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shuxiii · 2 years ago

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The End.

Hanni Pham x reader pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt12, pt13, pt14, pt15, pt16, pt17, pt18, pt19, pt20

A/n So this is it, the verdict. I had a lot fun converting this novel, and I appreciate everyone who read it and took their time reading it. Mwa mwa credits "every day" by david levithan.

Day 6033

I wake up the next morning as Jang wonyoung. Her alarm goes off, playing a song I really like. This makes waking up much easier.

I also like her room. Plenty of books on the shelves, some of their spines worn down from rereading. There are three guitars in the corner, one electric, the amp still plugged in from the night before. In another corner, there’s a lime-green couch, and I know immediately this is a place where friends come to crash, this is their home away from home. She has Post-its all over the place with random quotes on them. On top of her computer is something from George Bernard Shaw: Dance is the perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire. Some of the Post-its are in her handwriting, but others have been written by friends. I am the walrus. I’m nobody—who are you? Let all the dreamers wake the nation.

Even before I’ve gotten to know her, Jang Wonyoung has made me smile.

Her parents are happy to see her. I have a sense that they’re always happy to see her.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay for the weekend?” her mother asks. Then she opens the refrigerator, which looks like it’s been stocked for at least a month. “I think there’s enough here, but if you need anything, just use the money in the envelope.”

I feel something is missing here; there is something I should be doing. I access and discover it’s the Jangs’ anniversary tomorrow. They are going on an anniversary trip. And Wonyoung’s gift for them is up in her room.

“One second,” I say. I run upstairs and find it in her closet—a bag festooned with Post-its, each of them filled in with something her parents have said to her over the years, from A is for Apple to Always remember to check your blind spot. And this is just the wrapping. When I bring the bag down to Mr. and Mrs. Jang, they open it to find ten hours of music for their ten-hour drive, as well as cookies Wongyoung has baked for them.

Wonyoung’s father wraps her in a thankful hug, and Wonyoung's mother joins in.

For a moment, I forget who I really am.

Wonyoung’s locker is also covered in Post-it quotes, in a rainbow of handwritings. Her best friend, Yuri, comes by and offers her half a muffin—the bottom half, because Yuri only likes the tops.

Yuri starts telling me about Yena, a girl she’s apparently had a crush on for ages—ages meaning at least three weeks. I feel the perverse desire to tell Yuri about Hanni, who is only two towns away. I access and find that Wonyoung doesn’t have any crushes herself at the moment. Yuri doesn’t pry too much about this. And quickly other friends find them, and the talk turns to an upcoming Battle of the Bands. Apparently, Wonyoung is playing in at least three of the entrants, including Yuri’s band. She’s that kind of girl, always willing to chip in with some music.

As the day progresses, I can’t help but feel that Wonyoung is the kind of person I try to be. But part of what makes her personality work is her ability to stick around, to be there day in and day out for people. Her friends rely on her, and she relies on them—the simple balance on which so many lives are built.

I decide to make sure that this is true. I zone out of math class and tune in instead to Wonyoung’s memories. The way I access her, it’s like turning on a hundred televisions at the same time, I’m seeing so many parts of her at once. The good memories. The hard memories.

Her father doesn’t want her to spend so much time on the guitar, tells her music is a dead-end calling. She drinks her third can of Red Bull, trying to finish a paper at four in the morning because she was out with friends until one. She is climbing the ladder of a tree house. She is failing her driver’s test and fighting back tears when the instructor tells her. She is alone in her room, playing the same tune over and over again on an acoustic guitar, trying to figure out what it means. She is on a swing set, six years old, going higher and higher until she is convinced this is it, this is the time she will fly. She is slipping money into Yuri’s wallet while Yuri isn’t looking, so later on Yuri will be able to pay her share of the check. She is dressed as the Tin Man on Halloween. Her mother has burned her hand on the stove and she doesn’t know what to do. The first morning she has her license, she drives to the ocean to watch the sunrise. She is the only one there.

I stop there. I stop at this. I lurch back into myself. I don’t know if I can do this.

I can’t block out the temptation that Poole offered: If I could stay in this life, would I? Every time I pose the question to myself, I get knocked back into my own life from Wonyoung’s. I get ideas, and once they take hold, I can’t stop them.

What if there really was a way to stay?

Every person is a possibility. The hopeless romantics feel it most acutely, but even for others, the only way to keep going is to see every person as a possibility. The more I see the Wonyoung that the world reflects back at her, the more of a possibility she seems. Her possibility is grounded in the things that mean the most to me. Kindness. Creativity. Engagement in the world. Engagement in the possibilities of the people around her.

The day is nearly half over. I only have a short time to figure out what to do with Wonyoung’s possibilities.

The clock always ticks. There are times you don’t hear it, and there are times that you do.

I email Haruto and ask him for Poole’s email address. I get a quick response. I email Poole a few simple questions.

I get another quick response.

I email Hanni and tell her I’m going to come by this afternoon.

I say it’s important.

She tells me she’ll be there.

Wonyoung has to tell Yuri that she can’t make their band practice after school.

“Hot date?” Yuri asks, joking.

Wonyoung smiles mischievously and leaves it at that.

Hanni is waiting for me at the bookstore. It’s become our place.

She knows me when I walk through the door. Her eyes follow me as I come closer. She doesn’t smile, but I do. I am so grateful to see her.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” she says.

She wants to be here, but she doesn’t think it’s a good idea. She is also grateful, but she is sure this gratitude will turn into regret.

“I have an idea,” I tell her.

“What?”

“Let’s pretend this is the first time we’ve ever met. Let’s pretend you were here to get a book, and I happened to bump into you. We struck up a conversation. I like you. You like me. Now we’re sitting down to coffee. It feels right. You don’t know that I switch bodies every day. I don’t know about your ex or anything else. We’re just two people meeting for the first time.”

“But why?”

“So we don’t have to talk about everything else. So we can just be with each other. Enjoy it.”

“I don’t see the point—”

“No past. No future. Just present. Give it a chance.”

She looks torn. She leans her chin on her fist and looks at me. Finally, she decides.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she says. She doesn’t understand it yet, but she’s going to go with it.

I smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, as well. Where should we go?”

“You decide,” she says. “What’s your favorite place?”

I access Wonyoung, and the answer is right there. As if she’s handing it to me.

My smile grows wider.

“I know just the place,” I say. “But first we’ll need groceries.”

Because this is the first time we’ve met, I don’t have to tell her about Haruto or Poole or anything else that’s happened or about to happen. The past and future are what’s complicated. It’s the present that’s simple. And that simplicity is the sensation of it being just her and me.

Even though there are only a few things we need, we get a shopping cart and go down every aisle of the grocery store. It doesn’t take long before Hanni is standing on the front of it, I’m standing on the back of it, and we are riding as fast as we can.

We set down a rule: Every aisle has to have a story. So in the pet-food aisle, I learn more about Swizzle, the malevolent bunny rabbit. In the produce aisle, I tell her about the day I went to summer camp and had to be part of a greased-watermelon pull, and how I ended up with three stitches after the watermelon shot out of everyone’s arms and landed in my eye—the first case of watermelon abuse the hospital had ever seen. In the cereal aisle, we offer autobiographies in the form of the cereals we’ve eaten over the years, trying to pinpoint the year that the cereal turning the milk blue stopped being cool and started being gross.

Finally, we have enough food for a vegetarian feast.

“I should call my mom and tell her I’m eating at Yeeun’s,” Hanni says, taking out her phone.

“Tell her you’re staying over,” I suggest.

She pauses. “Really?”

“Really.”

But she doesn’t make a move to call.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Trust me,” I say. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You know how I feel.”

“I do. But still, I want you to trust me. I’m not going to hurt you. I will never hurt you.”

She calls her mother, tells her she’s at Yeeun’s. Then she calls Yeeun and makes sure the cover story will be intact. Yeeun asks her what’s going on. Hanni says she’ll tell her later.

“You’ll tell her you met a girl,” I say once she’s hung up.

“A girl I just met?”

“Yeah,” I say. “A girl you’ve just met.”

We go back to Wonyoung’s house. There’s barely enough room in the refrigerator for the groceries we’ve bought.

“Why did we bother?” Hanni asks.

“Because I didn’t notice what was in here this morning. And I wanted to make sure we had exactly what we desired.”

“Do you know how to cook?”

“Not really. You?”

“Not really.”

“I guess we’ll figure it out. But first, there’s something I want to show you.”

She likes Wonyoung’s bedroom as much as I do. I can tell. She loses herself in reading the Post-it notes, then runs her finger over the spines of the books. Her face is a picture of delight.

Then she turns to me, and the fact can’t be denied: We’re in a bedroom, and there’s a bed. But that’s not why I brought her here.

“Time for dinner,” I say. Then I take her hand and we walk away together.

We fill the air with music as we cook. We move in unison, move in tandem. We’ve never done this together before, but we establish our rhythm, our division of labor. I can’t help but think this is the way it could always be—the easygoing sharing of space, the enjoyable silence of knowing each other. My parents are away, and my girlfriend has come over to help cook dinner. There she is, chopping vegetables, unaware of her posture, unaware of the wildness of her hair, even unaware that I am staring at her with so much love. Outside our kitchen-size bubble, the nighttime sings. I can see it through the window, and also see her reflection mapped out on top of it. Everything is in its right place, and my heart wants to believe this can always be true. My heart wants to make it true, even as something darker tugs it away.

It’s past nine by the time we’re finished.

“Should I set the table?” Hanni asks, gesturing to the dining room.

“No. I’m taking you to my favorite place, remember?”

I find two trays and arrange our meals on them. I even find a dozen candlesticks to take along. Then I lead Hanni out the back door.

“Where are we going?” she asks once we’re in the yard.

“Look up,” I tell her.

At first she doesn’t see it—the only light is coming from the kitchen, drifting out to us like the afterglow from another world. Then, as our eyes adjust, it becomes visible to her.

“Nice,” she says, walking over so that Wonyoung’s tree house looms over us, the ladder at our fingertips.

“There’s a pulley system,” I say, “for the trays. I’ll go up and drop it down.”

I grab two of the candles and scurry up the ladder. The inside of the tree house matches Wonyoung’s memories pretty well. It’s as much a rehearsal space as a tree house, with another guitar in the corner, as well as notebooks full of lyrics and music. Even though there’s an overhead light that could be turned on, I rely on candles. Then I send down the dumbwaiter and raise the trays one by one. As soon as the second tray is safely inside, Hanni joins me.

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” I ask as she looks around.

“Yeah.”

“It’s all her. Her parents don’t come up here.”

“I love it.”

There isn’t any table and there aren’t any chairs, so we sit cross-legged on the floor and eat, facing each other in the candlelight. We don’t rush it—we let the taste of the moment sink in. I light more candles, and revel in the sight of her. We don’t need the moon or the sun in here. She is beautiful in our own light.

“What?” she asks.

I lean over and kiss her. Just once.

“That,” I say.

She is my first and only love. Most people know that their first love will not be their only love. But for me, she is both. This will be the only chance I give myself. This will never happen again.

There are no clocks in here, but I am aware of the minutes, aware of the hours. Even the candles conspire, getting shorter as time grows shorter. Reminding me and reminding me and reminding me.

I want this to be the first time we’ve met. I want this to be two teenagers on a first date. I want to already be planning the second date in my head. And the third.

But there are other things I have to say, other things I have to do.

When we’re finished, she pushes the trays aside. She closes the distance between us. I think she’s going to kiss me, but instead she reaches into her pocket. She pulls out one of Wonyoung’s pads of Post-it notes. She pulls out a pen. Then she draws a heart on the top Post-it, peels it off, and places it on my heart.

“There,” she says.

I look down at it. I look up at her.

“I have to tell you something,” I say.

I mean I have to tell her everything.

I tell her about Haruto I tell her about Poole. I tell her I might not be the only one. I tell her there might be a way to stay in a body longer. There might be a way not to leave.

The candles are burning down. I am taking too much time. It’s almost eleven when I’m done.

“So you can stay?” she asks when I’m finished. “Are you saying you can stay?”

“Yes,” I answer. “And no.”

When first love ends, most people eventually know there will be more to come. They are not through with love. Love is not through with them. It will never be the same as the first, but it will be better in different ways.

I have no such consolation. This is why I cling so hard. This is why this is so hard.

“There might be a way to stay,” I tell her. “But I can’t. I’ll never be able to stay.”

Murder. When it all comes down to it, it would be murder to stay. No love can outbalance that.

Hanni pulls away from me. Stands up. Turns on me.

“You can’t do this!” she yells. “You can’t swoop in, bring me here, give me all this—and then say it can’t work. That’s cruel, Yn. Cruel.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s why this is a first date. That’s why this is the first time we’ve ever met.”

“How can you say that? How can you erase everything else?”

I stand up. Walk over. Wrap my arms around her. At first she resists, wants to pull away. But then she gives in.

“She’s a good person,” I say, my voice a broken whisper. I don’t want to do this, but I have to do this. “She might even be a great girl. And today’s the day you first met. Today’s your first date. She’s going to remember being in the bookstore. She’s going to remember the first time she saw you, and how she was drawn to you, not just because you’re beautiful, but because she could see your strength. She could see how much you want to be a part of the world. She’ll remember talking with you, how easy it was, how engaging. She’ll remember not wanting it to end, and asking you if you wanted to do something else. She’ll remember you asking her, her favorite place, and she’ll remember thinking about here, and wanting to show it to you. The grocery store, the stories in the aisles, the first time you saw her room—that will all be there, and I won’t have to change a single thing. Her pulse is my heartbeat. The pulse is the same. I know she will understand you. You have the same kind of heart.”

“But what about you?” Hanni asks, her voice breaking, too.

“You’ll find the things in her that you find in me,” I tell her. “Without the complications.”

“I can’t just switch like that.”

“I know. She’ll have to prove it to you. Every day, she’ll have to prove she’s worthy of you. And if she doesn’t, that’s it. But I think she will.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I have to go, Hanni. For real this time. I have to go far away. There are things I need to find out. And I can’t keep stepping into your life. You need something more than that.”

“So this is goodbye?”

“It’s goodbye to some things. And hello to others.”

I want her to remember how it feels to hold her. I want her to remember how it feels to share the world with her. I want her, somewhere inside, to remember how much I love her. And I want her to learn to love her in her own way, having nothing to do with me.

I had to ask Poole if it was really possible. I had to ask him if he could really teach me.

He promised he could. He told me we could work together.

There was no hesitation. No warning. No acknowledgment of the lives we’d be destroying.

