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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 1 month ago

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Six Inch Heels

Pairing: toxic!J Price x Lawyer!Reader

CW: baby trapping. p in v sex. price has a breeding kink. price is misogynistic. dub-con. 18+ mdni.

"Price, this is your lawyer. I had to pull some heavy strings and call in favors to get her." Kate informed him with the world's most tired glare. "She specializes in international law, military law, her father was part of the team that got OJ acquitted and her mentor got some famous rapper free of a RICO charge. I'm sure she can get you and your boys out of this mess."

John was listening, but he wasn't comprehending. His eyes were focused on how the woman in front of him was stunning. Deep red lips, sharp eyeliner, and dressed in head to toe black. He isn't one for seeing pretty little things and immediately thinking 'Yeah this is the one.' But damn if he wasn't going to stake his claim. She seemed like such a sweet girl.

"This is the good man and his team I told you about." Kate turns to look at the very quiet and stoic lawyer.

She doesn't smile, her eyes examine each and every one of the 141. A perfectly arched eyebrow raises, and she tilts her chin up in subtle acknowledgment. "Can't be too good if you gotta hire me to clean up your mess. I'll see what I can do. But Kate." She turns and looks Kate square in the face. "Hire a stylist, I can't have these four looking the way they look in a court of law. Because a boonie hat, skull mask, and mohawk aren't going to sell the image of 'Good polished soldiers'. Maybe Union Jack hat can swing it, but he needs to put on a sweater and get a nicer haircut."

Price bristles at the insults, even if they were well meaning.

He takes back his previous thought. She's entitled, stuck up and a bitch. In desperate need of being humbled. He itches to say something just as scathing, even opens his mouth, but Kate shoots him a glare. He shuts up instead.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

You had bent over backward for the past few months practically assembling the Avengers for Kate. While the burden of proof will lay with the government, the burden of building out the defense team and making these four men look approachable for the public was your cross to bear. Kate didn't know any stylists, which was to be expected, considering that she was such a unitarian woman. So you hired your friend on the back end to handle that aspect. The rest of the team ended up being five other high-profile lawyers, all of them big in their own right with you as the lead.

Your head throbbed with the lack of coffee. Your assistant, Marco, hadn't been able to get your regular brand imported into the country. More importantly, though, your headache only intensified when you stepped into the war room and saw Johnathan Price. Over the last six months since preparing for this landmark case, you grew to hate him. He was smug, arrogant in that old, timey way. The man fought you on shaving off his mutton chops and didn't care if it would look good for optics. He called you sweetheart and love and dove, and fucking little miss. His stupid blue eyes would bore into you as you took notes and practiced the cross examination with him as he was expected to take the stand at some point. He had this way of speaking, phrases filled with double meaning and turns of phrases, and his deep growling voice made you want to punch him in his throat. It also made you unbelievably turned on. Yeah he was handsome, but his outdated views on women was enough to make you glare at him. After this case, you were ignoring Kate's calls from now on, it didn't matter if she called you on behalf of a favor from someone who you owed a favor to.

Next to him was his lieutenant, Simon Riley, your own ‘second in command’ lawyer Trisha struggles with him daily. Poor woman is often at her wit's end when he opens his mouth and incriminates himself. He calls it telling the truth, your team calls him inmate-526 because that's what he's gonna be if he fucks it up. Next is Kyle Garrick, he understands fully what's at stake, often joking he was built for war torture, not state sanctioned torture, and lastly Johnathan MacTavish.

The fucking mohawk is finally gone and he absolutely hates having a full head of hair. Let's the team's stylist, Angel, know about it every chance he gets.

“Okay.” You look at Trisha as she types away on her laptop, and then you look at John, “Mr. Price, we will be in court 6 more weeks. The reason we are all here today is to make sure everyone's testimonies line up perfectly.”

“We've been working on this for months, the timeline of events doesn't change.” He leans back in his chair, and he has the audacity to look like this is his meeting he's called. Jackass.

“Mr. Riley still insists on saying things that are up for interpretation.” Trisha doesn't look up from her screen, “We went over all of the recorded comms conversations and right now we need to make sure that the four unaccounted hours where your transmission went out is the same for all of you.”

Johnny looks confused, “So we are lying-”

Both you and Trisha shush him immediately, “No.” You sit down and rub your temples, “We are not lying to the government, we are telling your truth.”

The conference room door opens and in walks Marco. He's carrying two drink holders of coffee and tea. Bogged down completely with extra bags that contain more documents and such. “Sorry I was late.” He tells you, “Angel needed me to pick up their wardrobes so we can do a dry run and fitting, and I scheduled the uhm hired press”

“Paparazzi.” Trisha corrects.

“Yes Ma'am. Paparazzi so that we get good optics going in and out the courthouse.” He sits down your coffee, “Two sugars, oat milk, seven shots of espresso, caramel drizzle, light ice.”

It's perfect as always.

“Optics?” John says, he eyes you as you sip your coffee, “Sweetheart seven espresso shots? That can't be healthy.” He shakes his head disapprovingly.

“You wouldn't even stop smoking cigars when we asked.” You shoot back, “And yes. Public court of opinion, despite what people will have you say, influences court proceedings in this day and age. The jury can't keep up, but the judge pays attention and no judge wants to compromise and start a revolution or protest or whatever the fuck on his legacy by making the wrong ruling.” It's tense and you just wish he would let you do your damn job. “Besides, we still have to put on a show. Law is theater at the end of the day. There will be newscasters reporting and your case is being heavily followed.”

Trisha chooses this time to speak up, “It's why we have insisted that Johnny tones down his playboy personality and lean into being a reformed catholic.” She glances over the rim of her glasses. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she stared at the man in question. “It's also why we had Mr. Garrick marry his long-time girlfriend and announces a pregnancy. Still not sure how you're gonna pull that off if this case isn't speedy.” She looks at you.

“Miscarriage.” You state, “moving on. Let's start with the top.” Your eyes find John and he is already watching you. Unflinching and unmoving, burly arms crossed over his chest. “During the four unaccounted for hours, what happened with General Shepherd?”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

John and his boys are grilled in the conference room for hours by his darling little miss. He's already told her the full truth, all of the gory details about what really happened when they went rogue and captured Shepherd and several high ranking officials. To her credit she didn't flinch, unlike her assistant Marco, she didn't even seem bothered. At the end he asked her-

“Why aren't you distressed? Civilians don't normally hear these types of things?” He had been sitting in her office on day four week three. She had been running herself ragged with hiring the dream team, getting clearance for a press appearance budget, and fighting his boys on reforming their image. He had found her fire admirable at first but now it was aggravating.

Her cold calculated eyes looked him over. They were set behind false lashes that looked too natural, dark eyeliner that appeared too sharp, her deep red and glossy lips raised a bit in a scowl. She doesn't answer right away, true lawyer fashion and finally after seemingly gathering her thoughts, her tired eyes stare at him.

“Mr.Price. it is not my job to be disturbed by whatever you allegedly did or didn't do. It is my job to give you a fighting chance in the court of law. Right now the ‘more righteous than everyone, I do this for the good of the world so everyone stays clean and an air of arrogance’ attitude is difficult to work with.”

Back then in her office with just the two of them, he felt a hot stab of irritation. His pride couldn't take the way she looked at him as if she was better. He couldn't reconcile that such a woman, with full breasts, long legs, pretty face, and child bearing hips, walked about in six inch heels at all times and spoke the way she did. She speaks without a hint of stuttering, voice clear and strong, purposeful. He always heard her before he saw her. The click clack of her heels echoing, announcing her imminent presence, her energy commanded the same respect that he does when he enters a room.

Now though as they run through the possible questions for the examination and the cross examination, he views her in a different light. He still thinks that someone should serve her humble pie. Thinks that someone should knock her down a peg, for the sake of how she carries herself, too self important. He takes notice of her make-up, it's always done perfectly, but sometimes in the right light he can catch the puffiness of bags. His team's case is wearing on her and he really doesn't think seven fucking shots of espresso is good for her. He has seen her take her lunch and dinners, most of the time it's just a protein shake that Marco hunts down for her and a salad. His little miss is tired and she works like he did before he was put on administrative leave.

Always burning the candle on both ends.

An office isn't where she should be. A smart woman of her caliber should be homeschooling children and playing house wife politics, maybe even run a small business for fun. Most of her focus at this age should be on starting a family and carrying babies on her hip.

A smart woman but she is terrible with her life priorities.

“Okay, Jesus Christ.” She says after five hours straight of mock testifying. “Trisha, are you sure you've been working with Mr.Riley?”

Trisha is busy looking over transcripts of past recorded conversations. She doesn't bother looking up, “Yes. I did, but it's like pulling teeth. Perhaps we should break, it's like 12:30, we could all use a moment.”

John's little miss rises to her full height, lips pursed into a pout before she schools her face. “Fine two hours everyone. Marco, did that company call yet?” She walks out of the conference room with her assistant stumbling right behind her. Trisha looks them all over before following after her captain.

Marco on the way out after her says rather loudly, “He sent the roses under a different name Ma'am. He's really hoping you'll pick him for the contract.”

The door closes behind those three and it's Kyle who lets out a strained sigh and a laugh. “She's a tough bird. No-nonsense, reminds me of my mom.”

“She's a bloody tyrant.” Simon grumbles, “her and that damn woman.”

John can relate, Trisha has been making Simon go without his mask in public. In case people snap photos of him and he has an image to project. Covering half his face is not a part of that image apparently. “They are trying to get us off of war crimes. Be nice.”

“As if you're being nice.” Johnny laughs, “You call her everything but her last name. I think she actually tried to skin you alive in her thoughts when you called her ‘Little Miss.’”

He doesn't say anything as he gets up, the pop of his knees irk him. After this debacle he may just slow down and settle down. His thoughts go to his Little Miss, his sweetheart, his love dove, and he gets a sick sense of wanting. Who's to say he can't humble her, put her in her place, and make an honest woman out of her? He leaves the conference room and tells the boys to order whatever and he would pay for it.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

You stare at the overly large bouquet of blood red roses on the break room table wrapped in black paper. You've been searching high and low for a sperm donor through a private agency. Hundreds of interviews that you've done, hundreds of men turned down. You're on a timeline and your last long term relationship was more than six years ago. It ended horribly, and the baby you would have was sent right on to glory. You weren't ready and you were at the height of your career and your less successful boyfriend couldn't stand it. Said some bullshit about your biological clock ticking and it was either him or your firm.

Your firm is top five, and Howard has been fighting with Harvard to see who could poach you to come take up teaching classes. He from what you remember he works in lobbying for insurances, the lowest of the low in your humble opinion.

“And he sent this?” You look at Marco.

“Yeah, he also sent over his latest test results from the fertility specialist he hired.” Marco seemed flustered.

“Chile, just pick a man, they are all the same.” Trisha says while heating up her food. “Maybe after this, you can talk to Simon, he seems virile.”

“Don't make me fire you.” you teased. “But in all honesty, I don't need a man to make a baby. I may not even carry the baby, I may just get a surrogate.” You pop open a protein shake and sigh deeply.

Marco sucks his teeth and rolls his eyes, “Well I would like for you to stop having me field your calls for sperm donors.”

You give a slight side eye, “I pay you thirty an hour to be my personal assistant. This is personal and after I won't even have you help me pick out daycares and nannies.” You all laugh at the prospect of making Marco do such a tedious task. He won't even be an assistant by then and will be a freshly minted lawyer.

Unknown to you, a little snake was listening in on your conversation.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

When the work day finally closes and ends, you are over stimulated and over Johnny and his accent and also over trying to get Simon to emote. You are at the finish line of the day when John opens up your office door. His company isn't expected, but if you speak with him now you can both come up with a game plan for how to make Simon appear more open and approachable while also getting him to do more than grunt yes or no to questions. If you speak with him now it is less time with him on Friday and you can make time for another round of interviews of potential sperm donors and look into a surrogate.

“Yes Mr.Price?” You glance up once when you hear the door click signaling the lock.

“You don't have to call me Mr.Price. Lord knows I don't address you so formally.” His smooth syrupy voice sends a shiver up your spine and alarm bells ring in your mind.

“Which you should do and get in the practice of. Seeing as how calling me Little Miss or the variety of names you have in your arsenal can hardly be appropriate.” you snip at him and close your laptop. “To what do I owe?”

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot, Love.” He sits in front of your desk and smiles at you.

Gosh you hate that handsome smile. You hate his stupid handsome face and you hate how well built he is. If you weren't sworn off men you would have denied the case and immediately started trying to pursue him. Sad that he opens his mouth often. Even sadder that he is quick on his feet and has a silver tongue. The notion of him never not getting what he wants lingers in your thoughts.

“Apologies accepted.” The quip you give him makes him breathe in deeply. His next words make you freeze.

“You're looking to have kids?”

“That's none of your business Mr.Price.”

“Please call me John, after this conversation we will be very familiar.”

You get to your feet, wobble a bit in your stilettos and slam your hands onto the desk. “Listen, you have been on my nerves since the second we met. I am a professional woman and you will treat me as such.” your voice and body is taut with agitation. It's infuriating when he slowly gets up and rounds the desk.

“You're running yourself ragged my love.” He whispers and leans into you, crowding you against the desk. “How you're living isn't becoming of a woman such as yourself.” His hand, rough with calluses but it's not unpleasant, grips your chin. His whole demeanor says that he's lived a vastly different life than you, everything he has he had to pull out of the mud and fight and kill for. The first thing you tried to ignore was the hunger and drive in his eyes. He doesn't mind taking the fall for their illegal war crimes and torture, let his boys walk free, say they were just doing orders that he gave. It was only Kate that told him no and to gear up for the legal battle of his life. You secretly find that admirable but when he opens his fucking mouth you see red.

You don't often stand next to him and you know for a fact your heels give you six inches off the ground. But John you notice for once is massive. He stands tall, his blue eyes looking you over silently. His cologne, rich deep and you know it by heart, he's worn it everyday he sees you. It's Hinoki and Cedarwood by Jo Malone, and just under that is the scent of his cigar. It makes your head swim and the celibacy oath you made six years ago seems like it was just a suggestion.

Yeah John Price has lived a totally different life compared to your upper upper class lifestyle.

He continued, “Overheard you speaking about sperm donors and surrogates…are you little miss too good for the old fashion way?”

You instantly yank away from him and try to shove him back, he doesn't budge. “Highly inappropriate!”

“No.” an arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you impossibly close to him. He grabs a manicured hand into his own and gazes at your deep red cat eye nails. “You would look better in more softer colors, pinks, pastel blues and yellows. Clean French nails instead of these red claws. You want a few brats and you don't even act like a woman a man would want to marry and settle down.”

“You're a bastard, let me go.” You hiss.

“We can start with that mouth of yours.” Without any fanfare, he presses his lips to yours. Your brain short circuits, mouth opens and he slips his tongue into your mouth. He sits you down on the desk, pushing everything to the side.

Eventually your mind catches up and the tension from the last six months comes pouring out of you. You scratch at him and tug at his shirt roughly. The gasps you let out only spur him on. When he pulls away some of your lip gloss is on his mouth and his eyes are wild with lust.

You don't want to look at him and yank him back into another kiss. If he wants to play these games it's by your rules. John gives in a bit, but he nips your bottom lip and then kisses your neck, right at your pulse point.

“A woman doesn't set the pace her man does.” He tells you, “You let me take care of everything.”

“Fuck you.”

You're in shock at this display. Words for once in your adult life fail you. He relishes in it openly as he grinds his bulge against your core. Even with the layers in the way, you can tell he's big.

His hand finds purchase on your necklace, wrapping the diamond stones into his grip before he presses his palm against your neck. It's a show of strength when he shoves you back on the desk. His free hand wraps a leg around his waist, and you feel him through his dress pants and your stockings. “Keep it up and I'll waste my cum on your mouth little miss.”

No wonder he acts the way he does. He has the dick and the swag, the presence to back up everything he says.

“Lay still, and look pretty.” He orders when he removes his hand from your neck.

The insult is on the tip of your tongue, but it dies at the sound of him ripping your stockings right down the middle.

“You brute, these are Gucci!” You chastise him.

But he doesn't listen, he stares at your panties, a lacy black pair peeps back at him. His hands push up your dress to your hips.

“I don't like my woman wearing such things. Silk and cotton are better.” Your breath catches as he traces the outline of your pussy through the lace. “Prefer my woman to wear wedges or heels under four inches at most, preferably flats. When we get along proper, we'll get you set right.” It's like he's talking to himself.

A finger wiggles itself under your panties and teases at your clit and slit. You feel your arousal start to form, and you're reminded that another man hasn't touched you in six years. “John, wait.”

He looks at you, such a predatory stare. “Yes sweetheart?”

“It's been a long while.”

“Hm. So you and her haven't had anyone else? I'll be careful.” He lies through his teeth. John has no intent on being gentle. He has every intention of showing you your place, and it is being respectful under him. The panties are ripped down the middle next, and you squeal at the sheer force he shows.

Cool air touches your sex for only a moment before he is sitting at your desk, in your chair, and shoving his face into your pussy. He laps at your slit and dips his tongue into you. It's warm and wet, and you gasp and breathe heavily. Your last boyfriend ate pussy like it was a chore. Something to do when you didn't get wet enough because foreplay wasn't his priority. It's part of the reason you left so eagerly a day then locked down the pussy factory.

John ate pussy like his life depended on it. Like he did it for the fun and sport of it all and that whatever came after you came was just a bonus. He grips your thighs and smacks them. A muffled order of ‘Over my shoulders’ is heard and felt. The vibrations of his voice sink into you. With your legs over his shoulders, he groans into you. His nose bumps against your clit and the pressure isn't enough. Heat builds up in your veins, and you can't really sit comfortably in your dress.

