#Customized Labeling Machine

[technicallyspookymilkshake]

https://aimtechindia.in/customized-labeling-machine.php

Aim Technologies is one of the leading Customised labeling machine manufacturer and exporter in Gujarat, India.

We specialise in and hold expertise in the manufacturing and exporting of customized labeling machines as per customer requirements, as per the design of bottles and various sizes.

[apexcovantage]

Generative AI | High-Quality Human Expert Labeling | Apex Data Sciences

Apex Data Sciences combines cutting-edge generative AI with RLHF for superior data labeling solutions. Get high-quality labeled data for your AI projects.

[carinaelise]

Food Safety Packaging and Labeling

Ensuring Excellence in Food Safety Packaging and Labeling

Introduction

In the dynamic and highly competitive hospitality industry, ensuring food safety through effective packaging and labeling is crucial. With increasing awareness about health and safety standards, both consumers and regulatory bodies demand stringent adherence to these standards. At YashTech, we understand the pivotal role that food safety packaging and labeling play in maintaining quality, preventing contamination, and complying with regulations. This blog explores the importance, best practices, and future trends in food safety packaging and labeling, offering insights into how hospitality businesses can uphold these standards effectively.

The Importance of Food Safety Packaging and Labeling

Food safety packaging and labeling are essential components of the food supply chain. They serve multiple purposes:

Protection from Contamination: Proper packaging protects food from physical, chemical, and biological contaminants. It ensures that the food remains safe and fresh from the point of production to consumption.

Compliance with Regulations: Adhering to food safety standards is not just about maintaining quality but also about compliance with local and international regulations. Proper labeling helps in meeting these regulatory requirements, avoiding legal issues and potential fines.

Consumer Information: Labels provide critical information to consumers, including ingredients, nutritional values, allergen warnings, and expiration dates. This transparency builds trust and helps consumers make informed choices.

Brand Reputation: High standards in food safety packaging and labeling contribute to a positive brand image. Customers are more likely to trust and choose brands that prioritize their health and safety.

Key Elements of Food Safety Packaging

Ensuring food safety through packaging involves several critical elements:

Material Selection: The choice of packaging material is fundamental. Materials must be food-grade, non-toxic, and capable of protecting food from external contaminants. Common materials include glass, metal, and various types of plastic.

Design and Integrity: Packaging design should ensure that the food is sealed properly to prevent contamination. It should also be tamper-evident, indicating if the package has been opened or compromised.

Temperature Control: For perishable items, packaging must support appropriate temperature control to prevent spoilage. This includes insulating materials for hot and cold foods and packaging that supports freezing or refrigeration.

Sustainability: Increasingly, consumers and regulators are demanding sustainable packaging solutions. Eco-friendly materials and designs that reduce waste and support recycling are becoming standard.

Best Practices in Food Labeling

Effective food labeling goes beyond basic compliance. It involves providing comprehensive and clear information to ensure consumer safety and satisfaction:

Clear Ingredient Lists: Ingredients should be listed clearly, including any potential allergens. This helps consumers with dietary restrictions or allergies make safe choices.

Nutritional Information: Detailed nutritional information, including calorie content, fat, sugar, and salt levels, helps consumers maintain a balanced diet.

Expiration Dates: Clearly marked expiration or "best before" dates ensure that consumers are aware of the product’s shelf life, reducing the risk of consuming spoiled food.

Storage Instructions: Proper storage instructions help consumers maintain the quality and safety of the food after purchase.

Regulatory Compliance: Labels must meet all local and international regulatory standards, including language requirements, font sizes, and specific disclosures mandated by law.

Technological Innovations in Food Safety Packaging and Labeling

Advancements in technology are continuously enhancing food safety packaging and labeling:

Smart Packaging: Incorporates technology like QR codes and RFID tags to provide additional information about the product, track its journey through the supply chain, and ensure authenticity.

Active Packaging: Contains substances that actively help preserve food, such as moisture absorbers, oxygen scavengers, and antimicrobial agents.

Blockchain Technology: Used to ensure transparency and traceability in the food supply chain, providing consumers with detailed information about the origin and handling of their food.

