#like i’m not saying the servers don’t deserve their money

[nothingweirdhere]

one of the other dishwashers at work pointed out how much more than us the servers are making and i can’t stop thinking about it…

[maximoffhimbo]

Birthday club business

Summary: your 22nd birthday was planned to be a nice night in by yourself - your coworkers have other ideas.

Warnings: male reader / blowjobs / ‘corruption’/ innocent-ish reader / strip clubs

It was your birthday, another year of sitting at a desk 5 days a week waiting for the 2 days of freedom. Luckily your birthday was on a Friday. Unluckily your coworkers were typical ‘lads’.

“Sam? Can you get those files sent to the cfo please?” Your boss, Sarah, said drearily. These meeting were held every Friday to wrap up the week and every Friday they were boring. Your coworkers didn’t listen to her, of course they didn’t. In their eyes she was less than them due to her gender. Half of the guys sitting around you were on their phones playing candy crush or some shit.

“Before I forget, y/n? Happy birthday.” A chorus of cheers and oddly deep noises came from the men around you. “y/n mate, why didn’t you tell us it was your birthday?” Charlie, one of the most laddish guys said, holding tightly on to your shoulders from behind. “Oh I just don’t really celebrate that’s all” you said quietly. Of course your plan for the night was simple: home, pyjamas, takeout, movie, bed by 11. In your eyes a perfect night in. Within minutes the guys were discussing where to take you for your birthday. You couldn’t think of anything worse, yet they were extremely passionate about getting you to hook up with a ‘chick’ as they say.

That’s how you ended up here. A strip club in a not-so-great part of town. You were sat in the middle of 9 other guys, it felt like a bad porno if you were being honest with yourself. “She’s fine as fuck” one guy said. “Dude y/n deserves the pick of the litter.” The way these guys were talking honestly made you sick to your stomach. “Come on y/n pick!” You visibly cringed at Charlie’s need for you to pick a girl. You looked around the dark red club. Music was shattering your ear drums whilst the lights were vaporising your eyes. It was all too overwhelming, you could barely make of your hands in front of your face for gods sake.

The club was full of guys waving money into the dancers faces. It wasn’t exactly where you’d imagined yourself for your 22nd birthday. “Okay fine, I’ll sort you out.” Charlie stood from the table waving over a server, she looked to be no older than 18. “Hey gorgeous, who’s the best slut in this place?” You cringed and shrunk down in your seat feeling ashamed for being around these guys. “Charlie don’t say that.” You said slightly above a whisper. Charlie kicked you under the table and continued talking to the waitress.

Before you knew it you were following her to a private dance room. You wanted to run, to apologise for your friend yet your mind was completely frozen. Arriving at a room the girl, who you heards name was Crystal (you doubted that was her real name) glared at you. You smiled tightly at her before she walked off. You opened the door and were met with a black room with red trim and decorations. “I’m going to be murdered” you said under your breath.

You took a seat on the large black leather sofa, shuffling nervously, praying that this dancer didn’t turn up. It took around 2 minutes of sitting in silence for the door to open. A girl walked in, long brown hair and beautiful green eyes. She sauntered over to you, thinking you were like all the other guys she danced for. Instead you moved away, offering her a hand, “I’m y/n.” She chuckled “And I’m scarlet.” She whispered, attempting to move closer to you. You tensed up and she noticed. “What can I do for you handsome?” She said gently as she moved away slightly as to not scare you. “I-I dont know, my coworkers brought me here for my birthday. I didn’t really…want to come.” Her eyes softened, you were such a cutie. She moved on to the small circular stage in the middle of the room, adjusting her revealing red sequin outfit. “I’ll just dance for you, okay?” She smirked as she turned on a small music player. Lana Del Rey’s ‘Art Deco’ came on as she began to move seductively around the poll. You watched, amazed. You hadn’t wanted to come here but this girl, this woman was something otherworldly. Her hips moved in time with the slow beat. Her hands raked her body whilst she sauntered around the poll. For a while you forgot this was a strip club, until the slowly began to peel her tight, blood red corset-top off. The buttons snapped at the front so removing it was easy. Her fingers made quick work of it, long svelte fingers worked the fabric, like a painter to canvas. Her breasts were freed.

She moved around the poll, her nipples pebbled, she eyed you with a hunger. Like an animal to prey. Her high black heels clicked against the floor with every step, making your heart beat quicken. She bit her lip as she bent over and grabbed the poll, maintaining eye contact with you. She swaying her ass rhythmically, her eyes holding a mischievous glint. Your heartbeat quickened as it moved throughout your body. The thrum in your core hammered. Your soft cock growing with every sway of her hips. You hadn’t even noticed the state of yourself, far too enthralled with the woman’s performance. She however did notice. She stood up slowly, moving to the front of the stage, her eyes still on you. Her thumbs found themselves within the waistband of her panties. Slowly and effortlessly she pulled them down her porcelain thighs, biting her lip as she moved her eyes over your face.

You were different to her usual customer. She was used to men talking to her the entire time, even going as far as to beg her for sex. But you, you just sat there, admiring her. You didn’t look like you wanted to pounce on her, you looked gentle, tame. Once her panties dropped she turned around, showing off her perfect ass. “You like that pretty boy?” Your breath caught in your throat as you nodded, “you’re v-very pretty” you stuttered out. She smirked. She’d never felt the need to touch one of her customers, let alone ‘corrupt’ them. Yet she wanted to please you. She watched as you shuffled uncomfortably, your cock straining painfully against your trousers. Scarlet stepped off the stage slowly, sauntering over to you. She stood above you looking down. “Take your trousers off” she said slightly above a whisper. “W-what?” You said, eyes wide. “You heard me. Trousers off.” You stood up slowly, eyeing her with confusion. Your hand moved to your belt as you slowly unbuckled it. She watched you hungrily. Your hands shook as you pulled down your zipper and finally your trousers. She moved back slightly, admiring the slight wet patch on your grey boxers. From there everything went into slow motion for you. She knelt before you kissing your sore bulge. “W-wait scarlet, this can’t be allowed,” scarlet chuckled looking up at you through her lashes. It definitely wasn’t allowed but ‘scarlet’ got what she wanted.

She pulled your boxers down letting your cock spring free. She gasped, your cocks tip was pink and swollen, drooling with precum. “Oh baby.” Scarlet said eyeing you up and down. She smirked and placed a kiss on your shaft “you know, if I’m going to do this you might as well know my real name.” You groaned quietly nodding to whatever she said. “It’s wanda.”

Wanda had been sucking your cock for what felt like an eternity. She pulled away, mascara running down her cheeks, a long thick strand of saliva keeping you both attached. She leant down, spreading your legs slightly. “You know, y/n…” She kisses your shaft gently. “…I never let this happen” she moved her kisses upwards towards your tip. You groaned, butterflies spilling from your chest into your stomach. Wanda began making out with your cock head, slowly and sensually, keeping eye contact with you. Your head fell back on the sofa. “Fuck Wanda, fuck I’m gonna cum.” As if cold water was poured on her she stood up, smirking. “I’m not done with you yet baby boy.”

[justagalwhowrites]

HI BESTIE !!! 🫂

i was wondering how Joel would react to Doc spoiling him ROTTEN after she got that big girl money 🫦 (in the lavender au)

(because i know she will spoil him so much as a thank you for his unwavering support throughout her career 🥹)

OMG Hi Bestie!

I love this ask so so SO much. Joel is so soft with his girls and he deserves all the good things, including his wife treating him to all the best things once she's a big time surgeon.

This is just the perfect prompt for our favorite man's birthday, too! I hope this is just what you were hoping for. Love you!

Spoiled

After years of Joel taking care of you, you take care of Joel. A one shot set in the Lavender AU timeline.

Yes I know it's not a Joel gif but it fits the fic so well I had to.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (Joel and Doc from the Lavender AU)

Warnings: Fluff and smut, smut and fluff. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 4.4K

It started with a shopping trip in Houston for Sarah’s wedding. 

She needed a dress for the rehearsal and her bachelorette party and the malls in Austin just weren’t cutting it. 

“I’m telling you,” she said after coming up empty handed on another Saturday spent shopping as the two of you ate salads and drank sweet tea at a patio cafe. “We need to go to Houston. We haven’t found anything for you, either.”

“I can just…” you began, but Sarah cut you off. 

“Mom,” she raised her brows. “You do not get to say ‘just’ anything about my wedding, come on.” 

You rolled your eyes a little but smiled. 

“Alright,” you put your hands up in surrender. “I’ve got the weekend off again in two weeks, I’ll get us a hotel room in Houston and we can shop til we drop.” 

“I’m going to get you comfortable with spending some of those big surgeon bucks one of these days,” she said. “You need to treat yourself! Live a little!” 

“I live plenty, thank you,” you replied. “And I do it just fine in my Goodwill jeans.” 

“Whatever you say,” she smirked a little, flagging down the server and grabbing the bill before you had a chance to fight her on it. 

Sarah might have had a point. You’d been an attending for the better part of a year now and the jump in pay had been staggering. You were making more now in a year than you had your entire life - or it felt that way, anyway. You’d already made good progress paying off your student loans but you made quick work of the rest. Joel had asked if you wanted to move - something bigger or better somehow - now that you could easily afford it but you’d just frowned at him, almost hurt. 

“This is our home,” you said. “I fell in love with you here, Sarah grew up here, we made Evie here. This is the first place I ever really felt like I belonged, I don’t want to leave.” 

Joel just smiled and kissed your forehead. 

“Then we’ll stay,” he said. “Moving’s a fuckin’ hassle anyway.” 

You’d just been saving money, not really sure what to do with it. You donated some of it, stopped spending time clipping coupons, finally bought a car that was from this decade (but still used). But actually spending it made you anxious. You’d never had money before. You weren’t poor, exactly. You’d always had enough to eat and a roof over your head but you almost never bought new clothes, had never really traveled outside of places that you could easily get to by car. You were pretty sure you’d never even been in a car that wasn’t at least 10 years old before you came to college and your friend Cassie gave you a ride to the store in her new BMW. It was hard to get used to the idea that money could be spent at all, that it wasn’t already earmarked for some bill or, if there was any left, that it had to be saved for a rainy day. 

“You gotta actually spend some of that hard earned money on yourself, Baby,” Joel said as you headed outside to meet Sarah for your weekend in Houston. “Buy some ridiculously expensive dress that I’m gonna want to rip off you in seconds or some purse that’s $1,000 for reasons I don’t understand.” 

“That’s two mortgage payments,” you said, eyes wide. 

“Baby.” 

“Right, right,” you nodded. “On a mission, spend money. Got it.” 