“John, oh fuck please-” you reach down and rake your fingers through his hair. His tongue flicks up and over your clit and that's when you pull him closer to you. Smothering his face into your warmth, and he grunts. Instead of giving you what you want he presses his tongue flat against your clit and holds your pleasure hostage.

There's no room to grind against him. He won't let you. Blue eyes peer up at you, and he's glaring. It's an unwanted stalemate.

“Fucking fine!” You flop onto the desk and go back to massaging his scalp. He then gives you what you want and proceeds to suck your soul out of you, right through your bud.

It's better than your rose toy. The pressure and warmth an experienced man brings is something you can't imitate. He knows this. He has too.

A finger slips into you, its movements slow at first, but your breathing hitches, and you let out your first real moan. It's soft, and you aren't sure if you even made a sound, but John heard it. Another gets pushed in, and he scissors you open.

“Oh sweetheart, my love dove.” He groans at the tightness and how your body relaxes slowly. “You haven't been treating her very well at all.” He's mocking you with how sweet and concerned he pretends to be. “I'm gonna enjoy this and probably get addicted.”

You don't answer him because his fingers brush against your softest, most sensitive spots. Your body tenses up with unreleased pleasure. There is a soft squelch that sounds off every now and then. He's a tease, slowly building your orgasm from the ground up. It's intense, and you struggle to wait for the crescendo, but it's there, at the base of your spine.

“John, don't tease.” You whimper.

“I told you.” He pulls his finger out, and you whine at the loss of contact. “Your man sets the pace. I gotta train you up, proper love.”

There's the sound of his zipper, and you shoot up to look at him. He's just as big as you thought, girthy, and the tip is red. He drips precum, and he smears it with his thumb as he gives himself a cursory pump with his hand.

“That's not going in me without a condom.” You frown and try to close your legs. He stops you.

“Why? We are just making our baby the old-fashioned way. The way God intended.” He presses the tip against you, and you watch in real time as your strong common sense goes out the window.

His dick is heavy and warm, solid through and through. While he pushes into you slowly, you feel every ridge and vein of him. The distant thought of ‘Why isn't he married?’ crosses your mind. But it's shortly answered when he once again open his fucking mouth.

“I'll fuck a baby into you and Prices are big and we tend to like big families. I'm thinking of Irish twins to start.” He grunts when he's all the way in, and he's so hot, and your dress is stuffy.

You're scrambling to undo the first few buttons, and instead of helping you, he rips it open. Shiny black buttons hit the floor with tiny clinks.

“Got damn it, Price!” You shout as he pulls back and slams into you. There's so much force in his hips and moves the heavy desk, rattles it.

“Good wives don't swear.” His arms find their way under your thighs, and he folds you in half. Your knees are by your shoulders, legs spread wide to accommodate the width of his body.

“Oh fuck.” Your voice is breathy and light as he hits deep into you. The stretch is hard to handle. His teasing did just enough to make sure he did hurt you. Your hands grip his shoulders and scratch down his sleeves and onto his forearms. “You're such an ass.” You manage to insult him.

He leans up off of you and goes to yank off his shirt. His hips don't stop or pause for a second in his rhythm. You swear your eyes bulge a bit at the sight of him. His chest is covered in hair but it's attractive. He grabs your cheeks and presses your mouth open with one hand. Your eyes widened from the pressure, unsure of what to focus on first, his tight grip or the pounding of your pulse as that distant orgasm creeps closer.

Actually you focus on the warm glob of spit he drops into your mouth.

“Good wives swallow.” He grunts, blue eyes watching your neck with rapt attention. You've got no choice and you do as you're told.

“Gross!” You squeal but he only chuckles and bears down onto you with more of his weight.

Your pussy is pulsing, in time with your heart beat. Warm walls sucking him in and it is so obscenely loud. The sound of your wetness is loud and it accompanies your moans and sighs and his groans.

John feels vindicated when he looks down at your pussy and sees it adjusting to him. The way your insides took him so well justifies your attitude. It also highlights the lack of attitude you have at the moment. “This is what you needed.” He says low. He switches to grind, and he watches as the fabric of his pants rub at your clit. It's so swollen and untouched.

You won't be coming with him touching that this time. It's something you gotta earn and you haven't earned that yet.

“You just needed a man to show you.” the next roll of his hips has you trying to arch up into him.

“Did I find your sweet spot, little miss? I must have, you've gone dumb and you can barely breathe.”

There's no words and your only response is your cunt clenching down on him. It's beautiful, just what he wants to see. The way your body shakes as the first orgasm of many washes over you. He switches back to thrusting and fucking you through it. The way you clench up makes him choke on his next inhale of breath.

“John, oh fuck, oh fuck!” You shout. It's the first orgasm in years that you've had without touching your clit and purely through penetration. There's a moment of clarity where you can almost imagine being able to ignore his personality and carry his baby if this is the dick he slings.

“I know little miss, I know.” He talks you through it. “Gotta fuck you nice and deep, put baby in you.” He goes on, “keep this pussy full of me, and maybe you won't be such a bitch. You'll be nice and sweet to me, listen to me.” He moves your legs around his waist. Yanks you down to where you're hanging off the desk, and he jackhammers you.

“JOHN!” You scream. It's too much.

“Fuck you gotta drain me dry, I'll give you a baby and it'll make you much nicer, two or three back to back close in age yeah?”

He has such a bastard mouth. You want him to shut up but his words as taboo as they are go right your pussy where they belong. The next orgasm isn't gentle, and it wrecks you. The tip of his dick kisses your cervix each time, and it drives you to insanity with pleasure and a little pinch of pain.

“Oh John, wait, wait!” You scramble to push him off. It feels weird.

“No, no more waiting.” He leans into you, presses himself close. “The sooner it catches, the sooner we can get married, and you can be right where you need to be.”

He won't shut up.

“We won't need a nanny, you'll be home like a good wife, yeah?”

The warmth at the base of your spine is spreading throughout your whole lower half. The way he fucks into you is dizzying. Aren't older men supposed to slow down? The audacity to have a big dick and a dirty mouth. Your orgasm hits you like you stole from it. You seize up like an electric current zips through your nervous system. “Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck! John!”

“Almost there baby, almost, you can take it. You can take a bit more.” The vice clutch of your cunt is doing him in. He feels how warm you feel, and then he feels it before he sees or hears it. You're shivering as you squint through your orgasm and that alone ends him.

He groans your name and one, two and three more thrusts and he's cumming. He's cumming hard and your squirt is pushing out his cum. He pressed his hips into you hard to keep it his cum in you. As close as possible, both of your skins are sweaty and warm. It's a mess, and he loves it, but he loves the way you breathe deeply instead.

“Oh God.” You whisper.

“No God, just me, little miss.” He kisses your cheek and temple. “Let's get you back to my place. We have to try many times to make sure it takes, and I have so much to teach you.”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Friday morning comes, and it is the same as yesterday morning. Trisha is scolding Simon and showing him a chart of facial expressions. Johnny and Kyle are laughing. Marco isn't late, but he is worried. He stares out of the floor to ceiling windows at your car that's parked in the lot. He didn't see you in the office or in the break room. He would be the first to know if something happened, you and him are glued at the hip.

The conference room door opens, and John is holding it open for you. You aren't smiling, but you also aren't chewing out John like normal when you're together.

“I got your coffee.” Marco says, “Two sugars, oat milk, seven shots of espresso, caramel drizzle, light ice.” He sets your cup in front of you just as you sit down.

You glare at him and ignore the questioning look from Trisha and Marco. “Sit down Mr.Price or I'll do my best to get everyone off, but you.”

“She won't be having that. Got her a proper breakfast this morning.” John says, and he takes the coffee. There's a smug glint in his eyes that his boys know. Their captain just conquered something, and he's about to have something that wasn't easily obtained.

John only smiles that stupid, handsome smile. “Sure thing, little Missus Price.”

It's an aggravating and embarrassing experience to have your partner assistant stare at you. Their mouths wide open in shock.

Tag list: @wowitsafemale @uraeus56 @babydollcod @dragons-flare @cherishmoore @gloard @usoppsstar @pocketfulofposies @gazsluckyhat @curiouslittleprincess @ilostthewar @lostintransist @lay-z

a.n: Here's a cigarette 🚬 and a glass of wine 🍷. Hope everyone enjoys. It wasn't exactly what was requested, but it took on a life of it own. Was literally possessed when writing this.

#black!reader #call of duty fanfic #captain john price #john price #call of duty fic #john price x reader #john price x you #john price smut #call of duty #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #toxic!john price #tw dubcon

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3verythingiknowaboutlove · 1 year ago

Text

yeehaw

how spencer convinces reader to stay in rather than go out

MDNI | suggestive fluff!

word count: 1217

warnings & tags & stuff: fem!reader, def some nsfw descriptions of spence, all around suggestiveness, fade to black

author's note: second piece of writing yayy!!! this was originally gonna be smut but i got scared lol. anyway please lemme know your thoughts im DYING to improve. sooo yes i hope you have a wonderful day and here this is ig! 😚

Sitting alone in your room, you tugged on a pair of never-before worn cowboy boots. They were most definitely not broken in, and you knew you were in for an uncomfortable night of baby blisters on the bottoms of your feet. However, life is full of compromises, and these were too cute to pass on.

Especially for a night of line dancing with your boyfriend’s coworkers. Who knew that FBI agents got down like that?

You stand and plug in your earbuds, choosing to absolutely blast ‘Fearless (Taylor’s Version)’ by Taylor Swift. Also known as the only tolerable country music.

Dancing out to the kitchen, you wrap your arms around your lovely boyfriend who was preparing a cup of tea, absolutely not dressed for a night of country conviviality. Spencer looks you up and down, a teasing smile playing on his face.

“Hey cowgirl,” he says, gently removing your earbuds. “Penelope has been texting me on average every 10 minutes about how excited she is for tonight. I hope you’re ready.”

“Oh god,” you laugh. “I wish you were coming too.”

“I know. But that sounds awful,” he says in his matter-of-fact way. “Hey, I do have something for you,” he mentions. You look up at him, and he runs quickly upstairs to grab his bag. He comes down and brandishes his very own cowboy hat. “From the times Penelope didn’t have you to drag along with her and I was her chosen victim.”

“For me?” You ask excitedly. He puts it on you. Although it’s a little big, it 100% completes the look. You look up at him. “Think I would make a good cowgirl?” He peers down at you, trying to tell if you’re joking.

“No,” He goes the serious route and you furrow your brow at him. “You hate the dirt. And the heat,” he explains, emphatically defending himself.

“I guess you’re right. I don’t really do well with horses either,” you murmur.

“You do make a cute cowgirl for the night though, even if it’s not your true calling.” He ruffles your hat.

“Yeah?” You smile. “It’s not too much with both the boots and the hat?”

Spencer blinks.

“Have you met Penelope? She always has a lot going on. More than this.”

You giggle.

“They’ll all adore you, JJ, Emily,” he reassures, stroking the side of your waist.

You had known Penelope for a few months, ever since you started dating Spencer. But you had yet to meet the rest of the girls on his team. You were definitely excited, they seemed really cool. But you were definitely also nervous.

Spencer, jarring you from your thoughts, whips out his very outdated phone that he somehow still manages to operate, and opens the camera.

“Smile.” You do so, showing off all your teeth. You move to look at the picture, and Spencer tilts the screen toward you. “See? Adorable.”

You stand on your tippy toes for a kiss, and he complies quickly. A little too quickly to not have any meaning behind it. Your eyes flit down, and you notice a slight bulge in Spencer’s pants that wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

You raised your eyebrows and looked up at him. “Can I convince you to stay?” He whispers, half smiling. You tilt your head.

“Maybe” you say shyly.

“What if I told you that the chances are slim to none that you are actually going to line dance tonight? Penelope and JJ always end up sitting at the bar, and Emily always gives up half a song in and joins them. Without fail,” he says. You purse your lips, heart beating a little faster for whatever reason.

“That could still be fun,” you reason.

“Not in those shoes,” he says, rubbing your hip softly. “I know they must hurt; they’re brand new and you’re already shifting your weight between your feet much too frequently.”

You look down at your feet. He was not lying. “You’re too observant. This is why you basically always have your way with me.” You exhale.

“By caring about you? I could keep going. I know that you hate country music. And no, Taylor Swift does not count. She’s an outlier. And she was born in Pennsylvania. That’s barely real country music. You’d be miserable all night.”

“Yes, you would know about ‘real’ country music, Mr. Las Vegas,” you counter.

“That would be Dr. Vegas to you,” he quips, bending down once again and giving you a kiss. You reciprocate, kissing the corner of his mouth. “What if I told you I really wanted you to stay? Bad?”

“Bad? I guess I’ll stay, if it’s bad. But you have to be the one to text Penelope,” you say begrudgingly. As if you weren’t as releived as can be. And as if Spencer didn’t know that.

He smiles and allows his arms to wrap around your waist. Spencer’s kisses become slower, you could feel every aspect of them. His lips, of course, but also his stubble. The air being pushed out of his nose. The hand swiping it’s typical resting spot, your cheek. His tongue delicately tracing your mouth. It all feels so calculated for you, so measured.

And you, on the other hand, are a mess, trying to keep up. Your heart is pounding and you’re sure your face is noticeably hot. And by the time Spencer leads you to your room and sits you down on the bed, its temperature has only increased.

You kick off your boots. He sits next to you, his hands holding your waist, ever so firm. He brings them up, thumbing the inside hem of your tank top.

“All good?” He checks.

“Yeah,” you say, head spinning with all the good chemicals.

“Deep breaths for me, okay? Gotta keep your blood flowing appropriately,” he reminds you, leaning back and taking you in. “Pretty girl.” You blush and his hands move to your lower back over your tank top, delicately brushing over in a way that gives you goose bumps. You shiver.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You’re sensitive in your lower back. God, there’s still so much more to learn about you.” He breathes out.

“Good. I was scared you’d get bored, with your perfect memory and all,” you joke.

“Bored? The human brain is limitless. Your brain is limitless. I wanna know everything I possibly can that goes on up there. Everything that makes it feel good. It’s the least boring thing I can think of.” You blush and look down.

You lean in for another kiss, this time to his jawline and neck. Your hands slide up his stomach under his shirt a little and and you look up to him.

“Okay?” This time you ask.

Spencer nods. “Okay.” Your hands trace up under his own shirt, and you immediately lean in to kiss him, holding his chin.

All of a sudden he’s everywhere. Even sitting next to you, he manages to take over every ounce of your body. He’s kissing your mouth and forehead and cheeks, one hand is holding your face, and the other is mapping your stomach.

“Can we try something new then? If we wanna do and learn everything?” You whisper. One quick tête-à-tête later, you’re sitting on his lap, shifting your hips softly as he held your waist for you.

“I guess I was wrong. You’re gonna be an amazing cowgirl.”

#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x gn reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #piper’s works

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hanasnx · 11 months ago

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WITHHOLDING SEX — logan howlett.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: unfinished wip that im never gonna finish. WARNINGS: unfinished wip ノ fem reader ノ stripper reader ノ age gap ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ logan gets smacked for saying some dumb shit ノ degradation ノ outdated and lame anti-sex work rhetoric ノ toxic behavior

“You’re such a jerk, Logan.” you used to say, a little giggle to your voice as you scoldingly pat LOGAN HOWLETT’s broad chest, letting him back you into a dark corner at your club and buy a personal dance. He’d wave that fat wad of cash in front of your nose with that knowing look you’d come to crave, and you’d flirtingly comply. You’d even let him get cheeky with it, copping a feel up your thigh while in the privacy of a backroom. Just so you’d bat his callused hand away with a toying, “Ah-ah!” And he’d tilt his big head at you and push out his hips while you finished up your dance.

Months of playing with one another, led to his impatience getting the better of him. Late at night, asking you—a stripper—what you were doing later. He’s got this way about him that you watch so carefully. All he had to do was stare at you through those furrowed brows and jut his chin when he popped the question, and you obediently blurted out, “Maybe if you’re lucky: you.”

Much to your surprise, it wasn’t some one night stand. Booty calls turned to dates, turned to moving in together, turned to partnership. Not that you believe yourself to be a challenge, but you’ve never met a guy that could seduce you at your job, and you certainly never expected to shack up with him. Logan made it easy at first, always forward with you, putting up with your “diva attitude” as he likes to call it, driving you to and from work because he doesn’t trust the clients that hang out around the building when girls are just trying to get home. You fell hard, and you fell fast.

But lately, things have been different. Logan’s always been bull-headed—and a bit of a pig—but it never seemed to be as big of a problem as it is now. As much as you can love those traits of his, they get in the way of communication, and your own spite and stubbornness doesn’t soothe anything. You fight more than ever, you argue more than you have actual conversations. If you’re not fighting, you’re not talking, and he’s sleeping on the couch. Butting heads is not new, but now they’re not as easily solved without the shade of rose-colored glasses.

“Nah, baby, ‘cause a stripper like you was easy.” The prideful and malicious words struck you right to your core, whirling around to face Logan who’d been hounding after you. It’s written all over his firm countenance, he said it to hurt you, and he knew it succeeded—from the very first petname spat so facetiously. Your hand flies before you realize what’s happening, whipping across his cheek so hard it resounds throughout the room. It was a stupid move, ache pulsing hot through your palm from the contact, and chances are it’s worse for you than him.