That’s when I knew for sure I had to run away.

She holds me. She holds me so hard there’s no thought in it of letting go.

“I love you,” I tell her. “Like I’ve never loved anyone before.”

“You always say that,” she says. “But don’t you realize it’s the same for me? I’ve never loved anyone like this, either.”

“But you will,” I say. “You will again.”

If you stare at the center of the universe, there is a coldness there. A blankness. Ultimately, the universe doesn’t care about us. Time doesn’t care about us.

That’s why we have to care about each other.

The minutes are passing. Midnight is approaching.

“I want to fall asleep next to you,” I whisper.

This is my last wish.

She nods, agrees.

We leave the tree house, run quickly through the night to get back to the light of the house, the music we’ve left behind. 11:13. 11:14. We go to the bedroom and take off our shoes. 11:15. 11:16. She gets in the bed and I turn off the lights. I join her there.

I lie on my back and she curls into me. I am reminded of a beach, an ocean.

There is so much to say, but there’s no point in saying it. We already know.

She reaches up to my cheek, turns my head. Kisses me. Minute after minute after minute, we kiss.

“I want you to remember that tomorrow,” she says.

Then we return to breathing. We return to lying there. Sleep approaches.

“I’ll remember everything,” I tell her.

“So will I,” she promises.

I will never have a photograph of her to carry around in my pocket. I will never have a letter in her handwriting, or a scrap-book of everything we’ve done. I will never share an apartment with her in the city. I will never know if we are listening to the same song at the same time. We will not grow old together. I will not be the person she calls when she’s in trouble. She will not be the person I call when I have stories to tell. I will never be able to keep anything she’s given to me.

I watch her as she falls asleep next to me. I watch her as she breathes. I watch her as the dreams take hold.

This memory.

I will only have this.

I will always have this.

She will remember this, too. She will feel this. She will know it’s been a perfect afternoon, a perfect evening.

She will wake up next to her, and she will feel lucky.

Times moves on. The universe stretches out. I take a Post-it of a heart and move it from my body to hers. I see it sitting there.

I close my eyes. I say goodbye. I fall asleep.

Day 6034

I wake up two hours away, in the body of a girl named Lee Hyein.

Hyein doesn’t know it, but today she’s going far away from here. It will be a total disruption to her routine, a complete twist in the way her life is supposed to go. But she has the luxury of time to smooth it out. Over the course of her life, this day will be a slight, barely noticeable aberration.

But for me, it is the change of the tide. For me, it is the start of a present that has both a past and a future.

For the first time in my life, I run.

#newjeans fanfic #newjeans #hanni #hanni x reader #Hanni pham #newjeans imagines

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yourlocalartsonist · 2 years ago

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ROTTMNT Moths Fly In Packs - Chapter One

A/N: HI I’M FINALLY POSTING THE FIRST CHAPTER. Really excited and super nervous but I’m SO happy I can finally share this with everyone. I’m not doing a drawing for every chapter since that’d be selling my soul to the red dilf down below but this is the first chapter so I figured why not do something special. Also apologies if any of the characters seem ooc, I’m still learning how to write them so it might take a bit (especially the dialogue). Also also, sorry if the formatting seem weird, I just copy pasted a google doc into Tumblr and I haven’t entirely figured out how this app works yet. ANYWHIZZLE despite all that I hope y’all enjoy and I can’t wait to write more ^^

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Disclaimer: chapter involves themes of manipulation, violence, and curse words. If you’re sensitive to that stuff, scroll past and stay safe <3

I looked out the window and sighed. Today could have been a lot worse, sure, but it also could’ve been a whole lot better.

It was one am on a Monday night. Staying up this late this early in the week is gonna guarantee a begrudgingly painful school life till Friday. And yet, here I was, staring at my phone at his texts.

Zane: Hey! You were active on insta. How come you didn’t text back?

Zane: hey it’s been an hour now. I’m starting to worry about you

Zane: Salena are you ignoring me? I already said I was sorry

Zane: fine then. Don’t text me. But at least talk to me tomorrow. I miss you.

Zane: Goodnight.

He was getting clingier by the day. Last month when he asked me out, I was worried rejecting him would break his heart. Somehow, it looks like it had the opposite effect and boosted his ego since he’s only gotten more pushy after that. I mean today he picked a fight with a guy just for talking to me. It’s getting ridiculous.

I groaned and hopped off bed to get a drink of water. I know I should probably forgive him, I’m sure he’s just coping differently maybe. It’ll get better with time. I hope it gets better with time. Otherwise the next four months are gonna be excruciatingly long. Still, I can’t just not be mad after what he did.

As I lamented in my depressive thoughts, I saw four figures out the window, running from rooftop to rooftop. Smiling, I opened the window and let the cool air and the joyous voices flow in. At least one good thing’s coming out from today.

It looked like they were chasing someone, a giant pig man specifically. I would’ve been more freaked out if this was the first human-animal thing I saw.

The very first time I saw one was a giant bull in a bellboy uniform running along the sidewalk, clumsily knocking anything and everything over as he wept. I assumed my sleep deprived brain was probably making things up again but the sheer absurdity of it paired with the fact that my sleep schedule was actually decent that week, I began to question that guess. Then, only ten minutes later, seeing four human-sized turtles walking upright seemingly searching for the bull man sealed the deal that I could not be making this shit up.

But that was two or three years ago. Now, it’s more of a fun surprise seeing the new animal person of the week than a sanity-questioning spiral. Most often, I see the turtles passing by. Sometimes they’re goofing off or skateboarding. Other times, they’re chasing someone like right now. I can only assume the pig man is evil if he’s being chased by them. I know the turtles are good since I suspect they’re the “mysterious heroes” that saved New York from that-which-shall-not-be-named a few months back. I mean, who else could it be?

Even if they’re chasing a potential murderous lunatic, they seem like they’re having fun. They’re all smiling and laughing and whizzing around everywhere, just looking at them gives me an adrenaline rush.

I stared out the window longingly as they zipped by, disappearing into the night. Maybe the late night was getting to my brain, but things just felt worse than usual this time. I’ve been watching these four go by my window at least once a week for so long. They always look so fun to be around. Free-spirited and zany, the exact opposite of everyone in my life. Maybe I really am going insane but for once I just want to know them, to see them up close. And if I’m feeling particularly crazy, I might even say hello.

I found my body edging closer and closer out the window. The fire-escape does lead all the way down, and I’m only on the sixth floor anyway. It’s not exactly a fast distance to the ground but it wouldn’t be too bad if I run…

Before I knew it, I was already out dashing in their direction to catch up. I’ve only ever dreamed of having enough courage to actually attempt this. If my aunt finds out I snuck out my grave will be dug and that’s not an exaggeration.

Yet somehow, that didn’t stop me. My skin felt numb from the cold wind, my hair was going crazy behind me. I felt pain in my cheeks from how much I was smiling. I guess I am feeling particularly crazy tonight.

***

By the time I caught up with them, I was embarrassingly out of breath. They were now all ground level in an alleyway and I was hiding just around the corner, close enough to listen in. A little nervous if they can hear my hideous dying dog pants, not just because it would blow my cover but also for the sake of my prestige. They seem a little too distracted by the pig man to notice me, though.

“Alright, meathead! Give us the poison, or I’m gonna smash your head into the wall and keep smashing till I smash the wall down with my smashy little fists!”

Note to self: the red one likes smashing.

“Oh get stuffed you annoying little rats! Can’t a guy sabotage his rival chef’s excuse of a business in peace?”

“GASP! He’s defaming rats!”

They broke out into a fight over what looked to be a large bag of, assumedly, poison. The pig man’s tentacle arms were whipping all over the place, trying to land a blow on the turtles. Oh and apparently his arms can extend which I would find cool if it weren’t for how gross it looked. It’s all drippy and squishy-looking and weird, not a texture I’d want to be near.

I won’t lie, I was kind of distracted from the danger I put myself in since being this close allowed me to properly see the turtles fight. At first glance it looks like they’re flailing all over the place, but it’s actually in a more cohesive way. The blue turtle teleported around and sliced the tentacles attacking them, the red one went in for a punch with giant fists at any opening. Purple guy had glowing guns in his signature color all shooting at the same time and the orange turtle swung around hitting pig man with any object his fiery chains landed on. My god was I awestruck watching them all in action. I was so busy gawking I barely even registered the magic weapons.

One of the flame chains got a hold of his leg and sent the pig guy flying backwards, losing grip of his poison bag.

“Heads up!” The blue one yelled as the bag soared through the air. All the turtles attempted catching it while the pig man’s tentacle arm followed close behind the bag. It looked like it was about to be body horror Peppa Pig’s win.

So I stepped out and grabbed the bag before he could. All eyes now on me, I made a run for it in the other direction realizing how exposed I was. Behind me I could hear a confused “Who was that?” sounding like it was from the purple guy.

Yeah, sure, maybe this wasn’t the smartest move but if I’m getting myself involved I might as well be useful.

I’d break in and out of thought every time I crashed into a wall or slid on the ground. I was never exactly known for my clearly graceful nature. My body started aching. Still I kept running, only stopping to throw a rock or two at one of the stringy pink arms behind me. Seriously, why does that dude have to be so puke-worthy.

A silver blur sped right past my head. The glowing sword stopped in front of me and a familiar blue turtle appeared out of thin air.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

As much as I pride myself on reflexes, the initial shock didn’t wear off fast enough to prevent me from crashing into him and falling back on the ground. I barely had an impact on him, though, since he was still standing perfectly fine with a hand on his hip and the other gripping his weapon.

“Look pal, I have been heroing all week and as much as I love fighting villains and looking badass, I say we make this fast and you just tell me who sent you.”

“S-sent me?” It took me a while to catch on. Not my best day, I know.

“Oh, no no no! I'm not working for anyone! I was trying to help. See?”

I held out the bag towards him, hoping that would convince him I’m not a threat. To my surprise, instead of taking it, he squinted his eyes and me and crouched down to match my height.

“You know, you look kinda familiar. Have we met before?..”

I was too stunned to respond.

Back when I first saw the turtles, after seeing the human bull, I overheard them talking about him and wanting to find him. The blue one especially, he seemed extremely guilty about something. I figured I’d help but I wasn’t brave enough to just go up to them and tell them I saw the bull. I’m too shy to even approach regular humans, these were talking anthropomorphic turtles. So instead I threw a note down and it bounced off blue’s head. He looked at it, read it, then looked up at me. I poked my head out from behind the fire escape and gave an awkward wave, trying to let him know I was on their side. It worked since he directed his team towards where I wrote the bull man went.

I remember later that same night, he knocked on my window. I was a bit freaked out admittedly and hid away by instinct. I wasn’t exactly expecting to see them again.

“Oookay. Well.” I could tell he wasn’t sure how to deal with me. I was regretting hiding but my legs were frozen in place.

“I don’t know if you can hear me since the window’s closed but I wanted to say thanks for the note. We found our guy way faster than we would’ve if we kept having to use Raph’s ideas.” He let out a playful chuckle.

I felt my heart melt a little. I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t really that. I don’t usually hear things like that often.

“So yeah uh, if you can still hear me, thank you.”

My legs started working again as I heard him leap off to leave. I opened the window and rushed out to the fire escape. Luckily, he was on the ground not too far away from me. I called out to him.

“Salena!”

He turned around and saw me. “What?”

I beamed brighter and yelled again.

“My name is Salena!”

“Salena?” His voice brought me back to present day.

“You remember me?”

He let out a cheery laugh. “Of course I remember you! I told you, your note was the only reason we found Bullhop so fast that day.”

“But that was years ago.” I sighed in disbelief as he helped me to my feet.

“And? No face has ever escaped ol’ Neon Leon’s noggon!” He proudly pointed to his brain. I debated telling him the word was noggin.

We heard voices in the distance.

“PUNCHING LIKE A BOSS!!”

“I SWEAR ONE DAY I’LL TURN YOU ALL INTO STEW!”

“GUYS! He wants to turn me into stew!”

“Mikey, that’s not a good thing.”

“Says you! I’d make a delicious stew, thank you very much, Dee!”

“Welp, duty calls! Let’s get you to safety.” With that, he opened a blue portal and pulled me through it to a nearby rooftop. So his swords can teleport and open portals??

“You think you can keep this bag with you?”

I managed to nod.

He gave a smirk and stepped back through his portal to rejoin the battle.

“Leo! Where’s the bag?”

“And the person who stole the bag?” I could still hear red and purple speak.

“Relax, they’re a friend, they’re keeping the bag safe.”

“A new friend?! OMIGOSH!!” Orange seemed excited

The fight picked up fiercer than before. It was hard to keep up with the turtles and the chaos of their weapons. Orange flames, purple lasers, sheathing metal. The ground shook at every red flash. All the while, the air filled with lively laughter and jokes.

Pig man wasn’t going down easy, either. He pounded his giant spiky mallet, probably matching the force of red’s hits. I know they’re experienced fighters and all, but I felt a bit useless sitting around and doing nothing. I looked around for some way I could help.

Luckily, something caught my attention. On the left side of the roof, I could see a pile of bricks laying around. More than perfect for knocking out a mutant. Now the question is how to get them down.

I saw a flash of blue out the corner of my eye.

Bingo.

Screaming at the top of my lungs, hoping my voice wouldn’t be drowned out, I called out to him.

“Blue! Hey, blue up here!”

He followed my voice to where I was, looking a bit confused and worried I was giving myself away.

I pointed to the brick in my hand. “Make a portal on top of him!”

I saw his face light up as he understood my plan. “Great idea!”

As he dashed off, a blue portal opened near me. I rushed around the roof, grunting as I pushed the bricks in. Blue threw a sword in the air, appeared right above the pig, and opened the other side of the portal, letting all the bricks rain down on him. They all looked a bit surprised seeing around 8 or 10 bricks hit him on the head, blue included. Yeah, sure, maybe pushing all of them in was a bit overkill but seeing how crazy powerful this guy was, I didn’t want to risk it.

And boy, was he out cold. The four turtles made their way up the roof, I presume to get the bag of poison.

I glanced back down at the pig “So like…he’s not dead is he?”

“Meatsweats? Nah that guy’s handled way worse.” Blue said strangely casually. “Good thinking with the bricks, btdubs.”

I’d appreciate the compliment more but I was still struggling to figure out what could possibly be worse than bricks to the head.

“Yeah, thanks for your help back there with the poison, too.” red rubbed his neck and gave a sweet smile. For a big guy he seems awfully friend-shaped.