“On yourself,” he added. “Not Sarah. Or not just Sarah, anyway. You two have fun.” 

“You too,” you said, stretching up to kiss him goodbye. “Don’t let Evie con you into giving her candy when she gets home from school.” 

“What wild thing and I get up to when you’re not around is none of your business,” he gave you one last peck on the lips. “Now go, stop worryin’, live a little.” 

The mall in Houston was almost overwhelming. Not in the crowds way malls sometimes were for you, thank goodness, but with the kinds of stores. There were names you recognized from Cassie’s closet and from some of the trust fund girls in your med school program but you realized quickly you had no concept of what things like this actually cost. 

Sarah picked a dress for the rehearsal that was nearly $600 and you choked on the champagne the sales person had given you to sip while Sarah tried on options. 

“You really buy $600 dresses?” You gaped at her as you wandered back into the store from the dressing rooms. 

“Not all the time,” she shrugged. “But we make good money and sometimes it’s fun to buy something nice.” 

She held up a floor length gown to you, the bottom pooling on the ground. 

“That’s too long,” you said. 

“Well we’d get it tailored,” she laughed a little. “Come on, try it on.” 

Another sales person wandered over and offered to set up a fitting room and you snuck a peek at the price tag. Your eyes went wide. 

“That dress is $1200!” You whispered at Sarah as you trailed after the attendant. 

“And it’s for my wedding,” she replied. “And don’t you have that gala thing every spring for work? You can wear it for that, you need a new dress for that anyway. Plus I’m the bride and I say you have to try it on. You can’t disappoint the bride.” 

You sighed and went into the fitting room, feeling utterly out of place in your second hand Levis and vintage top you’d picked up on a shopping trip a few weeks back that felt much more your speed. 

But the dress - outside of the length - looked like it had been made for you. The silk hugged your every curve, the neckline dipping just low enough to display just enough cleavage to be sexy but not so much that it would be scandalous. It was simple, no embellishments beyond the structure of the dress and the deep emerald green of the fabric. Normally you’d have scoffed at something so basic fetching such a high price but, now that it was on your body, you understood it. It was like you’d put on a work of art and, in doing so, become art yourself. 

“OK you can’t laugh,” you said. “But I’m coming out.” 

Sarah was waiting patiently in the little show room attached to your fitting room and you had to hold up the hem of the dress to not trip but she gasped all the same. 

“Oh Mom,” her hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide. “You look incredible.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, turning in the mirrors to look at yourself from every angle. “I don’t look like I’m playing dress up?” 

“Not at all,” she spoke with almost a sense of reverence, looking you up and down. “You’re getting that dress. I’ll buy it for you if you won’t…” 

“No, Sarah,” you protested but she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture before you had a chance to really realize what she was doing. “What was that for?” 

“I’m sending this to Dad…” her voice trailed off and she took a sip of champagne just as her phone rang. She smirked and answered, putting it on speaker phone. “Speak of the devil. Hey old man, your wife is trying to tell me this dress costs too much.” 

“I don’t care if that dress costs $200,000 she’s bringing it home,” Joel said. “She hear me?” 

“Yes,” Sarah smiled, a shit eating grin if there ever was one. 

“Good,” he said. “Baby, you look so damn amazing I’m about to jump in the truck and drive over there just to see you in that thing in person sooner. Save me a trip, bring it home, alright?” 

“Alright,” you sighed. 

“Didn’t quite hear that,” Joel said. 

“I said alright you dork,” you said a little, grinning in spite of yourself. 

“That’s my girl.” 

You bought the dress. And a bag that Sarah insisted you needed for work because she was tired of seeing you haul around a canvas tote. And shoes for the dress. 

When you passed the jeweler window, you were on the way to the car after spending so much money you were surprised you hadn’t fainted. You stopped, the hanger with the garment bag for the dress hooked in your fingers over your shoulder, and looked at the watch sitting in the window. 

It was large and silver but not too ornate, no diamonds or anything like that. The face of the watch was black with elegant white roman numerals on the face. 

“What?” Sarah asked, stopping next to you. 

“Do you think your dad would like that?” You asked, head cocked a little, still looking at the timepiece through the glass. 

“Yeah,” Sarah said after a moment. “Seems like a him watch, if he were going to wear a nice watch, anyway.” 

Joel did already have a watch. A simple one with a green strap and silver colored case and a black face. You and Sarah had picked it out together for his birthday one year. She’d been giddy about it, you had to all but beg her to keep it a secret for a few days until it came time to give it to him. He loved the thing, wore it every day, even more than a decade later. 

But your career wasn’t the only one that had advanced. Joel was no longer doing the manual labor of a contractor every day. More often than not, he was going to meet with clients and arrange contracts and make plans. For a lot of those meetings, he wore a suit and, for a lot of those meetings, you saw him stick his watch in his pocket before leaving the house instead of putting it on. 

“Hard sometimes,” he said when you’d asked him about it. “Fittin’ in with these clients.” 

“Let me just…” you doubled back to the entrance to the store and went inside. 

The watch was more than you thought it would be. A lot more. So, so much more. You watched as the sale’s person’s eyes went from encouraging and hopeful to let down when you reacted to the price. 

“One second,” you smiled sheepishly and pulled out your phone, going into your banking app. Even after spending an arm and a leg on yourself that day, the number in your personal checking account seemed obscenely high. More money than you’d ever had at once until very, very recently. You could afford the watch. You looked at the sales person and smiled. 

“I’ll take it.” 

You had several very strong cocktails when out to dinner with Sarah that night to make yourself feel a little better about spending thousands of dollars on things like clothes and a watch and she just smiled. 

“See, Mom? You spent some money on yourself and the apocalypse did not happen, I think you can actually buy yourself things from time to time.” 

“And things for your dad,” you said. “Because he needs nice things, too.” 

When you got home, Joel insisted that you model the dress for him. 

“It needs to be tailored,” you tried to protest. 

“Not for me to take it off you it doesn’t,” he smiled from his spot on the couch, beer in hand. 

“Fine,” you said. “But only if you let me model everything I bought and you can’t return any of it.” 

“Deal.” 

You went to your bedroom and put on the dress and the shoes and took the watch out of the bag, the face almost comically large on your wrist, before going back to the living room, hem of the dress in hand. 

“Jesus Christ Baby,” he looked at you, his eyes wide. “You look… fuck me.” 

“That is the idea,” you winked. “You like it?” 

“Like is a fuckin’ understatement,” he said, getting up and walking around you slowly, his eyes going up and down your body. “You know, Evie’s at a friend’s for two more hours…” 

“So you’re not going to make me return anything I have on?” You asked. 

“Fuck no.” 

“Not this dress?” You started unzipping the side before sliding the straps down your arms. 

“Dress stays,” he said, gently tugging it down and exposing your chest, kissing the swell of your breasts. 

“What about the shoes?” You asked, putting a sandaled foot out from below the hem. He glanced down, eyes ranging over the straps. 

“Those stay, too,” he said, going back to kissing your chest. “Everything you’ve got on stays, already agreed to that.” 

“Good,” you said as he made it to your neck. “Even this?” 

You held up your wrist, the watch sliding down your arm. 

He frowned, looking at it. 

“Don’t look like you’re style,” he said. “But if it makes you happy, Baby, keep it.” 

“Never said it was for me, Joel,” you smiled a little. You watched him piece it together, taking a moment for him to dawn on him. 

“No,” he shook his head, looking from your arm to your face. “No, you were supposed to get stuff for yourself for a change not…” 

“I did get stuff for me,” you said. “And I got this for you. Because you’re wearing suits more now and I wanted you to have the watch for that. So really, it is for me.” 

He took your wrist gently in one hand, elbow in the other, tilting your arm this way and that to look at the watch in different lights. 

“Baby, this…” he shook his head again. “This is too much, this is…” 

“Not for you,” you cut him off. “Not after everything you’ve given me. This is not enough. But it’s a start. Besides, you said I got to keep everything I was wearing. You already agreed to it, Miller.” 

“Baby,” he sighed. 

“Joel,” you smiled a little. “You’re my husband. Let me give you something nice. Please.” 

He brought the inside of your wrist to his lips and kissed you there, making your pulse flutter against his mouth. 

“Already gave me the best thing there is,” he said. “Anything more feels like I’m stealin’ it.” 

“Steal whatever you want, Miller,” you teased. “But you’re keeping the watch.” 

Joel ended up wearing the watch often. Not as much as the Sarah watch - and he stuck with the Sarah watch for her wedding - but at least once a week for meetings where he needed to dress up for. Every time you gave him a little knowing smile and every time he rolled his eyes a little before kissing you goodbye. But you had yet to get him to accept anything like it in the years since, Joel trying to dodge everything every time you spent money on him. 

So when his birthday was around the corner, you were bound and determined to get him something good. 

“Anything you want for your birthday?” You asked as you, Joel and Ellie wandered around a street fair, meandering towards the car show. “Anything you want to do?” 

“S’not like it’s a big one,” he shrugged. “Just 56. Would love to see all my girls, of course. Could use some new tongs for the grill.” 

“Tongs?” Ellie said, brows raised. “Seriously? Old people are so WEIRD.” 

“You know what kiddo?” Joel smiled a little, faking exasperation. “We’ll see how you’re doin’ when you’re pushin’ 60.” 

“Ew,” she crinkled her nose and wandered to the first car in the row of vehicles on display. You laughed, strolling along with Joel until he stopped at a beautiful old convertible, giving a low whistle. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Just a pretty fuckin’ car,” he said, his hands in his pockets as he walked slowly around it. “Always wanted one of these when I was a kid.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, getting an idea. 

“Neighbor had one,” he nodded. “Let me ride in the back once. Coolest fuckin’ car.” 

He looked over every inch of the thing and Ellie caught up with you while he did, pouting a little as she leaned on the door of the car, her chin propped on her folded arms. 

“I’m starving,” she groaned. “Can I go get some fries at least?” 

“Sure,” you laughed a little, pulling some cash out of your pocket. “Grab me a lemonade, too?” 

You watched as she went to the food stands and you and Joel moved on, walking slowly down the row of cars when Ellie caught up with you again, passing you the lemonade. Joel stole a fry from her cup. 

“Hey!” She protested. “Go get your own!” 

“Might have to,” he said, giving her a wink. “Back in a sec.” 

You waited until he was out of earshot before you grabbed Ellie. 

“Do me a favor,” you said. “That car we were looking at? The blue one? Can you go talk to the owner and find out what make, model and year it is?” 

“I guess,” she frowned. “Why?” 

“Because,” you said. “I found something your dad wants besides tongs.” 

You went and stood in line with Joel, keeping him distracted while Ellie did recon. She took some pictures of the car and texted you all the information which you texted to Andrew as Joel drove home from the fair. 