Your voice burns from this latest yelling match, and you exacerbate it. “You’re such a jerk, Logan!” The dumbfounded part in his lips close as he pivots his spun head to meet your gaze. You’re not gonna sit here and entertain this any longer, you’re gonna be late for work, so you round his wide frame to hurry to the door. “Let’s see how easy you think I am.” you challenge, throwing open the door, “Good luck getting off without me.” you spit at him before slamming the door after you.

“That’s it, I’m so done with him—for real this time.” you claim, yapping the ear off your coworker at the lockers while you two get dressed.

“Oh, yeah, right.” she replies with a roll of her eyes, zipping up her boot. “Next week y’all are gonna be back together, attached at the fuckin’ hip. Who’re you kidding?” She stamps her foot down, and gives herself last looks in the vanity mirror, teasing her hair with her hands.

You throw down your needle and floss, halting your sew of a hole in your costume. “Shut up, it’s not like that!” you whine, annoyed by her prediction—more or less accurate.

She snickers. “See you out there.” she tells you, effectively dismissing the conversation as she makes her way out onto the floor. Somehow, her reaction only fans the flames of your spiteful commitment…. but even though the hurt is still fresh, you miss him.

It’s frigid in the AM, hugging your jacket close as you watch your breath steam in front of your face. The bouncer didn’t think to watch your walk to the car this time, knowing that your boyfriend usually picks you up. You forgot to tell him otherwise, but it’s not a big deal—until you remember you took your car this time and the heater is broken. You’ve taken three steps out the door and you’re already shivering, what are you gonna do when your brittle fingers can’t grip the wheel?

“Hey.” a rough and familiar voice breaks you out of your internal debacle, facing the noise promptly. Logan wearing his usual scowl and puffy vest—somehow he looks good. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up to reveal the cords of his forearms crossed across his chest, tailbone leaned against his truck. “C’mon.” He tilts his head in the direction of his vehicle. In one small second, you’re endeared by his gesture, he knew you were gonna be cold and a little unsafe—even through being angry he’d do this for you. In the next second, the warm feeling is quickly crushed under the weight of knowing Logan. This isn’t some knight-in-shining-armor moment. This is his apology.

You stick your frozen nose in the air, “No, thanks.” you respond. There’s no way you’re going to let him off the hook that easily. Back on your path to your car, you huddle into yourself to converse heat, but you still hear footsteps on gravel behind you.

“Don’t be like that, princess, I know you’re freezing.” he says. He only calls you that when you’re being especially prissy. “I know you didn’t mean what you said back there, so let’s just go home and I’ll hook and tow your car in the morning.” The impending presence of a palm against your upper arm alerts you and you flinch out of the way.

“I’m not getting into the truck with you, Logan, I’m mad at you.” you hiss. Your persistence is annoying, and if you were less wrathful Logan might’ve thrown you over his shoulder by this point. Something tells him this isn’t like other times.

His hand lingers in the air aside your sleeve, but draws back when he straightens to his full height behind you. “So you’d rather catch fuckin’ pneumonia than be within three feet of me?” his disbelief is deduced clearly in his tone, conveying how stupid he thinks you’re being.

So you double down, shrugging indifferently as you cross your arms over your chest. “If that’s what it comes down to.”

“Jesus, you’re a stubborn bitch.”

You round on him. “Logan!”

He inclines in your space, raising his voice as he gestures in front of him, organizing his verbal thoughts, “First, you tell me some bullshit about no pussy, and now you don’t even wanna be near me—“

You’re incredulous, matching his energy as you lift onto the tips of your toes to compete with him. “—Why would I wanna go anywhere with you when you’re being the biggest asshole—“

“—and it’s not like you can keep up with that shit. You’ll last a day- and that’s generous—!”

“—A day? You think I’ll last a day—?” You have the urge to laugh, a dry hollow sound.

“Face it, you can’t go a night without me.”

Obviously, you’re not getting anywhere and you’re tired. Defeated, you shake your head and turn on your heel. You’re beyond cold, and you say loud enough for him to hear, “Get outta here, Logan, I don’t wanna see you when I get home.”

He shift his weight to one hip, raising his arms out at his sides in a questioning pose. “Oh, and where am I supposed to go? Huh? Where am I supposed to go?” he interrogates after your retreating form, angry at your reaction, at the fact you’re walking away from him, the idea he’s not going to be in a warm bed with a warm body to comfort him to sleep tonight.

It’s his own fault. “I don’t care where you go! I’m not letting you in.” you reply with a shake of your head.

#unfinished wip #ch: logan #logan howlett x reader

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mariclerc · 8 months ago

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Student's secret | cl16

Summary: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas... or in a pole dance club.

Warnings: mental health issues, toxic work environment, mentions of drugs and sex, uni student reader, denigrating comments, angst and a little fluff at the end.

Living or spending a few days in the city of sin is a dream come true for many people, it is the place where everything is possible, where anything can happen: Luxuries and eccentricities are the order of the day throughout the year and rules and formalities are something banal and outdated for many.

For you it is like being in a cage, many people are forced to lead a double life, one where during the day they do their routine things but at night they try to do something to survive... Just like your case... Being a uni student, it is a bit difficult to bear the expenses of tutors, food, clothes, rent and other things, especially being exposed to the city of luxuries at such a young age, most of the time you find it difficult to make ends meet, so you decided to look for a job during the holidays to, at least, have enough money to make it to the end of the year without any problems... But you didn't think that what started as a temporary job would become a permanent job.

That's why you find yourself touching up your makeup backstage at a pole dance club, this has been your night life for 4 months straight, today is different because you have to work an extra day due to a special show.

Lila, your boss, enters backstage, drawing everyone's attention. “Listen up ladies, tonight we will have a special show because the F1 action in Las Vegas starts on Wednesday, so we will only be open today - Tuesday night, and tomorrow.” she said with a cocky smile on her face. “Plus we have some special people in the audience tonight, so get your shit together or else... You'll be dealing with me.” she said.

Most of the time when there is a big event that paralyzes the city you work only 3 days and the other days you use to rest, but this is enough because you assume from what Lila says, that the drivers will be making an appearance at the club tonight. Plus your shift is only supposed to be Thursday through Sunday, not Tuesday.

You sighed. “I don't want to do this Lila...” you say softly.

She stops and turns her gaze to you. “What do you mean? You know you have a contract, right?” she spats.

“But this is not my shift and I feel too uncomfortable and exposed.” you say. “This was supposed to be a summer-only job, and...” you were going to continue but she interrupted you.

“But anyway, you signed the contract and besides, you need money for your stupid shit, right?” she said and you blinked multiple times. “So you're gonna put on a good show tonight or else I'll make you spend the night with one of the patrons, was it clear to you?”

The patrons are the ones who keep the club afloat, they invest a lot of money in you and in drinks, drugs and so on. In the few months you've been there you've witnessed some pretty... nasty stuff, drugged up coworkers forced to have sex with one of these guys so they can give them some extra money. Luckily for you, you haven't been forced to do anything similar, you just dance and do the occasional VIP service, extra tip and that's it, but seeing the consequences of not wanting to work today, you have to put up with it.

“Okay miss...” you murmured shyly.

Lila smiled. “Everyone, be ready for our customers tonight.” she said and continued walking, you sighed.

You take a deep breath, wiping away a tear that came out of your eyes, smudging lightly your mascara, before stepping into the spotlight. You and your other companions go out on stage, you notice how the patrons are sitting up front with their drinks and cigarettes, as usual, but you notice new faces; most of the drivers are sitting in the VIP booth, each one sitting alone or with his colleagues. The music starts, and you begin your routine, trying to mask your emotions with your performance. As you dance, you catch glimpses of a driver who's watching you intently, his expression shifting from amusement to concern.

After finishing your routine, you watch as your boss motions for you to go the VIP booth number 16, you walk over there, your heart pounding in your chest. The driver is smiling, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes.

He's smiles gently. “Hey there, that was an incredible performance up there.” he says softly.

“Thanks, I... I appreciate it.” you say while forcing a smile.

You notice the way he studies you, his gaze lingering on the redness in your eyes and the light smudge under it. He hesitates for a moment before speaking again... “Are you okay? You seem… a bit upset.” he asks you softly.

You sighed. “It’s just been a long night... Nothing to worry about.” you whispered as you lied.

He nodded. “I can imagine, this place looks so intense.”

You look around the club, feeling the weight of the atmosphere pressing down on you.

“It can be... Overwhelming at times.” you say quietly.

The music shifts to a slower tempo, creating a more intimate atmosphere around your conversation. You stand before Charles and you take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Charles watches you with a mix of excitement, care and curiosity, his coloured eyes sparkling under the dim lights.

He smiles gently. “So, what do you say, little star? Just a little private dance to lighten the mood?” he says softly while calling you by your stage name.

“I mean... If that's what you want...” you say a little hesitant.

He nods reassuringly. “Trust me, it’ll be fun... Just be yourself.”

You feel a rush of adrenaline at his words. You’ve performed many times before, you've even done private dances several times with not so nice customers, but this feels different—more personal and somewhat intimate. You nod slowly, trying to shake off your nerves.

“Okay... I'll do it.” you say softly.

Charles grins, and you can see the excitement in his eyes. You step back slightly to create some space, allowing yourself to get into the right headspace... The music shifts to a sultry tune, and you begin to move to the rhythm.

As you dance, you focus on Charles, letting the music guide your movements. You sway your hips and let your body flow with the beat, feeling the tension ease away with each step. Charles leans back against the plush booth, watching you intently.

“You're incredible...” he whispers.

His words send a thrill through you, and you find yourself getting lost in the moment... You let go of any lingering doubts and worries and you just embrace the performance. You glide closer to him, allowing your body to move in sync with his gaze.

You continue your dance, incorporating playful movements that make him laugh and smile. The connection between you feels electric, and you find yourself enjoying this more than you anticipated.

“How's this for a private dance?” you asked him playfully, using your confident facade.

He grins. “It's perfect... More than I expected...”

You lock eyes with him, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away. The laughter and chatter from other tables become a distant hum as you focus solely on him. As you move closer again, you notice how he leans forward, captivated by your performance. You playfully run your fingers along his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. You continue dancing, letting your body express what words cannot. You swirl around him, feeling free and alive as you lose yourself in the rhythm. The music pulses through your veins, and you can see the admiration in Charles' eyes as he watches you.

“You're amazing... This is better than I imagined.” he says with a low voice.

You smile at his compliment, feeling a rush of confidence surge through you, customers rarely compliment you or the girls. You step closer again, brushing against him as you dance, feeling the warmth radiating from his body.

As the last notes of the song fade away, you take a deep breath and step back, allowing yourself to bask in the moment.

He clapped softly to you. “That was incredible! You really know how to put on a show.”

You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. The energy between you is palpable as he leans forward slightly.

“I think that deserves a special tip...” he says while grinning. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crisp stack of bills, holding them up with a playful glint in his eye. “What do you think? Is this enough? Or do you need more than that?” he says softly.

Your heart races as he counts out a hefty amount of cash that was wrapped in a paper before handing it to you with an appreciative smile. You wouldn't believe it, it was a big tip.

“Wow! Are... Are you serious?” you said surprised. “I can't take it, I'm...” you were about to say but he gently stopped you.

He smiled. “Don't say that, you deserve it! You deserve every bit of it for that amazing performance.”

You take the money from him, feeling a mix of gratitude and disbelief. It’s more than you expected for just one dance. “Tha... Thank you so much! This really means a lot to me.” you say softly.

“You earned it. And I hope this helps with whatever you're working towards.” He said sweetly and that made you stop.

“How... How do you know that...” you said in a low voice.

He looked around the club and then looked at you before slowly approaching you.

“There's no need to say anything, little star... Your gaze, those lost little eyes told me everything I need to know.” he said softly in a whisper. “Sometimes a look is enough to know a little bit about a person.” he said softly and you were shocked, you never thought that an F1 driver would be so empathetic and deeper.

“Wow, that was... Yeah...” you murmured. “Thank you again...” you say and pause, you still don't know his name.

“Oh, I'm Charles Leclerc.” he said formally. “But just call me Charles.” he smiled.

“Y/n” You answered him by giving him your name. You were going to tell him something else, but the bell indicating that you and the girls had to go backstage ruined the moment.

He smiled. “Well, I think they need you in there.” he said softly. “I really enjoyed this evening, the dancing was spectacular.” he said and you blushed.

“Y/n! Get your fucking slutty ass here!” your boss yelled harshly and you shook your head.

“I have to go, but thanks again Charles.” you said softly.

“It was nothing. Take care y/n, I hope to see you soon.” he said softly and you walked backstage.

As you entered your small dressing room you looked at the amount of money Charles had given you and a tear ran down your cheeks. You had never received such good treatment from a customer, the warmth and security of his person contrasting with the coldness and toxicity of the place. You sighed and put the money in your briefcase, thankful that someone had noticed your tearful gaze despite not saying anything about the anxiety and fear that constantly fill your life.

***

The weeks following your encounter with Charles unfold in a blur of routine and reflection. You find yourself back in the familiar rhythm of your daily life, but the vibrant energy of that night lingers in your mind like a bittersweet memory. The club’s atmosphere has shifted, and the pressures of your job weigh heavily on you.

You're sitting on your bed, surrounded by textbooks and notes from your psychology classes. The sunlight filters through the window, but it feels dimmer than usual, you flip through your notes absentmindedly, thoughts drifting back to that night.

“It was just one night… why can’t I stop thinking about it?” you say to yourself, while flipping through your notebook.

You recall Charles’s laughter, the way he looked at you with genuine interest and care, and the way he made you feel seen. But as days turn into weeks, that memory becomes a painful reminder of what you’re missing in your life.

You shake your head, trying to focus on your studies. But the thoughts keep creeping back in—what if you had exchanged numbers? What if you opened up to him and told him what you were going through at that very moment it didn't matter if he was a complete stranger? The “what ifs” swirl around like a storm in your mind... You couldn't fall in love with a stranger, much less an F1 driver, you're not supposed to let anyone into your life.

A few nights later, you’re back at work, but the energy feels different. The once vibrant atmosphere has turned toxic—patrons are more aggressive, and the laughter that used to fill the air is replaced with tension and judgment.

You stand behind the bar, pouring drinks for a group of rowdy customers who seem to take pleasure in belittling the staff. You try to brush off their nasty comments, but each jab feels like a weight added to your already heavy heart.

One of the customers spoke. “Hey you, why don’t you dance for us? We paid good money for this place! You little bratty bitch.” he said in a slurring way.

You force a smile, but inside, you feel a surge of anxiety, you want to disappear. The memory of Charles’s encouragement clashes with the reality of your current situation. You glance around, noticing how other staff members are also feeling the pressure from the patrons, they're demanding lately.

“May... Maybe later! Right now, let me get you another round of drinks.” you say while you attempt to light the mood.

As you turn away, you catch a glimpse of a co-worker, Sarah, who looks equally drained. She gives you a sympathetic nod, and you can tell she’s feeling the strain too. It is causing a lot of damage to all the girls, especially mentally, you have already seen several of them taking drugs in the bathrooms and backstage.

Sarah approaches you. “It’s getting worse here girl… I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” she says quietly while taking a cigarette out of her pocket.

You sigh, knowing exactly what she means. The club that once felt like an escape is now suffocating. Every night drags on, filled with rude customers and an overwhelming sense of dread. Your mental health begins to deteriorate as the pressure mounts.

Days turn into weeks, and you find yourself dealing with the weight of your job and studies because it feels unbearable. You spend more nights lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling as thoughts spiral out of control. Obviously, in the midst of all the chaos, you became a bit of a F1 fan, especially keeping an eye on the green-eyed boy who had been so nice to you that night at the club, somehow, even though he was a complete stranger to you at the time, you felt so happy to see him shine in what he likes — something you wish would happen to you too.

One particularly rough night at work, a big fight breaks out between two patrons. The chaos erupts around you as glasses shatter and voices rise in anger, you feel frozen in place, overwhelmed by your anxiety and nerves.

Weeks pass, and the club continues to drain you. But you find solace in small moments—watching sunsets, reading books—but they’re fleeting against the backdrop of your reality. Your mental health spirals further as feelings of isolation creep in.

Tears well up in your eyes as frustration boils over. You wipe them away angrily, feeling trapped between the joy of the memory shared that night with Charles and the pain of your current life. And it shouldn't be affecting you so much, he was just a costumer...

***

The atmosphere is electric as the club transforms for the Christmas season, twinkling lights adorn the bar, and festive decorations create a warm ambiance amidst the usual chaos. You stand in the backstage, heart racing, preparing for one last performance before your well deserved break from the club and your classes. The familiar sounds of laughter and chatter filter through the curtains, but today, they feel different.

You are in the backstage, pacing nervously as you go over your routine in your mind. The stage is set, and the crowd buzzes with excitement. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

You take a deep breath. “Just one last performance… You can do this.” you say in a whisper to you.

As the music starts and the spotlight shines on you, you step onto the stage. The audience erupts in applause, but your eyes scan the crowd anxiously. You catch glimpses of familiar faces—some co-workers, and regular patrons, nothing new—but then your heart skips a beat. There he is—Charles, standing near the front, his smile bright against the dim lighting.

Your breath hitches in your throat as a flood of emotions washes over you. Memories of that night come rushing back—the laughter, the slight connection, the promise of something more. But doubt creeps in, and you feel a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach...

“Why is he here? Is this just a fleeting visit? Or is it for something else?” you think, you can't help but wonder that.

You force yourself to focus on the performance, pouring your heart into every movement. As you dance, you try to ignore the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind... But each time you glance at Charles, you feel an overwhelming mix of hope and fear.