Biodegradable Materials: Development of new materials that are both food-safe and environmentally friendly, addressing the growing demand for sustainable packaging solutions.

Challenges and Solutions in Food Safety Packaging and Labeling

Despite advancements, the industry faces several challenges:

Cost: Implementing high-standard packaging and labeling can be expensive. However, investing in quality materials and technologies pays off by reducing the risk of contamination and legal issues.

Regulatory Changes: Keeping up with evolving regulations can be challenging. Partnering with experts in food safety and regulatory compliance, like YashTech, ensures that your business stays updated and compliant.

Sustainability: Balancing food safety with sustainability requires innovation and commitment. Adopting new, eco-friendly materials and practices can address this challenge effectively.

Consumer Education: Educating consumers about reading labels and proper food handling is crucial. Clear and informative labeling helps, but broader consumer education initiatives are also necessary.

Future Trends in Food Safety Packaging and Labeling

The future of food safety packaging and labeling is shaped by several emerging trends:

Personalization: Customized packaging and labeling that cater to specific consumer preferences and dietary needs are becoming more popular. This trend enhances customer satisfaction and loyalty.

Increased Transparency: Consumers demand more transparency about the origin and handling of their food. Technologies like blockchain and smart packaging are making this possible.

Regenerative Packaging: Moving beyond sustainability, regenerative packaging aims to restore and improve environmental health, not just maintain it.

Health Focus: With growing health consciousness, there is an increasing focus on highlighting health benefits and nutritional information prominently on labels.

Conclusion

Food safety packaging and labeling are critical to ensuring the quality, safety, and success of products in the hospitality industry. At YashTech, we are committed to providing top-notch solutions that meet the highest standards of safety, compliance, and innovation. By staying ahead of industry trends and leveraging advanced technologies, we help our clients deliver safe, high-quality food products that consumers can trust. Investing in superior packaging and labeling not only protects your customers but also enhances your brand's reputation and market success.

[marlynnofmany]

Spice in Space

“Of course your food is a biohazard,” Zhee said while the security scanner approved our delivery.

“The label’s just a precaution,” I said. “Pretty sure this is mostly pepper.”

“Right, yes, the food flavoring that gives your meals the flavor of fire.” Zhee tilted his head, bug eyes looking at everything at once while managing to roll sarcastically. “Not a hazard at all.”

“I don’t mean the really spicy kind,” I said as the box slid out of the scanning machine. “Just the regular spices to sprinkle over eggs and whatnot.”

Zhee picked up the box in his pincher arms. “Right, because eating fire-flavored unhatched creatures is a perfectly normal thing to do.”

I laughed and followed him out into the spaceport. “It is where I’m from!”

“Absolute maniacs, all of you,” Zhee declared with a flick of his antennae. “Now where is that food stall? The briefing said it would be tiny.”

“Tiny and close,” I agreed, looking around. Once past the security checkpoint, this place was a riot of booths and pedestrians with an artsy wave pattern on the ceiling that seemed to dampen the sound. It wasn’t as loud as most spaceports I’d been in.

“I see a directory,” Zhee said. “Let’s just check that.”

“Wait, there it is!” I pointed to a little kiosk between full-sized restaurants. It only held enough room for tubs of ingredients, a gigantic hot plate, and the guy currently scraping food around on it with flair. The sign said “Earth Fry.”

“Of course,” Zhee said, moving toward it. “I should have just looked for the fire.”

As we maneuvered through the crowd of Strongarms, Mesmers, and miscellaneous others, the guy tossed the food with his spatula, caught it deftly in a takeout box, and handed it to the customer waiting at the side: another human. No surprise there. By the time we arrived, he was ready to greet us.

“Hello! Can I interest you in some Earth Fry?”

Zhee held up the sealed package. “We have Earth ingredients for you. Apparently they are hazardous.”

“Oh! Yes, thank you! That’ll be the hot sauce and other stuff.” He took the box and found a flat surface to put it on, then accepted the payment tablet I held out for him. “Thanks for being so fast. Somebody got a bit clumsy during the lunch rush and knocked over a few things. Paid for ