother.” His arms thrown ahead of himself to emphasise the point.

“Fuck you.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong.” The side of his lip tugged upward at her lack of reaction, both of his hands landing flat on the table. And for a moment, a slight moment — Aleta had thought that was it for them.

And it would've been if she couldn't read Javier well, the minute flaring of his nostrils and the way he inwardly sighed, his features softening and passing as eerie hostility to anyone but the woman opposite him.

He was scared of it all.

And that’s exactly what the Doctor had clocked onto in that session come Sunday. Her notes were pointedly placed by her chair instead of her lap. It was the first thing Javier had noticed when walking in, failing to hide the crease between his brows.

“Mr and Mrs Peña.” She nodded with a stiff smile.

Javier sat back on the deep sofa, maintaining the same distance to his wife as before and looking up to the ceiling in anticipation of more headaches. The muscles in his arms flexed when his hands had been pushed through his hair, joining at his nape. “Mornin’.” He grumbled.

The Doctor took a moment before clearing her throat. “How did you get on with what we discussed?”

“We tried.”

“No we didn’t. Not really.” Javier spoke, receiving a lengthy glare from his wife.

“We did.” She bit back, wasting no time. “He’s just scared of it all.” Her words came like a dagger to Javi’s masculinity, like she’d just clawed it back and shoved him in front of a crowd. He returned his eyes to the scene before him, looking at her like a kicked dog. The Doctor tilted her head at Aleta’s words before looking to Javier.

“Does loss scare you?” Her soft tone angered him.

“No.” He replied dryly, shifting in his seat.

The Doctor allowed for his denial, her eyes flitting to Aleta who had subtly nodded as if to confirm he was lying. “He picked up extra hours. Again.”

“I already had those hours.” His arms crossed tight over his chest again in self-preservation. “I told you, I don’t know why we’re still trying. This is fucking stupid.”

Aleta bit on her lip, a projecting smile forming. “You’re the one who's paying.” Her attempt to mask the brewing anger was not working. Javier sat forward, looking toward the Doctor to ignore his wife.

“I’m paying because all you do is fucking complain.”

“And you believe the love isn’t there anymore, Javier?” There came an interception from Aleta’s pending bite, flicking a few pages deeper in her notes before looking up to him.

“No, it’s gone.” He cleared his throat while resting his elbows on his knees, looking to the floor over joined hands.

“Is that what you want?”

Javier's jaw ticked, rubbing the back of his neck before shrugging silently. His face remaining stiff, eyes stuck to the vinyl flooring as if a certain death would occur upon his looking up. “I don’t really care.” The nonchalance in his voice was expected.

“That’s bullshit.” Aleta interrupted strongly. “You fuckin’ know it is, Javi.”

He looked back at her. “Is it?” A hand ran up his neck and over his hair with a grin, her sudden reaction setting him off. “Or is that what you want? You want this whole thing to blow over?”

“That’s not what we’re here for.”

“No, we're here to waste time.” He silenced her, shaking his head before looking back to the Doctor who gave a weak smile.

“This won’t work if both parties aren’t cooperating.” She only added salt to Aleta’s wounds, the pressing of her lips rounding the words off like a fucking punch to the gut.

Javier clapped his hands once, dropping them to his thighs. “That’ll be us then.” He said, digging into his pockets to source a cigarette.

“Will it shit.”

His wife’s tone was brash, her pupils blown in impatience as he caught eyes with her. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip before sticking the cigarette to it, “I can smoke in here, right?”

The white coat opposite him nodded, shifting a few papers across her lap and back to the table. Shaking her head, she asked, “What’s the ideal outcome for you two.”

“To not kill each other.” Javier mused like this whole thing was a joke, tapping the heel of his boot on the floor. A long trail of smoke danced above his cigarette, absorbing Aleta’s attention more than his remark.

“Aleta?”

“For him to stop lying.”

She hadn’t blinked, still in a daze for the smoke.

Javier only looked at her, his eyes squinting before taking a slow drag in thought. Knee once again betraying him for the way it bounced up and down, and the quietness of her voice tightening his jaw.

“I think you two need to talk. With no avoidance.”

He snorted.

“Here. You’ll talk here.” She clicked her pen on a notebook that had been opened to a fresh page. “Javier, tell Aleta something you like about her.”

The instruction made him sigh, sitting back on the sofa and looking up in contemplation for a little too long. “Her lips.”

“Vice versa.”

“I like his eyes.”

“Who loved first?”

“Me.” Javier answered shortly, his eyes shifting toward hers for a split second.

“Recall it.”

Aleta figured out what was going on pretty quickly. It was a solemn attempt to reignite the memories in Javi’s head, maybe create a spark for a flame of their marriage to continue on.

He puffed out a breath, dropping his shoulders and looking back up toward the ceiling. “She didn’t like me, kept pushing me away.” The smoke of his cigarette came with the words, exhalation pushing them up to cloud. “But I was persistent. I wanted her.”

“Why did you want her?”

He sat forward, almost laughing with a tilt of his head. “She made me nervous.”

Aleta’s eyes averted to the floor.

“No one made me feel like that.”

The room fell quiet and for the first time, it was allowed. The white coat encouraged the way they stared at one another. Javier rubbed at his temple, leaning forward but looking back to his wife who stared down at him.

He was a stoic person.

And the breakdown of their marriage forced him to close back up. The feeling of losing that primal safety contributing to the resurface of nonchalance and disinterest.

He knew that she was aware of it.

Which only pushed him further off that cliff.

“Why did you give him a chance?”

Aleta laughed. “I don’t know.” Her smile slowly faded into a shadow, nostrils flaring in evidence to her upset.

No one had asked that before.

“How about we wrap this one up…” A smile came empathetically, closing her notebook and the matching folder titled Peña. “I just want you two to talk. That’s all.”

Javier stubbed his cigarette out in the provided ashtray, rubbing his face. “Alright.” He answered for his wife.

“And what I asked last week too. Maybe try that again.” Aleta nodded absently, unfreezing from her trance and standing up to follow Javi who held the door open. “See you next Sunday.”

Fuck. This.

It felt like Deja Vu by the time they had reached the parking lot again. Javier stood in the middle of it once more, a cigarette clung to his lip while looking back at Aleta. The long inhale he took felt futile by the way it was instantly sighed out, hand placed on his hip.

“I told you, it’s not going to work.”

“Ten years. Javier. Fucking ten years.”

His eyes looked black from where she was standing. And the calmness of his movements was telling against her building rage for every passing day, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want her.

“You really don’t want this?”

One side of his lip turned downward for the nod he gave, as if this is what he was trying to say all along. He shook his head, “No. I don’t.” Arms dropping to his sides in defeat.

He just wasn’t scared enough.

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated! i’ll sit in a hole if no one pats me on the head every now and then.

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[bianxingren]

that’s how the colors worked out when i applied them to the bi flag. if you don’t like it, use someone else’s.

transmasc flag set

lesbian, gay, bi

nonbinary, genderfluid, agender

ace, aro, pan

requested by @bimalewife!

please don’t use if you fit this criteria!

reblog && credit to use!

[angel-graces-world-of-chaos]

I told you so

Author Note: Here's some more of my OC x Bodhi! If you haven't seen my other fic, I highly recommend (find it here). Enjoy and feedback/reblogs/comments/likes are much appreciated xx

Divider by me — if you would like to use it, please tag or credit me x

Word Count: 773-ish

“Shit!” Lillian yells as she sprints through the fortress, ducking between riders as First Wing tries to protect their egg. Seimra snarled angrily in her head as a rider almost lobbed her head off with a sword: be careful!

Yeah, yeah, sorry. Now shush! Lillian hissed back, slamming her shields down to block out further commentary from her blue daggertail. Racing up the steps, the second-year ducked and twisted as she dodged daggers and other weaponry being thrown at her. Panting she reached the top of the stairs to find a group of riders stationed around First Wing’s egg.

“I don’t suppose you’d save me the fight and just hand it over, right?” Lillian grinned, holding her palm up and wiggling her fingers cheekily as she glanced around the room for anything that might help her defeat five riders. “No? Oh well.” With that, she launched herself into the fight, dancing out of the way as the riders tried to take her down. 

Seimra, the rule is, I only have to bring the egg back, right? Lillian asked as she continued to duck and weave between riders. I don’t need to fight them all to get it…

You see? Brain over brawn, silly child.