The performance reaches its climax, and the crowd cheers enthusiastically. You finish with a flourish, feeling a rush of adrenaline as you take your final bow. The applause reverberates in your ears, but your gaze remains fixed on Charles.

As you step offstage, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you navigate through the backstage area toward the bar. You can feel Charles’s presence behind you, and a mix of excitement and dread builds within you.

“Whoa! That was incredible! I’ve missed seeing you perform, little star.” he says as he approaches you with a smile on his face.

His voice sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you’re speechless. You take a moment to absorb his presence—his familiar warmth, his genuine admiration.

“Tha... Thanks... It's been a while since I felt that good on stage.” you say shyly.

You glance around nervously as other staff members and Sarah pass by, some offering nods of recognition to Charles. You can’t help but feel exposed under their scrutiny.

“Do you want to talk somewhere quieter?” he says softly while noticing your discomfort.

You hesitate for a bit. “Yeah... I guess that would be nice.”

You lead him to a small break room at the back of the club—a space filled with mismatched furniture and remnants of holiday treats. The atmosphere feels intimate compared to the bustling club outside.

Once inside, the door closes behind you, muffling the noise from the main area. You lean against the counter, arms crossed defensively as you try to gauge his intentions.

“So, ehm... What brings you back to Vegas? I thought you were busy with racing and all that stuff...” you asked him cautiously.

“Yeah, well, I was busy... but I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I wanted to see how you’re doing—like, really doing.” he sighed and smiled at you.

His sincerity strikes a chord within you, but doubt still lingers. You remember how hard it is to open up before and how vulnerable it made you feel.

“Well... Things have been tough lately… work has been overwhelming...” you say while biting your lip.

Suddenly everything you have experienced in the last few months comes to your head, the humiliation, the mockery, the objectification, anxiety, the sacrifices you make to make ends meet and have enough money for everything you need and, without expecting it, your eyes fill with tears. A part of you longs for validation and support, but another part fears being let down again.

“Oh, don't cry little star, it's okay...” he says while he holds you in his arms and caresses your hair. “It's so okay, let it out.”

You sniffled. “It’s just that… I don’t know if I can trust anyone right now... Everything feels so chaotic; my life feels so chaotic and messier.”

Charles looks down at you, his expression earnest and understanding. “I get that... Trust takes time, but I’m here for you if you want to talk about it, I want to help.” he wipes a tear form your cheek.

You feel a flicker of hope ignite within you at his words. The vulnerability in his voice reminds you of that connection you shared—the one that felt so real yet so distant now.

“It’s hard for me to open up…” you say in a whisper.

“You don’t have to share everything all at once with me. Just know that I’m here to listen whenever you're ready, okay?” he says softly.

His patience reassures you, but fear still grips your heart. You remember how easily things can change—how quickly trust can be broken.

“I’ve been feeling lost… like I’m stuck in this cycle that I can’t escape.” you say while looking down.

He nodded. “And it’s so okay to feel that way, we all go through rough patches. What matters is that we can still find a way out... together.” he smiles at you.

You meet his gaze again, searching for sincerity in his eyes. There’s no judgment there—only care, understanding and compassion... Something you've been needing to find for a long time and now a stranger is giving it to you.

***

As the days rolled on, the festive spirit of Las Vegas enveloped you both. The city transformed into a dazzling wonderland, with sparkling lights adorning every corner and the joyous sounds of holiday celebrations filling the air. You and Charles made the most of your time together, exploring the vibrant culture and indulging in the culinary delights that the city had to offer.

On Christmas Eve, you found yourselves in a cozy café nestled within one of the extravagant hotels. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of baked goods, creating an inviting atmosphere. You sat across from each other, warm mugs cradled in your hands, and the soft glow of fairy lights twinkling around you.

As you sipped your drink, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort in his presence... Charles had a way of making everything feel lighter, as if the burdens you carried were shared between you. But there was still a part of you that hesitated to delve deeper into your past, to reveal the struggles that lay beneath your cheerful façade.

“So, do you have any special traditions for Christmas?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You smiled softly, feeling a pang of nostalgia. “Ehm... Not really, to be honest.” you admitted, looking down at your mug. “My family doesn’t celebrate much anymore... It’s just… complicated.”

He leaned in slightly, his expression encouraging. “Complicated how? If I may know.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. “Well, my family never really supported my choice to study psychology.” you began hesitantly. “They always thought it was a waste of time, they wanted me to pursue something more… practical.”

Charles nodded, his face reflecting understanding. “That must have been hard for you.” he said gently.

“It was.” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always wanted to help people, to understand their emotions and struggles. But when the people closest to you don’t believe in your dreams… it’s hard not to feel like you’re on the wrong path.” you say softly.

He reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours in a reassuring gesture. “You’re not on the wrong path, little star. You’re doing something incredibly important.”

You appreciated his support, but the doubt still lingered in your mind. “It’s just… I didn’t have their financial support either.” you confessed, feeling vulnerable. “I’ve had to work multiple jobs to pay for school, including the job at the pole dance club... It’s so exhausting.”

Charles listened intently, his brow furrowing slightly as he absorbed your words. “That sounds really tough, I can’t imagine how isolating that must feel.”

You nodded, grateful for his empathy. “It is isolating.” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve lost touch with friends who didn’t understand my commitment to my studies. It’s like I’m in this bubble where no one else really gets what I’m going through.”

He squeezed your hand gently, grounding you in that moment. “You’re not alone now.” he reassured you. “I’m here for you, and I want to understand what you’re experiencing.”

His sincerity washed over you like a warm wave, encouraging you to share more.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in this cycle of loneliness.” you confessed, tears welling up in your eyes. “I want to connect with others, but it’s hard when I feel so different from everyone else.”

Charles leaned closer, his voice soft and steady. “You’re not different in a bad way; you’re pursuing something meaningful. And those who truly care about you will see that...”

You looked into his eyes, searching for reassurance. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so.” he replied firmly. “You have so much passion and drive. That’s something to be proud of.”

As the conversation continued, you found yourself opening up more than you had anticipated. You shared stories of late nights spent studying, the moments of self-doubt that crept in during exams, and the fleeting joy of helping others during your internships.

His belief in you sparked something deep within—a flicker of hope that perhaps you weren’t as alone as you had felt for so long... The more you talked, the more liberated you felt from the weight of isolation that had clung to you for years.

***

The week leading up to New Year’s was always a time of reflection, a time when the world seemed to pause and take stock of the year gone by. The air was crisp, and the city sparkled with festive lights, but inside your cozy apartment, it was just the two of you—Charles and you—wrapped in a bubble of warmth and anticipation.

You had decided to spend the week together, a decision that felt both thrilling and terrifying. You could feel the chemistry bubbling between you—an electric charge that seemed to hum in the air whenever he was near, but with that chemistry came the fear of what it would mean if you let yourself fall for him.

As the sun began to set on the last day of the year, you and Charles found yourselves sprawled on the couch, surrounded by snacks and half-watched Christmas movies. The soft glow of fairy lights twinkled around the room, creating an intimate atmosphere that made your heart race, you glanced sideways at him, his profile illuminated by the flickering light from the TV. He looked so relaxed, his hair slightly tousled and a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he focused on the screen.

“Do you ever think about New Year’s resolutions?” Charles asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

You turned your head to look at him fully. “Sometimes.” you admitted. “But I’m not very good at keeping them.” you giggled.

He chuckled softly. “Same here, I usually start strong, but by February, I’ve forgotten all about them.”

“What do you think this year’s should be?” you asked playfully, trying to keep the conversation light.

He pondered for a moment, his brow furrowing adorably. “Maybe something like… be more spontaneous? Or try to embrace change?”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Embrace change? That sounds deep!”

“Yeah, well.” he said with a shrug. “I think it’s important to be open to new experiences, you never know what could happen.”

His words struck a chord within you. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was hinting at something more—something between the two of you. The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

“What about you?” he asked, turning the question back to you. “What do you want for this coming year?”

You hesitated, your heart racing as you considered your answer. Part of you wanted to say something lighthearted, but another part yearned for honesty.

“I guess… I want to be braver.” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Braver?” he echoed, his gaze intense as he studied your face. “In what way?”

You swallowed hard, feeling exposed under his scrutiny. “In life… in love.” you admitted, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’ve always been scared of getting hurt, so I hold back.”

He nodded slowly, understanding washing over his features. “That makes sense.” he said softly. “It’s hard to let someone in when you’re afraid of what might happen.”

You felt a connection deepen between you in that moment—a shared understanding of vulnerability that made your heart ache with longing.

“Exactly.” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “But I think… maybe I want to try.”

Charles’s expression softened as he leaned closer to you, his eyes searching yours for something unspoken. “Try what?” he asked gently.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your words hang in the air between you. “Try to let myself feel more… to let someone in.” Your heart raced as you said it, the truth spilling from your lips before you could stop yourself.

He held your gaze steadily, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The world outside faded away until it was just the two of you—two souls intertwined in a moment of raw honesty.

“I’d like that.” he said finally, his voice low and sincere. “I’d like to be that person for you.”

A rush of warmth flooded through you at his words, but with it came a wave of fear... What if this was too much? What if falling for him meant risking everything? You pulled back slightly, breaking eye contact as uncertainty clouded your mind.

“Charles…” you started, but he interrupted gently.

“Hey.” he said softly, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent sparks through your skin, and you shivered involuntarily at his closeness. “We don’t have to rush into anything, I just want you to know that I’m here.”

His sincerity made your heart swell and ache all at once. You wanted so desperately to lean into him—to let yourself fall into this beautiful connection—but fear held you back like an anchor.

“Can we just… take it slow?” you asked quietly, your voice trembling with vulnerability.

“Of course we can do that.” he replied without hesitation. “I’d never want to push you into something you’re not ready for.”

You smiled gratefully at him, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. Maybe this was enough for now—just being here together, exploring this slow burn without any pressure or expectations.

As the evening wore on and the clock ticked closer to midnight, you found yourselves lost in conversation—sharing stories about childhood dreams and future aspirations, laughter punctuating each moment as the bond between you deepened.

At one point, Charles reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his touch sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and for a moment, all your fears faded away.

As midnight approached, the anticipation in the air grew thick with excitement. You settled back against the couch, feeling giddy as Charles pulled out his phone to check the time.

“Just a few minutes left!” he exclaimed with a grin.

You couldn’t help but smile back at him; his enthusiasm was infectious. He glanced at you then, his expression softening as he leaned closer again.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly, his eyes locked onto yours.

“For what?” you asked teasingly.

“For whatever comes next.” he replied earnestly.

Your breath caught in your throat at his words—so simple yet so profound. In that moment, everything felt possible. You nodded slowly, feeling a rush of courage wash over you.

“Yes...” you whispered.

As the countdown began on TV, excitement bubbled between you like champagne ready to overflow. With each passing second, your heart raced faster until finally…

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

The room erupted in cheers from the television as confetti fell on-screen and fireworks lit up the sky outside your window. But all that mattered was Charles—his eyes sparkling with joy as he turned to face you.

And then it happened: he leaned in closer and pressed his lips against yours—a soft yet electrifying kiss that sent shivers down your spine. It was tentative yet filled with promise; a beautiful beginning wrapped in hope and possibility.

Time seemed to stand still as you kissed him back, savoring the sweet taste of new beginnings and uncharted territory. In that moment, all your fears melted away as if they had never existed at all.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, Charles smiled at you—a smile that lit up his entire face and made your heart soar.

“Happy New Year, petite étoile.” he murmured softly. (little star)

“Happy New Year charlie.” you echoed, feeling lighter than air as hope blossomed within you—a hope for what this year might bring and for the journey ahead with him by your side.

And as fireworks exploded outside your window, illuminating the night sky with vibrant colors, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe—just maybe—you were ready to embrace whatever came next together.

***

The days turned into weeks, and your bond with Charles deepened in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Each moment spent together felt like a new adventure, filled with laughter, shared secrets, and the warmth of companionship.

One evening, after a delightful dinner at a cozy restaurant, you found yourselves walking along the waterfront, the moonlight shimmering on the water's surface. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of blooming jasmine, you felt a sense of peace wash over you as you strolled side by side, your fingers intertwined.

As you walked, Charles suddenly stopped, turning to face you with a serious expression that caught you off guard. “Can we talk about something?” he asked, his voice low and earnest.

Your heart raced slightly as you nodded. “Of course babe! What’s on your mind?”

He took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us—about how much I care for you. You mean more to me than I can express.” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I want to take care of you in every way possible.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, unsure where this conversation was leading but intrigued nonetheless. “What do you mean?” you asked softly.

Charles stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “I want to be your sugar daddy.” he said, his voice steady yet filled with emotion. “And I know it sounds weird, but it's not in a bad way, I mean, I want to support you while you study psychology, to help you leave behind all the stress and worries that weigh you down.”

Your mind raced as you processed his words. The idea of having someone like Charles in your life—someone who wanted to provide for you, who believed in your dreams and aspirations—was both exhilarating and daunting.

“Are you serious?” you managed to ask, your heart pounding.

“Absolutely!” he replied without hesitation. “I want us to build a life together. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I believe we could be so much more than what we are now.” He paused, gauging your reaction before continuing. “I want you to move out of Las Vegas and come with me to Monaco.”

The mention of Monaco sent a thrill through you. The thought of leaving behind the familiar chaos of city life for a place known for its beauty and luxury was intoxicating, but it also brought a wave of uncertainty.

“Monaco? That’s such a big step, Charles.” you said, trying to process everything. “But... What about my studies?” you asked softly.

Charles smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course you can continue your studies there! They have excellent universities, and I’ll make sure you have everything you need to succeed.” he said softly at you.

His words resonated deep within you, igniting a spark of hope and excitement that had long been dormant. The idea of pursuing your passion for psychology without the burden of financial stress felt like a dream come true.

“But what if it doesn’t work out?” you asked, vulnerability creeping into your voice. “What if I can’t adjust?”

Charles cupped your face in his hands, his gaze steady and reassuring. “Life is about taking risks, isn't it? And I believe in us—more than anything else in this world! I promise to be there every step of the way, you won’t be alone; we’ll figure it out together.”

His sincerity washed over you like a warm wave, and for the first time, you felt the weight of your worries begin to lift. The thought of embarking on this journey with him filled you with a sense of possibility.

“Okay.” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m willing to try.”

A radiant smile broke across Charles’s face as he pulled you into his arms, enveloping you in warmth and safety. “You won’t regret this, mon amour.” he whispered against your hair. (my love)

In that moment, everything felt so right to you... The world around you faded away as he held you close, and all that mattered was the connection between the two of you—a bond that had grown from two strangers into something deeper and more profound...

As the stars twinkled above like diamonds scattered across the night sky, you knew that this was just the beginning of an incredible journey together—one filled with love, adventure, and the promise of a brighter future.

***

The soft hum of the city outside your window filled the room as the moonlight spilled in, casting a silvery glow over your study room. You had been immersed in your psychology textbooks, determined to master the material before your upcoming class. However, fatigue had crept in, and before you knew it, you had succumbed to sleep, your head resting on your notes, surrounded by the comforting chaos of your studies.

Charles had just returned from a long day of meetings with sponsors, his mind still buzzing with the events of the day. He was looking forward to spending time with you, but as he stepped into your study room, he was met with a scene that made his heart swell... There you were, curled up on the desk, your little stuffed bear nestled beside you, as if it were standing guard while you slept.

A soft smile spread across his face at the sight. “Well, well, if it isn’t my little Sleepy Scholar.” he whispered affectionately, approaching you with quiet steps. He couldn’t help but chuckle softly as he began to pick up the scattered books, papers and highlighters on the table. “You really should consider changing your name to ‘Overworked Wonder.'” he teased gently, glancing down at your peaceful expression.

As he organized your notes, he found himself admiring how well you had adapted to life in Monaco. You had embraced the city with open arms, exploring its beauty and charm while pursuing your studies with unwavering determination. It filled him with pride and love to see you thriving after everything you had faced back in Vegas.

His fingers brushed against the plush bear, and he couldn’t resist giving it a gentle squeeze. “And look who’s here to protect my precious girl, hm?” he said with a playful grin. “You’re doing a fantastic job, Mr. Bear!”

With everything neatly arranged, he turned his attention back to you. The sight of you sleeping so soundly tugged at his heartstrings. He knew how hard you had been working and how much this new chapter meant to you, he wanted nothing more than to take care of you, to ensure that you felt safe and loved in this new place.

Gently, he slipped his arms under your body, lifting you effortlessly from the desk. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake as he cradled you against him. “Time for bed, my little scholar.” he murmured softly, the warmth of your body against his bringing him a sense of peace. “You need a deserved rest in a comfy bed.”

He carried you to the bedroom, the soft sound of his footsteps barely audible over the gentle lapping of waves outside. As he laid you down on the bed, he carefully tucked the covers around you, ensuring that you were warm and comfortable. The plush bear found its place beside you once more, as if it were keeping watch over you in your dreams.

Charles took a moment to admire you—your features relaxed in sleep, a serene expression gracing your face. The love he felt for you swelled within him as he brushed a stray hair away from your forehead. “Sweet dreams, my love.” he whispered softly before slipping into bed beside you.

As he settled in next to you, the day’s exhaustion caught up with him. He turned onto his side, propping his head up on his hand and watching you sleep for a moment longer. The way you breathed peacefully filled him with an overwhelming sense of contentment, It felt like everything was right in the world.

But soon enough, the weight of fatigue pulled at him too. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink into the warmth of the bed and the comfort of your presence. As sleep enveloped him, dreams began to weave their way into his mind—visions of laughter-filled days exploring Monaco’s stunning coastline together, quiet evenings spent sharing stories under starlit skies, and a future filled with love and promise.