“Can you help me find this car?” You asked him. “One that’s for sale?”

“Becoming a collector?” He texted back. 

“Joel’s birthday,” you added a smilie face emoji. 

“Excellent,” he replied. “I’ll find you something, don’t worry.” 

It took a few weeks but Andrew found the car. A blue 1967 Mustang Convertible that was being sold down in San Antonio. He went down with you to help you test drive it - you didn’t know a damn thing about cars - and you bought it on the spot. 

“He’s going to freak the fuck out,” Andrew said, driving it home since you couldn’t drive stick. “Seriously, you might give the man a heart attack…” 

You rolled your eyes but laughed all the same. 

“I really hope he loves it,” you said, running your fingers over the dash. 

“I’ll take it off your hands if he doesn’t,” Andrew smiled. “Just don’t tell Jess.” 

Tommy agreed to store the car in his garage until Joel’s party at his house in two weeks and you were giddy as you drove home, feeling like a kid at Christmas as you tried to keep the car a secret. 

By the time the party rolled around, even Ellie was excited and having a hard time holding it together. 

“It’s really just a cookout at Tommy’s,” Joel said as the three of you piled in the car to head over. “Not sure why you two are actin’ like we’re going to fuckin’ Six Flags…” 

“Tommy’s cooler than you,” Ellie said. “Nice to spend time with someone who isn’t a total dinosaur…” 

“Alright, in the car kiddo,” Joel smiled and shook his head a little. “Can’t take you anywhere ’til seatbelts are on, let’s go!” 

You texted Tommy that you were on the way and he responded with a picture of the car, shiny in his driveway with a big, red bow on the hood. 

“He’s going to lose his mind, Kid,” he texted back. “Please tell Maria I want this same treatment when I’m old.” 

“Better put in some work to deserve it, Miller,” you replied, smiling a little. 

Joel parked on the street, frowning at the car in Tommy’s driveway. 

“When the hell’d Tommy get a Mustang?” He got out, his frown deepening. You almost laughed. 

“He didn’t,” you smiled, so big it was like your face was going to crack. 

Joel looked confused for half a moment before his mouth dropped open in shock. 

“No,” he shook his head. Ellie leaned between the front seats, grinning hugely, “No, no that’s… Baby. No.” 

“Suck it up, old man,” Ellie smirked as Sarah and Brandon came out of the house, little Carson making a beeline for the car. Sarah and Brandon waved as Tommy and Maria joined them in the yard. Ellie pulled the keys out of her pocket and dangled them between you and Joel. He took them, staring at them in his hand for a second.

“Should take it before I do,” Tommy hollered and you laughed as you got out of the car and followed an almost dazed Joel toward the Mustang. 

He walked, in awe, around the car twice. 

“I…” he said but stopped, staring at the convertible for a moment. “I don’t….” 

“Do you like it?” You asked, coming up beside him and wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“Fuckin’ love it,” he said, immediately looking at you. “But Baby, this is too much, way too much, I can’t…” 

“Yes you can,” you smiled up at him. He looked down at you, the awed expression still on his face. “After everything you’ve done for me? For us? Everything you’ve sacrificed, all the ways you take care of me and our girls? The life you gave me? Still not enough, Joel. Not for you.” 

He pulled you tight to him and kissed the top of your head. 

“I love you,” he said, his voice wet. “So goddamn much, Baby.” 

Tommy set up chairs and a table in the front yard so everyone could sit near the car while celebrating Joel. He kept looking over at it in disbelief before looking at you with eyes filled with gratitude and wonder. You couldn’t remember the last time your heart felt quite so full. 

You drove Ellie home, following slowly behind Joel in the new convertible. 

“OK I know what this shit means,” Ellie said, gesturing between you and Joel after you got home, your husband clutching you to his side. “Try to keep it down and not be gross about it because ugh.” 

“Was actually going to see if you wanted to take the car for a spin,” you smiled up at Joel. “Just you and me. Assuming Ellie will behave herself and actually go to bed at a reasonable time.” 

“Anything to get away from whatever that is,” Ellie said, smiling a little as she went to her room. You laughed. 

“So,” you said, once she closed the door to her room. You looked up at Joel, smiling. “Care to take me for a ride, Mr. Miller?” 

He grinned.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Miller.” 

He took you through town slowly, down quiet side streets filled with sleeping people and past businesses that had closed for the night, until the two of you ended up at a large park on the edge of town where things were a little darker and you could see some of the stars. 

“I can’t believe you got me a car, Baby,” he said, his hands running over the steering wheel. His smile was so big you could see it even in the dim light of the moon. “It’s really…” 

“If you say it’s too much again, Joel, I will go and buy you a second one on principle.” 

He laughed at that. 

“I was gonna say it was the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” he said, turning to look at you. “Besides you and the girls of course.” 

“Oh, of course,” you smiled. 

He leaned in and kissed you gently. 

“Not sure what I did to deserve you,” he said. “But I sure am grateful for it.” 

Your kiss shifted and you started climbing over the center console, Joel taking a second to move his seat all the way back. You bunched your skirt around your hips and settled over him, kissing him harder, more eager. 

“I’m pretty damn grateful for you,” you whispered against his mouth, his hands going to your hips. You ground down on him and he moaned, pressing his hard length up against you through his jeans. “And I think the birthday boy should get laid in his dream car.” 

“Dream car,” he said, kissing you. “Dream woman.” He kissed you again. “Perfect fuckin’ birthday.” 

You unzipped his fly as you kissed him and tucked your panties to the side, notching his cock against your entrance. He moaned as you sank slowly down onto him, taking all of him inside of you, savoring how he filled you. 

You started slowly, just grinding him deeper into you as you kissed him, his tongue licking into your mouth. 

“You feel fuckin’ amazing Baby,” he moaned, kissing down your throat until he reached your breasts, cleavage bared in your v-neck top. “Always feel so damn good…” 

He was thrusting up into you, trying to set his own pace, and you decided to allow that, matching him stroke for stroke as he groaned below you. His hands ranged up your back, pawing at your shirt until be was able to raise it enough to slide below it and get at your skin with a satisfied moan. He clutched you close, so close that you could hardly move over him anymore. Instead, he fucked up into you, making you whimper and your channel tighten around him. 

“C’mon Baby,” he grunted, voice strained. “Want you to come for me. All I want now is you to come for me, come all over me, fuck Baby…” 

You bit down on his shoulder to keep quiet, the sounds of crickets and cicadas on the air as you came, your sex throbbed around him. You whimpered against him as you came down from your high and he kept working you, his grip on you tightening. 

“Fuck Baby,” he gasped. “Feel too good, I’m gonna… fuck… I’m…” 

He cut himself off with a groan, thrusting deep and filling you, his grip on you relaxing enough that you could sit up a little. You looked at him in the moonlight his eyes closed, a blissed out look on his face. You smiled a little, brushing his more unruly curls back from his forehead. 

“I love you so much, Baby,” he smiled a little, eyes still closed. 

“So I did alright for your birthday?” You teased lightly, his softening cock still buried inside you. 

He laughed. 

“Did perfect,” he tugged you close enough that he could kiss you again, careful to not push you back against the horn. “Perfect fuckin’ birthday, perfect fuckin’ woman, perfect fuckin’ wife.” 

“Good,” you smiled, kissing him. “You deserve it, Joel. You deserve the world.” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 20

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

Your cheeks are flushed with heat as the server returns with your entrees. Lloyd shamelessly keeps his hand nestled between your tingling thighs, clamped in an attempt at modesty. He sits forward to eat with his free hand as you can barely keep your head from wobbling. You feel as if everyone in the place has witnessed your undoing.

“Mmm, better get it while it’s hot,” he scoops up a mouthful of season potatoes, “I’m not spending money for nothing, babe.”

He pinches you before finally removing his hand. He takes his knife, not bothering to wipe the glisten from his fingers, as he cuts into his filet. You slowly sit up as your eyes flick over to Colin as he reads over the bill.

He avoids meeting your gaze but you’re happy for it, humiliated and hot. You pick at the lobster tail with your fork and peer down at your plate. This night couldn’t be over soon enough.

“Aw, don’t pout, baby, I’m just getting started,” he bites into a chunk of juicy beef, chewing noisily.

“Hey!” There’s a shout and the clatter of a tray as empty dishes crash onto the floor. You look up as a man shoves a waiter out of his way, skidding on his soles as he stops beside Colin’s table, “what the fuck is going on here?”

Your mouth falls open as Lloyd reaches for his whiskey and finishes it with a pop of his lips, “looks like he got my message.”

“What?” You look at him as he watches with delight.

“Tell me you haven’t dreamed of this. Look at the coward, he’s about to piss his pants.”

“Wh–why?”

“Oh come on, you should be thanking me,” he leans back and drapes his arm over your shoulders, “in fact, you’re gonna thank me. On the way back. When we get there. And so on. The night is young, sweet cheeks.”

You look back to the scene across the restaurant, reminded of the night you came and Colin left you alone and nearly sobbing. The words he said to you then and after. The accusations that proved to be little more than projection.

For once, you agree with this douchebag at your elbow. He deserves this.

“That’s my fucking wife!” The much bigger man drags Colin out of his seat. Your husband couldn’t be called small but he was shorter and more slender than the bull shaking him by his collar, “my slut of a wife!”

Those words sting and you tilt your head. You know what it’s like to be on the receiving end yet you can’t feel sorry for the blond grabbing onto the angry man’s arm. She did this. They both did. They ruined two marriages for what?

“Do you ever come here without making a scene?” You lift your cocktail and drain it until there’s only a few chips of melted ice.

“I don’t do quiet,” he shrugs and goes back to his meal, “and I like a show with my dinner.”

You sniff as a gaggle of waiters try to calm the raging man throttling your husband. The mention of police moves the rabble towards the door but not without chaos. Table wobble with the impact of the intertwined man as heels click in their stead, following the fight outside.

“I need another drink,” you put your glass down, “preferably a double.”

Lloyd raises his hand and whistles, “garcon.”

You cringe and sink down lower. His quick response would be flattering if it wasn’t completely patronizing.

💎

Your stomach is unsettled, the pasta sitting like a lump as your anxiety flickers in your chest. You sit back in the low car seat and frame your forehead with your hand. A nice relaxing shower somehow ended in you being wound tighter than before.

"Baby, better keep me awake, you don't want me falling asleep at the wheel, do ya?" Lloyd says as he steers out into the street, giving his stomach a slap, "god, that was good, wasn't it?"

His hand slips down and he flicks his belt. You straighten in your seat as his eyes flash at you in the rearview. You repress your agitation and reach between the seats, bending over the stick as you pull back the tail of his belt.