Yeah, yeah. Ducking a potential fatal blow to the head, Lillian had managed to sneak her way to the egg. Grabbing it, she yelled a quick thank you to the stunned group of riders and sprinted back down the stairs, vaulting onto her dragon from the fortress wall.

Tell the others we have the egg. Lillian smiled, eyes shining brightly as she cradled the egg in her hands. Hopefully they were able to protect our flag as well.

CRACK!

What in the gods was that?! Lillian startled, glancing around across the valley, trying to pin-point the sound. I believe that was Tairn’s rider, Seimra grumbled, moving her head to point at a now smouldering fortress. Your not-mate has requested you land in the valley with the rest of your section and announce the successful retrieval of the egg.

My not-mate? Lillian questioned.

Yes. Cuir’s rider. You have said he is not your mate, despite your wish to be his.

B-bodhi?? You’re talking— SEIMRA!

Seimra huffed, throwing a side glance at her rider, before beginning her descent to the training fields.

HE ISN’T!

Lillian merely received a huff in response, as she jumped down from her dragon and began to walk towards the group of riders that had gathered.

“There she is!” Imogen yelled, grinning wildly as she sprinted towards the blonde. “You got the egg!” Imogen launched her arms around Lillian, jumping up and down, “and we kept the flag! We won!”

Lillian laughed happily, glancing around at the two sections that had gathered around her. “Is Claw Section still out?”

Bodhi answered, shouldering his way through to stand on her other side: “Yeah, Garrick, Violet and Xaden are with them as well. I’m really proud of you.” He whispered the last part, lips brushing her ear gently, before he pulled back and grinned at her, “I wanted to talk to you tonight. Meet at our usual spot?” Lillian nodded, glancing at him before turning back to the rest of the riders.

“Alright listen up! You did well, and given we are the only wing to have succeeded in keeping our flag and capturing an egg, I expect we’ll be the winners of Squad Battle! So! Wash up and ensure all chores are done, then head to dinner! Tail Section, although I’m not your Section Leader, I suggest you do the same!”

Riders cheered and began to head back to the quadrant, chatting happily amongst themselves. “I wish you were our Section Leader.” Imogen sighs, “Garrick’s such a stickler for rules. I bet he’d have made us do other shit first before we could have even thought about food.”

Lillian snorted, “He definitely would. You’ve got a pretty good EXO though…” She nudged Imogen, tilting her head towards Bodhi. “Yeah, but we all know he’d much rather be in your sec—“ Before Imogen could finish, Bodhi had her in a headlock, covering her mouth so she couldn’t say anything. “And that is our cue to head off the field.” Bodhi glared at Imogen, marching towards the quadrant with her still stuck in a headlock.

A nudge pulled Lillian out of her daze and she glanced back at Seimra. What?

I don’t like saying ‘I told you so’, but—

“The hell you don’t, it’s your favourite phrase!” Lillian cried, throwing her hands in the air and almost dropping the egg as she does it. Shit! 

[taradiddled]

Alastor: What’s this? The Devil’s own illustrious mistress has come to ask a favor of me?

Ada: Yeah, yeah. Toot your horn. Go on. But I can also take my generosity elsewhere. As well as the chance to piss off Vox and his cronies. So, if you’re finished gloating?

Alastor: We shall have to see if what you’re offering is truly worth my care. Remember, I am only willing because the Princess of Hell has asked me to give you better courtesy than you’ve shown me.

Ada: Uh-huh. Right. Did Rainbows tell you that you talk in the same sneaky, work-around way as her dad? Only, yours isn’t as charming…

Alastor: I take offense at that comparison. My time is valuable, so if you would tell me what it is that you want?

Ada: Right. Brass balls it is then. So! Vox’s news station has requested that I let them interview me, seeing as I’m the new Hot Shit doing the moving and shaking in this hellhole.

Alastor: Interesting. I believe you’re overestimating your impact, but, do go on.

Ada: I haven’t given them my answer yet, but I’m hoping to give someone else an exclusive interview with yours truly. And I want that interview to be inaccessible to Vox’s cronies.

Alastor: Interesting...and where is my assistance required?

Ada: You have a handle on the radios, don't you? Radio demon and all that fancy shit?

Alastor: In a more refined and dignified manner than your 'fancy shit', dear, but...yes. I do have a...'handle' on the radios.

Ada: Great. I want my interview to go on YOUR station, with one of YOUR flunkies doing the interviewing. Let Vox and his freaks know that Hell's Mistress doesn't fly under Vox's flag.

Alastor: Hmmm. Quite the request you've made. I would need to do some planning for this, not to mention, find one of my 'flunkies' willing to take the time to ask the questions. There is also the concern with bringing someone associated with the royal family onto my station -- I usually don't seek to flatter anyone with particular POLITICAL motives.

Ada: Oh please. You're buddy-buddy with the Princess of Hell, helping her run this Redemption Project of hers. You've also been SEEN with me in public, fending off one of Vox's cronies looking for the latest paparazzi shot. You're more than ASSOCIATING with the royal family. So why not do something to make the statement that, not only are you ASSOCIATING...but you're actually quite BENEFICIALLY FRIENDLY, too?

Alastor: Very persuasive argument. I will need some time to think this over. Give it the careful consideration it deserves, coming from the King's courtesan.

Ada: It's MISTRESS, asshole. And just in case you don't say 'yes', I've already told Charlie what a GREAT idea it is, and how I can use the interview to also advertise the Hotel. So, hope you're not planning on disappointing the Princess of Hell. It'd be pretty shitty to lose your pull with that nugget of power, huh?

Alastor: ...you are not as feckless as you have appeared to be.

Ada: Thanks. It's called 'playing your cards right'. You learn how to do that when rubbing elbows with Seraphim.

[charlesangels03]

"And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."

A play of this very quote found in the later parts of the novel "The Alchemist: by Paulo Coelho to reference it, “When you really want something, the universe always conspires in your favor,” is the particular variation I’m acquainted with. It is one that I have since lived by when I first stumbled upon it years ago on social media - Pinterest or Instagram, I no longer remember. It became a grounding of my faith in myself and the forces that bend the whims of reality to have the stars wink at me.

I’d like to believe that I am a person with thousands of possibilities; some of which I’m already living. However, rainbows are not for everyday ventures as there are times that I doubt my capacity to fulfill my aspirations and give myself the life I want. I am not special in experiencing this dilemma, but its impact of rendering me stunned and unable to act flags an implication of its potential to ruin my momentum - to hinder me from realizing my visions.

The line, therefore, is a personal favorite on two accounts: familiarity and comfort.

As stipulated above, I am acquainted with the quote but only very recently traced its origins to the novel. With years of exposure, I feel more affinity to it than with the other philosophies found within the pages of the story. It has shared moments with me, becoming a source of encouragement, simply because I know of it and I have already understood it.

This does not mean that I closed off my agency to resonate with new input, but time surely has influenced the solidification of my stance. I’ve internalized its message and built a connection in which this ideology is where my mind circles back every time something goes right. Referencing back and remembering embedded the words above in my heart, carving a cozy little spot where it would snuggle there forever.

Moreover, there is comfort in believing that you are not alone. Whether this belief may be manifested through prayers and requests to a higher being, following superstitions, or simply hoping that the stars align and grant you that one special wish is fine. It is comfort, regardless of whether it materializes in a physical vessel.

It is no secret that life has a tendency to play tricks on people, rendering us to feel powerless and at its mercy. In dark cases of my life where I am struck with fear and freeze, the quote has always lent me the courage to break free from the shackles that meant nothing but to hold me down and to chase my dreams despite the vision becoming murky at times. It is its ability to feel like a hug, reassuring and encouraging, that has kept me going to several degrees.

With the dramatic changes in my life from the moment I entered college, there was not a single thing I asked for that wasn’t given to me. To clarify, my life is not perfect and I commit mistakes just as any person does, but this is a prominent observation from me. I do not understand how or why, but if I don’t get what I silently wish for in its exact form, a similar opportunity presents itself as an alternative.

It would be an act of wearing rose-colored glasses to say that this was all a product of hours and hours on end romanticizing my life and manifesting for things to go my way. In reality, it’s a combination of that and my own perseverance to take the necessary steps for things to come into fruition. It was never just the quote and belief. I also tend to pair the line with another that I’ve learned somewhere in the depths of the internet rabbit hole as well. It goes somewhere along the lines of, “If good things really want to come into your life, you have to make space for it.”