In that shared moment of tranquility, two hearts beat as one—connected by love and trust, embracing the beauty of their journey together. The world outside faded away as they drifted into a peaceful slumber, knowing that they would face whatever challenges lay ahead side by side.

As the night wore on, Charles found himself wrapped in dreams filled with laughter and light—a reflection of the joy you brought into his life. And in that serene space, both of you slept soundly, cocooned in warmth and love in your new home in Monaco.

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anonymous-sparklecarer · 29 days ago

Note

Im gonna need you to desperately update this doc. So much shit happened bro

Hi there, I see this message was sent in last month.

I apologize for not getting to it sooner, you are absolutely correct - the doc does desperately need an update. Which is what we have been doing for the past two months! Making a new definitive one as the old one is severely outdated and flawed. So if you've checked back to the original doc you've probably seen this disclaimer:

The people behind the original doc, and by extension this account, pretty much stepped down so a new team had to be assembled. I (the lead writer of the new updated doc) have only just now gotten access to this account, and I come to see that regrettably and irresponsibly whoever was running this account before had been sitting on important information that was sent in by various people from as early as March 11th, saying they wouldn't update the doc. What the hell!? This included never seen before screenshots from the zcp, and even a testimony from a former zcp that hadn't been shown anywhere else! Why was nothing done with this?

I'm just as outraged as anyone is. I feel it is an absolute moral obligation to make people aware of all this important information, especially if some of is outdated! I have since tried to reach out to everyone who had sent a DM and was left hanging.

For posterity sake we have been asked to keep the original document in tact, but let it be known when the new updated doc serving as an addendum is out, a written out link to the new doc will be the first thing there is on the old one so it can't be missed.

Due to the sheer size of the new document I will not be able to say when it will be out, though we are trying to aim to get it done this month. The majority of information we need has been obtained, and every day it seems like more information comes out about the people Kittycorn associates with (like Chimera being transracial, and Jimmy potentially being underage). Just know that I have been spending every bit of free time I have to be working on this thing. We're working hard to get it done!

Are you a former Kittycorn and/or Sparklecare fan, zcp member, commissioner, or patreon backer? Do you have testimony you wish to provide which may be useful in regards to your experiences?

If you at home feel there is information that is important to be added to the new doc, please feel free to reach out in an ask or DM, and I will be sure to get back to you! If included in the doc anything you send we can ensure will be anonymous on your request.

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love--and--venom · 8 months ago

Text

Into the Wonderland: Chapter Three

Chapter Summary: You suck at using the subway. You have an eventful afternoon with the pack, then a jarring phone call with your mom. After a month, you and Hongjoong have an important discussion. This is a LONG one

Warnings: Nightmares, some symptoms of ptsd, anxiety, insomia

Series Masterlist

The rest of your classes went by without incident. You stood in front of the map of the subway lines, attempting to decipher what the jumble of colored lines meant. Even though you’ve lived in Korea for nearly half your life, the subway never got easier for you to understand. You avoided it like the plague, only ever going when absolutely necessary and usually with another person. But you had to get from Seoul National University to Mapo-gu, and the bus fares would have been too expensive.

Your classes finished nearly an hour ago. You should have gotten to the dorms by now. And yet here you were, hopelessly lost in the subway. Your shoulders ached from the weight of your textbooks. You wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the pack’s couch, but you had absolutely no idea where you were. So you swallowed your pride and called Hongjoong.

“Y/N? Are you alright? You should’ve gotten here by now,” the alpha’s voice was laced with concern.

“I’m fine. It’s just, uh,” you sighed heavily. “I’m lost.”

“Lost?”

“Yeah, I don’t usually take the subway. It’s too confusing. I have no idea where I am,” you admitted, leaning against a wall to ease the pressure on your shoulders.

“What station are you at?” You groaned and trudged over to the map. Whoever invented the “you are here” arrows was a genius in your mind.

“I’m at Ganseok.”

“Ganseok?! How the hell did you end up over there?” Hongjoong exclaimed. You were certain that he was pacing whatever room he was in.

“I don’t know!” You whined. “Can you maybe give me directions over the phone?”

“No need, just sit tight for a few minutes. Mingi is over that way, he’ll come grab you.” You sighed in relief, exchanging a quick goodbye then flopping onto a nearby bench. You hunched in on yourself, rubbing your temples in an attempt to stave off your growing headache.

“Hey there, pretty girl.” You look up to Mingi smiling at you from behind his mask. “Heard you got lost?”

“Mhm.” You stood and pressed your forehead into his shoulder. He laughed and pulled you along by your hand, getting on the correct train. You basked in the sunlight after you emerged from the subway. “God, it felt like I was down there for-fucking-ever.”

“Come on, we only have to walk a little further,” Mingi urged you forward. You walked side-by-side, occasionally glancing up at the tall alpha. Even with his mask on, you could see the worry in his face, evident by the twitch of his neck and furrowed eyebrows.

“Mingi, are you okay?” He hummed and looked down at you, briefly, but you caught the guilt in his eyes. You pulled him to the side so you faced each other without blocking the sidewalk. “What’s going on?”

“Honestly, I’m having some really conflicting emotions right now.” You waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts. He held your hand, running his thumb across your knuckles.

“I’m incredibly proud to have such a smart and driven person as my mate. But there’s a part of me, my more primal side, that doesn’t want you to work. It’s outdated, but I want to be the one providing for you,” he explained. “Obviously I’m not gonna try to stop you, but–”

“Mingi,” you interrupted. “I understand what you’re saying. It’s part of your nature, but the fact that you’re acknowledging it and working past it is really reassuring.” The tension slowly melted from his shoulders.

“Do you have a job now?” Mingi asked as you continued toward the dorms.

“A part-time job. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s good for pocket change.”

“How are you paying for your apartment?” He cringed. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s fine. The apartment was my grandmother’s. She managed to buy it when she was in her 50s, and she left it to me when she passed.” You swung your joined hands back and forth. “My mom travels a lot for work. She was happy that my grandmom gave me a way to focus on school rather than worrying about rent.”

“That’s really sweet,” Mingi cooed at you, causing you to roll your eyes. You continued an easy conversation for the rest of the short walk. After entering the dorms, he pressed a quick kiss to the crown of your head then moved down a hallway, presumably to his room or an office. You were greeted by San and Wooyoung in the living room, dropping your backpack next to the coffee table with a heavy thud.

“Jesus, what do you have in there?” Wooyoung’s eyes widened.

“Four textbooks and my laptop.” You rolled your shoulders, feeling much lighter without your backpack weighing you down. When you were close enough, Wooyoung pulled you down to sit on San’s lap, maneuvering your legs onto his own. San wrapped his arms around your waist as you relaxed into his chest.

“Gross, why not use e-books?” The shorter beta rubbed circles on your knees.

“Too expensive. These are used rentals. It’s a lot heavier but a lot more budget-friendly,” you shrugged.

“We can help, if you want,” San offered. You shook your head.

“This semester’s almost over. I’ll be returning them soon. Maybe next semester as long as they aren’t crazy pricey.” Wooyoung snorted.

“Honey, I don’t mean to brag, but I don’t think a couple of textbooks are gonna break the bank for us.” You scrunched your brows at him. “We’re idols, we can handle buying a few books.”

“Oh, that must be what Mingi was talking about earlier,” realization dawned on you. Wooyoung tilted his head, but you waved him off. “I don’t really know a lot about k-pop, to be honest. I’ve mostly been listening to classical and video game soundtracks. They help me focus.”

“Luckily we’re on a break right now,” San spoke up. “But we are going to have to figure out what we’re going to do when we start touring again.”

“I’m fairly certain I can get a remote position, but I’ll have to do some digging.” You added a note to your to-do list on your phone.

“So,” Wooyoung started. “Our super smart omega can’t figure out the subway system?” You glared at his shit-eating grin.

“I’m good with science, not geography,” you retorted. He cackled at your annoyed pout.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Wooyoung pinched your thigh. You jolted in San’s lap.

“Ow!” You yelped, kicking his hand away. San tightened his grip on you, moving his hands to keep your hips still.

“Stop wiggling, or we’re going to have some issues,” San warned, looking pointedly at his fellow beta. You froze, feeling your face grow slightly warmer at the implication. Wooyoung smirked deviously, pinching your other thigh. You jumped instinctively and San had to take a deep breath to keep his composure.

“Something wrong, San?” Wooyoung prodded, stifling his giggles.

“Wooyoung,” San borderline growled. “Keep it up, and it’ll be your mouth I fuck.” There was a beat of tense silence. The betas stared each other down, each daring the other to make a move. Wooyoung tugged on your leg, dragging you across San’s lap. Not even a second later, you were placed on the cushion and San was chasing Wooyoung down the same hallway Mingi disappeared through earlier.

“What’s that look for?” Seonghwa chuckled at your bewildered expression as he walked into the living room.

“San and Wooyoung…” You trailed off. Seonghwa shook his head, he could only imagine what kind of trouble those two got into.

“Come on.” The elder omega gestured for you to follow him. “Yeosang and I wanted to talk with you for a bit.” You followed him down the hall and into the first door on the left. Yeosang and Jongho sat on their respective beds. One look from Seonghwa had Jongho up and leaving, muttering something about getting a snack.

“Did you have to kick him out? It’s his room, I feel bad,” you faltered by the now-closed bedroom door.

“He’ll be fine. I wanted to have a chat between just the omegas.” Seonghwa patted the bed next to him. You laid on your stomach, propped up by your elbows, with Seonghwa on his side to your left and Yeosang sitting criss-cross against the headboard.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you want to talk about my heat.” You looked between them and Yeosang nodded. “Before we do, I wanted to ask if there are any other mated pairs in the pack.”

“Seonghwa and San, San and Wooyoung, and Wooyoung and me,” Yeosang summed up very concisely. You raised your eyebrows.

“Wow, only beta and omega mates? I’m surprised none of the alphas are mated yet,” you commented. That at least explains what happened with San and Wooyoung.

“When is your next heat?” Seonghwa was back to business. You checked your phone calendar.

“Should be in a month and a half.”

“What?!” Seonghwa sat up straight. “Y/N, that’s way too long.” They exchanged a look before returning their attention to you.

“No, it’s okay. I’m on a combination suppressant and birth control,” you explained. “My heats used to be so painful that I could hardly get out of bed, and I would throw up anything I tried to eat. I have three months between heats now.”

“Is that safe, though?” Yeosang questioned. You felt fuzzy from their attentiveness, but it made sense with you being the youngest omega. Actually, the only member you were older than was Jongho.

“It is,” you reassured. “My doctor is also an omega, and she was on the team that developed this medication. It went through rigorous testing. There’s no lasting impact on reproductive health.”

“Are there side effects?” Seonghwa sank back down into the comforter.

“Nothing too terrible. I was nauseous when I first started it, but that’s gone now. There’s really only one major side effect. Since my heats are further apart now, I get much more, uhhh, needy during them.” You hid your blushing cheeks behind your hands.

“Okay, and how do you normally handle your heats?”

“Same as anyone else, I guess. I load up my apartment with plenty of food and water, then lock myself inside and get myself off a fuck ton until it’s over,” you cringed at yourself, you could’ve been less crass in your explanation.

“You’ve never had an alpha help?” Seonghwa’s eyebrows raised. You pursed your lips.

“I’ve never had anyone help. I haven’t gone past second base, I’ve been too focused on school,” you admit, now a little nervous under their intense stare. “Is, uh, is that an issue?”

“No, no of course not. Hongjoong’s gonna have a field day when he finds out, though,” Yeosang giggled even as Seonghwa swatted his knee.

“That actually does lead into my next question,” Seonghwa sighed and turned his attention back to you. “Do you want help?” You nearly choked on your own spit.

“Are you offering?”

“Yes and no. The only one that’s going to help in your first heat with our pack is Hongjoong. I can be there to make sure you’re comfortable, hydrated, and fed, but he’ll be the only one that touches you.” You gaped at your elder.

“Why?”

“Pack alphas always go first,” Yeosang chimed in. “Wooyoung and San definitely weren’t happy about it, but that’s how the hierarchy works.”

“Seems barbaric.” You scrunched up your nose.

“I think it’s a respect thing,” Yeosang reckoned.

“Anyway,” Seonghwa interjected. “You don’t have to decide now, since we have a while before your heat, but you are going to have to talk to Hongjoong about that and about your claim mark.” You nodded slowly.

“Alright, I’ll have to think on it.” You spent the next couple of hours chatting and relaxing with your fellow omegas. After eating dinner, everyone gathered in the living room so you could continue getting to know your new packmates. Eventually, you had to go back to your apartment to sleep and prep for classes tomorrow. In the quiet of your bedroom, it dawned on you that you haven’t told your mom about what happened. It was getting late for you, but in London your mom should be in the middle of her work day. You sent her a quick text asking her to call, and seconds later her contact popped up.

“Hi mom!”

“Hi, honey, is everything okay? You don’t normally call this late,” your mom fretted over the line.

“I’m okay, but I’ve had a lot happen the past couple days.” You launched into a detailed retelling of everything that happened with Marcus and your new pack. Thankfully, your mom was used to your long-winded stories and tangents.

“Well, I’m very happy that you found both your pack and your mates,” your mom started once you were finished. “But, darling, are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Y/N.” You bristled at the use of your name. She only did that when she was serious. “You were assaulted. A classmate almost took your independence from you. Are you really okay?” Your face fell. The wave of emotions you didn’t even know you were suppressing crashed into you all at once.

“I don’t know,” you choked on a sob.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry I can’t be there for you right now,” your mom apologized. Your body shook in your effort to smother your cries. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. Maybe you should call Hongjoong?”

“No,” you took a deep, shuddering breath. “No, I'll be fine. I just need some sleep.”

“Alright.” You heard the hesitation in her voice. “If you’re sure. But don’t be afraid to go to them. I’m trusting that they’ll take care of you when I can’t.” You sniffled, exchanging quick goodbyes and descending into a stifling silence. You swiped at the tears running down your face. You just need sleep. You were fine. You turned off your lamp and burrowed into your pillows.

“It would be best for you to listen when an alpha is speaking.

I see the way you look at me in class.

You want me just as bad as I want you.

Your scent is always sweeter when you look at me.”

Fingers dig into the back of your neck. Teeth scrape against your skin. You hesitated too long. Teeth sink into your scent gland. You went limp against his hold. He grins against your neck.

“You’re mine, Y/N.”

You shot upright in bed, screaming in the darkness of your bedroom. You grabbed at your neck in a panic, relaxing slightly at the unbroken skin. The brightness of your phone blinded you for a moment. 3am. You buried your face in your hands, feeling the headache building beneath your temples. Reluctantly, you got out of bed and opened your laptop. You definitely weren’t going to get any more sleep tonight, so you might as well get some schoolwork done.

Over the next month, you spent less and less time at your own apartment, really only leaving the dorm to sleep or if you needed the quiet to study. Most nights, when you were alone in the dark, you were plagued by nightmares of Marcus. You hated that he was having such an impact on your psyche. Sometimes you could fall back asleep for a few hours, but you usually ended up on your laptop. It was great for your classes, since you were getting assignments done fairly quickly, but the dark circles under your eyes gave away just how exhausted you were.

You hoped that your pack didn’t notice the sudden increase in concealer, but nothing escaped the keen eyes of Hongjoong. Especially when it came to the health of his omegas. He tried to wait for you to come to him, however as the days passed by he knew you weren’t going to ask for help. So tonight he asked to come back to your apartment with the excuse of wanting to focus on a new mix. Thankfully, you agreed. About an hour had passed with the two of you silently tapping away on your laptops. He kept glancing at you, noticing the way you had to shake yourself awake every few minutes.

“Y/N,” Hongjoong spoke up after the fifth time you dozed off sitting up. You jumped at the broken silence. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” You refused to meet the alpha’s eyes.

“Please don’t do that. Don’t pretend you aren’t exhausted.” He gently closed your laptop, setting it on the coffee table next to his.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not, though. I can see it, you’ve been tired and jumpy. Please tell me what’s going on,” he pleaded, cupping your cheek and smiling when you nuzzled closer.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” you admitted after a brief pause. Hongjoong tensed at the tears shining in your eyes. He pulled you onto his lap, chest-to-chest and knees on either side of his hips. Your resolve broke down. Your body shook with sobs as you buried your face in his neck and clung to his shirt. He cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other running along your back.

“Baby, what are the nightmares about?” Hongjoong asked when your breathing evened out a bit.

“Marcus,” you mumbled into his shirt. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I keep hearing what he said to me, how his teeth felt on my neck. I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if I had hesitated even a second longer.”

“Mingi went too easy on that bastard. I swear to god, if he touches you again I’ll fucking kill him.” Hongjoong was seething. He hated the fear permeating your scent. He never wanted to smell it again.

“Don’t. You can’t go to prison, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Hongjoong pulled you tighter against his chest. “Will you stay the night?”

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation. You stayed like that for a while, letting his scent ease your nerves. Something else gnawed at the back of your mind.

“Hongjoong?” He hummed for you to continue. “I talked with Seonghwa and Yeosang a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to ask you if you’d be okay being there for my next heat.” Hongjoong pulled you to sit up, holding your face with both hands.

“Are you sure? I can be… intense,” he asked, scanning your eyes for any sign of hesitation.

“I’m sure.” You took a deep breath. “I also want to ask for my bond marks. Both of them.” A wide grin spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“God, you’re perfect,” he sighed and pulled you into a searing kiss. One of his hands trailed down to your hip as he slid his tongue across yours. You pulled back, panting slightly.