It's just one thing after the other, you gripe inwardly, this man will never let you relax. Never let you catch your breath.

You unhook his belt and open his fly. You want to get home and go to bed. He's just a man, you get him off and he'll be ready for the same. He's hard as you reach beneath the fabric, unsurprised by his lack of briefs.

You take him out and stroke him mechanically. Men are easy when they have their pants down. Your husband proved that. With his own boss. His ex that he never shut up about. You should've known. You were never good enough and now look at you.

You push your mouth around him, grazing him with your teeth.

"Eh, put some love into it," he flinches and rests his hand on your head, "fuck."

You loosen your throat and grimace around him. You bob up and down, the noise making you sick, stirring the storm already whirling in your stomach. He clutches your air as you ignore the ache in your jaw.

Your eyes water at the sudden awareness of yourself, of what you're doing, of how you won't stop. You have nothing and this man made sure of that. Tonight wasn't a favour, it was just another reminder of his power over you.

You drag your tongue up and down, flicking around his tip. You wiggle your nose and force back the haze of tears. No, he won't see you like that. He's seen enough. You're just buzzed, maybe a bit depressed.

You bring your hand up and work him diligently. He groans and swerves as he squeezes his fistful of hand.

"Jeez, baby, you're gonna get us in trouble," he chortles and shoves you down, "ah, you little slut, you already got me ready to blow."

He takes over, guiding your pace as his fingers stretch over your skull. He drags you along his length and groans.

"Yeah, you gobble that dick," he slithers, "I'm gonna cum and you're gonna drink it up, yeah…."

He pushes you to his limit and his hips buck. He snarls and slams on the break, spilling down your throat as he sputters. He grips the wheel tight and holds you in place and drowns you until you're gagging.

He lets you go and you sit up, coughing as you spit up his cum. You fall against the leather as your body vibrates and you cover your face in shame.

"Please," you rasp, "I want to go home."

"Home," he shifts back into gear with a scoff, "what home?"

[massivedrickhead]

Bechloe Week Day 3: Lost/Stranded

Words: 1771

Notes: Again, I probably went a little heavier than I initially intended because apparently that's all I can do, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Read on AO3

“Hey, it’s Chloe, I’m sorry to call so late,” Chloe said, as soon as she heard Beca’s mumbled greeting upon answering the phone. 

“S’okay,” Beca said, stifling a yawn as she rubbed a hand over her face. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

“I, um, I’m kinda stuck,” Chloe said, and Beca could hear the cringe of embarrassment in her voice. “I’m, like, stranded.”

“What do you mean?” Beca asked, briefly holding the phone away from her ear so she could check the time. It was a little after 1 am. “Where are you?” 

“That gas station on 35 I think.”

“Is that the one with the all-night diner that does those hash browns we like?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “Chicago was driving me home from our date and we had a fight and I made him pull over.”

“Are you okay?” Beca asked, suddenly feeling much more awake. “Is he still there?”

“No, he left,” Chloe said. “My phone is dead, the waitress in the diner let me use their phone, and yours is the only number I know by heart. Could you call me a cab or an Uber or something? I’ll pay you back.”

“Are you kidding? Look, just stay in the diner, I’m coming to get you,” Beca said. She pulled a coat over her pyjamas and shoved on her shoes, the phone held in the crook of her neck. She hesitated for a second and grabbed a second coat from the hooks hanging by her apartment door. 

“Bec, you don’t need to do that,” Chloe said. “It’s late.”

“It is late. And you’re a woman alone at a gas station in the middle of the night. I’m coming to get you.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said, the relief in her voice palpable. “You’re a lifesaver.” 

Beca thought murderer might have been a more apt title for when she was done with Chicago, but she didn’t think saying that would help the situation.

“I won’t be long, okay?”

“Okay,” Chloe said. She hung up the phone and gave a grateful smile to the waitress. “Thank you,” she said. “I promise, next time I’m passing this way I’ll stop in and give you guys the biggest tip I can afford.”

The waitress waved her off with a smile. “Don’t mention it,” she said, before moving down to the other end of the counter to pour coffee for some truckers.

Chloe spun in a slow circle in her chair until she was facing the entrance of the diner. She wished her phone was charged so she could at least distract herself. She was cold and tired, and she felt the beginnings of a headache forming behind her eyes. She already regretted the third glass of wine with dinner.

She rubbed her fingers into her tired eyes - no longer caring about smudging her mascara - and prepared herself to defend Chicago to Beca.

She knew he didn’t actually deserve defending - not this time - but she prepared the arguments in her head anyway.

He had a long day. Work has been really stressful for him. Money is tight. I insisted we go to this particular restaurant. I was too friendly to our server and it gave him the wrong idea.

Her shoulders sagged as she thought about all the excuses she was going to offer for him and, not for the first time since she’d put it on, her eyes fell to the engagement ring on her finger and she felt a ripple of doubt.

Was this really the way she wanted the rest of her life to be? 

Chloe was broken out of her thoughts by the squeak of the diner door being pushed open. 

She saw Beca scan the diner until her eyes fell on Chloe, and she seemed to deflate with relief.

Chloe climbed down from the chair and walked quickly towards her best friend.

“Thank you so much for this Bec,” she said. She saw Beca had shoved her coat and shoes on over her pyjamas, and in her hand she held a second coat.

“Here,” Beca said. “You never bring a jacket with you.”

“You’re the best,” Chloe said, gratefully pulling the coat on over her dress. She turned to the waitress who had looked up from her conversation. “Thank you again for letting me use the phone.”

“No problem, get home safe,” she said.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Beca said, and the pair left the diner and were soon climbing into Beca’s car. “Are you okay?” She asked, turning on the engine and cranking the heat.

“Yeah,” Chloe said. I am now you’re here, she thought. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“You don’t need to keep thanking me,” Beca said. “I couldn’t have just left you there. I’m glad you called.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said. She absentmindedly twisted the engagement ring around her finger as she let her head come to rest on the window. 

“Do you want me to take you home, or do you want to crash at mine?” Beca asked. 

Chloe swallowed. She didn’t want to go home. Not tonight. She was too tired for another fight. “I… I don’t really want to see him right now.”

“Okay,” Beca said. “I have a charger in my glovebox if you want to plug your phone in. You can text him to let him know, in case he’s worried about you.”

“Thanks,” Chloe said, taking the wire and plugging it in. It took a few minutes before her phone came back to life. She wasn’t surprised when she saw there was nothing new from Chicago. She knew she should expect radio silence from now until she apologised.

She fired off a quick text to him saying she was staying at Beca’s, and then she put her phone away. She knew if anything this would make him more pissed, but she also knew if she stayed silent she’d be blamed for making him worry. 

“So,” Beca said, trying not to sound angry when she spoke, “he left you alone at the gas station? With no money, and no phone?”

“He, um, he didn’t know my phone was dead,” Chloe said, realising it was a pathetic defence as she said it.

“Oh, I guess he’s off the hook then,” Beca said. “Fiance of the year.” 

“Please don’t make me have to defend him,” Chloe said. “I don’t have the energy for it.”

“Why on Earth would you defend him right now? Anything could have happened to you,” Beca said. 

Chloe had expected Beca to sound angry, but when she spoke Chloe realised that she was scared. Beca was right, anything could have happened to her. 

Why wasn’t Chicago scared about that? 

Why hadn’t he tried to call or text? Why didn’t he care if she was okay?

“I’m not going to go on about it,” Beca said. “I just… Whatever you might have done, whatever argument you guys were having, it doesn’t justify this. He put your safety at risk and… I dunno. I dunno how you come back from that.”

They were silent for a little while longer until Chloe spoke again.

“I laughed at our server’s joke,” Chloe said. “That’s what I did.”

Beca pulled into her parking spot at her apartment building, but neither made a move to get out of the car. It had started raining, and the only sounds were the low white noise of the car heater, and the wipers moving against the windshield.

Beca didn’t speak, but when she looked across at Chloe she saw tears in her eyes.

“I had all these excuses ready for him, but all I did was laugh at this stranger’s joke. That was enough to make him feel threatened enough to start screaming at me on the highway. I made him pull into the gas station because I was scared. He wasn’t paying attention to the road and I was scared he was going to crash,” Chloe said, wiping her eyes with her hand. “I got out of the car as soon as he stopped and he just drove off. He hasn’t called or anything. This isn’t… He was so… He was the perfect gentleman when we got together. So sweet and attentive and kind and now… It’s like I don’t even recognise him anymore. This wasn’t what our life together was meant to look like, and I feel so… Lost. I feel like I made a mistake”

Beca reached across the car and took Chloe’s hand. “Whatever you decide to do, I’m here for you, okay? No matter what. If you need a place to stay, you can stay with me for as long as you want.”

Leave him, Beca wanted to scream. Leave him before he really hurts you.

But she knew she couldn’t push Chloe into this.

“Thank you,” Chloe said. “Can we go inside? I’m really tired.”

“Of course,” Beca said. 

They rode the elevator up to Beca’s apartment in silence, and when they got inside Beca got her some water, makeup wipes, and a pair of pyjamas. She even insisted that Chloe take her bed.

Chloe couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of her like this.

“For what it’s worth,” Beca said, hovering in the doorway before she went to go lie down on the sofa, “you deserve to be treated better than this. You deserve something infinitely better than this. Get some sleep, okay?”

Chloe sniffed again and wiped her eyes. “Bec? Can you please stay?”

“Yeah,” Beca said, smiling as she climbed into the other side of the bed. “I can stay.”

Chloe was still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at the ring on her finger. With a shuddering breath, she pulled it off and set it on Beca’s nightstand. She settled back down onto the bed, feeling like a weight was being lifted off her shoulders.

“Can you drive me home tomorrow?” She asked, her back to Beca as she stared at the ring.

“Of course,” Beca said, her heart sinking. It’s her choice, if she wants to go back to him, she told herself. All you can do is be there for her.

“I need to give Chicago his ring back,” Chloe said. “Could I… Do you think I could stay with you for a little while?”

Beca swallowed and tried not to cry through sheer relief. “Of course,” she said.

Chloe turned away from the ring and pulled Beca into a hug.

“You might have saved my life tonight, Beca,” she said. 

“You saved it,” Beca said. “I just provided the getaway car.”

[hollybell51]

One - you have beautiful eyes

Masterpost, five times the Corinthian didn't say what he was thinking plus one time he did

The Corinthian x gn!Reader

The Sandman (2022)

Word count: 2225

Summary: handsome stranger enters coffeeshop, flirts shamelessly, you know the drill. But this is not an ordinary stranger, and you have no idea what you're getting into.  