“I’m Raph. These are my brothers Leo, Mikey, and Donnie.” Leo struck a pose, Mikey waved like his life depended on it, and Donnie…well he was just on his phone with his shell turned towards me. It’s a cool shell, at least. I never noticed it wasn’t a real one before.

“I’m Salena. Nice to meet you all.”

People used to tell me I ask too many questions so I got into the habit of just keeping my tongue bit. But I would’ve exploded if I didn’t seize the moment today to find out what the hell was going on. I’m bad at social situations, anyway, might as well be on purpose.

“So if you don’t mind me asking…What are you? How do you exist? Where’d you get your weapons? Did you make your shell yourself? Who was that guy? Can I see what’s in this bag?”

“AHEM! I’m glad you asked!” Donnie turned his attention towards me, dramatically answering my questions. “We, weird human, are the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (trademark). And yes, my battle shell is indeed Genius Built technology. Made this baby when I was twelve.”

“We’re mutant turtles!-”

“Literally just said that in the name Micheal”

“Still think Mad Dogz was better.”

“-And we were made in Draxum’s lab to take over the world back when he was going through his ‘bad boy’ phase but we ended up being heroes instead. Pretty cool right?”

“Hey, inquiry for you actually, why’d you help us anyway?”

I awkwardly answered Donnie, telling them about my luck of random mutants frequently passing by my window. Apparently some of them were Yōkai, Raph said there was a whole Hidden City of them and a doorway leading to it near where I lived. I was a little surprised at how happy they all looked listening to me talk. Usually I’d be told to shut up by now so this was a nice change of pace.

“What happened to your arm?” Leo pointed to the wound on my forearm.

“Oh. That explains why it felt so sore. I guess I scraped against a wall or something? It’s fine, though, I’ll patch it up when I get home.”

“No way. You helped us, we help you. Let the professional do his magic.”

Leo took out some supplies from his pouch. I sat on the edge and let him work on my arm while the rest - mostly Donnie - info dumped their stories to me. At first it was a way to distract me from the initial sting of my cuts being cleaned but it wasn’t long until they got carried away with their storytelling. They told me about their mutation at the lab, how they found out, their two dads and other human friends. The oozequitoes, as they called them, were what made them and all the other mutants. It’s crazy to think these guys were made as literal military weapons considering they’re now wacky vigilantes.

“Voilà! Look and be amazed!”

“Woah! You weren’t kidding when you said professional.” I admired Leo’s bandaging on my arm. It was clean and neat, tight enough to be secure but not turning my fingers blue or anything. Much better job than I would’ve done.

The full moon was beautiful tonight. Unfortunately, it reminded me where I should be at this time.

“Well, I’m really enjoying talking to guys but I should probably go home. I don’t even wanna know how late it is”

“What? But can’t you stay a little longer?” Mikey, who was practically vibrating this whole time, suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. He looked so dejected it made my heart hurt. Raph attempted to comfort him.

“They probably have school Mike. Maybe we can hang out another time, if you’re up for it?”

“REALLY- I mean, yes, yeah. That sounds lovely!” Stay civil, Salena.

“Hey before you go, you should really try one of these.” Leo opened the poison bag and took out a pizza puff? “They are absolutely delicious.”

Poison or not, pizza puff’s a pizza puff.

“NO!“ Unfortunately, Raph slapped the treat out of my hand before I could plop it in my mouth.

We bid our farewells and Mikey handed me a paper with their numbers on it paired with some cute doodles of them. After telling him where to go, Leo opened a portal to my room. I know you’re not supposed to tell strangers your address and it did feel a little weird but a portal was the fastest way home. No way I’m hoofing it this late in the night. I love New York but not that much.

Sitting on my bed now, I observed the blue turtle as he was getting ready to go back. The red stripes around his eyes made me realize he was a red-eared slider, I read about them back when I was six or seven I think.

“Hey Leo?”

“Yeah?”

I smiled. “It was nice running into you again.”

He gave his signature smirk “Funny how life works, ay?”

He waved and fell back into his portal. I closed my eyes for a bit, then grabbed my sketchbook.

Placing Mikey’s doodles on a blank page, I wrote down their respective eye colors.

Green, brown, yellow, blue.

Next Chapter | Salena Moni

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mmmairon · 2 years ago

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UWAAA miss juliet looks so beautiful!! I'm sure she's doing well and cheering you on from her meadow, ms. kaela :"))))

if you don't mind, would you consider introducing your other cows to the public? they sound like lovely creatures ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ and ok fine I'll admit I became more interested in them bc of that one diluc fanart u made where he tends to the cows

*discreetly crushes that other entitled anon ask under my foot* also pssst I think you can block people's IP addresses from asking on anon so you don't have to worry abt them anymore,,, chronically online people are built different man I hope they leave u alone soon :((

— milkmaid diluc anon

Hi Milkmaid diluc anon! Sure!! I’ll put pictures under the cut since it will be a little long. I have to admit, there are too many to introduce, so I’ll show my “pets.”

Blindos!!! Just as her name indicates, she’s blind in one eye. Bad case of pinkeye when she was a calf. She’s my baby. I’ve had her since I was a kid. My dad named her, not the most creative lmao. She stays at home and mows the grass down in the yard during the summer. Loves chop and good scratches. An absolute dear and glutton.

This is her baby she had this spring, Molly. She’s so sweet :)

Here are some of our heifers:

J2 is Jojo

J3 is, of course, Juliet <3 (I cut her tag to keep with me, so now I can frame it)

J4 is Jackie

J1 is Jenny

These are my 3 hooligans. The guy that looks like an Oreo Mcflurry is Zorro. He used to escape all the time lmao. He’s a specklepark, one of our up and coming bulls.

The guy in the back is Benny. Also a bull for next year.

To the right is Mark (hence the mark on his forehead), one of our old bottle babies. Every morning I would bring him his bottle and go *Tommy Wiseau voice* “Oh, hi Mark.”

This is Martin, our bottle calf from this year. Big enjoyer of scratches under the chin, his eyeballs will roll back lol. He’s a rejected twin :( His sister’s name is Martina, who is with his mom. We went with the “Martin” theme because female twins are what we call “freemartins” (infertile).

the red on his forehead is old chalk. We mark calves in the field we think have something weird going on with them. Figured out pretty quickly little Martin didn’t have a mama to drink from

Skrunkly. That’s his name. I never got around to naming his buddy. But Skrunkly is one of our yearlings we keep around the yard to mow grass. We had a couple days of -55C last winter that got the best of his one ear tip :( He can still hear fine and he’s a silly goofy guy and a little gremlin

This is my little buddy Clyde. About 2 years old. He’s an anomaly. If you look above his ears, you’ll see two little nubs peeking out. He has horns!! I’m so baffled… my dad bred horns out over 10 years ago. Been scratching my head over this for the past few weeks. And it’s weird they only just appeared after so long…

But… poor Clyde passed away this week. He seemed to have a bout of pneumonia, which I gave him Resflor for. And he recovered. But there was always something odd about him ever since he was born. Always weaker than the rest, never too energetic, but liked a good scratch on his back. He passed away asleep in his bedding. He looked comfy and warm. I’m, at least for that, glad for it.

This is Miss Raccoon and Miss Halfie. Very fine, distinguished ladies.

Alas, there are too many cows to name :’) But know I love them all and do my best to make them happy!! I’d add a few more, but I think mu phone is about to explode.

Bonus:

This photo is from today. This is the poor lassie who was shot by someone. She’s healing excellently. You can only barely see a pitted mark on her forehead. She’s so strong, I’m so proud of her!!! She looks a lot better.

#i want to hug and kiss them all #as for that one anon i’m glad they never sent another ask #i didn’t realize you could block IP addresses #which i’m happy to know of now #i looked into it and they’d have to send me another ask for me to do that now LOL #i hope you are doing well milkmaid diluc anon #sorry this took so long for me to get to :’)#milkmaid diluc anon #asks #not art #pictures #farm stuff #new tag ig

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vamosaespana · 5 months ago

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Mom time

I awoke to GB shaking me gently saying it’s 11:30. Holy guacamole that’s sleeping in😮 3 is awake and downstairs while 1 and 2 are still sleeping. 1 starts to stir and heads to the bathroom where you here the not so discrete slam of the toilet seat banging down on the porcelain. To which what quickly follows is 2 sticking her head out of her bedroom door yelling at whoever it may be to “keep it down some people are trying to sleep here!” Yup sounds like morning 🤦🏻‍♀️

As everyone starts to wake up, I have gotten accustomed to getting the clothes off the clothes hanger on the roof to fold and put away. I’ve gotten used to drying my clothes outside. There’s just something different about it that I can’t quite put my finger on it but I really do love it.

We all get ready for breakfast and as I finish getting ready GB lets me know that we are going to skip the ruins in Ithaca. After a late night and lots of running around, he thought it would be best if it was a chill day for the kids as we would have an early start tomorrow traveling on the train. The kids are all about it…tanning for 2, 1 lounging in the jacuzzi and 2 just chilling on her iPad and drawing. I agree but also wish I had been told sooner so as to not put on my full face but oh well. GB finds a little restaurant close to our house and we eat to our hearts content. I love the idea of tapas as you can try a sampling of all sorts of little apps as everything on the menu sounds amazing.

It’s at lunch I decide that I’m going to spend the day exploring solo. I return back to the house to grab my wrap so that I am church ready at any time. I had a tank top on with a long skirt so wanted to make sure I was respectful and had my shoulders covered. Normally this trip I have always been prepared but this time I forgot the shawl so had to head back quick to grab it. Once in the house, the kids split to their various ideas of relaxing and I head out.

There is a beautiful church just near our home from Our Lady of the Macarena. I’m so excited as it’s kind of a big deal. Apparently she is the patron saint of bull fighters and her statue is paraded around the city on her feast day. The story is a Lutheran threw a bottle of wine at that statue during one of the parades and it stained her cheeks red. Apparently the stain could not be removed no matter what they tried and her face is stained to this day. The man who threw the bottle of wine apparently carried the Virgin through the streets the following year as penitence for what he did the year prior. With anticipation I walk up to the gate to see its closed 😔 The church opens at 12 and 6 during the week and it’s currently 2:00. Oh well, at least I got to see the outside of it. I start out a main road and just walk. Not sure where I’m going or where this street will lead. I do have a paper map of streets on me so I can somewhat have my whereabouts but this is just going to be an adventure. I pass many churches, all closed unfortunately, but I do enjoy just looking at the outside’s beauty and imagining the inside must be even more beautiful inside. I take time to sit and enjoy little plazas with fountains to soak in the people and areas of Seville. There is no rush…it’s just me. It’s hot but I don’t mind it at all. I contemplated many a time stopping at a little cafe and having a drink or some tea but every time I think about it I think that maybe there will just be another one further down the way. I finally arrive at the Setas. This is a huge metal sculpture in the middle of a plaza that our renter told us at night they will put on a light show that is cool to see. Well it’s about 4:00 so won’t be seeing that but it’s cool that I’m able to see it in person and walk around.

I stop to take a minute to catch my breath and that is when on my map I notice four roman pilars. Apparently part of some Roman ruins…it’s not an Ithaca but at least I get to see something 🤷🏻‍♀️ Onward I go!

I then see on the map there is a huge tower nearby. Not quite sure why it’s special but it’s big enough on the map to make it look like a big deal so I’m on my way. It’s actually way closer than I thought and as soon as I turn a corner there it is.

Apparently you used to be able to go up the tower to the lookout point but it looks like it’s closed now. I take the obligatory picture and continue on my way. The cool thing is, without even trying to, I made a complete circle and am back on the street that has our house on it. Me for the Win!

Once back home, and someone eventually lets me in😒 I am soaking from sweat and totally gross. Time to hop into the jacuzzi. I pop in my podcast and just soak away, resting so quietly not even realizing my husband taking a pic of me with my mouth open dead to the world. I guess I may have slept for a bit 🤭

3 pops her head out and asks me if I’m hungry…this is a subtle way of saying “hey the rest of us are hungry but we realize you’re resting so don’t want to come right out and say it but in the end you really know what we are trying to do here…so can we go eat?” No worries I’m rested and ready for the next leg of eating extravaganza. As we walk to the restaurant GB picked out I see that the basilica of Our Lady of the Macarena is open!!!! I ask if I can pop in while they go check out the menu. It’s absolutely beautiful inside and there is a wedding going on during mass. So cool!!!! I say some prayers, see the beautiful couple getting married and then sneak out as other visitors did. Although I also saw many of the wedding goers also sneaking out and hanging out at the bars that surround the church 🤨 2 of them had the same pink/magenta dress…did the bridesmaids even sneak out 🫢 Anyway, the place GB picked was a no go so we keep walking around. We stop at this little bar to get snacks that were called “pollo Kentucky.” I don’t think you need to speak Spanish to know what that means…GB and the kids were stopping! As they snack on “pollo Kentucky” I find a restaurant that’s a hike but totally doable. As we start walking, we pass by our Ojalá place and definitely agree we will be stopping back here for the ice cream. We continue walking on and 2 spots a pizza place that looks so good. Well, pizza won and we end up mixing the restaurant and settle for pizza. It was perfect. We ended up playing our CLR game while we waited for the pizza and then enjoyed the biggest slices of pizza I have ever seen. The funny thing was I asked for a fork and knife and they just smiled and said we don’t have that here. So we made it work with our hands and had fun doing it.

We then made our walk back to Ojalá to cap off the night with ice cream and then walked home. The day was definitely not we had planned but it really worked out for the best for everyone. Another early morning tomorrow to catch the train to Valencia means packing up, doing laundry and making sure we are rested for the next half of our trip. Long train ride tomorrow means a day to chill and recharge so that we are ready to take on Valencia!

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racingliners · 2 years ago

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F1 Re-Watch 2022: Round 9 - Canada

Ah, the return to Circuit Gilles Villeneuve (beloved)!

I find it ironic that I’m calling this series/thing/me yelling into the abyss a re-watch when I did not watch that much of C4s Highlights shows last year, but anyway. So again, I don’t remember much from Montreal, mainly drama about Seb’s helmet, Merc porpoising and Alonso’s penalty debacle.

So, on we go!

Amazon was the race’s title sponsor? ew

I’ve been saying this a lot to pals, but when will Pirelli drop the C1, C2 nonsense and bring back the tyre rainbow???

ouch. Seb’s in P16. AMR22 WHY

Mick in P6 and Lewis in P4 though!!!!

ALONSO IN P2??????