Just like Santiago, the story's main character, and the novel, it was a matter of knowing when and where to look for me, complemented by my hard work in letting the universe to, in fact, conspire in my favor. This belief, no matter how idyllic, that the cosmic forces will do everything in their power to grant me what I asked for brings this sense of warm comfort that I will never be denied my dreams should I invest in them. Ergo, the line not only causes me to think of circumstances at play but calls me to action to persist in realizing my aspirations, knowing that in the end even if I fail, I am never denied but only redirected.

--

Charles' 5th Blogging Entry: Skill-Based

[imagineanime2022]

The Nurse

Akiko Yasano X Male!Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 843

Requested: Anon

Request: Original Request

The ADA found you by accident, you had been in the right place at the wrong time, one of the members got hurt and you were on shift that day. You worked at the local hospital, your ability made you work far easier than it would have been. Your ability allowed you to take the pain of an injury and store it within your body, to then unleash when your blood was spilled, the smell of your blood inflicted the pain and physical drawbacks of the injury that you had taken the pain of. The ADA offered you a position at the agency saying that you would work well with their doctor given how her ability worked.

That had been a few months ago now and you had been a part of the agency for a while when Atsushi joined in fact you walked in on his induction seeing him throw himself onto the bomb in order to save everyone in the room. “This is what you call an introduction?” You asked. “(Y/N)!” Dazai cheered as he jogged over and looped an arm around your shoulder. “You were supposed to be a hostage too.” “We both know that I’m no hostage.” You rolled your eyes, shrugging him off and walking towards the medical wing. “Plus Junichiro couldn’t throw me around the way that he does his sister.” “You don’t know that!?” Junichiro yelled. “You want to try?” You teased as you looked over your shoulder winking at him, his face turned red as he jumped away from the conversation as if it had burned him, you gave a soft chuckle and headed off to see Yasano.

You walked into her office putting the coffee and breakfast you had bought her on her desk. “Aww did you get me breakfast?” She asked. “Did you have breakfast this morning?” You asked. “Of course I did.” She smirked as she took the coffee off the table, sipping it and humming in approval. “You should stop lying to me.” You took a bite from the food that you had gotten yourself. “One day I won't believe you when you tell me the truth.” “You’ll always believe me.” She leaned forward on the desk and passed you half the papers that needed looking over “will you take half of these?”

It was only a few hours later that you got a call from Dazai “What do you want?” You asked. “Nice to talk to you too, Atsushi, Junichiro and Naomi are badly injured, make sure that you and Yasuno are ready.” He ordered. “Is it gross?” You asked. “Atsushi is missing a leg.” Dazai answered as you made a face nodding to yourself as Yasano stood from the desk moving towards her table to make sure that everything was ready. “Anyone already on death's door?” You asked. “Naomi is pretty bad.” He said. “Bring her in first then.” You said as you twisted your wrist. “Can you do three in one go?” Dazai asked. “Should be fine, just bring ‘em in, can't do anything when they’re out there.” You said hanging up the phone. “Will you be okay?” Yasano asked. “Probably.” You walked over to your chair at the head of the table as you waited for them to arrive.

They were right by the time that you had gotten to healing Atsushi you were flagging, you had been taking the pain for the treatment that Yasano was giving them and talking them through everything, you knew that this one was going to be the most difficult because he had never been through this before “Hey Atsushi, you think you can relax for me?” You asked. “What happened?” He asked. “You lost your leg.” You answered honestly as Yasano moved around the table “we’re going to fix it but you have to trust us, you think that you can do that?” “Y-yeah…” He answered, you placed your hand on either shoulder as the pink flowers bloomed across his already present wound, Yasano started her work when the flowers turned white denoting that the pain had been redirected. “How are you holding up?” You asked. “I’m fine, I can’t feel anything… Is that bad!?” He asked as he attempted to get up, you pushed him down. “That’s my ability, don't worry about that, it’s just helpful considering everything that the doc has to do to heal you.” “Almost done kid.” Yasano said as she reached her hand out, as she started healing, you were starting to sway, yours fluttering before you crashed to the floor.

You groaned as you opened your eyes, you were lying on one of the hospital beds “you pushed yourself again kid, we talked about this, sometimes they are just going to have to do without you.” Yasano muttered as she looked at you. “Yeah I know.” You muttered as you sat up “but he’s new I thought that I’d be okay since he was pretty simple.” “Just be more careful.” She ordered. “Yes Ma’am.” You smiled “next time I will be more careful.”

Request Here!!

[gossipsnake]

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Anita (@gossipsnake) and Mateo (@fearhims3lf) SUMMARY: Anita and Mateo find themselves at the same bar, both looking to add a bit of excitement to their evening. Things don't exactly go as planed. CONTENT WARNINGS: WR Spice (implied).

Sometimes the clubs were a tired scene. Even on a night light this, with the DJ pumping out some fairly decent music (for this town, anyway), a crowded dance floor, and heavy pours from the bartenders; Anita felt uninspired. The polite rejections from the few, evidently straight, women she had hit on already were expected and didn’t bother her in the slightest. The bother came from somewhere inside of her. She wondered if this is what some women had meant when they had told her that one day she would get old and grow tired of her own games. That certainly couldn’t be it she told herself. No, this was just an off night. It happened. 

She decided that, after she finished off the remainder of the drink in her hands, she would simply go home. The person who had been sitting beside her got up from the bar stool after sliding some cash over to the bartender to close out their tab. With just a few sips left, Anita decided it was probably a good idea to flag the bartender down now and ask for the bill given how busy the night was. As she waited for them to come back around, someone new sat down beside her. Anita turned to look at the heavily tattooed man still donning dark sunglasses despite being inside and almost instinctively rolled her eyes a bit. 

Wicked’s Rest was known for many things, even a decent bar scene, but what it lacked was exactly what Mateo had wanted to do in the first place. A proper punk scene that wasn’t filled with posers who had never heard a single song by the people they garnished on their t-shirts. Sure, the designs were cool and everybody was entitled to their own fashion sense, but the least the town could do was offer a few people who actually knew what being a punk meant. 

What Mateo got instead, much to his dismay, was a loud club with mediocre, overplayed music that he could only mildly tolerate. He decided a few drinks would help, and maybe a little chaos toward the woman who seemed all too unhappy that Mateo sat down next to her. She probably wanted someone more her taste, he thought. Or maybe she didn’t like being elbow-to-elbow with strangers. But that was the price you paid when you went out to a club, and having just gotten a good check, Mateo figured he could pay a little extra if it got him to a good time.

“Either you are having a bad night or you really hate my style,” Mateo gestured to the patches on his battle vest, requesting a whiskey neat. “And lemme tell ya, I got decent style. So what’s your deal, ma?” He raised his glass, taking a short sip. “Tell me all your troubles.”

Had it been anyone else or any other cliche line, Anita would likely have blown this guy off and just paid the tab and left without even responding to his comments. But there was something too familiar about him, bad familiar that is. Maybe she was just in the exact wrong mood, maybe she was projecting, but the presumptive energy she felt from how he had approached her made her want to respond. “So I’m either in a bad mood or I’m judgmental? Those the only options?” Anita decided to ignore the obvious irony of the fact that both options happened to be true - he didn’t know that. 

She scoffed softly, her face unable to mask its rather dramatic reaction to his come on. Sometimes when men flirted with Antia at bars she ignored them. Sometimes she flirted back, especially if she wanted to lure them out into the woods for a meal. And on rare occasion, she elected to antagonize them. Ignoring wasn’t really an option any more, so now she just had to decide which of the other two she wanted to go with. “My current troubles stem from the fact that this place is very tired. The music is tired, the people are tired, and quite frankly these lines you’re using are tired. I get it, I’m sure the rebellious guapo vibes work really well on all these local girls. But,” she trailed off letting the shrug of her shoulders and her expression finish the sentence. After all, she certainly wasn’t a local girl. 

__ 

“Those are the only options I got from this very limited interaction. I’m sure there’s more than meets the eye, but I don’t got a lot to work with.” Mateo leaned cutely onto his palm, giving his seat neighbor wide, doe eyes. Laughter fell out of him, unable to keep the lame facade he was displaying for the fun of it. With another sip of his drink, he raised his hands in surrender and chuckled. “Mira, mira. If you’re not into me, fine. Your loss, and honestly, my loss too, but at least do me the honor of having a drink with me. Since you know, this place is tired and everything is tired. I can make it fun. That’s what I do.”