“Can I have the pack bond now? Please?” You looked at him with big, doe eyes, still shining with unshed tears. Hongjoong groaned, digging his fingers into your hip and crashing his lips back into yours.

“You want it?” His breath tickled your neck. He pressed feather-light kisses down to your scent gland.

“Please,” you whined at his teasing. He smirked against your skin, tongue darting out to lick the sensitive skin of your gland.

“You’re pretty when you beg.” His teeth sank into your skin and you gasped, face red from his words and the onslaught of emotions coming from the new bond. He leaned back to admire the fresh wound on your neck. Hongjoong pulled the collar of his shirt to the side, exposing the multiple marks on his pack scent gland.

“Can I…”

“Go ahead, sweetheart.” You immediately bit down to add your own mark, not interested in teasing him the way he did to you. His eyes rolled back. “Damn, not even a warning, huh?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, but refused to lift your forehead from his collarbone. He chuckled lightly.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” Hongjoong stood with you in his arms, moving to your bedroom. You both were already in comfortable clothes, so you settled down under your comforter. With your nose pressed against the new bite on his neck, you slept through the night for the first time in weeks.

Author's note: Yea, yea I know the heat discussion was very similar to the one in Pack Mentality. It's important to set boundaries!! Consent is everything!

Permanent Taglist: @furfoxsake22 @babygirlskz98 @miniverse-zen @holly-here

Series Taglist: @popcatx0 @m00njinnie @awkward-fucking-thing @fr34k4c1dr41n

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theynlife · 8 months ago

Text

#2: Drunk Nights

Summary: College!Y/n gets a little too wasted and gets an offer to stay with c/n for the night

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, that’s about as bad as it gets

B/n - boy’s name

N/n - nickname

E/c - eye color

Of all the papers I had to write in the coming weeks, exams to study for, and packing to do before heading back home from college, I somehow found myself tonight crammed into a dorm room packed like a can of sardines, trying to soak up the last ounce of the semester.

F/n and I loved to sit together and share a drink occasionally, but tonight was special—we wanted to have a good time before parting ways for the next couple of months. What started as a small gathering of close friends on a Saturday night quickly spiraled into something much larger. Word got out, and soon friends of friends began pouring through the door. Before long, the room was out of seats, out of standing room, and buzzing with chatter and laughter.

Despite the spatial discomfort, I couldn’t help but smile when a few familiar faces from my English class—B/n/1, B/n/2, and c/n—managed to slip in just before the room hit capacity. I was mid-laugh when I felt a hand land gently on my shoulder.

“Hey, n/n, is it cool if I sit next to you?” c/n asked, his tone easy and warm.

I grinned, already several shots in and feeling a bit bubbly. “Absolutely! What’ve you been up to tonight, c/n?”

He settled on the floor near my chair, leaning in slightly. “We were just hanging out in my room but figured we’d check out the commotion. B/n/1 seemed especially eager to get here,” he added, gesturing toward the duo sitting shoulder to shoulder on F/n’s bed, grins plastered on their faces.

I let out a laugh, my gaze following his. “Well, he’ll be happy to know the feeling’s mutual. F/n’s been hoping he’d show up since people started piling in about an hour ago.”

C/n raised an eyebrow at me, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Is that so?”

Feigning shock, I placed a hand dramatically on my chest. “Would I lie about something like that?”

We both burst into laughter, barely able to catch our breaths before the room’s noise swept us back into the atmosphere.

As the night went on, c/n and I found ourselves grabbing drinks and keeping tabs on the budding connection between B/n/1 and F/n. They seemed more comfortable with each passing minute, but before long, I realized I was feeling the effects of the evening. My gaze had drifted to the outdated popcorn ceiling, and I caught myself staring at it for what must have been minutes before c/n waved a hand in front of my face.

“You in there, y/n?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

I blinked a few times, trying to snap back to reality. “Never better,” I slurred, forcing a grin to mask how far gone I really was.

He stood and extended a hand toward me. “Why don’t we get you back? It’s getting late, and I’m starting to think these lovebirds might just be here forever.” He nodded toward B/n/1 and F/n, now sitting with an arm around her shoulders.

I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet, only for the room to tilt and spin. My balance faltered, and I instinctively grabbed onto his shoulders to steady myself. He caught me easily, his grip firm but gentle.

Once I steadied, we made our way out of the room, but I barely managed two steps down the staircase before stumbling forward again. C/n’s arm wrapped around my torso, catching me before I fell. Without a word, he shifted my arm across his shoulders, supporting me as we descended the stairs.

“C/n?” I murmured, my voice weak.

“Yeah, y/n?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it back to my dorm.”

I kept my head down, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. He paused, scanning me carefully before speaking. “Do you need a place to crash? My roommate’s gone for the weekend—you’re welcome to stay in my room.”

My brows lifted at the offer. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

He frowned slightly, his voice soft but firm. “Y/n, you’re never a bother to me.”

Slowly, he guided me down the final flight of stairs and into his dorm. I noticed the neatly arranged door decorations as he opened the door and led me inside, sitting me gently on his bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, rummaging through his desk.

I gave a faint smile. “Right now? Great. Tomorrow morning? Probably not so much.”

He chuckled at my response, pulling out a bottle of ibuprofen and filling a glass of water. Handing them to me, he said, “Here—this might help a little.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, touched by the small gesture. While I might have thought to drink some water on my own, the ibuprofen was a stroke of genius. As I sipped the water, he grabbed his own bottle and sat down across from me.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the noise of the party far behind us.

“You don’t have to stay here with me,” I said softly. “If you want to go back to the party, I’d understand.”

He shook his head. “I’d rather be here with you.”

I turned to meet his gaze, my heart skipping at the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, I was speechless, the weight of his words hanging between us.

Before I could respond, he stood and began tidying up. He set up a blanket on the futon, flattening it out.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused.

“You can take the bed,” he said simply. “I’ll sleep here.”

As he reached to turn off the lamp, I caught his wrist, stopping him.

“You don’t have to stay on the futon.”

“I’m not making you sleep there.”

“I know.” My voice dropped to a whisper.

His gaze darkened, studying me for a long moment before he nodded and slid under the covers beside me. We lay face-to-face, the room dim and quiet.

“What’s holding you back?” I asked softly.

He hesitated, his voice barely audible. “I want you so badly, but I don’t want to violate your trust. You’re drunk, and I—”

Before he could finish, I closed the gap between us, pressing my lips to his. His initial shock melted away as he brought a hand to my jaw, his touch gentle but firm. Our movements were slow, deliberate, and full of unspoken emotion. When I pulled back, I searched his face, my voice barely above a whisper.

“We don’t need to do anything. I just want you here with me.”

#crush imagine #crush x reader #crushcore #fluff #relationship #fanfic #aesthetic #crush imagines #boyfriend #bf x reader #boyfriend x reader #fan fic prompts #cuteness #so cute #wattpad #oneshot #fluff imagine #blurb #imagine blurb

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squinch-depraved · 9 months ago

Note

priest schlatt I beg

we're not gonna talk about how long this took me to get to

happy national clergy appreciation day (in the u.s.) !! sorry if this sucks i was raised southern baptist and even then i sucked at christianity there's a reason i practice witchcraft now lol

hanging your head low as you ducked into the confessional wouldn't save you. sure, there was no one around to see you, but knowing that god had witnessed what you had done was reason enough to try and hide from the world as much as you could. but still you tucked yourself away into the corner of the booth, clutching your purse in your trembling hands.

religion was a something of a sore spot for you; growing up in a hyper-christian family was one way to ensure you didn't feel comfortable in a house of worship. you had always viewed god as an inevitable outcome, a fact that awaited you whenever you happened to reach the end of your journey here on earth. once you graduated high school and locked yourself into a four year program at a catholic college one state over, you came to realize that the reason you couldn't stand your religion wasn't because of overbearing relatives. no, it was the very idea of god himself. you found him sadistic, an egotistical prick who had nothing better to do than let horrible things happen to his creations. maybe it was true that most of the teachings you had heard were lost on you, that you didn't even make an effort to understand the lessons passed down for thousands of years. but so what? nobody had ever made an effort to understand you or what you were going through, why should you waste your energy extending that courtesy to a church that obviously didn't care about you?

but you know who did make you feel understood? the guys you had dated in the three years since you arrived at this prison. at least, for a few weeks, in the beginning. the first one was fine. he was the one who convinced you virginity was an outdated concept- which you still agreed with to this day, you decided. he was surprisingly "woke" about the whole religion thing, which was what drew you to him in the first place.

"my parents made me study here too," he sympathized. "i totally wish i could've gone on a mission trip instead of getting a degree. like, college will be here in a few years! those impoverished people might not, y'know? i just feel like god is totally calling me to go serve. like, 'troy, man, go feed those guys! tell them how cool i am!'" he stopped tossing a miniature foam basketball against your bedroom wall for a moment to look at you.

you smiled weakly at his sentiments and glanced up from your laptop to nod. "totally, troy."

turns out, (unsurprisingly) troy was a fucking douche. he stayed around just long enough to get into your pants a couple times, but then you caught him with the girl who lived in the dorm across from you, so he had to go. nobody ever found out who stole his clothes from the men's showers, but the videos of him streaking down the hallways while he ran to his room were sent around campus for months after that.

guys two and three were more painful than troy; you had actually grown attached to them. guy two lasted almost a year, and three was only a few months, but he felt special. and the half dozen guys you slept with while trying to get over them just added to the tally of sins you were keeping subconsciously.

so when your grades started to slip from depression in the winter of your junior year, and your counselor called you to her office for an appointment, it was no surprise that her words got under your skin as easily as they did. how could they not? getting students to go to church was part of her job. she was concerned that your grades were slipping because she hadn't seen you at mass in a long time, and the absence of the lord will do that to a young girl, you know.

so later that night, after drinking by yourself at a bar a few miles from the school, you stumbled into the church on campus and slunk into the confessional. realizing that the wooden box was incredibly uncomfortable, you winced and pulled off your heels, rubbing your feet gently as you waited to be listened to.

you shrieked quietly when a small lattice window on the wall next to you slid open. "oh, fuck... sorry! um, it's my turn, right?... yeah, i think so. okay, so, um. bless me father for i have... sinned? it's been, like," you paused as you counted back the time on your fingers. "almost two years since my last confession. oh, jeez, that makes me sound awful." you were hiccupping as you rambled, and you could have sworn you heard the faintest exhale of amusement if you weren't plastered.

"whatever, it's too late to stop now," you sighed, crossing your legs. "i let some guys sleep with me and now i'm all unpure and like. i'm supposed to show up here a couple times every week now but i don't wanna, i don't care enough about this whole god thing to waste the rest of my college life becoming a nun. i'm already worried i wasted three years coming here instead of a school where i could have felt like myself," you trailed off.

it was quiet for a moment before a gruff voice with a new york accent asked, "how many guys?"

you snorted. "9, i think," you said with a smirk, rolling your eyes.

the man on the other side of the panel felt his face heat up as he mumbled, "jesus." you couldn't hold in your laugh at how absurd this was. this was what you deserved for coming to confess at 2 in the morning.

"i know it's been a while since i've been here and all, but i'm pretty sure that's not what you're supposed to say," you giggled.

a chuckle was heard before he answered, "sorry. you're right, it's not. tell me more, what led you to sleeping with them?" at least now he was trying.

the two of you talked for about an hour, until it no longer felt like a confession and you were sure you had fallen for this priest you couldn't even see. eventually, he tried to dismiss you without giving you your penance, but something in your gut drove you to bring it up yourself.

he stepped out of the booth first, and you hesitated for a second before following him, freezing when you saw what he looked like. tall, scary, with gorgeous brown eyes framed by aviator glasses and fluffy chops adorning his cheeks. by some miracle, he also felt immobilized by his view of you hopping out of the wooden compartment- dress disheveled, fishnets ripped, heels in one hand and your purse slung over one shoulder. you were his worst nightmare, a temptation he simply could not resist. god had just placed a vulnerable young lamb like you in his midst; who was he to deny himself of the simple pleasures his lord had provided for him?

"father? father, my penance," you waved your hand in front of his face (after a bit of trying to get his attention), which had just gone dark. his eyes now looked hungry and cold.

"hmm?" he blinked and tilted his head towards you slightly. "oh. uhm," he let out a deep exhale, as if contemplating something. "y-y'know what? just come with me," he spoke gently, taking your hand and leading you to a back room with some spare furniture scattered about.

a part of you knew what was coming, and a different part of you never could have guessed the situation you were about to find yourself in. once you were alone in the room together, he pulled you close and pressed you against a wall, letting his hot breath waft over your neck as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

"god's telling me we should make it 10 men you've been with," he murmured, voice velvet smooth as it coated your eardrums. "so you can say at least one of them was a real man of the lord, hmm, doll?"

your breath, caught in your throat, sped up as he slowly, gently, tenderly took your wrists in one of his hands, bringing them to rest above your head. "father..."

"schlatt. my name's schlatt. but that's just a courtesy, hm? stick to callin' me father." you felt him smirk against your skin as he sunk his teeth into the flesh of your neck, drawing out a frantic moan from you.

"careful with your noises, angel, there's two other guys here tonight, and if we get caught, i'm gonna have to share you," schlatt warned. he used his other free hand to pull down the top of your dress, smiling greedily at the sight of your exposed breasts. "no bra?"

"i-it didn't go with the outfit," you tried to defend yourself, but he just shushed you and fondled your chest lovingly, like he really was just appreciating one of god's creations. pathetic noises spilled from your lips as you watched him admire you, a hypnotized look on your face.

"you're so beautiful, doll. wha's your name?" he asked, glancing up at your face to meet your gaze.

you stammered out your response and he repeated it, running over the name in his mind.

"pretty," he said simply. "i'm gonna make you feel good now, okay?" it was more of a statement than a question, and you nodded with a gulp as he knelt down and slid his head under your dress. you felt your pupils dilate as you leaned your head back against the wall and let your eyes fall closed. schlatt ripped a bigger hole into your fishnets and pulled your skimpy panties to the side, licking a long stripe up your folds and tracing circles with his tongue on your clit. it was hard to keep your whorish noises contained, but clamping your hand over your mouth did a good enough job.

he ate you until you were frantically scratching at his head through the fabric of your dress as you came all over his face, sobbing from how good you felt. you didn't even know it was possible to feel this euphoric, but here this priest was to show you how. once he was satisfied, he pulled away from your cunt and rose to tower over you again. he reached into his robes and opened them enough so that his crotch was visible. you watched as he pulled out his length, stunned at the size of it, and let him pick you up and position you around his waist.

"father, i'm scared, i don't know if it's gonna fit," you admitted guiltily. schlatt locked eyes with you while he replied.

"it's okay to be scared. but you have to do it anyways." with that, he slid into you, stretching you out more than you ever had been before. you bit onto him in an effort to keep quiet; his robes did a good job of muffling the sound. after a generous amount of time to let you get used to him, he started moving.

he was gentle at first, but gradually got rougher and rougher. there wasn't a moment where he wasn't focused on making you feel good. his eyes pierced through you as he rammed into you at a relentless pace, and the attention he was giving you didn't make you feel objectified like it did when the other guys fucked you. it made you feel divine, ethereal almost.

grunts and pants, along with the occasional squeal, were all that could be heard as he rolled his hips into you time and time again. he coaxed another orgasm out of you just with his cock, and once he felt like he had pleasured you enough, he sped up, now thrusting at a frenzied pace.

"when i tell you, you're gonna get on your knees and take me in your mouth, okay angel?" he instructed, out of breath. you nodded, eager to please.

"yes, father," you gasped as he reached deeper and deeper inside you with every thrust. schlatt's eyes rolled back slightly at the title and he went impossibly faster for a few seconds before speaking.

"n-now! now!" he ordered desperately. he set you down hurriedly and you slammed down onto your knees to take him in your mouth, letting him burrow deep into your throat before he finished with a loud groan and grabbed your hair roughly.

he remained in your throat for a moment while he caught his breath, sliding out once his chest had stopped heaving.

"there's your penance, doll. i better see you here for a 2 a.m. confession next monday as well, yeah? i think that's what the lord's callin' me to do," schlatt said as he buttoned his robes. you straightened your clothes as much as you could and looked up at him sheepishly.

"looking forward to it. but, uh, is there a back door i could leave through? because i do not want to walk through the church like this." you gestured to your outfit, tattered and wrinkled, and winced.

he chuckled and nodded. "yeah, i'll show you to it. maybe it could be our secret entrance," he joked.

"oh, of course. i'll knock three times whenever i need to be let in," you retort with a grin.

maybe coming to church wouldn't be so bad, after all.

#x reader #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #schlatt x you #jschlatt smut #schlatt smut #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt x y/n

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misfitgirlwrites · 10 months ago

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Modern!Reader x Alastor Headcanons | Third Place Giveaway Winner

This is very funny to me. Alastor dating or befriending someone who's more similar to Vox to say the least than him when it comes to...technological advancements

CW: none, just some bickering between what could be seen as an old married couple

It's a little hard for almost everyone to tell, but you and Alastor are close

I say it's hard to tell because you two are constantly throwing jabs at each other and honestly, it couldn't be helped

He was just so...old

Everything about his habits and interests were outdated and Alastor wasn't the type to do his own thing quietly

There's always a comment, a sideways glance, a light scoff which leads to,

"Don't be upset because you don't know how to use a cellphone."

"Me? Upset over such a device? You confuse me with someone else, dear."

"I don't think I am. What'd you have again? Messenger birds?"

"Very funny."