????????

oh quali was wet, that makes a little more sense

[Formation Lap]: That was the slowest/worst FL I have ever seen, lads what were you doing sdohgeso

[Start/Lap 1]: oh my days Lewis and Kev racing at the start, spicy

Verstappen, Fernando and Sainz just driving off unbothered leaving everyone else to fight over crumbs

ayyy Seb up one place I’ll take it

[Lap 3]: Sainz thinking about racing Fernando. Spanish on Spanish violence. Will they stay on each other’s Christmas card list? More at 10.

oh Sainz got past with DRS. that wasn’t as violent as I was expecting.

[Lap 4]: How can Esteban see Kevin’s front wing damage from two cars back??? F1 drivers are something else man

[Lap 6]: Seb pitting already??? What did AM have for lunch???

I also completely glossed over Leclerc being at the back of the field, he’s up into P15 though!

[Lap 8]: oop Perez’s car went poof

aaaaand VSC

[Lap 11]: Sainz is leading???

[Lap 12]: oh no not Lewis on Esteban violence again

oh thank goodness it was a clean pass

[Lap 13]: Crofty rooting for Mick to (finally) get his first points 🥺. He has one right.

Leclerc into P13, man’s zooming.

[Lap 14]: Albon in P10??? Pet power!!

[Lap 15]: Four car battle for P10? Midfield spice I adore you

[Lap 17]: Man Albon’s defending is superb, Val is just not getting past him.

[Lap 18]: Aaaand he just got triple passed by Val and Leclerc. It was fun while it lasted.

“Don’t think this can be an easy win for the Red Bull driver” Crofty please stoop drinking the delusion juice.

[Lap 20]: Mick NOOOOOOOOO 😭

Seb stopped again????? AM besties what are we doing????

oh, Mick had a mechanical issue. I will be taking a sledgehammer to the VF-22 right after the W13

[Lap 21]: Lewis v Sainz you say? 👀

Every time they cut to the wall of champions camera I get v stressed

ugh you can really see the cars bouncing up and down on the straight. not fun.

Oh dear. McLaren pitstop clownery. Germany 2019 flashbacks.

OH Charles’ pass on Bottas though.

[Lap 23]: Oh thank goodness it was easy for Lewis to get past Fernando, my blood pressure would not have taken then racing each other well.

Helmet watch: Zhou back with the pretty porcelain pattern helmet 😍👌

[Lap 25]: aw Lance in the points at his home race!!!

Seb watch: He’s in P14. After all those pitstops I’m not surprised 😭

[Lap 27]: How does Fernando have any tyres left considering he hasn’t stopped yet???

v wild he’s still in P4

[Lap 29]: Oh finally he remembered where the pitlane is

Charles: I don’t have grip!! Ferrari: Read at 15:25

(truly thank goodness Rueda is no longer in charge of Ferrari’s strategy)

[Lap 30]: tbh I’d kind of forgotten Verstappen was still there

[Lap 33]: Meanwhile Lance still hasn’t pitted??? What was going on at the AM pitwall????

“I’ve got an idea for a book: Lando Norris and Alex Albon’s sad Canadian Grand Prix stories” and this is why I pick in the international feed on F1 TV ty Ted

[Lap 36]: Lance still heading the P9 train

“We are thinking Plan D” “Whatever” Big mood Charles. Colossal mood.

[Lap 39]: Am I being delusional or is Seb catching up to Dan??

Yeah the gap went from 1.9 to 1.3. Let’s get it!!!

It... being 12th place. I will take it.

[Lap 42]: Charles finally pits. And it’s a slow stop to boot. Clowneria Ferrari continues.

And he’s at the back of the Stroll train. I feel like this race almost sums up his 2022 season.

[Lap 44]: heh. Lewis got past Verstappen as he came out the pits. It’s not gonna last but I’ll take the lap count irony.

[Lap 47]: Finally a Seb sighting!!! Albeit v brief

And Charles gets past Zhou

Finally, there’s my boy!!!! Chasing Tsunoda for P12

[Lap 48]: Lance FINALLY pits. As does Yuki, Seb into P11!!!

OH SHIT Yuki crashed coming out the pits

[Lap 49]: Safety Car time (AM SC my beloved!!)

Seb still has 20 laps to do on a set of Hards 😭

[Lap 50]: oh that was a nice double stop from Alpine

[Lap 52]: FINALLY a Seb and Chris team radio followed by Lewis and Bono thank you for the crumbs F1

And a Bono sighting. ty global feed 🤍.

[Lap 53]: Seb in P9 but on on 30ish lap old hard tyres. *distressed noises*

[Lap 55]: Not even a hint of spice at the SC restart. smh.

Seb still in P9 though ��

Seb v Zhou??? idk if I can take it.

[Lap 56]: 15 laps left arghhhhh idk if his tyres will hold.

[Lap 57]: And Zhou passes Seb, not that surprising given Seb’s tyres

oh shit Sainz on Verstappen violence??? Is it 2015 Toro Rosso again????

[Lap 58]: Seb down into P11. Damn you 38 lap old hards.

[Lap 59]: Lewis vibing while Sainz and Verstappen think about murdering each other, an unbothered King.

[Lap 60]: Potential engine problem for Fernando???

(unrelated but I paused to get some chocolates for the last 10 laps, please be spicy)

[Lap 63]: Lance got past Seb, I’ll be taking a sledgehammer to those tyres once I’m done with the Haas and W13 (not you Lance you’re great)

Not Seb and Lance being investigated after the race for a SC infringement 😭 boys WHY????

idiots (affectionate) both of you

[Lap 65]: Also this battle for the lead was not worth getting Ferrero Rocher out for smh.

[Lap 66]: If I was to rate the space level this is a solid chicken korma

oop. Fernando wanting to incite some Alpine violence. #JustFernandoThings

[Lap 67]: aevherufhe Ted saying Verstappen has to be careful at the last chicane bc he’s a world champion now WHEEZE

Potential 6th RBR race win in a row??? It’s only sexy when Seb does that.

[Lap 69]: Gap down to under a second though 👀

[Lap 70]: I kinda feel like this battle is done, Sainz just isn’t close enough.

[Finish]: Anyway Lewis in P3 wooo!!!!

whew Charles made it P5 in the end. Once again having Ferrari’s braincell.

Well, that was a race. Bit of a slow burn but didn’t quite deliver in the end, and we had some midfield spice, but not quite enough for me. It again felt more like a strategy race than a race race, especially with all the safety cars.

6 and a half front wings out of 10. Next race: Silverstone!!

#F1 Re watch #F1 2022 re watch #F1 Liveblog #Canada edition

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niallandtommo · 3 years ago

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#idk how to tag this as a trigger warning but pls don’t read this if you don’t wanna read anything about weight and bad eating habits #i feel bad for even talking about this stuff because i’m trying to be body positive and i am #but apparently not when it comes to my own body #so i’ve gained weight #idk how much because i’m too scared to step on a scale #but lots of my clothes don’t fit anymore #and i’m trying really hard not to hate myself because like hello there are more important things happening in the world #and even in my life #but it’s bothering me that i can’t wear my fave clothes anymore #i’m not doing diets and shit like that anymore because it’s dumb and unhealthy #but i’m basically eating fast food and candy all day long #so like i don’t wanna do any intense diets but i know i should try to eat other things than just pizza and pasta every day #but i’m too lazy to cook and buy all these ingredients #i’m typing this while i’m eating a pack of candy and drinking red bull at work #i literally have no self control anymore and i just eat whatever i want whenever i want #i’m also worried about my health #i’ve been dealing with stomach issues for a while now and i know all this shit is not good for my heart and stuff #but idk how to stop eating all this junk food #i don’t even know where i’m going with this post but i’m really frustrated and mad at myself #i’ve been using the pandemic and my mental health as an excuse #i’m always like ‘treat yourself’ but like. every day #and even if i ignore the fact that i gained weight (because yes i know that’s ok and every body is different)#i know it’s not good for my health #if i keep eating all this junk food my stomach issues will get worse and i could get other health problems #idk i just wish i had more self control #but i eat when i’m bored and i’m bored 85% of the time and it’s even worse when i’m bored at work #because then i’ll just go to aldi to get more junk food #uGH this is so dumb #i’m tired of constantly thinking about my body and being responsible for my own meals lol

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i-put-the-yan-in-polyandry · 3 years ago

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More Slime God in SAGAU

Me: Oh worm? No cap? Like, on god?

Someone, crying: Please, Your Grace, I don't understand what you're saying.

---

Me, in Mondstadt: I love all of my acolytes equally.

Jean: We were attacked while you were gone.

Me: Is Klee okay???

---

Me, again, in Liyue this time: I love all of my acolytes equally :)

Zhongli: The abyss attacked while you were gone.

Me: Are Xiao and Ganyu okay???

---

Me, once again, now in Inazuma: I definitely love all of my acolytes equally.

Yoimiya: Oh, by the way, there was an attack while you were gone.

Me: Is Thoma okay???

---

Me: There's absolutely no favoritism here :)

Literally everyone else: [presses X to doubt]

---

Zhongli: Okay, I’m going to get the wedding cake.

Venti: Perfect, while you do that I’ll check on the ring bear.

Zhongli: ...

Zhongli: You mean ring bearER, right?

Venti: ...

Zhongli: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to Their Grace's wedding.

---

Yoimiya: I’ve never asked someone out. How do you even do it?

Me: Oh, what I do is, I look them up and down and I say: “Hey… how you doin’?”

Yoimiya, scoffing: Oh, please.

Me to Yoimiya: Hey, how you doin’?

Yoimiya:

Yoimiya: *giggles and blushes*

---

Me: Sometimes I get so caught up on being gay that I forget I’m actually grey ace.

---

Me: I am not a lunatic. I have the psychiatric report to prove it. A slender majority of the panel decided in my favour.

Someone: The panel is literally your cult.

---

Venti: You treat an outside wound with rubbing alcohol. You treat an inside wound with drinking alcohol.

---

Me: I hate how you're just born out of nowhere, and you're forced to go to school and get education so you can get a job. What if I wanted to be a duck? No one ever asked me if I want to be a duck!

Whoever's on duty that day: Your Grace, please—

---

Me, after accidentally making someone cry: I didn’t even realize how sarcastic I was being. It’s starting to become a problem, I think.

---

Me: Yum, thanks!

Treasure Hoarder: [puts more tape over my mouth] I said stop eating it.

---

Me at every moment with the cult: As someone who has a long history of not understanding anything, I feel confident in my ability to continue not knowing what is going on.

---

Me, trying to figure out how to realize my mega awesome god powers: I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul.

Zhongli, already removing every potential hazard in my vicinity: How about you don't?

---

Me: But when all hope seemed lost, I had an epiphany!

Me, earlier that day when I was struggling with being a cult leader: I'm going to throw myself into the sea.

---

Me, surrounded by all these hot bitches: I love saying 'fuck me' because it can either be sexual or self-loathing and those are two things that describe me perfectly.

---

Childe: A fistfight CAN be romantic.

---

Me: No thanks

Me: I'm god

---

Venti: Now the recipe calls for two shots of vodka

Venti: [upends the bottle]

---

Me: Pretend I'm useful

---

Me: If I stay in bed I'll be warm. If I get in the bath, I'll also be warm. But the distance between the bed and bath? No. That is not warm.

---

Me doing cool cult things: Blackmail is such an ugly word. I prefer extortion. The X makes it sound cool.

---

Imposter: *transforms to look like me*

Me: Okay, are you like BLIND? You look nothing like me. First off, I'm way taller. Secondly, I DO NOT look so sleep deprived and lastly, if you could drag comb through that hair you're like a 7 on a good day and I've been told I'm a constant 10.

---

Me, seeing Kaeya, Childe, Diluc, and Venti on a single task: My expectations are low, but they can always go lower.

---

Me: You can de-escalate any situation by asking "are we about to kiss?"

Venti: Doesn't work to get out of public disturbance tickets though

---

Me with Klee: Arson? Oh, you mean "crime brûlée".

---

Me: I'm naturally funny because my life is a joke.

---

Me, T-posing over Ganyu: Go to Bed. This is no longer a request, This is now a Threat.

---

Me: We got a free day now. What do you wanna do? Eat? Sleep? Nap? Snack?

---

Me: My favorite outdoor activity is going back inside

---

Xiao: Could you be any more annoying?

Venti: Yes.

---

Ganyu: How are you today, Your Grace?

Me: Please don't make me think about life.

#slime god in sagau #slimegod.speaks #crack lmao #slime god in teyvat #i don't remember the tag lmao #kinda lost the plot midway through but shh i'm having fun

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boy-in-a-flower-crown · 3 years ago

Text

notable people from my seven months of working the graveyard shift

- the regular who came in every day before 5 am to buy at least two lottery tickets and two scratch tickets

- on one occasion he came in while I was mopping the floor and he couldn't see me and i yelled "hi!" and he responded with "i wish I was"

- the surprisingly well dressed but still very exasperated man who came in at about three am asking for coffee creamer

- the 34 year old 5 foot tall woman who came in wearing hello kitty PJs at 4:45 in the morning and was incredulous that i asked her for ID when she asked to buy cigs

- the man with a smoker's voice who purchased four dollars worth of gas entirely with quarters

- the man who came in without a mask, ordered an extra large coffee, and when I started saying "because you're not wearing a mask i will have to dispense the beverage for you", he cut me off after "mask" and said "oh yeah I'm so sorry dude! i just had the most passionate kiss with someone..." while putting up a bandana. his credit card declined on $2.30 and he then ran away looking for cash. he never came back.

- the man with a heavy russian accent who was very upset that we didn't carry whole coffee beans

- the customer on skip the dishes that ordered five bottles of pepsi, a litre of milk and a bag of wine gums at 1 in the morning

- the person who left a mostly empty tub of Betty Crocker french vanilla frosting open and with a spoon on the counter

- the woman who came in at 1:30am asking to use the bathroom and when I told her no pubic access she said, verbatim, "I'm gonna take his head between my thighs, or what's left of them because I'm a skinny little chicken, and I'm gonna pop it off." no i don't know who "he" is

- the man who came in quite literally strutting at 4:30 am saying "cinnamon buns" over and over

- the kid who told me "have a good evening" at 5:30am

- the woman who asked me for cigs and rolled her eyes when I ID'd her, said "I'm 30 years old", and walked out. that's when I noticed that not only was she in her pyjamas, but she was also wearing slippers. like, in the house with a housecoat, bright pink and fuzzy kind of slippers

- the man who had to be at least in his 40s who was using what appeared to be a spiderman themed velcro clasped wallet

- the man who practically begged me to get the store to order more cinnamon buns

- the man who asked "where's your floss?" at 1:30am

- the absolute chaotic boys who asked me to sell them single cigs

- the Uber driver who told me "bless you and bless your family, you're doing a wonderful job"

- the person who ordered two packs of triple a batteries and nothing else at 1 in the morning

- the very spunky girl who came in at 2 in the morning asking if we sold caramels, and told me "it was a craving i got at 1am and i was like 'yeah let's make this!' and no. it didn't work. toxic sludge from hell." and left.