Mateo knew this to be true because of three reasons. First, anytime he was given charge of the night, it typically ended with some sort of pleasure. Whether it be through intimacy with a stranger or finding an abandoned building to tag, Mateo was a master at finding what people enjoyed. Hell, he’d been through enough minds to know the lengths people go to to not let their mind wander during their sleep. Second, laughter usually surrounded him. That one was easy. But third, and most importantly, his rebellious nature was oftentimes infectious. People need a little push when it comes to breaking the rules, or making new ones. Mateo was one of the best at it. 

“And just to be clear, these vibes work on all types of people. Not just women.” He winked, turning to lean on the bar and look at the dance floor. It was looking bleak. Which gave Mateo an idea. “Let’s ditch this place. If you’re tired of it, I think I got just the club to go to. But…” Trailing off, the mare shrugged, making a face of faux concern. “You can’t be scared of the possibility of someone biting you. ‘Cause lemme tell ya, it’s a weird place, but the people are fun and fine.” He paused, downing the rest of his drink. “And don’t worry. I won’t hit on you. But maybe we can find someone that’s a bit more…your style.”

The more this man talked the more Anita, begrudgingly, saw their similarities. She really had pulled these same fucking moves before. By her own logic, did that mean her moves were getting a bit tired? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see what kind of fun he thought he could conjure up. “Oh? That’s what you do, huh? Alright… I’ll be the judge of that.” Lately she had been feeling like she was in somewhat of a rut. She was fast approaching the four-year mark here in town and she hadn’t really stayed anywhere much longer than that since she left home. 

Anita knew, deep down, that if she was going to actually make this place her home she needed to switch things up - she needed to do more. “Oh, I don’t doubt that they do,” she said with a soft smirk, especially since she knew first hand how much pull the overly confident mysterious stranger vibe had. He, admittedly, genuinely caught her interest at the biting comment. There were so many ways that could go in a town like this: kinky or murderous. Both of which were things she quite enjoyed. “That really does not scare me in the slightest. What would be scary is if there's a place in town like that and I hadn’t stumbled upon it before.” 

As he finished the rest of his drink, Anita finished up closing out her tab. Unsure of where the night was about to take her, she felt a rush of excitement. Something to break through the monotony was just what she needed. “Imma hold you to that promise, cause no matter how hard you try I’m really far too gay for this whole thing to work on me,” she said, gesturing generally in his direction as she got off the bar stool and grabbed her coat. “Vamos. Lidera el camino, papito.” 

Mateo shrugged at the biting comment, knowing all too well how true her statement was. If that wasn’t an experience a citizen had had yet, even in just a week, the mare was sure they were the luckiest person on earth, doing the biting themselves, or worse…a recluse. Granted, Mateo stayed inside most days just because people were so annoying or boring, but he at least ventured out enough to cause a little chaos every time he did. Just like that night, where he was going to drag his new friend to Dance Macabre and see what kind of mess they can get into. His month-long banishment was over a week ago, and he was just itching to see what sort of clientele there would be that night. 

“All right, mamacita. Hope you’re good with a bike ride.” Not that it really mattered. She told Mateo to take the lead, and by god, he did. Going so far as to wrap her arms around him just before taking off in a hasty manner so she couldn’t protest. The last thing he needed was someone flying off his bike because they thought the wrap-around was a flirt. There was a dance floor to get to, and in a matter of minutes, Mateo had gotten them parked and entered into Dance Macabre. Two people were fighting and being dragged away, and another group was looking like they were about to have another fight of their own. Mateo smiled and pulled Anita with him, leading her to the bar for a few drinks, and then to the dance floor so they could feel the thrum of the bass rumble in their chests. 

“Better music, right?!” He had to yell. There was no way Anita would be able to hear him through the bumping bodies and the club music. Mateo wasn’t even sure if it was actually better, if he were honest. But it certainly wasn’t dead like the other place. The floor was packed, and there were plenty of cuties that were ripe for picking. Depending on what Anita was hungry for, of course. He thought back on her comment and smirk from before, hoping she was one of his theories. Specifically the kind of person who does the biting in Wicked’s Rest. 

Anita grinned as the bike began to slow around Dance Macabre, if for no other reason than being pleased that there was not some other club known for a bit of a bitey atmosphere that she was somehow unaware of. She had been there a fair amount of times, usually dragging Metzli with her so she wasn’t so obviously out of place with her beating heart and mortality. She knew the club was open to everyone, technically, and that even those without any real knowledge about the supernatural found themselves there from time to time, but it did make her wonder about the guy she arrived with … 

For a nightclub geared towards the undead, the place was certainly a lot livelier than the bar they had come from. Anita looked around the club, trying to see if anyone she knew was hanging around - that way she at least had somewhere to go in the event she wanted to ditch this guy later on. “Louder, that’s for sure.” She wasn’t intentionally trying to be difficult, but she also wasn’t exactly actively suppressing her difficult tendencies. 

“Think I remember you saying something about buying me a drink,” she said with a playful grin, eager to get a cool glass of tequila in her hands. “You got a usual at a place like this?” Anita wasn’t gonna show her hand first, but she knew that this place served… unique drinks for its unique clients. She was curious to see just how much she had in common with this guy. 

__ 

Anita gave a snarky comment and Mateo rolled his eyes dramatically to show that he wasn’t taking it to heart. She was in a bigger hole that he originally thought, and by the looks of it, she was the one holding the shovel. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d gotten her heart broken or if she was just so done with the club life that she was starting to feel…lonely? Ew. No. Too deep. Mateo shook his head at himself and gave Anita a thumbs up as he made his way back to the bar for some much needed tequila. He just needed to get this woman laid.

“Here. My usual. Sorta. I just drink straight liquor. Whiskey. But this works too.” He smiled and handed two of the four double shots to Anita. Looking around, Mateo took a quick scan to see what kind of ladies were on the dance floor. A few cuties, sure, but if Anita was having this much attitude, Mateo knew he had to find someone that could really shut her ass up. “You.” Mateo grinned, taking both of his shots at once and pulling Anita with him once she had taken hers. They were face to face with a woman whose looks could compete with Kate Siegel. Well, if she had red eyes. They weren’t glowing, so Mateo figured she was a vampire. He hoped Anita could handle that and nudged her. “Have…you met Anita?” 

Within seconds of Mateo stepping away towards the bar, Antia got an aching feeling that this was just a bad idea. What were the two of them even going to do, wing-person the other? Anita was a solo bird, she didn’t need the gust of wind from someone else to throw her off course. Before she could fly away, however, he had returned with two very full glasses of clear liquid. Her suspicions were answered within seconds of pulling the glass towards her face, the sweet tinge of tequila filling her senses. She shot the glass back, pleased with the quality of the liquor he had picked. It burned as it went down, but it was the good kind of burn. 

“Okay, that shit was good. That bought you like,” Anita paused, pulling out her phone and looking at the time, “25 minutes of my time.” It seemed like a good idea to put a possible clear end to the evening because even though the music was far better here and the crowd was more vibrant, it still felt a bit tired. Before she could get another word in, however, she was being pulled through the crowd by a very cold hand and being propelled forward towards a devastatingly beautiful brunette. “What are we in an early 2000s sitcom?” Anita asked in response to his awful Barney Stinson impression, unaware if it was intentional or not. “I’m sorry, I swear I usually hang out with a much cooler crowd,” she offered to the other woman as she felt a small twinge of what felt like embarrassment. “I’m Anita, and… obviously we’ve never met before because I know I would have remembered that.” 

She turned back towards Mateo and shot him a piercing look. Her frustration was only exasperated when the other woman began to speak, “If this is your guys’ way of trying to get a third, you can drop the whole act. I’m not very fond of having so much… warmth in my bed.” The comment was pointedly directed at Anita which elicited a bit of an eye roll from the lamia. Some people were so pretentious, and coming from her that was saying something. “Well this was fun,” she said with a bit of a huff as she headed off back towards the bar. The rejection at least fueled enough righteous indignation in her that she was determined to not go home alone. 

Okay, so Mateo knew the impression was a little much and would likely be to Anita’s detriment, but at least it was fun. Would probably knock a few minutes off though, which meant he had to put his efforts into double time and not just be an ass. Ugh. Maybe he shouldn’t have stoked the fire and made it worse though. Anita was walking back toward him, and she looked pissed.

“Okay, so she wasn’t the one to make your night better, but I bet we can find someone else.” He tapped his chin, doing another sweep of the room and finding a red-head with normal eyes. She had just finished kissing another woman, but what of it? Mateo knew how inebriated club goers could be. He just hoped his assumptions could be proven true. 