Content: flirting, petnames, referenced/implied violence (the Corinthian's hobby), maybe a little of a creepy vibe from our favourite nightmare, planned murder etc.

Notes: I’m Aussie and have no idea how American money/cafes/coffee works I am so sorry (I did try though so I think I deserve at least a participation medal)

The Corinthian really didn’t know what had drawn him to the little coffee shop on the corner of the street. He didn’t even feel like coffee, and he certainly wasn’t after the company. After all, it was the middle of a week day and the place wasn’t exactly a hive of activity. In fact, it was completely empty as he pushed open the door, the bell jingling cheerfully. 

A laugh sounded from behind the door labelled “staff only”, and a second later a figure emerged, tying an apron firmly about their waste and still smiling at whatever their coworker had said. 

“Can I help you?” they asked, leaning forwards on the counter.

Oh God, he thought. The server – (Y/N), from the nametag – had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Bright and full of life, sparkling with mirth and real genuine friendliness. And the colour, oh the colour! Rich and shifting in the light dancing off the bell above the door, swirling with depth he couldn’t even begin to fathom. He longed to reach across the counter and take them for himself right then and there, taste what went on behind them and carry those memories, thoughts and feelings with him forever. He wondered if you knew what you were doing to him, looking at him like that. 

“Well ain’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day,” he said, recovering himself. 

Your cheeks coloured faintly, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “That’s sweet,” you said. “I’m sure all the other baristas think so too.” 

“Not at all.” The Corinthian flashed his signature grin and scanned the menu. If you thought it was strange that he hadn’t removed his glasses you didn’t show it, though he supposed you must have gotten all sorts of people in here. 

“What’ll it be?” You straightened, pressing your hands to the counter. 

He laughed, shaking his head. “Well that’s the thing,” he confessed, “I don’t really know. Perhaps you could recommend something?” 

“Well, our mochaccinos are a bestseller and,” you leaned forward, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “they’re damn good.” 

“Mochaccino it is,” he smiled. 

“Mochaccino it is,” you echoed. “That’s all?” Then, at his nod, “great, can I get a name?” 

He only hesitated a moment, then; to hell with it. “Corinthian.” 

You raised an eyebrow, but wrote it on the cup anyway. You must have gotten a dozen stranger monikers, it was a large city after all. “That’s $2.70. Cash or card?” 

“Cash.” He fished in his pocket for a moment, then withdrew a handful of coins and placed them on the counter. There was more than the required amount there, but that was alright. “Anything left over is a tip,” he told you. 

Your eyebrows shot halfway up your face. “Thanks,” you smiled, counting out $2.70 for the cash register and slipping the rest into your pocket. “That’s nice of you.” 

The Corinthian simply shrugged, stepping back to watch you work. Your hands moved deftly and with the ease of long practice as you made his mochaccino, your movements neat and precise. He tried not to stare at you, but there was something mesmerising in the little furrow between your brows, the light flush still lighting your cheeks as the machine hummed and hissed steam. He was down right enraptured watching your expression of complete and utter concentration as you dusted the foamy top of the drink with chocolate powder. 

You looked up as you pressed a lid over it, sliding the whole thing over towards him with a smile. “Biblical or Greek?” you asked. 

He frowned. “Pardon?” 

“Corinthian. Biblical or Greek?” 

Oh. His name, right. “Neither,” he grinned. 

“Architecture?” It was your turn to frown now, and wow, you even looked good doing that. 

“Not quite.” 

“Huh,” you mused. “I’m outta guesses.” 

“Too bad,” he sighed. “You were getting real close.” 

Your face lit up, intrigued. “Was I?” 

“Not really. Aw come on,” he went on at your exasperated eye-role. “You sure you don’t have any more?” 

“Mm, not right now.” You cast your lovely eyes away, down to where your fingers were tracing patterns on the benchtop. “I’d have to do some more research.” 

“In that case, mind if I come back some time? Just to check in on how that research is going.” 

“Or,” you smiled, a bold gleam flashing across your eyes, “you could swing by in three hours when I get off here and I could report back to you over drinks?” 

Did you just…? Yes, yes you very much did. The Corinthian was only at a loss for a fraction of a second, then he was grinning ear to ear. He’d usually be the one to initiate something like that, but here you were practically serving yourself to him on a platter. 

“That sounds like a hell of an idea,” he said.

“Three hours, then.” 

“Three hours.” 

~~~

You watched him leave, slightly awed at yourself. Had you really just asked out the hottest guy you’d ever seen and had your invitation accepted? If the mock salute he was casting you was any indication, yeah, you had. 

“Woah,” you whispered. Now you had to think up all the meanings of the word “Corinthian” in three hours, and you were at a loss. Sure, it was hardly the weirdest thing you’d been asked to write on a cup, but something about it, him, drew you in. You wanted to know more, you wanted to know everything. 

~~~

Three hours dragged by as the cafe got busier with the stream of people returning home from their office jobs, and it wasn’t too long before you and your coworker were both frantically making coffees and shovelling cakes into paper bags. You counted down the minutes until the clock ticked over to five pm exactly, your finishing time. The bustle had only really lasted through the three to four-thirty bracket, so you were totally free to go. 

Corinthian, as he had been dubbed in your mind in the absence of any other name, was waiting outside for you when you emerged, apron stuffed hastily into your bag, your face freshly splashed with water and your hair hastily styled the same way. He was leaning against a light pole, arms folded over his chest, the picture of just… wow. Words actually failed you. It wasn’t like he was dressed up or anything, he was wearing the same pale coat and tan shirt as he had when he’d first come into your cafe, the same dark glasses and jeans. But something about the way he was standing made your stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine, which was utterly ridiculous because you didn’t even know the guy’s name – assuming, as you were, that Corinthian was a pseudonym.

“Hey there,” he said as you approached. 

“Hi.” Curse the breathlessness in your voice. 

“You ready?” 

You nodded, slipping your hand onto his proffered arm. “Do you have somewhere in mind?” 

“Oh yeah,” he said. His accent made the words sound like they were dripping from his mouth like syrup. “Somewhere real nice for you, sweetheart.” 

Holy shit, you thought. Did the man have any idea what he was doing to you? He probably did, you reflected as he led you down the street, through the growing crowd of the city’s night owls. 

It wasn’t a long walk to the bar he was taking you to, you discovered, and the conversation was pleasant. He asked about your cafe which you were more than happy to talk about, he laughed at the sort-of-jokes you made, he flirted lightly with you and you flirted right back. It was nice. He was nice. 

“What are you having?” he asked as he scanned the menu displayed behind the bartender. 

“Not sure.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, truly unsure of what you wanted. “What do you think?” 

“Whiskey,” he supplied. “On the rocks.” 

Yeah, that checked out. He looked like a whiskey kind of guy, with his coat and his glasses and his accent, perfect blonde hair and tanned skin. Everything about him made you think of leather and cool vintage-y cars, milkshakes and those fancy record players. You were willing to bet he could rock a suit too, you could picture him in one right now. White shirt, beige waistcoat, dark tie, the pale coat…

“Hey there, you alright?” 

“Huh? Yeah.” You blinked, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, lots of options. Can I just get a… Moscow Mule?” 

Your date raised his eyebrows, nodding appreciatively. “So,” he said when the bartender slid the two drinks across the bar, “got any more guesses?” 

You nodded sipping your drink before answering. “One.” 

“Better make it a good one, then.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” you groaned. “It’s a bit of a stab in the dark.” 

“Lucky I like that.” He grinned, teeth gleaming. He had a really great grin, straight and white and oh so charming. Suave, in a word. He was suave. “Stab away.” 

“You know the city Corinth, how it was all supposed to be luxury and…” you felt a faint blush rise over your neck, “dissolute?”

“Hm, smart too.” 

You laughed. “Not quite, just got a lot of trivia floating around.”

“Knowledge is power. Go on.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s it. Decadent, fancy…” you trailed off, shrugging. “Like I said, stab in the dark.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, then, “That’s actually one I don’t hear so much.” 

“You do this with a lot of people?” You tried to keep your tone light, swirling your drink in its glass. It was really good, way better than you’d been expecting. 

Behind the glasses, his eyebrow’s shot halfway up his forehead. “Jealous?”

“No,” you said deliberately. “Curious.” 

“Well they say curiosity killed the cat.” 

You looked down, watching the ice spin in your glass, listening to the clinking. “But satisfaction brought it back.” 