- the older woman who said "the luckiest married women become mothers, and the luckiest married men become motherfuckers."

- the boys who came in at 11pm and asked if we sold firecrackers

- the guy who straight up asked me if he could steal a taquito

- the people who made popcorn in our microwave at 2 in the morning

- the woman who told me to go masturbate after i ID'd her

- an entirely separate woman who came in wearing different hello kitty PJ pants, asked for cigs, and was incredulous when I ID'd her

- a man with an incredibly thick Irish accent who asked me why i was on the graveyard shift, and after saying "it's a pretty easy shift, especially as an introvert" he said "introversion doesn't exist" then as he was leaving he said, "you're adhd as fuck though, aren't you"

- the person who ordered two bottles of water and three packs of gum at two in the morning

- the woman who, as she was leaving, said "until next time, keep fit, and have fun."

- the man who came in at 4:30 am and told me he just had a really good date with a seagull

- the girl who asked me if her hair gave me a stoner vibe when it actively made me think of an anime girl

- the guy who was driving a bobcat

- the (definitely cis) guy who came in looking for oil and the like at about 4am. when he brought all his stuff to the counter he said, "this shit is getting too expensive" and i responded "this is why I don't drive," to which he said "well if it's got tits or tires it's gonna cause you trouble and it's gonna cost you a lot of money."

- the guy who came in, put two cans of red bull on the counter, then asked if we had twizzlers. upon hearing no, he said "forget it" and walked out without buying the red bulls.

- the man who, to pay for his items, pulled out a jar of coins that included pennies (I'm in Canada, where pennies have been discontinued for almost a decade)

- the man who came in and asked if any sex stores are in the area and open (it was 2 am). after telling him no he tried buying condoms, for which his card declined. he then proceeded to ask me if I wanted to hang out with him when my shift was over.

- the ridiculously drunk man who came in at three in the morning and when I said "hi!" he replied "good"

- the boys in their early twenties who came in at 3am and while waiting for me to grab the slurpee cup i overheard one of them say "look at how good his hair looks, i feel like i should be being fucked looking at it."

- the man who paid for a pack of cigs almost entirely in quarters

- *we'd started doing donations for covid relief in India* the man who after asking if there were sizes for the condoms, during the transaction i asked if he'd like to make a donation and he said "why would I donate to covid?" after his payment went through he said "would you?" and i said "donate to a covid relief fund?" and he said "yeah" and i was like "??? yes???"

- two people asked me if I said the donation was for chlamydia. the first guy said "if it's for chlamydia then I'm not donating" but the second guy said "i mean chlamydia sucks too, I'd donate either way"

- the three very drunk and very considerate girls who were all dressed as flappers

- the guy who asked for four tea bags for his 12oz cup and proceeded to make what I'm assuming was an attempt at a London fog

- the man who came in at about 3:40 after I'd already completed cash counts. he put a jug of chocolate milk on the counter and said "does it bother you that I'm buying this? like, can you keep it a secret just between us?" and i was like "i mean yeah sure" and then i noticed he was holding several rolls of dimes and i told him "i can't take cash right now as I've already completed the counts for shift change" and he was like "not even for gas?" and i was internally like "yeah duh" and then he goes "look man i can go without the gas but i have to have my chocolate milk" and i was like "there's nothing i can do" and then he said "do you drink chocolate milk?" and i said "not frequently, no" and he said "oh, not since you were six?" and i was like "I'm lactose intolerant" which shut him up for about three seconds before he said "you're really not gonna budge?" and then walked out

- the guy who asked for the bathroom and when I said there's no public access he said "what about friends, I've been here twice" and i said "unless you're staff you don't get to use it" and he said "i have a staph infection, does that count" and when my unimpressed look told him no he said "well i tried" and left

- the eighty year old man who was actively using a Bowser snap wallet

- the guy who had to change his tire directly in front of the store at two in the morning

- the guy who punched me in the face with a bottle of iced tea, causing me a concussion and ultimately causing me to quit my job

#funny #funny stories #night shift stories #night shift #work stories #this job sucked #flower boy text post #read all the way through #worth the read

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crowdedimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Spill It - Harry Styles

an// i literally love the spill your guts concept, but hopefully this is a new take on it! also, this is not going to be chronologically correct to real life, that’s the fun of fiction! also in a world without covid

“I will never understand how you continue to convince people to do this.” I sigh, taking in the table in front of me.

“Let’s take a look at what Y/n here is so fond of.” James teases before giving the table a good spin, showing off all of its contents, “To start we’ve got salmon smoothie, beef tongue, bird saliva, scorpion, fish head, hot sauce, bull penis, and finally, the water beetle. I think you’re both familiar with the rules of this game.”

“I’m sure.” Niall smiles, turning his head towards mine and I nod in agreement.

Niall and I go way back, having been friends for years. We met back in 2013 when I opened for One Direction’s tour. I quickly become close with all of them. One more so than the others. Harry. He and I just clicked, everyone knew it. It took months for us to start dating, afraid that we would ruin the good thing we had, but neither of us wanted to wait anymore. You can’t pass up a connection like that.

“Niall, I will ask you the first question.” James announces, “We’ll go with the salmon smoothie.”

“Oh god.” He mutters.

James lets out a loud laugh and covers his face in shock over the question. He turns it to me so I can catch a glimpse before he reads it out-loud and my jaw drops.

“You might as well drink now, not even hear the question.” I tease, leaning across the table.

“Niall, who is your least favorite member of One Direction?”

Niall’s head drops in defeat, even though he was sure going into this a question like this would be brought up. He just wishes it could’ve been on something a little easier to choke down.

“Drink up, babe.” I smile, a teasing smile crossing my face.

“Fuck.” He shakes his head.

“I can’t… “ He reaches for the glass and throws it back, it takes a few seconds for the sludge to finally shift and he can get a mouthful. A sour look takes over his face as soon as it reaches his taste buds. He quickly leans down to spit it in the bucket.

“That’s horrendous.” He coughs, “It was like a salmon yogurt.”

“Alright Niall, your turn to ask Y/n.”

I smile politely to my friend of many years who takes on a sinister look once he’s read the question.

“Please be nice.” I stick out my bottom lip.

“Right right.” He laughs, spinning the table as he takes in his options.

“Don’t forget I have a very good memory, especially of the years spent on a shared tour bus…” I chaff.

“Don’t remind me.” He settles on the hot sauce, thankfully one of the lesser evil options. I would take this over anything else on the table.

I did crash on their bus more than my own. It started because they were fun, barely older than me, but then when Harry and I started dating we became. Even sharing a bunk as uncomfortable as it was most nights. Those boys grew up with me, and I’m thankful to still be in good contact with all of them.

“You recently welcomed your third god-child into the world when Zayn Malik and Gigi Hadid welcomed their daughter to the world.”

“Yes, I did.” I smile at the cheering audience. I have managed to do the impossible in staying close with all of the boys since the hiatus. Well, all but one. Gigi and I met years ago, and I introduced the pair at an award show. The other boys had their reason for making me god mother, but it did give me this monopoly on all of the One Direction children.

“You are actually the god-mother to all three of the One Direction children. Who’s your favorite?”

My jaw drops at the question. Who had the audacity to ask that? To think I could ever answer that about any of my little nieces and nephews. The audience cheers in shock over the question as well.

“You’re joking.” I scoff, “They’re children, I could never pick a favorite!”

“How about your least favorite then?” James teases.

“You lot are all horrendous!”

I grab the shot glass and down the hot sauce immediately. I love all of them way too much to ever pick. I’m sure it’s exactly what they expected with a question like that. It burns for a few seconds and I put the glass back and try to shake it off.

“Nice one!” Niall cheers.

“Now James-” I clear my throat, the hot sauce catching up with me, “Name one guest that you would never invite back to the show.” I bite back a smile and fan my face with the card.

James looks up into the camera as if he actually wants to answer.

“C’mon, you can do it! Just for once.” I grin like a little kid in a candy store, I want him to answer. I want to know, and it would be nice to finally get him to reveal an answer like this.

“Are you trying to get this show canceled?” He turns to one of the producers off screen. He looks between them and the water beetle I’ve placed in front of him. He gives his head one last shake before throwing it down the hatch.

“Niall, it’s your last night on Earth, you can either spend it with your ex girlfriend Ellie Goulding or Selena Gomez?”

He goes back and forth, trying to be polite with his answer before eventually picking Ellie.

“Y/n, who is your favorite member of One Direction?” Niall asks, the smirk growing wider with every word he utters.

The crowd roars, knowing very well of my relationship from a few years ago. One that people still brought up regularly in both Harry and my life due to us remaining friendly.

“What is up with you guys wanting to know my favorites?” I roll my eyes, “Give me something I can actually answer.”

“Fine! I’ll ask you one!” Niall grins, an evil and family glint in his eyes appearing, “What songs have you written about Harry?”

A red hue takes over my face again, only this time it’s not from the hot sauce.

“Either that, or the bird saliva.” He grins, showing off a wide smile. If only we weren’t on national television and I could smack it off.

“It smells like wet dog.” I sigh, I pick it up giving it a whiff before setting it back down on the table, “Could I name one song?”

Niall and James exchange a look before the nod accepting it.

“I wrote the song Everything about him.” I smile. It shouldn’t exactly be a surprise to most people, there were clues. Both of our fans were smart enough to catch on and read between the lines. It was a song I released almost two years ago, the album following our breakup.

It was a powerful song, it quickly became one of the favorites of my fans. It’s also one of the few that I don’t perform. I can’t think of a time I’ve sung that song without crying, it wasn’t meant for the stage. It was meant to be played in your bedroom while you stare at your ceiling. People have always understood that.

“It’s a lovely song.” Niall smiles knowingly.

“Thank you.” I smile, I move on and reach out to ask James his question.

“James, you have been blessed to have both Niall and I on for carpool karaoke.” I smile at Niall, “Which one did you enjoy more?”

I can’t fight off the laughter that takes over. As if it isn’t hard enough to answer questions like these, it’s only upped the ante by having us both here.

“You’re kidding.” He dabs away the sweat on his forehead.

“It’s okay, Niall won’t be that offended.” I reassure and stick out my tongue at Niall.

“You’re an arse.” Niall laughs with the roll of his eyes.

In the middle of Niall and I acting like children bickering, James tears off a bite of the cows tongue without another word.

“Oh god.” I turn away from the unpleasant sight.

“That’s rank.” Niall huffs.

Niall answers his next question from James again, successfully getting away without eating anything.

“Y/n, if the past four years you have gotten into acting. You have made quite a name for yourself on the big screen as well as on the stage.” Niall begins.

“I don’t like where this is going.” I laugh.

“Rank your co-stars from your past films best to worst; Dylan O’Brian, Logan Lerman, and John Boyega.” Niall smacks his knee with a laugh.

“I have been blessed to work with so many talented actors” I start, picking up the terrifying looking bug that has been placed in front of me.

“Mhm.” James agrees with an evil smile on his face.

“So talented, that I could never rank them.” I throw back the scorpion before I can second guess myself. I manage to chew enough of it for it to count before spitting it out as gracefully as I can.

That’s a wrap after that, enough time getting juicy content out of us quite literally either spilling or filling our guts. I give Niall a hug before going back to my dressing room. I couldn’t be more thankful to share the couch tonight with a long time friend.

I drive home, eager to go home and relax. The episode won’t air until later tonight which gives me a couple hours of peace from Twitter. I take a bath and make myself some dinner, before eventually climbing into bed and turning on the TV to watch the episode.

It’s good, fun to watch back. Niall and I make a good pair, easy to read the friendship on camera. In time the episode ends and I turn off the TV and decide to go to bed. It’s been a long day full of press. Before I can actually drift off my phone lighting up and vibrating on my nightstand grabs my attention.

You are my everything too. xx

PART TWO??????

#harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #Harry Styles

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nightingaelic · 3 years ago

Note

could you do Fallout New Vegas companion’s reactions to a Courier Six who is also the Lone Wanderer telling their stories from their time in DC? (bonus points for Arcade’s reaction to them hating the enclave, and if that would make him decide to keep his past hidden even longer, or if he would still tell them?)

The logistics and implications of this make my head spin. This is also super long, honestly I should just quit writing reacts and start writing fics OH WAIT

Getting the courier talking was a tough thing to do, but on nights where the moon was full and the coyotes' howls were miles away or at least behind some stout walls, on nights where they were a few beers in and they hadn't seen another living soul in a few days, that Mojave Express deliverer started to reminisce. That wasn't really the surprising part, though. No, the surprising part was what they would remember, fondly or not-so-fondly: A world apart from the desert, a continent away on another coast, and stories of life in a vault, a missing father, pure water and a Brotherhood divided.

Arcade Gannon: Arcade didn't mind these moods, at least when they first cropped up. He nodded along as the courier talked about living in their father's shadow, about feeling cornered by their own family's legacy. He hung on their words about living in the cradle of America's history, about Project Purity, all of the gritty details of modifying a GECK to bring water to a devastated wasteland.

Eventually though, the courier's memories soured, with the arrival of Enclave remnants in their life. Arcade folded into himself with every harsh word, every jolt of plasma that had disrupted his friend's world relived in horrific detail. They gestured angrily as they described their newfound purpose, their battle for power with the fractured Brotherhood of Steel at their back, and their smug satisfaction at the moments they were able to crack open Raven Rock and the Enclave's mobile base crawler and lay waste to their tormentors.

It took a few rounds of these stories before the courier noticed he shrank and grew quiet whenever they neared the end of their story about breaking into another vault to find the GECK. They stopped abruptly one night. "What's up with you?"

"Um..." Arcade scratched the back of his neck and looked away. "Nothing. Nothing, I just... have some personal experience with the Enclave, myself."

The courier sighed. "Yeah, there's a few people walking around the West Coast that have similar stories to mine. Arroyo's full of them, for one. Is it something like that?"

Arcade took a deep breath. "I feel... well, it's a lot closer to home, for me. Close enough to raise questions, so I don't talk about it much."

"Close enough to..." The courier twisted their face up in confusion for a moment, before realization set in and their eyes grew large. "You were... your... oh."