“What about her? She’s cute and she…doesn’t have the same eyes as that chick over there. Probably friendlier, and I won’t do the pickup line this time, I promise.” Without another word, Mateo once again pulled Anita with him, dodging patrons left and right until he landed in front of the stranger. He smiled and waved with spirit fingers to appear friendly. The woman laughed and did it in return. Mocking or not, Mateo wasn’t sure, but a laugh was a laugh and he was going with it. “Hi,” She parroted the greeting in return. “I’m trying to show my friend here that not all fun is lost in the world. Do you think you can help me?” She gave Anita a once over and sipped her drink with a smile, waving a sweet hello. Already a good start. “See?” Mateo looked back at Anita with a smug look on his face. “I bet our luck is turning up right now.”

In all genuineness, Anita couldn't quite figure out why this guy was doing all this. Putting so much effort into helping someone else pick up women. Even the very few times Anita had gone out to clubs with other people she was almost always the first to cut and run off on her own sleazy adventures. She didn’t want to keep wasting any time thinking about his motivations, however, because now she felt like she had something to prove both to the vampire who had rejected her and to herself. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Anita said with a soft indifference as she waited for the bartender to pour her another double shot of tequila. She shot the liquor back just before she felt Mateo tug her arm again, leading them off in the direction of the redhead he had pointed out. In the few seconds it took for them to get through the crowd, Anita plastered on a smile and forced herself to at least give off some level of interesting energy. “He’s being dramatic, I don’t think all fun is lost in the world. Just think there’s a lack of it this evening.”

With a flick of her wrist, Anita waved him off after he made a comment about luck, electing not to vocalize her inherently negative reaction to his use of the word our. She talked with the redhead for a few beats, until a new song came on and the other woman grabbed her waist and started dancing, Anita smirked, taking the opportunity to close the distance between the two of them. She was caught up in the movement that she didn’t even realize when another woman came up behind them and grabbed Anita by the hair pulling her away while yelling, “Get you’re own fucking meal, she’s spoken for!” 

Immediately she began to try and wriggle out of the very strong grasp, trying to get her footing before shit got real messy. In doing so, Anita accidently pushed the two of them into another group of people who stumbled forward, causing them to spill their drinks on a few other people who were dancing nearby; starting a chain reaction of anger to spread through the club. 

It was a job well done when the red-head and Anita started talking, turning into a great job done when they headed toward the floor to dance. Mateo treated himself to a few shots that he felt were well-deserved. With a sigh of relief, he took them all in quick succession and watched as his meet-cute danced the evening away. “What a night.” He chuckled, about to take one more shot when he saw a very angry-looking woman making a beeline toward his acquaintance. “Ah, shit.” His face turned into a grimace when Anita’s hair was pulled, and he immediately sprung into action. 

Well, after taking his final shot. It was already paid for. 

“Hey! Hey, quit that shi—” Drinks splashed onto him and several other patrons, some getting more drenched than others. Mateo was thankful to only have one wet sleeve because had he been like the others who were getting visibly pissed, he would’ve gone straight to pushing with them. “Run!” He waved to Anita to get her attention, the motion interrupted when a guy sent a punch straight to his face. He returned the favor in earnest, sending the man backwards into another group of people with very full drinks. “Fuck…” Mateo winced, reaching for Anita’s wrist and tugging her into a small break in the crowd. It closed almost just as quickly as they ran through it, anger rising enough to turn the room into a full-blown brawl. 

“We have to get the fuck—wait, what are you doing?” The red-head had apparently grabbed onto Anita and Mateo was giving her an irritated glare that slowly dissipated and turned into a grin as he realized she was probably just trying to get out of the chaos. He dodged a glass that flew through the air, missing the other that made contact on his chest. Okay, getting Anita laid would have to wait until they were outside. “Let’s go.”

 The woman loosened her grip on Anita’s hair just enough as the other patrons began to get involved, cursing the people who had caused them to spill blood and other liquor onto the floor and themselves. She manager to wiggle out from the grasp, and immediately began plotting her escape. Sure, she could have let the rattlesnake out and barreled through the crowd and out to the street but it seemed like drawing less attention to herself was likely the better outcome. 

Much to her surprise, Mateo hadn’t just cut and run at the first sight of trouble like she likely would have done. Instead he came to Anita’s aid, pushing through the crowd to get to her and pull her out from the center of the chaos that was unfolding. Almost as if it were a carefully choreographed scene, the two - no three of them slid in and out of the crowd and carefully towards a back exit to the club. Other than a sore scalp and what would likely amount to a few bruises in the morning, Anita had somehow managed to keep her human form mostly unharmed. 

Without hesitating once they made it to the door, Anita pushed it open and quickly hurried outside looking back to make sure Mateo was close behind her. She turned over towards the redhead, more than a bit surprised that she had decided to follow them out. “Not sticking around to help your girlfriend?” It seemed unlikely that they were actually dating given how the other woman called her a meal, but Anita wasn’t one to judge. 

The back door swung open again with force as several other patrons seemed to be fleeing the scene. She caught a glimpse of what was going on inside and could tell that thighs were getting even more intense. “I know it’s your fault for putting us in this situation to begin with, but uh, thank you for helping me get outta there,” she said in earnest to Mateo. It was a classic Anita compliment: starting out with a vague insult to maintain an impression that she didn’t give a shit followed by the actual message of appreciation. “I think we should maybe all get the fuck out of here before the fight in there spills out this way…” 

The red-head, who had revealed her name to be Caroline, shook her head empathetically at the word girlfriend. It seemed the other woman’s choice of words cost her greatly, and she’d be heading home with an empty stomach. Meanwhile, Mateo had successfully led a woman straight to Anita’s bed. Now it was a job greatly done. And he only had to get punched with a few drinks to his face. Not a bad night by his standards. 

“I'm not the one who pulled your hair. Besides, I saw a hot woman and I led you to her, and now you’re gonna have a fun night, which is what I said I’d do.” Mateo arched a brow toward Caroline, who nodded shyly. “See?” He let out a laugh and waved Anita off as he retrieved his wallet for some twenty dollars. “Take this for your ride home. Don’t got room for three on my bike, and I got other places to be for some more chaos.” Tilting his shades down, Mateo revealed his glowing red eyes and bounced his brows playfully before sauntering his way back to his bike.

“Have fun ladies.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: we just vibing.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Silence simmers in the meeting room. Lloyd watches you, basking in your defeat. You don’t have to proclaim it, no need for a white flag, it’s all very obvious.

You need this job. Even if Burger King called you that very moment, flipping burgers isn’t going to pay for Pete’s negligence or your children’s lunches. As always, you’re the one who has to do what needs to be done.

You raise your chin and swallow, trying to sit up straight. He watches you, a smirk slanting his mouth as he flutters his fingers over his bristly mustache. He chuckles as he slowly struts closer.

“You look tired, cupcake, so we’ll keep it simple,” he nears, soles scuff with each step as he puts his hands on his belt. “I’ve put up with your mouth more than I should so why don’t you put it to good use?”

He unbuckles his belt and you sniff. Your throat constricts as you stare at the bottom of his shirt as he opens his fly and the tails break out. Your nostrils flare as you tamp down the last of your defiance. Is that pride? You haven’t had use for that in years.

Fed up, done, exhausted, helpless. Whatever it is, you just want it over with. You roll the chair closer and grab the front of his pants. He lets out a grunt as you pull him closer. He catches himself on your shoulder as you tug his pants down to his thighs.

“Wow, sunshine, you that desperate for a gourmet cut–”

He can’t finish his disgusting remark as you stretch the elastic of his briefs and roll them down, angling them past his already hard dick. He perks up as you bare his excitement and you roll your eyes. The arrow shaved into his pelvis pointing to his dick is juvenile.

“Alright, take it easy–”

“I know how to suck a dick,” you hiss and grab him, stroking him to his tip and back down, slow, easing yourself into what you’re about to do. 

Your stomach curdles as you wheel even closer and straighten your spine. This man revolts you. Every man does. Your own husband most of all. Well, consider this revenge. It might be torture for you but vengeance nonetheless.

“Shit,” Lloyd rasps as he pulls his hand away from your shoulder, “don’t be so rough–”

You continue to play with him, less than meanly. You squeeze at his tip so he twitches and groans. You didn’t lie. You know what you’re doing but it does feel like a while since you have. You close your eyes and lean in as you pump your hand back down.