You would simply chuckle at Alastor for the most part. You've heard it all before, your love and talent did lead to you VoxTech for a bit of your afterlife, but you didn't stay.

You found it more enjoy using what you know to help Charlie with her cause.

You were a helpful person in your own way. It was the only reason you kept trying to introduce Alastor to some form of modern tech.

"I can make you the simplest most basic cellphone Hell has ever seen. Only phone calls and texting--"

"You lost me."

"--Only phone calls and we'll get to the rest eventually?"

"No."

You'd groan out, "even Lucifer has a cellphone! He's older than you!"

"Was that supposed to help you convince me?"

"...You're such a loser."

You have special nicknames for Alastor when you feel like picking with him.

Old Allie

Old Man Red

Ye Old Alastor

Arthritis Strawberry

Alastor: Great Gatsby Edition

He hates all of them, of course, and that's why you love them

Alastor is completely uninterested in what you do. His focus is just more on your talent and passion than what you're making

You argue that what you're making is your passion so he should show a little interest

This would lead to a breakthrough!

"Only for phone calls."

"Right."

"Don't add anything else."

"Mhm."

"______. I mean it."

"Don't go using that scary tone with me, mister. I'm your friend, so trust me!"

It took all your willpower to not add anything extreme to the, in your opinion, useless cellphone. Phone calls only, just as promised. You knew Alastor agreed to shut you up, but you were still satisfied with your win

That's why you were very surprised when you got a call from him and you knew he wasn't in the hotel. You of course told everyone who would listen (AKA everyone in the hotel)

You yourself were always on the move and it made you happy that the chance to hear Alastor while you were both away was significantly higher (he lowkey hates the thing, so he doesn't always answer)

After a while, like a lot of elderly, Alastor would just straight up not take the phone with him.

"Al."

"Yes, my dear?"

"The point of a cellphone. You get it, yeah?"

A roll of the eyes

"Al."

"I still use the thing."

"You leave it in the hotel!"

"I forget it here and there."

"You can't tell me you're not someone's fuckin' grandfather with that lame excuse. At this rate, I'm gonna glue the phone to you."

Honestly, he kept it on him for almost two months. You expected to be having this conversation sooner.

After nagging him for a few days, Alastor made sure not to "forget" the cellphone anymore, much to his annoyance. He, of course, couldn't be seen with the thing, so it was just easier to leave it at the hotel

Two more weeks in, and Alastor would definitely be thinking of ways for this device to get in an unfortunate accident, if you will

While fiddling with the damned thing one night, Alastor finally found the one extra feature you decided to add. After a small click sounded, the small phone extended in his hands, making him let it go. The small screen was now larger; touchscreen.

Alastor's eye twitched. He could almost hear you cackling.

He was going to end you.

@theblueslytherin Here as promised! I really hope you like it!

Alastor Taglist: @alastorssimp @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @dasimp777

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor altruist #mgwrites

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berylcups · 3 months ago

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SDC x Reader + Dios Minions : Learning their Language

CW: Beryls Limited understanding of languages, Eclipse Mention, disability mention

Notes: FINALLY! I finished it! 😩 this took me literally months to do. Well…not really but personal stuff came up in between and I also had to get a new car and that was a nerve wracking experience so yeah… I’m still alive. I really hope you enjoy because I really took my time on this and did plenty of research for each one. Please enjoy! 💜 Beryl

Joseph - Standard American English & British English

You wanna learn English??? Oh boy! He’s gonna learn ya’ a thing or two about English. For starters, “learn ya a thing or two” isn’t proper English. This man isn’t proper either.

He's not the best teacher but if you don’t already know the Alphabet it might be worth memorizing beforehand. Because he’s going to show you the difference between American and UK English spelling. Which spelling is the correct way you ask?

“Don’t worry about it! Spell it anyway you want! If we can read it then it’s fine!”

Also don’t be discouraged by all the silent letters you come across in the English language. It’s tricky but once you pick up on the patterns in writing, it gets a little easier. And remember-Native English speakers struggle with reading too so don’t feel bad! You got this! Joseph believes in you! (& Beryl does too 💜)

His favorite way of integrating you into his language is by snuggling up with you and watching his favorite movies with subtitles so you can read along. Just don’t get too frustrated if he falls asleep when you try watching Lawrence of Arabia with him. It’s one of his favorites but he watched it a million times already!

Jotaro - Japanese

Yare yare daze. You want him to teach you Japanese? Do you know how much of pain in the ass that’s going to be? First you have to learn hiragana and then katakana…and don’t get him started on kanji. He’s flattered really, but he thinks this is going to be too much effort than it’s worth.

Don’t worry, that’s where Holly pops in! She’s going to give Jotaro an earful about how she learned Japanese from his father and that’s how they got closer and eventually married. She’s going to give you her (probably outdated) workbooks and translation guides, and dictionaries for you to learn from. (Isn’t she so sweet???🥹)

Ok—he finally gives in and help you learn Nihongo. He’s not gonna talk to you in your preferred language anymore. You’re going to have to decode and guess what he’s trying to say from now on. (So mean 😭) but he's not a complete ass. He will speak slowly and clearly to you so you can keep up.

He’ll point to things and tell want he wants through simple sentences: “I want you to give me… I want to drink … I want to eat … I want to read …”

Once you get a hang of the language a bit, he’ll want to go to the aquarium and have you interact with other Japanese speakers a bit. Don’t worry if you can’t figure out what you want to say, he’ll translate when you get a brain fart.

“Wakarimasu ka? (Do you understand?)”

Kakyoin- Japanese

You want to learn his language? He’s so flattered, he can’t help but blush! He’d love to teach you Japanese!

He’s not sure where to start first…of course you need to learn how to read. But he’s wondering if teaching through video games, manga, or anime would work the best. You should pick for him to help him not overthink it. 😅

He’ll try to teach you through a mix of genres like horror, comedy, drama, fantasy, etc. He wants to teach you about the specific humor Japan has that might go over your head, jokes, tongue twisters, and double entendres.

If you’re brave he’ll teach you about all the different yurei, oni, and yokai Japan has to offer.

You might want to have him slow down because he’s going to info dump on you so hard.

“Hold on a minute Y/N! You’re reading that manga backwards! You’re going to spoil the ending for yourself!”

Avdol- Masri(Egyptian Arabic) & Standard Arabic

You can see the fire in his eyes from excitement when he hears you say you want to learn Arabic. Now…you better be serious about learning this because he’s not going to let you back out just because you get a little intimidated by its difficulty level. He says if he can learn English, than he has no doubt in his heart that you can learn Arabic!

What he didn’t tell you though was… you’re actually learning 2 dialects at once. It’s very important for you to know Egyptian Arabic and Modern Standard Arabic. Egyptian Arabic is needed because that is what most people in Cairo speak. This form of Arabic will help you get to know the locals on a more personal level and get more used to the culture and customs. Modern Standard Arabic is used for formal settings and when you are writing. Speaking of writing…they read and write from right to left! But if you have a good understanding of Arabic writing, you probably already know that.

He’s going to really focus hard on your reading and writing. Al-abjadiyah is the Arabic alphabet and each letter changes form depending on where in the word it is! Don’t worry, he knows this is going to take a while. He’s going to take his time with you. Unlike Polnareff, he is patient.

“Pfft! Ahem, Remember: write right to left, Habibi/ti.”

Once you get used to the language a bit he’ll sit with you and read to you to help you understand the spelling of words and see the patterns of the letters in the different forms taking place in each word. …They’re definitely books for little children but you’ll be making it to more complicated wordy books soon enough!

Polnareff - French

You want to learn the language of love? There’s no better man to learn it from than this pervert romanticist! At least…that’s what he says. The guy is good at teaching but he’s impatient and fussy as hell! 😩 it’s almost as if learning a 2nd or 3rd language is hard! Who would have thought???

“Non non non! Parler français comme un vache espagnole!(your French is very broken!) Come on! You’re using the wrong gendered noun! No..I’m sorry but there’s no gender neutral version for house. Please don’t despair! You can use iel/yel but it might cause some confusion and you might have to use some explanation if someone doesn’t understand… or you could use flip flop between male and female nouns if that doesn’t cause you distress! If anyone has a problem, I’ll tell them “Je vais lui sonner les cloches!”(tell them to mind their own business!)”

Now as an English speaker, you are going to have to rewire your brain on how the Alphabet works because nearly half of the letters in French sound like they’re silent in English! 😰 But that’s okay! You have an enthusiastic but impatient teacher, Polnareff to guide you along the way! The best way to get you involved into the language is through the culture. And that’s through a wine and cheese tasting and then a visit to the very famous Louvre Museum. (This feels more like a date than an educational opportunity…)

Looking at the names of the bottles and how he pronounces the names will help you pick up on the consonants sound and hearing other civilians will help fine tune your own accent and pronunciation.

“Blanc Sauvignon? Did I say that right?”

“Haha—magnifique! you’re getting closer! Say it more with less emphasis on the V.”

Hol Horse- American English (southern)

You wanna learn American English? Well hold your horses, I’m fixin’ to teach you. Just give me a cotton pickin second! English is already a complicated language and we in the south like to make it even more complicated. What’s the most difficult southern saying? It’s “well bless your heart!” It’s usually used to be sassy, but it’s also used to show sympathy…so bless your hearts wisely.

It’s going to be best if you already have grasp of the bare basics of the English language if you ever want to understand whatever the hell Hol Horse is saying. But for you, he’ll take his sweet time and explain everything he means. ❤️

“Don’t take anything I say in English to heart baby girl/boy. You don’t understand something’ you let me know, ya hear?”

For starters, we don’t use proper grammar. Ain’t got no time for that. The best way to understand southern American English is through your stomach…at a family BBQ.

Don’t worry, he’ll make your plate. You might wanna tell him to take it easy, I don’t think that paper plate can handle all that food. 😅 you’re gonna be fuller than a tick! Also if someone offers you a coke, they’re gonna ask which one. Coke doesn’t mean just cola, just soda in general.

“It’s safe to eat funeral potatoes I swear! It has nothin to do with no funeral. It’s just hash brown casserole. It’s good! …I mean, it CAN be served at a funeral but you can have it at any time!”

Devo- Diné Bizaad(Navajo language)

You want to learn his language??? You’re going to melt this cold blooded killers heart!❤️ It’s a sad fact that his language is a dying one. No thanks to the European settlers, but that’s a story for another time. He wants to share all of the goodness of his culture with you and the language of his people-Diné Bizaad which means “people’s language”.

I hope you are serious about his language because it is the hardest language in the world to learn.

In all honesty, he doesn’t really expect you to be a fast learner. You are going to have 33 consonants and 12 vowels to memorize and make your mouth replicate.

He doesn’t want to scare you off so he’s going to start you off easy with simple words that are important to his culture. You’ll learn about the four sacred colors, native symbols, traditions, food, and artwork.

“It’s forbidden to look at a solar eclipse. We stay inside our hogans and sit in contemplation about the sun and moon. We believe the sun and moon are interacting with each other.”

Rubber Soul- Singlish (Singaporean English)

Shiok! Lucky for you in Singapore, there’s a medley of languages spoken there! This man is a complete dumbass but he knows Mandarin, Malay, and English. Singlish IS English but the only catch is, it features a beautiful but complex patchwork of languages featuring Malay, Mandarin, Cantonese, Hokkien, Tamil, and Teochew… So even if you are already an English speaker, you are in for an adventure!

He’s going to take you to hawker center and show you how to live like a true Singaporean! And first thing first is chope-ing. That’s probably the most important Singlish word you are ever going to hear. To chope is reserving a seat by setting your personal belongings down, like a handkerchief, a pack of tissues, or something bigger like a backpack. Low crime don’t mean no crime so don’t leave anything super important behind. Don’t worry about theft…Rubber Soul will be eager to give a back breaker to anyone who dares to try to steal your wallet. 😬

“Why does everyone talk like they’ve been google translated??? Pfft—don’t talk cock lah! That’s exactly what Singlish is. I told you that you weren’t going to understand it off the bat!”

Don’t try and argue with him on it. He’ll speak in complete Singlish and then not ask—but demand to repeat back what he just said in English. Only for him to laugh in your face. 😭

“Wah piang! So crowded! Where you want to makan? Chop chop—going to rain already! You go chope that table. Here have Indian, Thai, Sichuan, Malaysian, Indonesian, and Japanese. You want kopi ah? I SMS when ready. Ok—what did I just say?”

…

“Wah Lao eh?! I literally gave you the EASIEST Singlish phrases to translate! Man you are dumb—still love ya though!”

Steely Dan- Urdu

You wanna learn Urdu? Well of course you do! You might want to have an understanding of basic conversation in Urdu because he isn’t the best teacher despite how much boasts being otherwise. But he’s all smug and secretly giddy that you want to learn Urdu. If you know Arabic, you’re off to a good start! But you are going to have to rewire your brain to pronounce each letter differently and learn a few new ones.

“Of course you should learn my language! Do you know how much I go out of my way to communicate my love for you? Luckily for you I got top grades in writing and grammar in school so you have the best-most-handsome teacher ever.”

Oh boy, you have done it. You stroked his ego and now he’s going to non stop complimenting himself.

He’s going to expect lots of love letters in Urdu from you to him and vice versa. He’s going to have you read them aloud to him so he can hear his own flowery cheesy declarations of love for you. But tread carefully… he’s a grammar authoritarian and human spell checker! He’ll poke fun at your very hard attempts of writing this challenging language. (Just pretend to cry a bit or cry for real, he can’t stand crying and he’ll immediately start being much nicer)

“You call that Urdu?! Where’s your penmanship??? Those look like squiggly little worms!”

“Okay okay—don’t cry! I’m sorry ok?! I love you baby! I really mean it too! No more tears! I’ll help you rewrite your misspellings.”

N’Doul- Masri (Egyptian Arabic) and Arabic Braille*

He’s very flattered. He’d love to teach you, but due to his eyesight, he won’t be able to help you read but with his heightened sense of hearing he can really help you to pronounce everything correctly and get the accent right.

“Good effort, love. But you aren’t using your throat. You need to use your throat to pronounce the Al-Ahruf Al-Halqiyyah (6 throat letters). Try again. I know you can do it.”

Don’t worry about struggling. He understands what it’s like to struggle in life. He won’t baby you just like he expects you not to baby him because of his visual impairment. He’ll gently correct you each time you make a mistake.

—

Now if you’re blind too, or curious about a new way of reading, he’ll teach you Arabic Braille.

*Theres many different types of blindness and it doesn’t explicitly say what N’Doul has. But based off of his eyes and age he probably has congenital cataracts. This is just a HC. It’s all up to you!*

Now he can see just barely enough to guide your hand across the page to teach you each letter in braille. Braille in general is becoming used less and less so he is really intent on teaching you this important life skill as a visually impaired person. Interestingly enough, Arabic Braille is read left to right!

“I vaguely remember what Arabic script looked like before my sickness took away my vision. It used to feel strange reading from right to left and then left to right when I started learning Braille. It was a vast difference and took me a long time to learn. So please don’t worry if you struggle or make mistakes.”

With having you, Geb, and his heightened senses, he doesn’t really miss his vision. He just enjoys each passing moment with you, teaching you his language and sharing his culture

#jjba #jjba x reader #joseph joestar x reader #oldseph x reader #muhammad avdol x reader #polnareff x reader #noriaki kakyoin x reader #jotaro kujo x reader #jjba Devo #jjba steely Dan #jjba N’Doul #jjba rubber soul #jjba hol horse

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pansy-picnics · 6 months ago

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Americans who are worried about bird flu and/or are struggling to afford eggs the next few months- find someone in your local community who has chickens.

It is winter right now, so most backyard hens won’t be laying, but come spring, they’ll be laying so many eggs a lot of chicken owners don’t even know what to do with them all. They’ll often sell you a whole carton for like, 2-3 dollars. a backyard flock owner might even give them away for free if they’re desperate.

frankly, if you start buying fresh eggs, you probably won’t want to ever go back. farm fresh eggs taste better, last longer (sometimes without even being refrigerated), and have tougher, denser shells. not to mention they’re beautiful considering they come in all different shapes, sizes and colors!

in general though, farmers markets are HUGE. the cororate meat and dairy industries are breeding grounds for disease right now, and grocery prices are skyrocketing. local farmers markets and community owned grocery stores can get you better prices on better food, from things like eggs to produce, meat, and dairy.

i see a lot of people talking about community but i think a lot of people still don’t know where to start….since food is a big one, i want to share some resources. its important to remember that we don’t need these corporations to survive. they need us. even if you don’t make a lot of income, there are ways you can support your community and get better deals than at corporate owned grocery stores.

Most states have a farmers market network/association, or you can find local markets through your state’s department of agriculture website. heres a list of resources by state on the farmers market coalition. some of these links might be broken or outdated, but just looking up the name should bring you to the right page.

here’s also a list of food pantries and grocery co-ops per state. keep in mind these might not encapsulate every resource available, they’re just jumping off points in case you aren’t sure where to start, since i know things are really overwhelming right now. but even just looking up “farmers market/food pantry” and your county or city will come up with plenty of results.

I know that not everyone can afford farmers markets, there are cases where they’re more expensive than regular grocery stores. it 100% depends on the situation. but most areas usually have at least one local food bank or community group where you can get some assistance if you’re struggling. start to get to know your neighbors, too. you know how older folks will say that back in the day, you could go ask the neighbors for a cup of sugar and they’d give it to you? That kind of basic community is exactly what we have to go back to in these next few years. That is what is gonna keep us alive.