"Mmm-hm."

"Well, fuck me." The courier smiled and popped a cap off of another beer. "I've been doing all the talking, haven't I? Let's hear your story about working with the guys in power armor who ruined my life, right after dad did."

Craig Boone: Whenever the courier started up like this, Boone couldn't help but notice a familiar twinge of regret and self-doubt in their voice. It shone through most clearly when they spoke about their time with the Brotherhood of Steel, the men and women they'd fought alongside and lost during their struggle against the remnants of the Enclave. It was there, too, in their story about returning to the vault they grew up in, setting the chaos that had arisen in their wake to rest, but not being able to go back to the way things were.

Boone didn't pry. He knew that feeling well. Instead, he cracked open bottles of beer, liquor, soda, whatever they had on hand during their nights in the desert, and just listened. He'd done the same for Carla, when they were younger and new to each other and he couldn't get enough of her voice and how it flowed endlessly, easily, the way his never could. He absorbed it all now as he did then: The joy, the pain, the loss, the fear, the triumphs and falls and abandoned dreams that filled the courier up and drove them to travel west, beyond anything they had ever known.

That last part stumped Boone a bit, though. "Why didn't you stay?" he finally asked one night.

They looked surprised. "Stay? Stay where? I didn't have a home anymore."

Boone shook his head. "With the Brotherhood. Or some other settlement."

"Like Megaton?" The courier sighed. "I thought about it. Close to the vault, friendly people, easy work... I guess I just didn't want to wind up... stuck."

They flushed red and looked away from him. Boone knew why they were embarrassed, but he also knew the truth in their words.

Sometimes the courier cried after they had finished, though they did their best to hide it. Boone pretended not to notice. He was pretty sure they knew he was pretending, but he was also pretty sure that pointing it out would be worse than just letting it be an open secret between them. The silence between them endured, but something grew inside it and flourished. Some kind of deeper understanding.

Lily Bowen: The more the courier spoke, the more Lily made connections in her muddled mind. Of course they knew the basic layout of most vaults, they had grown up in one. Of course they were extra-sensitive to the Mojave heat, they had come to the desert from the cooler of the two coasts. Of course they'd been extra-wary around the super mutants or nightkin of Jacobstown, they had only known angry super mutants looking to grow their own numbers through any means necessary.

Their shared experience of growing up inside a vault reminded Lily of happier days, and she often asked questions about Vault 101 during the courier's stories. "Were you sweet on anyone inside your old home?" she asked, with a big smile befitting a proud grandma.

The courier blushed. "That's not very polite, Lily."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearie."

"No, no it's okay." The courier smiled. "There was a boy who picked on me a lot, but I never figured out whether he did it because he hated me or liked me. His name was Butch. And there was Amata, my childhood friend. She was the daughter of the Overseer."

"Daughter of the Overseer?" Lily grinned. "I'm sure she was a lovely young woman."

The courier looked a little misty. "Yeah. She was. Probably still is."

Lily pulled a handkerchief that used to be a small tablecloth from inside her overalls and handed it over. "Maybe we can go back there together, pumpkin," she offered. "I always wanted to travel to the capital. We can visit your friends, see the sights."

"Yeah, maybe someday." The courier accepted the gift and blew their nose. "I've got some things I need to finish up here before I even think about wandering back east, though."

"Then let's make a list and do our chores," Lily said happily. "Number one?"

"Ohhhh, man." The courier smiled up at her. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul got a faint smile on his face whenever the courier started up like this, as if their memories reminded him of another place he had come from, another time. While they couldn't have more different backgrounds, pasts- hell, he had several hundred years on the courier, even if they shared the same road today- there was something in the description of the other roads they had walked that made him feel warm on a cold night.

"What's on your mind?" The courier asked him one night, when Raul's smile grew larger than usual.

"Nada, boss," he reassured them. "You're just a good reminder that I can change my mind about the future anytime I'd like. Tell me the one about that radio DJ again."

"Again?" The courier rolled their eyes. "Why? I could tell you a million stories about Underworld and all the ghouls that lived there, but all you want to hear about is Three Dog. You'd probably have more in common with the Underworld folks, honestly."

Raul nodded noncommittally. "Sí, but my favorite stories are about people who had to rise above bad situations and become someone uncommon. Anyone who's able to do that is either fighting for something great or running from something terrible. Sometimes both."

The courier shot him a skeptical look. "Three Dog's holed up in his radio station 24/7, he's not running from anything or out fighting for anything. All that stuff about 'the good fight' is a load of bull."

"Now, now, Six," Raul chastised. "Just because he looks like your average pendejo doesn't mean he isn't doing his part. You even told me his radio show is inspirational for the Capital Wasteland folks."

The courier held their hands up in the air and bobbled them, as if balancing an invisible scale. "The duality of man. Being an average pendejo, or convincing everyone around you that you aren't actually an average pendejo and can pull off miracles."

Raul laughed. "And which one are you, boss?"

"Eh, I'm still figuring it out."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass was never one for fixating on her own past, but she couldn't help but sympathize with the courier whenever they deigned to add onto their unbelievable story. It was hard enough for her to navigate her own damn life: She couldn't imagine being called upon to steer an entire area's destiny.

After another night of recalling their life inside a vault with their dad, then their unexpected loss of him right after being reunited on the surface, the courier stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry," they said.

Cass paused her swig of precious whiskey. "What?"

"I keep going on and on about my dad, and here you are not knowing what happened to yours."

"Eh." Cass took her drink and waved her hand around until the burning swallow made its way down. "S'loads of people in the wasteland without a clue what happened to their pops. I'm not special. In fact, I'd say it probably hurts a bit more, what happened with yours."

"Well, all the same." The courier sank deeper into their seat and examined their own bottle of spirits. "I feel like an open book, tonight. Anything you want to know about where I came from that I haven't already spilled?"

Cass thought for a moment. "Tribals."

"What about them?"

"Does the East Coast have them? You're not the first traveler I've met from there, but none of you have so much as mentioned any tribals out east."

"Mmm." The courier looked thoughtful. "I guess we do have them, though maybe not in the traditional sense. There's a mess of them in Point Lookout for sure, and at least one tribal group in the Capital Wasteland outright, but beyond that things are more... loose. Fewer intact families, fewer intact homes."

"Huh." Cass took another drink. "Maybe that's where my dad went."

She let the courier stew in the awkward silence for a bit before she grinned and reached out to smack them. "Just kidding. Keep going. I want to hear about that giant robot again."

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica usually sat and listened, spellbound, picturing a chapter of her order that had realized the very thing she kept trying to tell the Elders and made the ultimate sacrifice to follow their hearts anyway.

Well, maybe Elder Owyn Lyons hadn't come to the same realization as her, but he had had a change of heart that split his company and cut them off from almost everyone they had ever known. It had been five years since the High Elders had instituted radio silence toward their East Coast chapter, and so far there had been no attempts to re-establish contact.

Veronica prodded the courier for any info she could get about the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel. The courier let slip pretty early in their friendship that Elder Owyn Lyons had passed away, which wasn't unexpected. The man was 76 years old, after all. She learned on one particularly emotional night that his daughter, Elder Sarah Lyons, was also dead, something she wasn't sure even the Western Elders were aware of. That memory was clearly painful for the courier though, so Veronica didn't press for details.

"And the Enclave?" the Scribe asked one night, arms wrapped around her knees. "Are they completely gone?"

The courier grew cold. "Yes. I made sure of it."

"Right." Veronica nodded. "So the Brotherhood took over the air force base they were at. It must have been chock-full of tech and resources, if it was the Enclave's last stand."

"It was." The courier sighed and shifted in their seat. "And it woke up some of our brothers and sisters to their original mission in the Capital Wasteland. I thought maybe that selfishness had died with Liberty Prime, but... well, I didn't like it, so I left."

"Mmm, yeah." Veronica nodded again, sympathetically this time. "I know how you feel. Felt."

"Feel," the courier agreed. "I just wish there was more I could've done. Maybe there wasn't anything else, short of seizing power."

"You'd definitely get pushback for that in the Brotherhood," Veronica agreed. "But you might get that chance out here in the broader Mojave."

ED-E: At first, ED-E enjoyed the stories, trumpeting and cooing various beeps at the appropriate moments for emphasis. The one time the courier began badmouthing the Enclave, however, the eyebot waited until they had finished before playing back the first tape that Dr. Whitley had recorded before its trip.

The courier listened to the scientist's words from years ago, deflating slightly as it played out. When the tape had finished, they stood up and checked the eyebot over. "He sent you toward Navarro, huh?"

ED-E beeped affirmation, and the courier sighed. "But Navarro was already gone. I'm sorry. I guess I'm... well, me and the Brotherhood of Steel back east are responsible for your previous master's decision to send you away. Might be responsible for more, too."

ED-E beeped sadly. The courier pressed their forehead against the eyebot's metal dome in apology.

Rex: Well, surprising for most. Rex was not most. As soon as the courier got really into their recollections, Rex usually yawned and went to sleep. He stirred when he felt their hand reach down to scratch the ruff of his neck, or pat the glass dome that held his brain.

"Good dog," the courier said, through the veil of sleep. "You remind me of another pup that used to follow me around."

115 notes · View notes

messwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Western AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

(i'm gonna make you) feel it

a.k.a. ✨ MAKKI’S ADVENTURE TIME ✨

Hanamaki “Big Tease” Takahiro x Female Reader

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: Porn With Plot. Corruption Kink. Reader’s engaged to be married - a bride. Cheating. Highly inappropriate touching and dancing moves (that’s their job tho). Alcohol. Completely unresearched strippers industry. Lowkey exhibitionism. Fucking in a public space (private room). Fingering. Oral sex. SMUT: Doggy style over a sofa. Makki’s a little shit. Overuse of the word “cute” (for real, so many times omg).

Word count: ~7.3k

Note: Saint Dymphna and poor little me would like to introduce you all to the: 🤠 LAWBREAKERS MULTIVERSE 🤠

So, @dymphnasprose basically came at me with: “what about we take cowboys and make them skskskskskssk like magic mike style strippers” and thus was born the wicked duo newest adventure. We had a lot of fun (and a lot of panic) but here it is! Anyone asks why I’m doing two once again it’s also dymph’s fault and my sheer love for Iwaizumi. Also, dymph I love u and I’ve had lots of fun doing this little group project together🥺💕

That being said I’d also like to thanks @mixedhell who once again is a mage of dialogue and helped me several times; Tay, my love @deathcab4daddy, who helped beta part of this and also @xmyshya who was kind enough to beta this too <3

Makki’s songs: Cowboy Casanova (dymph’s courtesy) + Feel it

You can also read: IWAIZUMI | MATTSUN

Hanamaki is focused.

He surveys the screaming crowd inside the packed nightclub, sees the different groups occupying the big booths, the pretty decorations that never fail to distinguish his targets inside the dimly lit room.

Makki likes the meaning behind the different outfits and colors; the details merging into the allegory of remarkability, crafting the idea of uniqueness in their special day where screams of freedom swimming inside intoxicated heads build a tendency into wildness. In building lasting memories of a singlehood that doesn’t really exist anymore, into falling prey of sexy, large men who could take them into a one-time intoxicating memory that they can savor into the end of times.

Marriages can end, Makki thinks, but memories like the ones he makes are forever.

And tonight he has already found the one.

You must be the prettiest little thing he has seen in months, all beautifully clad in a sparkling white party dress, a sexy slit that shows the classical frilly garter adorning your thigh, with a golden black banner that announces for the whole world that you’re taken, soon to be married and enjoying your bachelorette party. It’s almost a challenge, really.

Great. That’s exactly how he likes it.

A brilliant and ridiculous white cowboy hat decorated to leave a tacky gown falling from your head is perched on the table where your small group sits, about eight women dressed in black and a beautiful entourage of bridesmaids if he ever saw one, but it’s you; cute, happy little you who blushed at the very first look at his partially naked torso when all Hanamaki did was pass by your table in his low cut jeans and open flannel shirt, a tilt of his cowboy hat made with half a mind to compliment the ladies until his eyes laid on you.

Your bright eyes had shined with embarrassment at your interest, chest filling with a renewed pull of air at the mere sight of him, a burning in your face that he could notice even in the poorly lit room, flashing lights giving him just the best of peeks -- your plush lips punished by the row of white teeth that closed around the soft muscle and pulled.

That was all he needed, the smallest of sights and still, the biggest of hints.

You were going to be his tonight. He’ll taint that pristine white and you’ll beg for his every move, he knows it just as he knows the women will scream for him as soon as he steps on the stage.

And, in fact, that will be sooner rather than later.

He’ll make sure of it.

The loud music is pulsing through his body, like waves crashing against his skin, his heart seemingly beating alongside the bass in deep, sexy strokes of the R&B music echoing through the club. The youngsters are doing their dance, a coordinated thing between the six newbies of the Club, while Makki and Mattsun wait by the side of the backdoor of the stage, ready to take their places in the next performance.

“Anyone in your sights yet?” Issei asks him as he passes him the bottle of water, which Takahiro puts on top of one of the structures before sending a small grin at the dark-haired man. They’ve been here for four years now, and they have joined the place together, looking to make a good buck while going to College. Stripping is fun, easy, and profitable when you’re young and hot and Matsukawa and Hanamaki are nothing else but.

“The one by the left, the table with the tacky cowboy hat and the golden balloons.”

“A fan of the work, I see.” Matsukawa pulls the curtain to the side just an inch, his eyes quickly surveying the space and centering on the acquired target. Makki knows exactly what he’s seeing, a table filled with a group of beautiful women and you in white shining over them all, the balloons above the wall seeming way more ridiculous once he knows about Makki’s plan of action.

One dick for life. Ha.

“Poor little thing doesn’t know what she’s in for tonight.” Mattsun’s grin is mischievous and all-knowing. Hanamaki has a type, it’s a running joke, but every good joke starts from a glimmer of truth. And in Makki’s case, it may as well be the truth itself.

“And that’s a sexy little group.”

“Yeah, it is. But you already have plans for tonight, don’t you. I’ve heard about it from Oikawa.”

Mattsun doesn’t answer, only a chuckle and a lopsided grin marking his face as he keeps studying the crowd.

The group performance wraps up quickly, being one without public interaction and soon enough Oikawa is making a show, threading between the public with his mic, hyping the crew out with just the right few words.

The lights start going down, softly casting the audience in shadows while the stage is tinged in bright colors before becoming red and by the time people’s eyes are focusing at the center again, Hanamaki and Matsukawa have taken their places.