Your breath glosses over him and he shudders. You press your lips to his tip then swipe your tongue around. He lets out a longer drone and spasms. You continue to tease him, delaying the inevitable. You can taste the saltiness of his pre-cum. Just like any man, he’s easy.

You take his full tip into your mouth. His voice crackles in his throat and sets his feet. He cradles the side of your head and groans as you make a careful advance down his length. A few inches and back up. A little at a time, wetting him with your saliva.

“Oh, wow, toots, you really…” his voice drifts off as you take him halfway, teetering on the edge of your chair.

The sloppy noise of your task boils in your chest. You shouldn’t do this. Even if Pete betrayed you, it’s wrong. You’re a mother, you’re a wife, you’re better than this. No, you’re old, worn out, and unloved. You don’t want to do this, but you need to.

Keep telling you that and you might not gag.

You get further and further, each time he rumbles in breathless delight. His hand slides around the back of your head, urging you on as he tilts his pelvis forward. He thrusts slightly as you struggle to take him down your throat. Your eyes well and your throat squeezes. You repress a cough and keep going.

You pull back, your hand still on him. You know he’s close. You feel him fighting, shaking, ready to spill over like a kettle on high. You slip your hand down to fondle his sac and he lets out a longer moan, fingertips curling against your scalp. Almost there, weak.

“Wait, wait, wait…” he begs.

You pop your mouth off of him and put your other hand around him. You squeeze his balls as you work him quickly, bracing yourself for the eruption. A peel of thunder rolls through him as he cums, spurting violently so it hits your shirt, your neck, and trails down his slack pants. You circle your thumb around his tip as he quakes and you coax him through the final waves. 

He huffs and braces your shoulders with both hands as he drops his head. He sucks in air and it scratches in his throat. He shifts his feet and trails his touch down to squeeze your tits through your shirt.

“You didn’t even let me have a go at the funbags,” he accuses, his voice silty and low.

You look up at him as you let go and roll back. You look down at yourself and gulp down shame. Worse than his semen on your blouse is the slickness between your legs. You swivel the chair and stand without a word, grabbing kleenex from the middle of the table to wipe your hand and your shirt, then your neck. 

You ball the tissue up and swipe some more. You turn to Lloyd and clean him up quietly, wiping him then his pants, and zipping and buckling them up. You tap his stomach and grab the wadded up kleenex to dump in the bin. You face him as you squirt some sanitizer into your hand and rub them together.

“I’m going back to work, sir,” you declare.

He stares at you, cheeks flushed as he smooths his hair back. He clears his throat and puffs out, chest rising and falling. His jaw squares, “you will go back to work, like a good girl, won’t you?”

You try not to glare at his weak attempt to reclaim his power. He holds all the cards but he doesn’t realise you’ll always have the trump. He’s a man, he’s simple. The simplest thing in your life.

🗄

You’re oddly more alert for the rest of the day. Maybe, just more determined as your work is your singular escape. It’s easier for you to lose yourself in budgets and expense reports rather than think of everything else.

You don’t take your lunch. Your appetite is all but non-existent. The office fades into a blur around you as there is only you and your computer. You only break away from your trance to refill your coffee.

You stretch as you stand, balancing as tiptoes as you try to loosen the muscles of your calves. You roll your shoulders and pass by several empty desks as your coworkers opt to have their lunches.

You enter the lunchroom and find several people sitting around the table, jabbering about sports or Netflix over open containers. They don’t acknowledge you but neither do you. You put your thermos under the spout of the machine and pluck out a medium roast capsule.

As you insert the k-cup and close the lid, a sudden silence settles over the space. A scramble and the click-clacking of lids on tupperware. You don’t bother to look back as you choose your brew strength and cup size. You keep a hand on the machine as you lean into it.

You glance over as the employees at the table stand with their sealed containers and give meek looks towards the door. They file towards it solemnly, ‘sir’, ‘Mr. Hansen’, ‘good afternoon’... they flee back to the safety of their desk at the appearance of the mustachioed manager. You shrug and turn your attention back to your thermos.

He laughs as he struts into the room and goes to the fridge. He opens it, standing only a foot from you as he peruses the contents. He hums as he bends and searches. He tuts as he swings the fridge shut and turns to lean against it. He crosses his arms as he watches you.

“No lunch today?” He wonders.

“Coffee,” you answer and take your thermos from the tray, twisting the lid onto it.

“Ah, yeah, you did start your day out with a big breakfast,” he winks, twitching slightly as the thought arouses him.

“Sir,” you face him and inhale deeply, nostrils flaring.

He tilts his head and looks you up and down, “we need to get a few things straight, babycakes.”

“Do we? I thought everything was pretty clear… Mr. Hansen.”

He snickers into a growl and runs his fingertips down his throat, “I don’t think it was.” He arches a brow, “you don’t dismiss me, I dismiss you. That’s your one. No more.”

You look at him dully and pop up the tab on the lid of your thermos, “got it, sir. Won’t happen again.”

He doesn’t seem happy with your acquiescence. He squints and recrosses his arms. His cheek dimples as he sucks his teeth.

“Right,” he pushes himself straight, stretching his neck side to side, “number.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone. You frown.

“You have my extension, sir–”

“Fuck that noise, give me your number.”

You recite your phone number as he keys it in. He winks and taps the screen one last time before slipping it back into his pocket. He steps closer, looming before you.

“This doesn’t make you special. You still work for me, you do what I say, what I want…” his timbre edges hotly, “and if you don’t, you can go home to your sad husband and your bratty kids and tell them how mommy got canned for being a stubborn bitch.”

“Sir,” you tense, “I haven’t–”

“I’m laying out the terms of our contract,” he interrupts, “so listen.”

You snap your mouth shut, the scent of coffee rising from your thermos, tempting you to sip. You don’t dare as you keep your eyes on the man before you. Victory glints in his eyes. This is ego, fine, you’ll feed it.

“I don’t ever care if you're busy. When I say jump, you jump right onto my dick. When I say swallow, you drink it the fuck down,” he wags his finger at you.

“I…” you look away, “I’ll try, but sir, I have kids–”

“That little princess isn’t old enough to rule the castle?” He snorts.

“Don’t,” you warn him, “sir, with respect, that's my daughter.”

“And you want to take care of her. I know, you're a martyr, so let's talk sainthood.”

You press your lips together. It's not quite a threat, more a reminder of what you could lose. You flick your brow up.

“Fine, I'll pay for the babysitter. How much can that be, anyway?”

You nod, “alright.” You'll take what little he'll give. Prostituting yourself for childcare, wow.

“Don't look so fucking pathetic, babe, you just got promoted,” he sneers, “you get your very own throne.”

He shamelessly gropes the front of his pants. You keep your lip from curling and clutch your thermos tighter. Somehow, you hoped your boardroom antics would sate him. You should've guessed it's not that easy.

“Is there something you need right now?” You force the words out crisply.

He chuckles and sighs, “no, you enjoy your coffee. You're going to need that boost.”

You stare at him. What does he mean? If not now, he surely has something else planned. You have enough work without trying to untangle his riddles.

“Can I go back to my desk now, Mr. Hansen?”

“Aw, look at you, asking for permission,” he coos, “go.”

You step around him, moving cautiously. You sense him turn to watch your departure, his knuckles snapping against your ass. You flinch and stop just by the door.

“Ooo, squishy,” he remarks.

You cringe and fall back into step. You're entirely certain he's used to a different type. Maybe that squishness might just change his mind.

🗄

The rest of your day passes without disturbance. The calm has you on edge. Trepidation in every glance over your desk and every trip to the bathroom. When you pack up, you don't expect to leave on time. But you don't see Hansen and you hope whatever's distracted him keeps him that way.

The kids are chaotic as you get them onto the car. It takes a lot to get Malik still enough to strap into his seat. You get on the road and follow the slog of traffic through the school zone.

Closer to home, you feel your phone buzzing but don't answer. Malik and Simone are arguing about something, you can't focus between them and the cars around you. The pressure builds and builds as your phone starts again.

You're not mad at them. You're mad at Pete. Mad that he never does this, that he can't even bother to be with you so he can help. The hard stuff if never his responsibility.

You finally get home and mediate between your children. As you enter the house, you're met with the unexpected aroma of cooking. Simone gives you a look as Malik doesn't notice.

You help your son with his shoes as Simone hangs her coat and puts her bag on the chest beside the rack. You take Malik’s jacket and put it on a hook, forgetting about your own as he sprints into the front room. You hover in the doorway as Simone takes out her book and flops onto the couch.