He really laughed this time, a short bark accompanied by that wonderful grin. It was like you’d caught him off guard, like he hadn’t expected that at all. “Yeah,” he chuckled, looking at you a little oddly now. “It sure did.” 

~~~

The Corinthian stared at his phone screen, frowning. The words “(Y/N) (barista)” stared back at him, almost as if they were taunting him. He hadn’t taken you to the dark, sequestered alleyway at the back of the bar as he’d initially planned. He hadn’t followed you inside your apartment after insisting on walking you home like he’d planned. He’d simply talked to you, watched you, listened to you, all the while creating plan after plan on how he would collect your eyes. But every time one formed, it disintegrated again. He simply could not do it.

Yet, he told himself.

His mind replayed how you’d smiled at him, resting against the doorframe of your apartment, holding out your hand. He’d been confused, then your smile had widened and you’d explained that you were going to give him your number, that you’d like to see him again, that he still hadn’t told you about his name. It had been too good to be true. He’d had to reassure you that yeah, he wanted to see you again too, and yeah, give that to me and I’ll put my number in it so you know to answer after a moment’s hesitation where doubt had flashed across your face, clouding over those beautiful eyes. But it had been fine, you’d been fine, and now here was staring at your name and profession and genuinely considering calling you. 

It was ridiculous, insane. He was a nightmare, he was the freaking Corinthian for fuck’s sake. He had seen a person with beautiful eyes who he wanted, he had taken them out and bought them a drink (he was a nightmare, sure, but he was also a gentleman), he had had it all laid out in his head and then you’d pushed it all off the table like a cat did to anything breakable with your talk about the coffee shop you worked at and your little half-jokes that realistically weren’t that funny but that he’d found himself laughing at anyway and then you’d gone and whipped out your trivia about his name? Well, it had been the nail in the coffin so to speak. 

He could still see you now, here the parting exchange in his ears. 

“So am I gonna be left wondering forever?” you’d called after him as he’d turned to go. 

“Wondering what?” he’d asked. 

You’d folded your arms across your chest, frowning. “Your name.” 

“Of course,” he’d hummed. “Biblical, Greek, or libertine?” 

Your cheeks had flushed at the word, and he’d found himself smiling. You were downright cute, there was no other way to put it. Even when you’d basically called him an immoral whore, you were cute. You’d simply nodded, watching him carefully. 

“You’re not too far off the money,” he’d said. Then he’d left you indignantly calling after him, throwing more guesses and asking for more clues. But no, this was fun. This little game was fun for him, and he didn’t plan on giving it up so easily. Maybe he’d tell you before you went, let you have that satisfaction as you crossed from your world into his. Yes, that was what he’d do. A last gift, the satisfaction that had brought the cat back. Ironic.

Taglist (join here):

@juniebugg

[loreweaver-universe]

And that's where I was told to split the episode.

Ugh, I'm so mad at Dave. This episode's going to make me cringe a bunch, I can tell. I'm proud of Kipo for fucking with him like that on the fly, though. Well played. The wolves should be an interesting group--I can't wait to see the battle of the nerds! But other than that I don't have a lot to say about the episode thus far.

That’s it for today’s liveblog, so tomorrow we’re going to be starting episode 13 of Kino's Journey! Tune in at noon EST for that. You can also tune in to my Twitch channel today at 1 PM EST where I’ll be playing 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim for a patron!

Before I go, I’d like to plug both my blog’s Patreon and my Twitch/Youtube Patreon. Patreon is my only source of income, and while I make enough to cover rent and bills (I make $800-1000 a month) I don’t make a ton of money from it and haven’t been able to save anything up for emergencies (medical or otherwise) in the last decade or so.  Every dollar helps, so if you’re willing, please consider pledging a dollar or two.

Thank you all for tuning in, and thank you to my 43 blog patrons, who make it so I can do this for a living!  I’ll see you next time!

IN OTHER NEWS:

I recently completed my first playthrough of The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom!  You can see the full playlist of those streams by clicking here!

I recently completed my first playthrough of Finding Paradise!  You can see the full playlist of those streams by clicking here! You can also find the full playlist of the To the Moon series by clicking here!

I have an ongoing first playthrough of Final Fantasy XIV that I’ve been streaming on Twitch! If you’d like to tune in when I’m live, I stream it every Saturday at 1 PM EST, and I upload my stream VODs to my Youtube channel!  If you’d like to see that playlist, click here!

If you’d like to help me pay my rent, buy me some food, or help with my bills and medicine, please use my direct donation link!  If you’d like to support me per liveblog completed every month, please pledge to my Patreon!  If you’d like to support my streams or pick a game for me to stream, you can pledge to my stream Patreon too!

You should also go pledge to Gio’s Patreon, or his Sponsus–our Discord server maintenance tech and creator of Rubybot deserves far more than I can afford to pledge to him by myself.

If you’d like more of me and my content:

My Episode Lists master page, where you can find every show and liveblog I’ve done!

My Discord server, where you can come hang out with me and other fans, check out member liveblogs, and join community gaming guilds!

My Twitch channel, where I stream variety games every so often!

My Youtube channel, where you can check out past streams!

My ask blog, where you can send me questions and comments!

My Twitter, where I make announcements about liveblogs and streams!

My merch store, where you can get shirts, mugs, stickers, and more!

It’s your kindness and support that lets me do this stuff, and I wouldn’t be where I am without all of you to do it for.  Thank you all so much for your support, and for tuning in every episode!

[silkendandelion]

I can't find where in Google's terms they're using A.I. and not allowing graphic content. Do you remember where you saw it? Also, I keep stopping and starting when it comes to choosing a encrypted email because the thought of changing my email on all my accounts is daunting. Thank you for your advice.

Hi! Good to hear from you again. This got really long so look below the cut:

~*~

We have to do a little digging here. On the outside, google’s TOS front page boasts that your work belongs to you—that is true. But that’s not the issue, the problem is whether your work is allowed on their Drive service. Google reserves the rights in their TOS to remove content from their servers they believes violates their policies, so let’s visit that. They state—

“Do not distribute content that contains sexually explicit material, such as nudity, graphic sex acts, and pornographic material. This includes driving traffic to commercial pornography sites. We allow nudity for educational, documentary, scientific, or artistic purposes.”

Most people read that last line, “artistic purposes” and think “oh I’m safe”—maybe. The word artistic has no definition within US Law (bc thats where I’m from, users from other countries will have to brush up on their countries laws), the only thing the law decides is who owns the material.

If something happened to your account, maybe you get reviewed, maybe the moderator handling your case believes your content is explicit or isn’t artistic. Likely? Not really, that’s what we call the “spotlight effect”.

But don’t you deserve better? Nothing in google’s terms of service protects you if that ever happened. I know that I want better, I want clear and legally binding terms of service that hold companies liable for when its users are wrongfully purged or deleted. I want them to protect my information because that’s their job.

As for the AI thing, it’s public information Google is creating multiple AI engines for different purposes, engines that need scraped information. As of this post, googles current rule is “publicly available” information from your Google docs or adjacent accounts is fair game for scraping, including anything you’ve posted to personal websites or social media. So far, the rule is to set your stuff to “anyone with a link” to opt out (not that they told anyone to do that).

While that does protect some users and looks good splashed across a tweet from their corporate account—I don’t believe it.

For a billion dollar company that wants to make money and save money, where is the cheapest information they can get for their models? Their own servers. If I had a dollar for every time a company says one thing and then gets busted years later for lying and doing the thing they promised they weren’t doing—well I wouldn’t have to work.

(Rant over)

Wow, this got way too long and a little angry, but that’s okay. Hopefully, you learned something, and I learned a little more from doing new research.

Choosing a new email is always hard, it takes awhile, and I only moved over accounts that I use creatively, and my job. Try creating an account with a service as a trial period, see if you like the user interface, how the apps run, if you like it: switch over. If you don’t like it, you can always close the account and try a different service.

Cheers to a better internet, emyy, one day at a time 🩵

[notbynary]

gonna try to lay out some of my thoughts about the whole rusty quill situation

mostly i want creators to be treated right, fans to be treated right, and hopefully good content to be made.

i don’t know if the claims made in the article are true. there’s lots there that’s anecdotal, anonymous, unverifiable. they’re pretty serious claims.

ive seen some creators affiliated with rq/network say that they haven’t been mistreated, and are happy with the arrangement. i’m genuinely glad for them.

quite honestly, i don’t really trust rusty quill as a company very much anymore. it seems like more a matter of how badly they’ve fucked up, rather than whether or not they have. the claims in the article may or may not be true, but there’s more public evidence of some bad practices - examples that come to mind are the discord server situation, the transcripts, maddy being let go and the uncertain fate of cmv and other shows, the general lack of transparency. even if the claims aren’t true, it’s clear that rusty quill has serious issues.

at this point, i havent backed the kickstarter and i’m probably going to cancel my patreon, because i’m not really sure i can trust that they’ll use the money well.

that said, im absolutely still in favor of supporting shows and creators directly - either way, they deserve the support, and definitely dont deserve any harassment or backlash.

[my-secret-shame]

My fictional soulmate?

🔮THE FATES HAVE DECIDED🔮

Your soulmate is: Steven Grant

And you met: at the hot dog stand

(Wtf Fates?) Okay, so after having a chat with the Fates, they made a few things clear and are telling me this:

Alright, so the Fates are telling me off for doubting them, it’s a VEGAN hot dog stand. 

A new hot dog stand had opened not far from where you work, one of those totally bougie, pretending to be temporary but are actually unmovable, stands. Where the hot dogs cost £15 for the basics.

However, they were meant to be amazing and you deserved a treat after the day you’d had. 

There were only a few people in front of you when you joined the line, but a sudden sea of people came from somewhere, and when you were third in line there were easily twenty behind you. 

You were just checked your phone when someone nudged your arm. There was a guy trying to move in front of you, you looked at him for a second - he didn’t make eye contact. Didn’t say ‘excuse me’ or motion like he was just trying to pass through. 

He just kept nudging, stepping closer. 

It took you a second longer than you’d like to admit to realise he was trying to cut in line. 

“Erm, excuse me?” You said, the bad day you’d had making your voice firmer than it would usually be. 

He didn’t look, but continued to edge in front of you.

“There’s a line.” You gestured. 

He tutted, rolling his eyes like you were something he’d stepped in. 

Your blood boiled. Anger spiking at the base of your skull like a pin. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but never got the words out.

“There’s a bloody line mate!” The guy behind you said. “And don’t look at them like that, you’re the one being daft!” 

You glanced behind you and couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your face. 

“Stop being a scrounger, and get to the back of the line, or better yet, just clear off!” 

The man trying to cut in scowled. For a second you thought he was going to say something, do something, but he just looked at the guy behind you and apparently thought better of it. He muttered something that was guaranteed to be rude before walking off. 

You gave the guy behind you a grin. “Thank you.” 

He gave you a sheepish smile back, shrugging as he looked down. “Ah, it’s nothing, isn’t it? I don’t get people like that, he knew there’s a line.” 