The music starts to play, soft and calm, pulsing through the bodies of everyone as their eyes focus on the attractive duo in center stage. They’re not supposed to end up naked yet, that’s saved for the end, but as the choreography flows, sharp hip movements, thrusting motions like ocean waves crashing on rocky shores, still get women screaming at the top of their lungs enough for it all to merge with the song as if it’s part of the original bass.

Makki’s wearing a half-opened plaid flannel shirt with nothing under it, and he pops every remaining button open along to the song, the screams getting louder. His jeans are tight enough that every plane of muscle is noticeable, and his belt is black and striking, with a big, bull-shaped buckle. Later he’ll change his outfit to leather chaps and a vest, but right now, he’s more laid back. He looks good, he knows it, but the appreciation in your eyes as you coily drink his from from across the room is like a fucking golden star on his pride.

On top of his head, locked tight, it’s his pinched front cowboy hat. As Makki throws it in the air and catches in the middle of dancing, the screams engulf him from all sides.

But everything else is fading to the back of his mind as his eyes find yours in the dark, the appreciative, enthralled shine in them not lost to Makki. Could never be lost to Makki, who holds onto it as if it’s a life-line; You’re interested.

Ok, that’s good. But it’s also the basics.

Makki twirls and fall on the floor, hips fucking into nothing as the crowd goes insane. He kneels on stage, his shirt flying to the spectators; two women take hold of it, pulling in contrary directions until it rips.

Makki throws you a wink, every woman in that direction claiming it as theirs. You, however, shrug into yourself, eyes looking away as your hands tight their hold around the champagne glass they’re holding. You’re so cute, hands in front of your face as if that would keep you from staring. Makki feels himself glowing, growing excited at the mere sight of your scurrying eyes as they choose the floor instead of his body.

So fucking pure.

Takahiro wants to force you to look up and revel in the guilty desire he’s bound to find there. There’s no need to avoid him if he doesn’t charm you, that’s the beauty of soon-to-be brides. There’s such a deep will inside them to be faithful to the allegory of a husband they do not have yet, lost in a daydream of happiness in finding the one when they haven’t even tasted anything but. Makki eyes the golden balloons floating around the table while he dances -- one dick forever.

Poor little thing. He can’t let that happen, can he?

When Makki hops off the stage and walks over to your table between deafening screamings and pleads for him to take them, instead, his hand closes around your dainty little one, adorned with pretty french nails and just a single golden ring and even the soft, smooth skin of your hand against his rugged palm is a thrill inside his veins.

Your eyes are shining, nervousness sweeping from them as they lock with his. Hanamaki tries to be lowkey, giving you a reassuring smile supposed to be nice, to be trusting -- a complete disconnect of the way his guts stirs in the excitement of your touch.

He lowers his lips to your ears, pretends the way his nose runs over the shell is a mere accident. “Let’s go for a ride, sweetheart.”

Your lips fall open by the side of his face and Makki can feel the way you suck a breath, a little gasp ruining your efforts when he lets his lips brush against your jaw. Another accident, whoops. He’s such a careless boy, isn’t he?

Your teeth punish your bottom lip as your eyes seem to look anywhere but him, trembling hands as you seem half-way into telling him no. Makki can't have that, though. He brings his face to look deep in your eyes, a lopsided smile he can manoeuvre into being just the right amount of kind by now.

"You're not gonna let me go up there alone, will you?" He almost pouts, big hands finding their way on your arms in up and down motions that drag just the right amount of trembles from you for him to know he's winning. "There's no fun without you, sweet girl."

He dips his lips onto the shell of your ear once again, just in time to hide his mischief. "You're the star of the show. I'm just your ride."

That seems to make you giggle and Makki uses that to bring his grin into your view, palms sliding down your arms to clasp your hands and - finally - guide you up with him.

One thing Makki knows is that he likes his brides sweet.

Pliant.

And as you get up and follow him quietly and sheepish, clumsy tripping over yourself when some of your bridesmaids erupt in cheers, he knows he is right once again -- you’re just his type.

Thing is, Makki doesn’t waste time. He makes you twirl in your high heels just to have you falling in his arms, he picks you up without effort, a little gasp breaching your lips as your hands plant against his chest.

Makki just has to grin at the way in which you close your palms and retreat them back to yourself, quick, burning up in a beautiful, delicious expression of shame. Fuck, he wants to make you beg.

When he’s at the stage, he drops you on your feet with enough aggression to get you to slide straight to the floor, unsteady knees opening under you until your ass is planted on the stage.

Makki thinks your open mouthed expression, little breaths breaking through your lips as your anxious eyes stare up at him, have to be the best thing he’s seen in a while. And he’s just starting.

He bends at the waist, his hands to reach your knees and push them open, your bright little white dress sliding up so much he can steal a peek at your fancy underwear.

Such a vixen, aren’t you? All wrapped in lace.

Makki lets himself fall on top of you and you gasp, even as he stays holding himself in a plank, not one bit of skin touching yours. The song is pumping, slow and sexy even if the screams sound louder in the close space. He twists his hips, the rolling motion has them right between your juicy thighs. You’re forced to keep them wide open and the way in which you look mortified just may be what ends him.

Makki drops his knees in the ground, lets the screams wash over him as he drags his hips against your center, soft, then hard. His hands by the side of your head, his toned chest right in front of your face. He knows by the way his skin burns that you’re staring at him -- good, he wants to be the center of all your attention tonight.

Your hands are in front of yourself as if you’re afraid at your own excitement, eager eyes looking for his in a wirlwind of emotions and it makes his fucking skin erupt with goosebumps that the most noticiable one is desire.

Oh, Makki’s going to wreck you. The song turns frantic just as he comes to slide over your body, nose trailing along your collarbone and chest, teeth nipping at your clothes as if he would prefer to be doing it to your skin instead, and he feels the way your shame almost consumes you, body shaking as he finally reaches destination: right above your beautiful open thighs, so close he can almost taste you.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last. And Makki is forced by the choreography to climb back up your body even as he lets his hands linger a bit too close to your clothed center, every woman around screaming as if they can read his mind.

He gets back up and kneels between your open legs, thrusting in time with the music as if he’s actually still thinking about choreography and not in doing this to you later. You’re growing more embarrassed by the moment, your whole body burning and tense, but responsive to his movements and, better yet, his smiles.

His body is used to the motions, to swirling and grinding and thrusting in a wave motion, crashing over your hips time and time again until your lips fall open, and he knows he hit the jackpot.

Makki holds himself in a plank again, his skin turning clammy with the exertion, but he angles his crotch just right and has you singing a groan for him again -- then turning bright with shame in sequence.

Such a precious little thing indeed.

The ground choreo ends way too soon for Makki’s wishes, but he’s soothed by the way in which you let yourself be picked up, hands clinging to his shoulders with such a fierce hold he almost wants to test it out. He throws you up for a moment, relishes in your nails at his back, and his forearms hold you by the underside of your knee, closing on your hips.

And that makes your pretty little clothed cunt roll right against his semi-hard on. There’s a ripping sound, probably your slit getting wider to acomodate your open legs and thus, him.

Lovely.

Makki rolls his hips, right against your center once, and the crowd erupts in screams just as he starts mimicking fucking you standing. A beautiful option he saves in the back of his mind for later.

You let out a yelp, then proceed to try and hide your head against his neck, your pretty mouth gliding against his skin gives him such a high he almost loses the tempo of the song. He tells you to hold on and plants his hands on your bare ass, lifting you until he can have you in front of his face, a bit uncomfortable move but one that has every single woman in the club wet -- it’s in the air by now, and he can smell it. The idea makes his skin prickle, your hands holding his hair for dear life as if you’re afraid to fall, but your clothed cunt is right there, and he can’t pass the opportunity to steal a little touch as he pretends your hold is what pushes his head flush against your pussy.

You let out a beautiful sound almost in time with the song, and he is letting you fall once again on his arms, the smile on his lips the last nail on your pure coffin.

And unfortunately that means time’s up.

Makki lets your legs fall but holds you by your waist, depositing you on your own two feet at the stage and snickering at how your legs falter to hold you up on the high heels. So, as a gentleman, he takes your hand in his, helps you down the few steps on the stage, almost groans at how your hand seems to not want to let him go.

Before he leaves you, he pulls your hand into his lips, absolutely glowing at how breathless you look from the little action after he literally ravished you on stage. It physically pains him that he needs to pick up another bride into his show.

“See you later, pretty one.”

Under you, your legs are faltering, knees trembling like a newborn deer as you’re left alone to fend for yourself in the long path back to your table. Women congratulate you, screaming on your sides at the men who was almost fucking you dumb on stage and his friend, as they continue their show.

Your heart is beating in your ears, leaving you stupid and lost as you’re finally - finally - rescued by your friend, who brings you back to the table with loud congratulations and happy cheers. You feel your body sweating and throbbing, weirdly pulsating for something you can’t name.

Recognizing it would make it real and you cannot believe that after five years in a nice relationship with your only boyfriend and soon-to-be-husband, this is the first time you feel this wet.

You plop down on the closest seat, hands pressing to your chest as you try to both fan yourself and hide behind them. It proves, as expected, a hard task.

Your childhood friend has arrived and you hug her sideways, the short conversation you two exchange somehow lost to your poor heated brain as your eyes keep sliding to center once again at the stage.

The way he dances on stage feels overwhelming, this bride-to-be suffering way less touching and grinding than you, as “Big Tease Makki” stays standing up, his hands groping everywhere in his sculpted body as he dances to the sensual song, including the considerable bulge in his pants.

Something flashes and he turns his head your way so sharply you feel the need to melt further on the sofa, poorly hiding away as everyone around you cheers once again.

His eyes on you were burning a hot trail that slithers over your warm skin even in the dark, the ghost of a feeling of touch, erupting goosebumps along their way as they circle your neck and dip down your side, strutting over your chest to end by your face. Even in the distance, you swear you can feel the way those lips slip into an easy grin, satisfied at the way they have you breathless and weak by thought alone.

The idle chatting of your friends, excited and drunk are dulled by the pounding of your heart inside your chest, and you feel constricted by their presence on your sides at the booth, both ways filled with testimony to your inner turmoils-- can they see your sinful thoughts while they stay that close to you? Can the pounding of your heart and the heat in your face be felt at such a short distance?

The mere idea that they can pry inside your skull and discover the sinful dreams unfolding is too much for you right now, your spine shooting up while you balance yourself in your pretty heels and ask in a meek, nervous voice for the girls to let you pass. Some ask if you need help or if you’re going to the bathroom, and in both options it feels like you’re going to be flanked immediately, so you deny it and say you have to make a quick phone call about something you forgot to confirm and they all nod away, drunkenly squealing for you to be quick.

You’re almost free when one of your bridesmaids, your childhood friend, looks up at you with puzzled eyes.

“Hey, everything's okay?” She’s not drunk, only happily buzzed with sparkling wine, but her eyes are attentive when they lay on your face, worry etched in her brow as she looks for hints hidden in your dolled up face.

“Yeah, just need to take a breather.” You give her what you hope is a reassuring smile even as sweat drips down your back, but the place is dark and loud and she lets you go without much prodding. The place is full and swarming with women, groups of men present but fewer, waiters clad in skimpy clothing as they work the tables full of drinks, shots and champagne. Some are flirtatious, charming smiles along with muscles as they sweep women off their feet and leave their wallets thinner; others are pretty serious, and the mysterious aura has their pull, the ecstasy of conquest working as an aphrodisiac.

You pull past the bodies, feeling a bit light headed as your chest pounds and the booze traverse your body, clumsy steps on too-high-heels you’re not used to, but your bridesmaids had pushed you to wear along with screams to live a little and say hello to the last night before you’re a proper married lady. You’ve never really felt the weight of those words as the last two days, tasting for the first time the sweetness of night as you’ve never before.

If brown, bored eyes make a appearance in your mind as you flee to the corridor leading to the private rooms and women’s bathroom, you’re quick to stop the train of thought before it leads down a muscular torso clad in a tight jeans with a firm ass and a hot, big cock that humped against you in every opportunity while he took you to the stage.

A drop makes it way past your cunt lips to stain your fancy underwear and you groan, ashamed. You’ve never felt this unbecoming need before, the arousal so thick your breasts seem to be heavy against your ribcage, dress feeling too tight on your heated, oversensitive skin.

You’re reaching the curve left that will take you to the bathroom when big hands engulf your frame, palm over your mouth and you’re pulled inside one of the private rooms, too breathless to even make a sound.

“Howdy,” his voice sounds right by your ear, as you’re caged against a burly body and the closed, probably sound-proof door. “Got a fugitive here.”

“Uhh, sir, I--”

“Sir?” He laughs, head thrown back prettily as you drink the arch of his throat. “Oh my god, call me Makki, pretty one.”

The petname makes you flush, tongue heavy and clumsy in your mouth around words. “Uh… Makki, I’m sorry but I, ah…” You fumble with your hands, avoiding touching him, eyes downcast as you try to also avoid even looking at him. It’s too much, he seems everywhere.

“You’re engaged? I can see that, love. You have a banner right there.” He sounds so nice, mischief and boyish glee as he stands way too close to you.

“Then you understand…”

“I understand this is your last night of freedom, right? The last chance for you to be bad,” He breathes against your jaw as he noses along your skin to your ear, his cowboy hat gliding softly against the side of your face, “To be wild.”

Your mouth opens and closes but not a single sound comes out, your brain completely lost to the science of mixing letters into words. All you can think about is how your blood seems to be galloping in your veins, the pounding of your heart so oppressingly loud the beat of the song seems to mimic it and not the contrary.

You are lost to everything but the unbelievable feeling of painful arousal, so sharp and deep your bones seem to be melting out of their places and dripping into the outside by your cunt.

“But,” Leaves your lips dumbly and Makki’s fingers silence you, his lips so close you can taste his every exhale, the flap of his hat managing to blind your vision to anything past his face.

“You’re going to be married to the exact same man forever, sweetheart. You can let go one night. One night for you to feel good.” Makki licks at your throat and your lips fall open with a shameless moan as you burn with shame. “Has he ever made you feel this hot, sweetie? Hm? Have you ever even felt like this? It’s your last chance tonight, right? Don’t lose it.”

Makki’s hands massage their way down your sides, grabbing at the flesh of your hips, brushing your ass, and you’re dead silent as you drool away in your panties. Unable to think, unable to speak, embarrassment clogging your throat together with an impossible, unacceptable yes.

“C’mon, sweetie, let me take care of you.” It’s a plea, and he knows your chest will hurt with the same need that is in his tone. “Just this one time, so you can know what it feels like… how great it can be.”