“You're home,” Pete emerges from the kitchen, “I got dinner on.”

He's proud but you're not impressed. You don't say a word as Malik races over to his dad and reaches up. Pete scoops him up and shakes him in a bear hug until he's giggling wildly. This is what he does, he's the good guy and you're just the maid.

Your pocket vibrates again. You huff and pull your phone out, not checking to call display as you put it face down on the end table. Sure, he's cooking but you'll be the one cleaning up and doing bathtime and bed time. Same as it ever was.

You go back to the entry way and strip off your jacket, plunking your work bag veside Simone's. You return and cross the room, brushing by Pete to enter the kitchen. Oh god. It's already a fucking mess.

He puts Malik down and tells him to find his tablet. Your husband follows and you face his eager grin. You scowl.

“You used my ceramic pan?” You hiss.

His face falls. “I… I'm trying…”

“You're a joke,” you scoff and go to the stove, the chicken is burning. “Well, I guess we can scrape off the black parts.”

He comes over to stand beside you, “do you gotta rain on everything?” He keeps his voice down.

“Take a look in the mirror,” you retort and turn on your heel, “let me know when you need me to come make something edible.”

[sharks-are-queer]

I haven’t made an intro post in awhile so sorry if this is a little stiff lol

Hello!! I love those character headcanons blogs and wanted to make my own! I don’t exactly know the language to describe these things so I’m sorry if this is written weirdly!

For Info about my blog see under the cut :D

🦈 What headcanons requests I will take 🦈

- Ocs

- Characters from Tv Shows, Movies, and Webcomics

- Alters

- Headcanons involving “conflicting” identities, objectum hcs, Neurodivergent Hcs, Therian Hcs, and Age/Animal Regression Hcs (if therians and regressors even have flags in not sure atm)

🦈 What headcanons requests I WONT take 🦈

You can also request yourself/you and your partner if you’d like! I won’t accept irl pictures but will accept a drawing or picrew that represents you! :D

- Irl ppl (unless it’s you or your partners/friends who’ve given consent)

- Characters from media on my blacklist

- Characters from pornographic media such as Hentai

- Characters from Shota/Loli media or similar media.

- NSFW hcs, Paraphilia hcs outside of Objectum, Proship Hcs, RCTA hcs, just generally messed up stuff I won’t touch

If you have a question about something you're unsure I would take or not, don't be afraid to ask! No question is a stupid question in my book!

🦈 OTHER RULES 🦈

- While I am lenient about this rule, I would prefer requests to stay under 50 flags per character

- I will not use character art that you do not personally own or isn’t from the original source

MEDIA BLACKLIST:

- South Park

- Minecraft SMPs

- thats kind of it rn tbh hdhdhd

I will try my best to keep my blog accessible by keeping almost everything plain text and I will try to do image id's, I don't really have a lot of experience with those but I will do my best!!

🦈 DNI 🦈

I dont exactly care who follows me since I can just block a person if they make me uncomfortable, but I will say Maps/Pedos, Zoos, Proshippers, Anti-Palestinians, and TERFs kindly fuck off! :)

I would also prefer NSFW or 18+ blogs dni since I'm still a minor, wait a couple months and then come back lol

🦈 ABOUT ME 🦈

My names is Rory, and my pronouns are He/Him, Xe/Xem, + any neos :D. I say I’m an agender lesbian but it’s a bit more complicated than that. I’m 17 and a Scorpio :D. I consider myself a mix of critical inclus and radical inclus, I don’t align with radqueer at all.

Gravity Falls

Stuff I like:

SHARKS!!! Specifically Whale Sharks and Basking Sharks

The Owl House

Stardew Valley

Psych USA

Neon Genesis Evangelion

Steven Universe

Adventure Time

+ many more!!

Idk how to end these types of things so I’m just gonna say Bye and I hope you have a lovely day or night :D

[idontplaytrack]

Heyyy can I request something pride related?

Janis x reader

+the friend group (the plastics, Cady, Damian, and Aaron is optional)

FLUFF PLEASE

They all go to pride together like a few years post canon

✧ Where you are

Janis ‘Imi’ike x fem! reader(ft. Damian + The Plastics)

Warnings: coarse language, fluff, a teensy bit of internalised homophobia

A few years into the future, the gang’s all together to celebrate pride

“Come on, people! We are going to be late, y’all.” Damian yells, “Out of the house, let’s go!”

“We’re literally about to leave the house.” Regina huffs, “Move.”

“We’re not going to be late.” Janis sighs, “It doesn’t matter what time we get there anyway. It’s an all-day thing.”

“Yes, Janis. It is an all-day thing. And I would very much like to be there all day.” Damian sassed.

Given the size of the group, you all split into two cars. You stayed with Janis in your own car, Gretchen and Damian sat in the back. Cady, Karen and Regina took her Jeep. But, it wasn’t like the blonde gave the gang much time to think about who took which car and pretty much once again rushed everyone into the vehicles. “My god, y/n. Stop staring at Janis like that.” Damian grumbles.

“What?” You scoffed, glaring at him jokingly.

“She can look at me if she wants to look at me. What’s the problem?” Janis chortled.

“The problem is, y’all are horny as fuck. And I’m always the one stuck with y’all’s antics and PDA.”

“Oh, please.” Janis continued, “What you do see, is nothing.”

“Believe me, I know, bitch. I walked in on y’all senior year of high school and I haven’t recovered from it.”

“That’ll teach you to leave us the hell alone.” Janis couldn’t help it but laugh.

“Your makeup looks so good, Jan.” You ignored Damian.

“Aw, thank you baby.” Janis grins. It was nothing extravagant, just the colours of the lesbian pride flag as eye makeup. Her outfit was one she’d wear on the regular— little silly but all in good fun. You and Janis were both wearing ‘I ❤️ My Girlfriend’ t-shirts that Regina got you both as a joke. Let’s just say she did not expect either of you to be so unfazed about wearing it. Especially you. Janis was out and proud. But you, you struggled with it…letting people know about your sexuality. Due to many reasons, so when the gang saw you happily put on that shirt, they were proud of you.

Once there, the bunch of you found a spot to gather at while waiting for the actual parade to start. But in the meantime, it did not take Janis all that long to get recognised by a few of the parade-goers. Janis had prepared pins for the occasion and if they asked for one, they sure as hell got one. You stood a little off to the side, watching her. But soon, she grabs you by the waist to have you beside her instead. You didn’t resist and just let it happen, since you were feeling very comfortable considering where you were. The music was loud, people were dancing, singing along, chatting and laughing. But yet, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Though you knew that your ears would definitely be ringing for awhile afterwards.

“Want a drink?” Regina asks while approaching you and Janis. You didn’t even notice that she’d went to mingle elsewhere.

“We’ll go get one ourselves. Where’d you get yours?” Janis scrunched up her face seeing Regina offer to share the can.

“Is it good?” You ask.

“Oh, it’s great.” She nods, “I got it right there. That stall with the green plastic sheet on their table.”

“Cool.” Janis took you by the hand and walked up to said stall to purchase the drinks. The weather was pretty warm, and humid, actually so a drink was definitely necessary.

————

Now at a quieter section of the event, Janis asks, “You okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered, opening the can to take a swig of the beverage. “Why’re you asking?”

“Because the weather’s crazy today and I wanna make sure you’re not gonna pass out from a heatstroke.” She tells you, holding you closer to herself as she led you to a bench.

“I’m okay. The people are really nice and everything looks like such a vibe but I’ve just never been to Pride and feel a little overstimulated to be honest.” You admit.

“Let’s just sit here for a bit, then.” She smiled, giving your hand a little squeeze. “Look at them.”

You followed her gaze which lands on Damian and Regina laughing with each other, Regina taking selfies with Damian and then Cady, Gretchen and Karen. “Is she tipsy or suddenly nice?” You bite back a laugh.

“Definitely tipsy.” Janis exhales harshly in amusement— she didn’t even chuckle. Then, the two of you just chatted for a little while, looking back at it…you weren’t even sure what the conversation was about exactly, but there was this:

“I know I’ve got my own shit to come to terms with, but I love you, and that’s the one thing I have never been unsure about my whole life. No matter where you are, as long as I’m with you, I’m so fucking happy.”