#usa #us politics #community care #h5n1 #bird flu #resources #pansy rambling again #important

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comicarc · 5 months ago

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𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

⋆★⋆ masterlist ⋆★⋆

Hal and the reader confront their feelings after being trapped overnight in a dusty hangar.

wc: 1769

Hal Jordan paraded around the Ferris Aircraft facilities with an arrogant grin plastered across his face. He’d finished his test flight early today, meaning he’d be the first person to leave the base for the day and start his weekend early. Feeling chipper, he pranced into Carol’s office to say his goodbyes for the week, but to his surprise he found another presence.

y/n was digging through Carol’s drawer trying to find something when she heard Hal step inside of the room. As her eyes landed on him, she watched as his enormous smile dissipated into a straight face. Reciprocating his indifference, she asked in a monotone voice, “Need anything?”

He replied, “No, just saying bye to Carol. Do you know where I can find her?” His hands fidgeted as he spoke as if he would rather be doing anything else.

She took it as a sign to succinctly end the conversation, directing, “She’s by the first hangar, dealing with some investors.” With that, y/n resumed her search for some documents Carol had failed to find. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Hal speeded away, stepping out the door as soon as she had finished speaking.

Hal, on the other hand, had hoped his nervousness wasn’t too obvious. Was he a little too loud, too annoying, maybe too cheery for y/n’s liking? He’d rehearsed how he’d act in front of her too many times to count, but on the rare occasion that he had finally seen her, all that practice had gone out the window.

Embarrassment beginning to creep in the back of his mind, Hal managed to make it to Carol just as the investors were leaving. Approaching her he enthused, “See ya on Monday!”

She laughed at his excitement, questioning, “Done already? That was quick.” She thought for a moment, recalling a thought she had earlier in the day, as she held back Hal with a hand on his shoulder, “Since you're done early, could you help me out with something?”

Technically, he wasn’t supposed to leave for another few hours so doing one more task wouldn’t hurt. He’d be out of here soon enough to enjoy a stress-free weekend away from his Lantern duties and his work.

Agreeing to help her, Carol elaborated, “I need you to clean out hangar D-16, y/n’s gonna help you too.” Chuckling, she fled the scene before Hal could protest. Head hung low, Hal complied as he headed toward the hangar anticipating that he’d be biting off way more than he could chew.

D-16 was more a storage unit than a hangar, with outdated parts lying around, a massive pile of trash that had accumulated over the years and dust lying in thick layers across every surface. The place had been all but abandoned for a few months now, with no one having the courage to enter the potential biohazard, nor anyone with the guts to take on cleaning it.

The other source of his dread lay in y/n being his partner. She was as kind as could be, pretty talkative, and had such a lively personality. Of course, never with him. He’d stumble upon her laughing and joking around with Carol countless times or rambling about something she’d learned recently with some of her friends at the base. Never had she talked to him directly with such zeal, but he had longed for it to happen someday.

He was stubborn and he wanted to know her, for she possessed a certain optimism and will that he had never seen before. Her diligence in working, her passion for helping, and her knack for being curious, had all made her the object of his intrigue. She was the only girl who made him blush mess. The only girl who never quite spoke to him like she did everyone else. The only girl he couldn’t figure out. He always thought she hated him, and it was a reasonable conclusion seeing as how cocky and blabber-mouthed he could be.

“Hey,” There was no dread to her voice, no enthusiasm, simply a passiveness he took for hatred. Walking up to him as she entered D-16, y/n observed the mess that towered around her. “I’ll take this side.” She pointed to the right, strolling away just as quickly as she had come.

y/n could see the stern look on his face, a tinge of blush creeping in his face. It was either a product of the summer heat or his dislike for her, with y/n leaning toward the latter option. Was her voice too annoying, her words too nonsensical to comprehend, or maybe her mere presence simply irked him? Regardless, cleaning the hangar would be a time-consuming task, allowing her to put off the worries bubbling in her mind for just a little while longer.

Two hours had passed and the heat had started to turn up a notch. The pair toiling away in D-16 were starting to sweat profusely, their heads spinning and their bodies exhausted, but they’d managed to clean most of the hangar up, making some parts even look brand new. Done for now, Hal began heading out, but before he could exit the hangar doors, he collided with a preoccupied y/n.

In an attempt to gain some footing, his hand reached for the nearby wall, fingers grazing against the emergency lock which subsequently trapped the two inside. Stuck in his worst nightmare by his own doing, Hal was absolutely mortified. Before he could begin profusely apologizing, y/n remained calm as she proposed, “Let’s call Carol. She’d probably be somewhere nearby.”

Had she not wanted to hear him talk, was that why she cut him off before he could even begin? Regardless her idea, though noble, forgot to acknowledge one key detail, “There’s no reception here. Calls won’t go through. We’ve got to wait till tomorrow morning when they open all the hangars for inspection.”

Her eyebrows quirked at his statement, finally allowing her voice to express a hint of irritation, “You have to be joking.”

Shaking his head, Hal sighed. This was going to be a long night.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

It had been well past Ferris Aircraft’s closing as the sun had already gone down. By now, Hal had contemplated using the Lantern ring to get out of this mess a million times. Maybe he’d make a giant baseball glove to smash off the hangar doors, or a train to ram through them. But, he couldn’t risk having people ask the questions that would naturally follow. Only Carol knew about his status as the Green Lantern, that too, a secret she had uncovered accidentally. He couldn’t risk his coworkers piecing it together, nor did he want to shock y/n so much so that she’d never break down the walls that were established between them.

Taking a leap he should have made a long time ago Hal stood from his seat on his side of the hangar to sit beside a huddled y/n, beginning, “Why don’t talk to me?”

The ring had taught Hal many things he’d never known about himself, for example, his discipline. He’d often thought of himself as an impulsive adrenaline junkie, given that his job did require a lot of dexterity. But he was always more than that, being diligent about his routines and commitments, having restraint for many endeavors he wanted to undertake in the sky, and knowing when to surrender. This was one of those times when he knew he couldn’t keep up the charade of acting normal around y/n.

Turning her head to face Hal beside her, y/n answered, “What do you mean? It’s freezing cold and I’m just trying to conserve energy.”

As her hands gripped onto her calves even tighter, Hal took off his signature aviator jacket and placed it on y/n explaining, “That’s not what I–ugh��I mean why don’t you ever talk to me? At Carol’s office, when we’re doing test runs, even when we go out to lunch.”

He waited for her to say something, anything, as a long silence unfolded. “I didn’t know what to say,” She sighed knowing that lying would be pointless, “No–I have a lot to say, I’m just afraid of saying it, and being judged for every little word.”

“Why? You talk to Carol just fine.” He asked, his interest piqued and his apprehension fading.

“Carol’s the closest thing I have to a sister. Outside of her…” y/n paused. She didn’t really know why she was so awkward, silent, and walled off. She didn’t want to be invisible, a nobody. But outside of her physical body, she had nothing to show for herself. No personality that could uplift others, no words of encouragement to inspire them, no humor in her conversations, nothing but the endless thoughts and anxious emotions that crowded her mind. Who was she outside of simply being human?

Knowing she couldn’t answer his question, she instead diverted, “How about you? Why are you always so indifferent to me?”

“Well that’s easy; you make me nervous. I’m hyper-aware of your presence at all times, and I thought that the best way not to scare you away would be by toning myself down a notch.”

“Why? I like it when you’re cocky.” She chuckled as she spoke.

People crave what they can’t have, and she craved to hear Hal being himself with her. It was projection of sorts as she thought she’d be able to learn how to fill the hole in her mind that prevented her from expressing herself by learning from such an outgoing, confident man. But now, she had a feeling that he wouldn’t have fixed her, that was something she needed to do herself. He thought she was worth the effort, and maybe it was time she tried to do things differently. Put in the effort on herself rather than those around her.

Taken aback by her statement, Hal found a new zeal in him as he enthusiastically announced, “To new beginnings!” His hand in the air holding an imaginary champagne glass.

y/n followed clinking her imaginary glass with his. Turning away from him, she spoke, “Let’s start over.” Turning back to the man beside her, and holding a hand out she introduced, “Hi, I’m y/n.”

This time she’d be different and so would he. It’s never too late to begin anew, and though they weren’t perfect, they tried. Now, accepting themselves for who they really are, they both had the will to find happiness in a new way of living.

#hal jordan x reader #green lantern x reader #hal jordan #x reader #carol ferris #green lantern #fluff #one shot #fem!reader

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meli-writes · 8 months ago

Text

Mechismo - No. 7 /// Payload

(Read on AO3) /// (First) / (Previous)

/// CW: light peril and implied threat of sexual assault. ///

"Nah, this is too good to be true," the merc-rebel-something mutters. She turns, twiddling the combat knife in her hand and stopping only to point it at you. "You wanna tell me what trap i've walked into, sweetheart?"

You eye the databox, stuffed with weeks and months of upcoming junta plans; and more besides. Enough intel to butcher hundreds of their bootlickers, least until they figure out they're compromised.

"I have it — for my own reasons," you taunt like the bellow of rotten, felled tree. "Making my mark, if you have to know."

"Is daddy-dictator's special girl staging a rebellious phase in her twenties?" the merc mocks. "Smuggle a bunch of data to what? Sell for tattoo money?"

You didn't plan an answer for a question like this, and it's hard not to just gawk and fumble at your cuffs.

"Maybe — if it's not a trap — the intel lasts a week," she continues. And besides that, you urge in your own head. "That's the only part with access dates in years. Rest is outdated crap."

"W-what do you—"

You shut your mouth when she stalks up, lifts your chin with the little blade's point with just enough force to dip it in red.

"You living out some little fantasy right now?" she asks, as much curioused as annoyed. "Because I really think that'd be a mistake."

It takes a lot not squeal. "I-I'm a valuable hostage, my family will pay well."

"They will," the merc muses, "and I think you knew that." In a glance she's seen right through, smiles at the confirmation you haven't realised you just gave away. "You leaked your convoy's route didn't you? Playing hero. Thinking you're gonna make us a pretty penny and then waddle back to your parties and soirées."

You buck up above the point of the knife, "You think I like being around them? They're monsters. And I have to pretend to be one, and you have no idea what that does to you."

Her brow raised, she stays quiet, listens.

"But i stood up, just like you did. I'm doing what I can."

And she laughs.

"Ah-hahaha! Oh saints, how many years you been saving up that little speech, sweetheart? Or bleeding-heart I should say."

"Too many," you spit.

"Hmm. Good answer," she smirks, putting a hand on your shoulder and hoisting you towards her own mech. "You're staying restrained."

"B-but i'm helping you!" you gasp.

"Your round ass for ransom helps me — you don't," she makes clear, enunciating it with a squeeze that presses into your collarbone. "And I don't trust you, so i'm not interested in giving you the chance to try anything. Don't think I haven't killed prettier things than you.

Don't think I regretted it either."

---

The merc bags your head first. Stuffs a mule-bit in your mouth overtop of it, so you're forced to swallow the loose fibres under your teeth as you gnaw on it in cortisol and pothole-induced chatters.

This isn't the edible part of the plant. You remember a 'land exchange ceremony' where you had to a drink a thick, green bowl of its stewed leaves and were sure the locals were making a joke about how bitter it was. You vomited it out-of-sight, sure your father would fucking shoot one of them if he saw it. Mostly because you hated the sound. the loud screech, and the crying after. The palace was far enough away to forget that was just part of the production process here.

Jute. It's called jute, you remember. 11.768MG from this entire continent, and about half of what it's allowed to produce. The other is raw minerals, shipped without care to the extra weight because it makes sure there's nothing here worth rebelling over. Makes sure no one can make anything out of it processed.

That's the theory at least. Doesn't explain who's paying for her. She doesn't look like one of the locals, like the people she pulls your hood off to, after 4 hours of trying not to vomit again as you rattled about in her scout mech's storage bin.

"Now youse believe me? Little Miss Junta, out of daddy's palace for a stroll in her smoking convoy," the merc purrs.

Her hand slips over your shoulder, through your heat-fucked hair and over your cheek, where the yanking of the bag has scratched a peace garden into the tear-stained makeup under your still-blinking eyes.

You stumble, lose your footing but only fall an inch as another hand sinks into your gut. It reminds you of one of those tree-cutting attachments, used for clearing land for plantation.

"There there, I got you sweetheart" she murmurs mockingly, slipping the bit back in before you can say—

You're not sure what you should.

You don't know these people. But it's hard to meet their stares for more than a moment, slash-and-burn fires in their eyes. The fires that throw up smoke you can see from a hundred miles away from behind ten layers of razorwire and a line of autogun implacements. Where this plan felt much more predictable.

You're not sure if you want her to explain it either.

She knows better, you're sure. The longer you've spent on this world has only made you feel like you know less and less.

"You waiting for a fucking bonus? A round of applause, perhaps?" one of them asks, an officer — or leader, if that sort of formality doesn't match. His pushed-back chair scrapes across the floor, pushing aside rotting fibres strewn across it. "You're paid for each contracted period; 50% at start, 50% at end, that's it."

"Can start with telling your man to fix my piece," your captor demands, or offers. It's hard to tell. One of the men at the table seems to hover around throwing his cards down. "There's a lot of dead men to clean out of the toe pads."

The 'officer' doesn't signal the sitting man to move. "You'll go with him then, yeah?" he asks.

Your eyes are adjusting now. It's only a moment before they've locked with his. You can't tell what your captor is doing but she's not moving either. He continues, "She can stay—"

"You're forgetting Section 16. Exceptional duties," she interrupts. "Think i'm at least due for a cut on the ransom. Besides, you're getting her databox for free. There's months worth of good intel there."

There's not. She said—

"It's free because it's useless to you." Unlike you. He circles the table, his hand hovering over loaded guns and dice. Maybe the merc is more predictable than them. Profit-motive alone is a little more... clean. "You radio'd that the convoy looked underarmed but normal. And you chose to engage it while on regular patrol, right?"

"Yeah," the merc grits past your ear, like the speckled concrete chips that have clawed under your dress from being made to crawl in them.

"Then it's not exceptional. Doesn't matter who the fuck she is." He's standing in front of you both now, taller. "Now show-and-tells over. You can supervise repairs while i look over my intake."

Your gut's squished a bit tighter. "And leave you here with her?"

It all clicks a little too quickly, and a little too late.

The officer's hand wraps around the little of your arm that shows in front, still drawn behind to raw wrists in junta cuffs. His thumb presses till your flesh turns whiter than it already is.

He leans over to whisper it in the merc's ear, "the fuck you think we're going to do?"

She yanks you back, head bouncing between pilot-suited tits. "Kidnapping her is escalation. That's Section 33, escalated scenarios, which means anything routine activity from here counts as Section 16," she non-answers. The words cock in her mouth like a loaded gun that hasn't fired yet.

It's just profit-motive. That's all it is. All it is. Your ransom must be worth a dozen of her contracts. She must figure they're testing to see if they can cut her out—

"You knew where to grab her!" the officer shouts. The less-drunk half of the table scrambles to their feet, but no one's armed just yet. You try to keep still, pretend like somehow he won't notice you're there even as he's screaming about you. "How long have i been paying you? trusting you? All that fucking risk. So why're you pulling this, huh? Wanna tell me what's going on? Don't think i didn't see the same stupid tip--"

"Hey! Merc-bitch," the table pipes up, the more-drunk half of it, with few chips and a lot more bottles where he's sitting. "You wanna piss off and let princess play with her new daddies?"

This one's looking at you. It's worse than hate, and twists at whatever face you're making. You can't even tell. Stupid passenger in your own— what? What is this now? Own body except not anymore. Your own plan except it's the merc's now.

Your own punishment?

Hh you are so fucking stupid. 'Your' punishment. Ha! Except your father will do so much worse than just shoot someone for bad leaf soup. The humiliation of it. His own daughter. Almost as bad as stealing one of the tin medals off his chest. If he could keep count of those either. Stupid as he is. And now without autoguns and razorwire and razorwire and more-fucking-razorwire to compensate.

Your merc's wrapping you closer, till your heels start to fall off. You don't even realise how much you were moving till you're forced to stop.

The officer's in his table-piper's face, pied with alcoholic blush, "Shut. The fuck. Up."

He's just trying to control the situation too. Yeah. You're the fucking bad guy here. Daddy's done what they're just joking about. Joking. Because you're the bad guy. You deserve a little of the risk for once.

"I'm just saying—"

"Just stop saying."

"Let me handle her," your merc offers, firm enough to make it obvious it isn't one.

She's pulling you more into her side, hand on your hip in a show of clamatory suggestiveness. She's less risk. You still want less risk.

"It can be payment for 16," she continues. This doesn't help her and now you're leaning into her. Her voice lilts a bit louder, "And if she needs a daddy, i've given her some guidance already."

You can her scar-splitting smile through the corner of your eye. You've seen enough smiles at those fancy balls to spot the bullshit ones, and spot the way she scans for if her comment satisfied or not.

You play your part and whimper.

Pitched just like your empty shell of a prop boyfriend likes and doesn't question. A fear that swirls with pleasure, water down the oil cap of an engine. She squeezes your hip bone in response, and you cow. There's still plenty of room to ruin this even as a prop yourself.

"You stays on your side of the camp," the officer finally says. "Keep her locked down, not my fault if she gets out." He sidles in closer one last time. "Keep her quiet. Not my problem if someone else gets in."

You know what you'd said now. Between the bit and her legs if you have to.

I promise you won't regret this. I promise I promise I—

All she says is, "let me know when you've got a line," and turns, "come on sweetheart. I wanna hear you say daddy."

You'll say that too.

---

(Masterpost) / (Next)

#7.5 minute read #meli-val.rtf #meli-val.doc #scifi #mechsploitation #mechismo

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