“One time.” He promises you, earnest eyes boring into yours and, dumbly, enchanted, you nod… and agree.

Well, Makki ain’t waiting around for you to change your mind.

His hands loop around your thighs immediately, pressing you against the door until he can press his body between your open legs. The slit of your dress gives in just the little bit needed to allow his hips to make their way against your core, his lips busying themselves with planting kisses along the arch of your neck, teeth nibbling at the lobe of your ear, tongue gliding over the shell.

His breathing is soft, but so close it feels like it engulfs the room, slithering inside your head and scrambling your thoughts. His crotch presses against your center enough to hold you high and open, one of his hands relieved of their place as it climbs your side and closes around your jaw, angling your head back until you’re trapped between his face and his chest.

You shudder, eyes fluttering closed as if you cannot hold them open, and Makki feels his skin prickling, warmth spreading from his limbs to his chest and down his hips to center themselves at his burning length. You’re such a little vixen, all big eyes and open mouthed staring at him while he has hardly done anything.

He can barely wait to see how you’ll burn when he buries his face in your pussy.

Right now, though, Makki reigns in his excitement, fingers caressing your cheeks until your pretty eyes open up again, dazed. There’s just something about getting pretty little things like you to yield, to breathe out as his lips plant themselves carefully, softly, against your cheek, then the line of your jaw, your chin and your nose.

Every little kiss has you getting restless, trembling in his arms while your hands close around his shoulders, painful little welts that he loves to see. Such desperation.

It’s really the best.

His lips press against the corner of your wobbling plush lips and you shudder, but they push it back, and when Makki finally decides to kiss you, you’re opening your mouth in your eagerness, tongue lapping awkwardly at his lips as he chuckles and decides it’s time to stop playing.

When he kisses you then, you gasp, precious little sound leaving you as if you had no idea you could even make it, and then you’re melting against him, pressing against his chest as his mouth works its wonders on yours, tongue circling, searching, sucking. He nips at your lips, steals all the short bits of breath from your lungs until you’re writing against him, pressing sinful hips against his crotch in such a desperate way it’s endearing.

The hand on your thigh dips further under your dress, finds the plush meat of your ass and engulf it in its palm, delighted at how inexistent is the small little thing you’re wearing and how fucking delicious it feels. His fingers dig into your bottom until you break the kiss to gasp at how easily he can slip his long indicator from your ass to your pussy.

It’s his time to lose his air at how fucking wet you are, ruined fancy panties and moist thighs.

“Oh god, look at that. Little bride is so wet for this cowboy.”

You make a face, lips pursing in an awkward turn and coily shifting to look down, appraising looks on his chiseled chest. “Okay this one was bad!” Makki offers with an easy smile, the hand on your neck dipping into your breasts, palms pressing on your chest as he turns his focus on circling the hard nipple through your clothes, closing around the plush meat until your offending honest little lips part once again to him. He can see in the turbilion of your eyes how you’re still swirling against guilt, holding back from him.

“But can you blame me? Look at me.” He makes a mention with his head towards the big bulge straining his tight jeans, which have you unconsciously looking down, his hand sliding over your jaw to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, charming, easy-going smile in his lips. “Look at you.”

He rolls his hips once against your sex, feels the blistering heat even through layers of clothes but he’s done this enough to know exactly where to aim, having a moan escaping through the tight cage of your lips before you can hold everything else in by the lock of your teeth.

He can’t have that, though. He thrives on applause after all.

“Now, beautiful, I’ll need you to stop that right there.” His fingers dip under you to slide against the soiled fabric clinging to your folds and you all but tense, melting after as if you cannot conceive how good is his mere touch. “I want to hear you, c’mon.” Your eyes drop on his in hurt, but you free your bottom lip, mouth imediatelly falling open around a groan as Makki presses aimless around the entrance of your sex. Damn, Makki likes this.

“Yes, like that. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” His cock is straining against his boxers already, length rolling in perfect aimed strokes over the apex of your sex as his fingers thread on the outline of your beautiful cunt and when he dips inside a single fingertip, your sex and hands cling to him, all the beautiful curves of your body against his and he just-- He wants to see.

“Ok, dinner time!” Makki chuckles as he brings his hands once again to hold you firmly by your thighs, fingers spread enough to keep rolling against the edges of your cunt.

“Wha-What?” You give a charming yelp at the way he holds you effortlessly while abandoning the door to walk over to the couch. It’s just a cheap upholstered thing in front of the circular stage with the pole hanging from the ceiling, but it’s just the perfect length for what he needs.

He lets you fall, open and disheveled over it, legs spread to show the lace he saw earlier, stained and soiled after just a bit of makeout.

“You’re so cute.” It’s mockingly, really; meant to be a jab at how you’re so hazed and undone by just a few moves of his, but the way in which your doe eyes thread up to him, shiny and unfocussed; your hands closing around your frame as a hand plants in front of your breasts is just… cute. There’s no other word. You’re just a cute little thing and he wants your demise.

Makki groans and pulls you to the edge of the sofa by your legs, easily dropping between your thighs in a wave move, face planting itself on your breasts to suck at sweaty clothes, teeth pulling the fabric down until your nipples peek through and he sucks them inside his mouth, too.

You tremble so easily, even worse when he abandons it to nose his way down your body tightly clad in the white dress, kisses over your belly until he’s nosing at your clothed cunt, open mouth kisses adding to the moistness in your poor underwear.

“Delicious.” Makki says for no reason other than to state his thoughts, tongue rolling over the clothed slit as if its skin, reveling in how your poor legs start to shake, needing the aid from his hands spreading them to finally stop. “Tell me, honey, have your fiancé ever fucked you good? Hm?”

The mention makes you stiff, head pressing to the side of the sofa as if you’re fighting a battle inside your own mind, triggered by the piece of trivia question.

“I bet he hasn’t,” Makki laughs, nosing at your pussy with such pressure his whole face gets smeared in your juices. “Is he your first boyfriend? Tell me more.”

“I--how do you--” You stutter through bitten lips, truth tipping out once he easily spreads you open with his thumbs on each side. “Yes.”

“What a waste, such a wet fucking pussy and not one single effort from your hubby to-” Makki pulls your underwear aside, tongue lolling out to lick a long strip from your entrance to your clit, “lick”, once, it”, twice, “clean.” and thrice.

You let out a cute little noise and he gets impatient, pulling the lace at the side with enough force it rips easily under his hand. Your indignant noise doesn’t even sound right, lost in a moan at the way he closes his lips around your clit and brings his tongue to play with it fast. His hand presses harder on the skin of your thighs, leaving you open as a present, ripe and wide.

If Makki says he eats pussy as a fucking meal, it’s not out of vanity. He doesn’t like to stroke his own ego, it’s just the plain truth. He works his tongue around your cunt, licks at your puffy lips, slither his way over the labia, gathers all the dripping …. and lets it drip over your pussy, just to suck it up and spit on it, after all he never understood the whole don’t spit on the plate you eat. If it’s pussy, he’s sure it’s the fucking other way around.

You’re writhing and moving around, a symphony of gasps and moans fighting their way past your tight lips. Makki doesn’t mind. As he brings his thumbs to stroke up and down the sides of your cunt, he knows you’ll be screaming in no time. It’s just too much. It’s clear you’ve never had anything like this just by the frantic way you’re humping his face, hands grabbing at anything and everything they can, unable to hold on. His only shame is how busy his mouth is, unable to tease his way into the pure debauchery you’re demonstrating.

He pauses a bit to angle himself back, eyes trained at your pussy, dripping fucking wet all over the dress and the sofa. His thumbs spread at the sides of your entrance, pull it open just to see it blink and gap, begging for his cock without a word leaving your lips. Shit. His cock is straining against the tight jeans in such a painful way he has to let one hand go, open his button and fly, let the poor warrior fight its way past the band of his calvin kleins.

Then he’s back at his work, one thumb keeping you open as his hand returns to plunge his indicator inside slowly. Makki’s mouth almost falls open at the bewitching way your walls give in, letting him sink inside the velvety wet inside with ease. You’re clenching around him, groaning above and begging below, so he lets a second one inside at the retreat and advance of his wrist.

“Have your little husband ever made you feel like this, huh? Have he eaten this little pussy so good you make a mess?”

“Jesus Christ!” You moan above and Makki laughs. He loves this. Loves the little religious bout he gets from tight little brides when they actually taste heaven amidst sin. You try to ride his fingers, but he presses the back of your knees higher, and you let out a breathless “God!” at the new angle.

Then he starts the real game, fingers moving around your heat in search of a specific spot he finds with little prodding and then abuses until you’re begging.

“Oh my god! I, fuck--Jesus!”

“Yes, just like that sweetheart. If you beg for me real pretty I’ll give you what you want.” He says as his fingers keep plunging in and out of your heat in an upwards motion, strong but slow, dragging the feeling of his thick digits inside your walls. It’s close, he can feel it in the way you’re swelling around him, restless kicking out legs and praying for God as if it isn’t Makki who’s giving you all this.

“My name, sweetie. Beg for it, c’mon. Say it out very loud, how you want my cock to fuck you nice and hard as you’ve never had before, huh? Just--”

“Fuck!”

“Just tell me more how you had no idea it could be so good and how you need me to show you how fucking good a man can actually fuck.”

“Oh my god,” you all but yelp, but then sighs a, “yes, please.”

“Hmmm? Couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh fuck, Makki please fuck me!” There’s a breathless, outstandly maniac laugh breaching your lips after that, a flow of quick words falling from your lips as a train of thought, “Jesus I’ve never felt like this, oh my god I think I’ll actually die without--”

“There we go!” Makki laughs, voice loud as he stops everything to get up and once again bends down to pick you up.

“Wha--Wait!” You squeak, body tense and trembling at the loss as Makki only kisses around your tearstained face and makes his way around the upholstered couch. “Makki!” That has to be the needier, whinier tone he has ever heard his name in.

And he loves it.

He lets you slide through his hands, bends you over the back of the couch, your ripped panties sliding to the floor by one of your legs. One of Makki’s hands descends hard on your ass with a loud slap, your lips opening around a beautiful moan. The other does the same, both circling and massing the plump flesh as your ass and pussy blinks seductively at him.

That does it. Makki curses as he pulls his pants and underwear down, his hard, bloody-red cock slapping up against his navel; he closes his hand around it to slap it between the crack of your pretty behind and feels everything in him tingling at how wanton you sound in your moan, angling your back so that your ass can climb higher, head against the seat cushions.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Makki praises you as he tilts his cockhead on your slit, up and down, up and down against your clit, labia and entrance. It’s absolutely delicious how you clench to try and hold his cockhead, but it slips up to bob against your ass. “Ops, let’s try again.”

He does the same thing a second time but then you groan and whine once again, “Makki, please!”

Well, fuck, who’s he to deny you, right?

He pats your ass and supports his weight at the back of his feet, cockhead right against the beautiful hole weeping for him and, carefully, slowly, deliciously starts dipping inside. Your pussy sucks him in as a vice, muscle clenching and releasing; loud, satisfacted moans in your lips. It’s almost choking to him that the loud noise in the room comes from him, too, mouth falling open in a growl.

When his hips are nested against your ass, Makki has the urge to kiss you but squatches it down in favor of holding you strongly and fucking you throughly. Motioning himself in waves as he had on the stage, his cock slides in and out of you with such delicious, timed precision he thinks you’ll come twice on him before he’s done.

Your tight heat is velvety wet around him, squelching sounds sinful in the room as he grinds his hips against your ass, cockhead nestled against the firm pressure of your cervix. There’s babbles tipping from your lips, as if your mind has broken and you have to pronounce your mess of thoughts out loud. It’s cute.

Maybe he'd appreciate it more if his mind wasn't falling him also; his whole body feels constricted, strained, hips rolling in long, deep, strong strokes that make his cock into a pleasure antena, broadcasting to his whole being, blistering heat spreading through his veins and turning sharp at his spine and to start pooling at his balls.

He is about to dip his hand to your clit and end you when your body seizes, legs kicking while dangling from the backrest of the couch and your pussy starts creaming hard like a vice around his cock.

“Fuck!” He groans, tensing his whole body before you bring him over with you, hand slithering to hold the base of his cock, hard. Then he laughs, no breath to spare. “Wow, baby, no heads up? Now you gonna have to give me one more, I’m not done with you yet.”

You let out an indignant groan, but rest boneless under him. Makki retreats his hips from your snug grip and starts pistoning his way inside your heat, unforgiving even as you yelp and whine, oversensitivity probably making you burn. Makki lets one of his hands let go of your hips and fall hard on your ass, in time to feel the way your pussy grips at him, yelp turning into a moan. Makki lets his hands slide down the side and curve his wrist so your fingers can find your clit, rubbing him frantically as he angles his hips just right, every wave of his body aimed against your precious spot.

“Yup,” Makki groans, growing exhausted. “Just like this.”

Your eyes snap open, hands frantically reaching to hold on anything by them as you look back at Makki with shiny, big, dazed eyes in absolute terror at the fact you are, indeed, going to keep cumming on his dick, second orgasm hitting you so hard and fast Makki actually tips over with you, the pressure in his balls releasing in one blissful climax at the incessant contracting of your cunt and the wave of your orgasm gushing out of your pussy in the closest thing to a squirt he could pull out of you amidst a unending orgasm.

Makki stays inside you as he rides his high, grinding his hips even as you cry from the oversensitivity. When he pulls out, he’s careful with the condom and also has half a mind to hold your body, throwing the used thing somewhere to be cleaned after. Almost as if perceiving the breach, his cellphone starts ringing somewhere, loud as fuck in the closed room.

“Damn, fuck,” Makki scrambles to the sound, his legs almost giving out under him and his fingers so numb it takes three tries to actually accept the call. Which he didn’t read who from.

“MAKKI! WHERE ARE YOU, WE’RE STARTING IN FIVE.” Iwaizumi nags at him, stern and loud, piercing through his haze enough to make his brain drop some adrenaline into his bloodstream, suddenly alert and kicking, muscles straining but holding as he pulls his underwear and jeans quick over his ass and searches for his cowboy hat in time to dip and run to the presentation.

“Sorry baby, gotta go.” He saunters to you, plants a kiss on your sweaty head and another at your swollen lips and smiles the same sinful smile that ended up bringing you here, along with a tilt of his cowboy hat. “Duty calls.”

#hanamaki x reader #hanamaki smut #hanamaki takahiro smut #haikyuu smut #thesmutpilecollab

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