You nod. “Thank you anyway.”

His smile widens into a grin, but you're called on by the server before he gets a chance to speak again. 

You order, then pause just as you're paying. “Erm, could I buy, or just put some money towards the guy who’s behind me’s order?”

The server smiles and nods. You pay for an extra standard hot dog, before your nerve fails. 

You give the guy behind you a little wave and nod before you walk away to find a bench in the park. 

It’s not long before you hear, “wait!” The sound of it cutting through the music on your headphones. 

You turn, the man from before jogging to catch up with you, his own hot dog bag in his hand. 

There’s a sudden jolt of embarrassment in your gut, you overstepped here. Maybe he’s insulted, maybe he’s-

“Thank you so much.” There’s such a heartfelt honesty in his words. “You didn’t need to do that, you know? Thank you.” He fiddles with his hands as he comes to stop in front of you. 

“I’m,” he swallows, “Steven, by the way. Nice to meet you, well, again, we did just meet before. I, erm, I don’t know how to properly say thank you.”

You grin. “I do, why don’t you eat lunch with me Steven?” 

Thank you so much! - sorry for the delay! I have an inner & middle ear infection at the moment that is kicking my butt.

My Secret Shame's Little Party

[sir-klauz]

So many people complain about having to bother grinding to play Genshin, a game you can literally play entirely for free if you want to where other games similar would charge a fortune to even own. What, do you hate bothering to grind COD, Skyrim, League (ok sure I mean the online public play area is people screaming at each other and crying), Mario, Animal Crossing, the list goes on. Why are you playing it if it’s tedious?

I get not having time to grind all the time for some people etc. but this is the same with any game you can’t be as fast to complete as someone who can game 24/7, but seeing not many complaints about this.

People only complaining about “having to sadly grind” at a game they allegedly should be enjoying playing like why are you playing if you don’t like it so bad you don’t wanna play it much? I LOVE grinding because I adore the game. It is fun. And I don’t compare my level of talent with maxing out every character with money and then being bored.

The people paying are paying to cheat the game faster, paying to not have to play properly, to not have to hone skills and work for it in game spending wages instead, and jumping gaining skill instead replacing it with money, and like every other single game that doesn’t charge, you have to grind and work for it if you wanna play it squarely as a game or use cheat codes to hack it.

It’s literally free otherwise? Can’t say that about most games especially ones that offer the same caliber of gameplay as Genshin does that aren’t at least £30 to £50, then another £1000 for expansion packs like the iconic Sims for example, or buying that first disk upon release for soooo much money, every new Switch game, every new PlayStation game, Xbox, PC, every time they upgrade, losing access to those games you’ve paid a fortune for because they’re out of date faster and faster with every electronic upgrade.

People are too competitive to have to “achieve everything first” or “game hatred”. It’s a gatcha game, yes. But I’ve spent barely anything on it and I’m doing alright, I’m not maxed out but why should I need to be? What? To brag? To pretend I worked hard in game for it when I didn’t? Na. Grinding a game and building it on your own merit is just fine, and something to be very proud of. Like with any new toy or merch piece being promo-ed suddenly for a new game, new characters are being dropped, its still a business and they still deserve to be paid to keep going and bringing you product and entertainment, it’s all just the same.

It’ll always be there (or certainly long enough to get to the quests), the relevant quests. God forbid grinding to earn game rewards like any other game ever.

Is not being good at it skilled off of your own bare back and playing a game you love, doing something you love for hours because you enjoy it, not a good enough reward anymore? I have won 37 characters and not paid for any of them, all got freely from a game which you can choose to pay for. That’s pretty damn reasonable. I have bought ONE skin in that time. I’ve won 2 (there’s barely any skins available). They actually give a hell of a lot, playing it totally for free on their servers. But people are still complaining?! People play for what 5 years, 10 years, to exceed at gaming, games, and be able to participate in competitions like E Sports, or gaming championships.

Imagine suggesting it’s disgustingly unfair and closing that’s valid rather than just wishful, than you can’t pay to just have all the skills of chess in one day or something. You’d sound spoilt, you’d sound rude and you’d sound unfair to all those who have worked hard and put the time in to learn.

The games only been out 2 years! It’s literally not even realistic for 1000s of people to angrily expect to be served the best on a platter. You have to grind and practice to be good at most skills. Sorry but that’s just it. Stop comparing yourselves to Whales (somebody who spends a lot of money on a game) who can drop £10000s.

Please. Enjoy the game, and happy travelling.

[lavishloving]

Hi there, how's your day going? Even if things feel tough today, just know that you're doing an incredible job, and I'm so proud of you. Take some time for yourself to rest and recharge, and remember to prioritize your well-being. Sending you a warm virtual hug because you're truly precious and deserve all the best. Don't forget to put on that beautiful smile of yours.

Wait, stop, I’m gonna sob. This is so sweet.

I don’t post anything about myself, really. I’ll reblog other posts and make comments but I keep a wall up between here and my personal life. So here’s a little bit about me.

I’m a hair stylist. I graduated high school, went to cosmetology school, got my license, and went into the beauty industry. Hair is just what I’ve fallen into. I work hard. It’s rough in the industry. If you work your ass of, pardon my French, that’s when you see the benefits. The money really is all in the tips (Take this as a small reminder to tip your servers and stylists. We rely on those, for the most part) This past week, I’ve worked everyday without a day off, doing some kind of hair. And it’s rough. You’re constantly using your hands, on your feet, and you have to keep the smile. Deliver the great customer service. Make sure every client is satisfied. And it can get hard. Today is my first day off in the past week (a little over that, truthfully) my body is aching and the past 2 days, I’ve started to fumble at work. Almost dropping my trimmers, dropping combs, right hand starting to tremble. I come home with headaches and drink tea, hoping it’d help. I’m drained. Physically, mentally and emotionally. But I keep it all under wraps. I refuse to show just how tired and burnt out I am. I’d rather put in all the hard work now and relax later.

Getting this message, especially getting it now, means so much and feels like some kind of divine timing. And it’s something so simple, but it truly does mean so much to me.

The smallest acts of kindness really do make all the difference ❤️ I don’t know who you are, but I truly hope you have a good day, a great night, and a wonderful life. Thank you so much for the message. I hope that you have a smile on your face every time you look in the mirror and I hope that you can walk around with a grin knowing that you just made someone’s week. I would even go as far as to say made someone’s month. Sleep well, eat well, live well 💕💕💕

[artheclown]

sorry to beg but if anyone has any extra pieces of the physical merch pack of the sunny zine I’ll buy it from you!

Unfortunately, all my physical merch was lost in the mail so I won’t be getting any of it :( I know this is a long shot but I just thought I’d try!!

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Wrong Food Order Moon Knight Headcanons

How the 3 guys react to recieving the wrong food take away order! I have no idea why I was thinking about this, (also the first creative writing I've done in like 5 years.)

Steven

Notices immediately and goes up to the register.

Completely goes into customer service mode. (The ‘I also work with the public, I know how rude they can be so I am being the nicest person alive’, which isn’t very difficult for Steven.)

“I’m so sorry, but I was meant to get ‘X’ but I’ve got ‘Y’. Yeah, no, not your fault, mistakes happen all the time don’t they? No need to rush or anything. Thank you, cheers!”

The staff are absolutely besotted with him. He’s so polite and understanding. You can bet if he goes there regularly he’s a favourite customer. Servers have a little fight over who’s going to take his order. If he orders the same thing a lot you can bet it’s ready for him the second he steps food in the building.

If his order gets messed up then you know he’s going to be offered his money back. No questions, because it’s him.

“No, you don’t need to do that. Don’t want to rob you blind!”

He is getting free things. All the free things. He’s just too nice.

Marc

Notices a few steps out of the building.

He just wanted to enjoy his food. Just wanted things to be easy

Sighs internally for a solid minute.

So much so that if Steven wasn’t co-conscious at the time he sure is now.

“What’s wrong Marc?”

“They gave me the wrong order.”

“Alright, just go back in and explain. We’re literally still outside of the place.”

He’ll shift his weight from one foot to the other a little. 

“Marc?”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to cause a fuss.”

It’s tiring having to talk to people, having to explain. It’s busy inside and he doesn’t want to be a burden, to make people’s jobs more difficult. 

“Do you want me to do it?” Steven looks at him from the shop window reflection. 

“Yeah.”

Steven fronts and it’s Extreme Nice Customer Time as he goes in and gets the correct order, even if he wrinkles his nose a bit at having to order meat.

Jake

Doesn’t even order.

He’ll look in the window and think about what he wants. How hungry he is. 

But it’s a luxury he doesn’t deserve. He can eat at home. 

The idea of waiting in line and interacting with people is so much it’s crushing. 

Sure when he’s on a mission he’s in control, confident, the most sure of himself he ever feels. Because he’s doing things for someone else. Following orders. 

Even when he fronts to protect Marc and Steven it’s different. He has a task. He has a purpose – to keep them alive. 

This, though, this is difficult. This is something he wants, even if it’s just a small thing. And it’s just. So. Difficult. 

“What do you want mate?” Steven’s voice takes him a little by surprise. He didn’t even realise he was conscious. 

“Oh, nothing.”

“I don’t think that’s the truth now, is it?”

The way Steven fronts is different from Marc or Jake, dreamlike. Similar to a mixture of losing your balance or the sensation just before you fall asleep. 

It’s near impossible for Steven or Marc to front from Jake if he’s doing a job, if he has a goal in mind. But the second Jake feels unfocused, feels the sadness creeping in it’s painfully easy. 

Steven goes in and orders, listening to Jake as he tells him exactly what he wants. (Steven would double check everything was correct before he left as well, just in case.)

He’d go and find somewhere nice to sit. Quiet, and preferably a park or somewhere near nature before he’d leave Jake holding his order. 

“There you go mate. Enjoy!”

Jake would smile and sit, watching the ducks and dog walkers. 

I just wanted to say I love all the content where it’s along the lines of Marc or Jake saying, ‘Hey Steven ordered no meat!’ (Genuinely warms my heart!) And I know this headcanon is very different, I just really like Steven looking out for Marc and Jake in this way and wanted to share! (Thank you so much if you managed to read this far!)

[sadlisogie]

why does no one on tumblr seem to talk about tubbo individually outside of his "duos" or "trios". I think we should make things about tubbo for once 😁 here are some reasons y'all need to get into him and why he's so much more than "uwu bee boy" OR "chaotic nuke gremlin" or whatever one dimensional character y'all decide to assign to him lmao.

- he's so knowledgeable about minecraft, especially when it comes to modded and server developing, and is way more intelligent than the fandom gives him credit for.

- he constantly creates a super welcoming environment for the lgbtq+ community (never treating anyone any differently, clearly being educated on questions others have and asking questions when need be. the stream where he learned about neopronouns and said he thought they were cool is one of my favourites). he has also raided smaller streamers, usually female or lgbtq+, which is something you don't see super often. once, when justnathantv had lost all his followers due to a twitch glitch, tubbo gifted 100 subs to him and hung out with him on stream despite never meeting him before.

- he's an amazing streamer and has done a fantastic job of integrating his chat into twitch culture while not making things too gatekeep-y, which is why so many variety streamers like mizkif, ludwig, Austin and Connor love his chat and him as a streamer. mizkif literally says he is the future of streaming, and gave him his stream key after one time in a vc with him