“That’s all I need to hear, baby.” She smiles brightly, “Take it easy, don’t stress yourself over it. I know you know that you’re safe with me, with us.“

You mirrored her smile, getting the urge to lean in and just kiss her. And so, that’s what you did and though shocked, Janis instantly reciprocated. And then came the squealing. No, not from either one of you— even though Janis was overjoyed to finally be kissed instead of the one kissing.

“Oh, you guys!” Gretchen exclaimed, “I got such a cute photo of that.” You turned away, hiding your head in the crook of Janis’ neck.

“Come on! Let’s go dance!” Karen cut through the silence, pulling you off the bench. You laugh, cheeks still warm but they paid no mind to you blushing. Janis followed closely behind you, hand on the low of your back. “Hell yeah, party time.”

“Woo!” Damian cheered, clinking his can with Janis.

“Could you send me that photo, Gretch?”

“Of course! I was gonna send it to you anyway even if you didn’t ask.” She nods, “There! Done.”

Janis quickly took her phone out to see the photo, but not before she took a glance at you— watching you getting twirled around by Karen. You were happy, giggling…and she was relieved to see you finally letting loose and enjoying yourself without having to worry about what other people thought about you.

“Thanks, Gretch. It’s a great pic.”

The brunette grins, “Don’t mention it. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Janis shrugs, taking a sip and jogging up to you to dance with you. Gretchen quickly found her way to Karen, too. Regina was eventually dancing with Cady and Damian? He met a guy. (That he could not shut up about afterwards)

But all in all, it was a great day. “Happy pride, my bitches.” Regina declares as you all left the event later that day.

“Not your bitch.” Janis smirked, “I’m her bitch.”

“We know, ‘Imi’ike.” Regina had a similar expression on her face, “You’re so whipped.”

To the blonde’s surprise, she earned a shove from you. “You are too. So in love with Cady.”

“Good point.” Regina shrugs, “But that was a cute little moment at the bench.”

“I know!” The rest of them chimed in.

“Oh, by the way. I know you’ve been giving out those pins you designed.” Regina slows down a little bit to talk to Janis, “Do you have anything left? I…I want one.”

“Oh. Yeah, I have some left. I kept one for each of us.” Janis took her tote bag from you and rummaged through it, grabbing a handful of the pins she saved.

Regina took one from the little pile and told the rest of the group to wait. Eventually, everyone had a pride pin on. And Regina even suggested a photo taken together. “Okay, who’s up for some dinner before we go home?” Regina asks.

“Me!” The group chorused.

You held Janis’ hand tighter on the rest of the walk back to the parking garage, sneaking a kiss to her cheek on the way which made her giggle and kiss you back. “A little affectionate today, aren’t ya?” She teased.

You shrug, “Just felt like kissing my girl.”

Now she was the one blushing, “Not gonna argue with that, baby. I love you.”

“Guys, keep up and keep outta each other’s pants for a while longer.” Damian complains.

“Oop.” Janis cackled, running the short distance to your car hand in hand.

🏷️ Tag list

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭 A/N

Okay, this’ll be the last fic for a couple days at least🫣 gonna stop myself from writing for awhile and just catch a breath. But I’ll be back soon with a pretty good one for Jos👀

[ajoytobeheld]

End of Year Travels…Part Deux.

January 1st, 2008

Happy 2008! It’s been a while since we whetted your appetite with the first part of the blog so we thought it was time for the second instalment. Let’s face it, what more do you need to help beat the post New Year hangover than our witty ramblings?

Previously on the los camp blog… (ha, I’m really enjoying going all out over this two-parter thing!)

We supported Broken Social Scene, and the venue was rather beautiful but the fact we had to get up at half five in the morning really really sucked…

…to be continued…

…this was to fly to Japan but the airline was rubbish so it didn’t make up for it. Myself and Aleks kept getting knocked in the head by some slag of a air hostess who i found rather patronizing and the film selection was appalling. [Ellen’s still bitter her screen didn’t work properly…] However the fact we found ourselves in Japan made up for it, even if it took us four years to fly there and we lost a day or something.

Japan was a incredibly surreal and bizarre experience, we’ve heard enough stories to realize that fans there are a little excitable but I did not think this would apply to us. We were most surprised when we showed up in the hotel and there were two girls waiting to have their photo taken with us [post flight – urgh that was NOT a good time, I’m surprised they recognised us], and were also present when we returned from dinner for more photos. It was a rather humbling experience of “Our you sure you want our photo again, we are not The Enemy.”

I feel there should be a separate note about the food in Japan, we ate out for dinner the nights we were there and it was a never ending conveyor belt of food, it just kept coming and coming…. and it was so good you couldn’t not have a little bit of everything. It was not so much fun for the vegetarians amongst us due to their rather healthy obsession with fish and chicken, but luckily they had a equal obsession with Tofu. I still have no idea what the hell that is made out of. We also tried sake, and it was….kinda disgusting. [Plum wine is tasty though, and at the end you get to eat the plum; which is quite exciting…if you’re easily excitable. I am.]

We played at British Anthems with a couple of bands we like such as Blood Red Shoes and the Pipettes (who we didn’t get to see because of promo). The audiences behavior was completely different to anything I have ever seen before, it would make a really boring anthropological study. They remained incredibly quiet between bands, all polite and courteous, and then when we started they went absolutely mental. We played in front of 2500 people (which is a lot for us) and it was one of the best gigs we have ever done. They clapped for everything, you kind of felt like you could do that thing where it looks like you were taking your thumb off and you would get a four hour standing ovation. It was maybe the highlight of our tedious little lives. We also did a signing and got given a bag of presents including a guitar lighter (which Tom nabbed and made into a bass) and some xmas cards. [There were also lots of requests for ‘cuddles’, and you know, any excuse to molest people and we’re there so that was quite endearing. Maybe our hugging reputation preceded us. ]

We did a meet and greet in HMV which was very bizarre, we all stood in a line and just shook peoples hands. We also gave out some more renegade hugs [even though it was against ‘HMV rules’ or something, but hey punk rock, innit] It was incredibly surreal and my hand shakes began to feel false by the end. We also went and saw The Pipettes DJ at some tiny little club which had adopted a London theme (they had flags) and Aleks was not happy with the playing of “Gotta Get Thru This” by Daniel Bedingfield. She found his sentiments insincere. [It was a low point…I think I left shortly after that. But I did get to walk through the ‘love hotel district’ on the way home which I didn’t realise at the time. No one tried it on. Ollie was luckier, he got chased down the street by a keen lady of the night. We think it’s because he has a lovely young face that women want to corrupt him.]

That whole night was like some weird indie disco wedding, it was all “Oh look its him out of the Klaxons” or “That’s the guy from The Enemy. This is weird.” Fun was mostly had by dancing to Girls Aloud. Also the guitar tech from The Enemy tried to start on Neil, we are still not too sure as to why… We also did some Karaoke with Blood Red Shoes, who sang Total Eclipse of the Heart with Gareth. Tom chose “Build me up Buttercup,” whilst myself and Neil did Weezer’s “The good Life.” Ollie indulged in Phil Collins (that self righteous one about the poor people and how we need to notice him and how he is so worthy and a idiot.) I think the finest moment was Harriet, Aleks and myself attempting “Wuthering Heights,” i think we all realized that perhaps we needed to know more then the chorus to make the song some kind of success. But it was nice to fulfill a cliche.

We also saw various bits where Lost in Translation was filmed which the Japanese must love being asked about. [We also spent most of our days in a office doing promo. So although it sounds like we saw a lot of Tokyo, we didn’t. We mostly saw the inside of a office. We made our mark on it however with Neil leaking permanent marker on a white couch and Ellen’s spillage of pink nail varnish on a white carpet. We also got to hold those MTV news microphones, and for one photo session they put on our album and told us to dance on a table. Yep. Oh and they gave us a long pink tube to play with for one of the photo shoots which entertained us for a long time. Probably too long. You could tell they regretted giving it to us by the end.]

Overall I think we would like to go back to Japan so when people asked us what we thought of Japan we could say something more than “The toilets are electronic! They are warm when you sit on them! It’s amazing!” I hope this was not the longest most boring and pointless piece of writing you have ever read. If you have read “If no one speaks of remarkable things,” then it isn’t. Because that book sucked. This xmas Aleks is going to Russia to meet relatives and hopefully buy me things. I intend to see some musicals. Everyone else is going to enjoy some time off so we can all come back refreshed for next years tours. [we’ve gotta learn how to play those songs on the album at some point…]

Lots of love, Ellen and Aleks x