- his ambition and work ethic >>>. he says he's gonna do something and he gets it done. his song, his minecraft server, the voltz war series, his merch coming soon. he's so cool.

- he never asks for subs even though he's using the money for building an extension/office for his house, and he still does super cool subgoals (cooking and walking streams, horror games, merch and song snippets, etc) even when he doesn't hit them which frustrates me but shows how he's not really in it for the money but for his community who he thinks he doesn't deserve.

- he is so musically talented. its so cool how he can just pick up an instrument and learn it in like a week.

- he's genuinely such a genuine kid and you can tell by how he interacts with others, his mods, his chat, everyone. he streams for like 12 hours a day when he can on his alt simply because he wants to hang out with us.

that's why I think its so sad that a lot of people in the fandom don't really see him or respect him as an individual, and I think that needs to change. please try to catch a tubbo stream when he's not just streaming with ur faves, I'm sure you'll love him!

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Nia just needed a friend to do a hard mall trip. Trying out dresses. For a formal dance. And hey, maybe Lena and Kara are mad at each other but... She just needs Lena okay?

When Lena receives a call from an unknown number, she almost ignores it. But just enough people spread her phone number that she answers it on the off chance it might be someone who needs her.

“Lena Luthor, how can I help you?”

“Lena, please don’t hang up.”

The voice is familiar, but Lena can’t place it until the voice continues.

“It’s Nia. Nia Nal? And I know--” Lena almost hangs up right then-- not because it’s Nia, but because Nia treads dangerously close to a subject Lena is dead set on avoiding. Almost. “I know you have no reason to take my call, but… I need your help.”

Lena almost hangs up. She doesn’t.

“What do you need?”

---

The crisis, Lena learns, is that Nia has been given the assignment of her life covering the Golden Globes ceremony being hosted in downtown National City, but has nothing even remotely appropriate to wear. The mundanity of it all is so far from what Lena expects that it’s long moments before the words fully register.

“Uh, Lena…?”

“I’m here,” Lena says quickly, clearing her throat. She leans forward in her chair, rattling off an address. “Meet me there tomorrow at 11am.”

The next day, a few minutes after eleven, Nia walks up to Lena outside of Sylvie with hesitation all over her face. “Lena?”

Lena tucks her phone away and turns towards Nia with a professional but bright grin. “Nia, you made it.”

“Uhm, yeah actually… I kinda thought I’d gotten lost…”

Lena looks at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Lena, I can’t afford anything on this boulevard, are you crazy??”

Oh.

“You’re not paying,” Lena says simply.

Wide eyes blink at her in shock. “What? No! No, Lena, I can’t ask you to do that--”

“I’m offering.”

“Look, I was thinking we could just go to the mall--”

“The mall.”

Nia quails under Lena’s judgement, and Lena softens.

“Nia, you are about to be on the red carpet, covering an event that could catapult your career into the stratosphere. I think that warrants something a little more than what a department store can offer.”

“But…” Nia continues to protest, but uncertainty colors her features, and Lena knows she’s slipped under her guard. Carefully, Lena places a hand on Nia’s wrist.

“I won’t force you to accept what I’m offering,” she says gently. “But calling a Luthor for help means calling for a Luthor solution-- and nothing says Luthor more than shopping at the best boutique in town.”

Nia nods, but she ducks her chin with a swallow. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I don’t want you to think that’s why I called, you know?” Nia expels a sigh, working a harried hand through her hair. “It’s just that Kara was supposed to come with me for moral support, but she’s had to cancel four times and the ceremony is in three days and if Andrea hears one more time that I don’t have a dress, she’s going to kill me…”

“Nia,” Lena says softly. Nia stops, and meets Lena’s gaze with a hesitant one of her own. “I would never think you were calling for a hand out. I’m offering.” Nia still looks uncertain, but Lena holds her gaze. “You asked for help… so let me help.”

Nia considers her words, studying Lena carefully. Finally, she wraps her arms around herself with a steadying sigh. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

Nia follows a few paces behind as Lena turns and approaches the door to the shop, lingering to let Lena be the one to press the buzzer to be allowed in. But as they near, the door opens for them, ready and waiting to admit them.

Luthors don’t use buzzers.

“Welcome to Sylvie.” A pair of well groomed attendants relieve them of their purses, exchanging their bags for a couple flutes of champagne offered by a third.

“Thank you,” Lena replies easily, well versed in the practice. Nia fumbles a step behind, her movements stiff and uncertain. Instead of moving directly into the belly of the store as she usually did, Lena lingers, allowing Nia the chance to take in the shop for the first time. The showroom looks much like any other, as could be glimpsed through the windows, styled with clean lines and immaculately dressed mannequins. The true Sylvie experience, however, happens further in, beyond the curtains that separate the dressing rooms from the rest of the store.

“If you’ll follow me, ladies, I’ll show you to your dressing room.”

Lena wonders what Nia expected as they approached one of the curtained off areas. Perhaps a cramped alcove like the hollywood thrift stores shown in coming-of-age films, where your elbows knocked the walls as you changed and you’d be lucky to find a stool to put your own clothes. Certainly it isn’t the plush, spacious room that awaits them, if Nia’s wide eyes are anything to go by.

Charnelle waits for them at the curtain. “Welcome, ladies,” she greets, parting the curtain so that Lena and Nia can slip inside. “Lena, lovely to see you again.”

“And you,” Lena returns.

“I’m Charnelle,” she introduces herself to Nia. “Wonderful to meet you. I’ll be assisting the two of you today.”

“Thankyousomuch,” Nia says in a rush, her shoulders tight as she shakes Charnelle’s offered hand.

Charnelle allows the curtains to close behind them, isolating them in their own little pocket of divine luxury. Lena settles herself on the central chaise lounge, folding her legs elegantly before her. Nia perches on the edge beside her, her gaze flicking to the small boudoir in one corner and another curtain that shields the actual changing area. Inside there, Lena knows Nia will find a plush bench to sit on as she undresses, and gold hangers to hold her clothes while she tries on various gowns. It’s designed to be beyond comfortable, a place where one could spend hours-- and lots and lots of money.

“So, what do you have for us today, Lena? Another benefit gala to dazzle?”

“Actually,” Lena replies, “Miss Nal here is covering the Golden Globes this week for CatCo Worldwide.”

“How exciting!” Charnelle rounds on Nia. “And what are you looking for in your gown?”

Caught with a mouthful of champagne, Nia freezes, then swallows audibly. “Um…” she coughs out. “Something nice? I probably shouldn’t be outdressing the stars or anything, so nothing too crazy?” She shrugs. “I don’t know, exactly.”

“Charnelle,” Lena intercedes, “could you bring us some formal options in black, maroon, or blue? Floor length, of course.”

Charnelle nods, beaming. “Absolutely.” She gives Nia a wink. “She has your colors nailed, honey. What are your measurements?”

Nia stares at them both. “Uh. A six, usually?”

“They’ll need your measurements to ensure a proper fit,” Lena delivers gently. “Do you mind if Charnelle--?”

“I’m trans!” Nia blurts, her chinks coloring a solid ear-to-ear pink. “Sorry,” she adds quietly. “But-- yeah. Just so you know.”

Lena stares, surprised more by the outburst than its content, but Charnelle takes it in stride. “So am I, baby girl,” she responds smoothly. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have a dress that fits.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Nia finally, finally relaxes. She offers a shaky grin. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Charnelle gives Nia’s wrist a squeeze on her way to the boudoir to pull a tape measure from the top drawer. While she’s busy, Lena catches Nia’s eye and lifts her glass in a silent cheers of support. Nia rewards her with a small smile, before Charnelle returns and makes quick work of measuring Nia’s bust, waist and hips.

“All right!” Charnelle chirps, wrapping up her tape. “I’ll be right back with some options. You two stay here and get comfortable, all right? I’ll be right back.”

She disappears, and Nia all but collapses onto the chaise next to Lena. “I can’t believe I did that,” she groans.

Lena pats her on the knee. “You’re all right. Sylvie only gets my business because they know the value of discretion.”

“Yeah.” Nia lifts her head with a hum, surveying the dressing room once more. “This is nice. Thank you for talking me into it.”

Lena smirks. “Just wait.”

As if on cue, the curtains part to admit not Charnelle, but the woman who’d offered them their drinks. This time, her tray holds an array of small finger sandwiches. “Refreshments?”

“Oh, wow!” Nia exclaims, quickly helping herself to three. “Okay, yeah. I could get used to this.”

Lena grins, snaring a cucumber sandwich for herself. “Thank you. And another round, if you could,” she adds, seeing Nia’s empty glass.

The woman nods. “Of course.”

When she has disappeared again, the dressing room fills with quiet, and Lena realizes that she doesn’t have a clue what to say. She’s gone shopping with her mother, and with Andrea, and in both cases the conversation flowed easily, for better or for worse. But she’s never been shopping with a girl several years her junior, and never one in the middle of Lena’s biggest heartbreak.

“It happened the last time I went shopping for a dress too,” Nia says, breaking the silence. “The anxiety about… you know. I guess something about formal wear brings out the worst of it.”

Unsure of how to respond, Lena looks at her. “When was the last time?”

Nia sighs. “Prom. I’d transitioned by then, and most people were used to me, but I didn’t have a date, and part of me just internalized it as a fixture of me not being girly enough, and not, you know, the fact I didn’t know how to talk to boys, let alone date them. I didn’t even know if it was worth it to go at all, and I just-- started crying, right there in the dress shop.”

“What happened then?” Lena asks gently.

Nia smiles fondly. “My mom. She just hugged me, and told me how proud she was to have such a beautiful, confident daughter. It was sort of embarrassing at the time, but… it was something I needed to hear, you know?”

She pauses then as the server returns with their champagne. Afte the woman dips out again, Lena nudges her. “And did you ever find a dress?”

Nia snorts, nodding. “Yeah. Like, two minutes after I calmed down I found my dream dress. And my friends and I had a blast at prom, so I’m glad I went after all.”

“Good,” Lena murmurs, sipping her drink. “Well, I can’t promise anything about a dream dress, but I’ll call it a win if we get out of here without any tears.”

“Cheers to that,” Nia concurs, lifting her own glass for a deep sip.

In that moment, Charnelle returns, wheeling a short cart of long dresses along with her.

“All right, ladies-- who’s ready to see some gowns?”

---

Nia settles on a bias-cut gown of sky blue, accented with beaded embroidery at the bust and straps. It may not have qualified for dream status, but it’s perfect for the Globes, and Lena can tell Nia is excited by the time they step back out onto the street, garment bag draped over her arm.

“Thank you, again,” Nia offers, hiking her purse higher on her shoulder. “You really didn’t have to do all this, especially with how weird things are right now. I know it probably wasn’t easy to say yes when I called last night.”

Lena blinks. It honestly hadn’t occurred to her to say no. “Nia?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you call me?” It’s her turn now to shift uncomfortably on her feet. “I’m always happy to help, but… as you say, things are weird. Why me?”

“Honestly?” Nia asks. Lena nods. “You remind me of my mom. I can’t begin to tell you how or why, but you do. And the thing is… my mom was probably the kindest person I’ve ever known. So-- if you reminded me of her, I figured you were a pretty safe bet. And the worst you could do was hang up on me, so…”

Right.

Lena nods, her throat locking painfully around a sudden lump in her throat. Forcing a smile, she clears her throat. “Okay. Well… I’m glad I was able to help. Are you okay to get home?”

Nia nods easily. “Yeah, I’ll just catch the bus. Thank you again. This was really nice, and it was really good to see you.”

Lena nods, but before she can turn away, Nia catches her by the wrist.

“I mean it, Lena. I owe you one. If you ever need anything…”

Lena turns her wrist, allowing her hand to settle into Nia’s palm. Giving it a squeeze, Lena offers her a smile.

“I know who to call.”

// prompts are closed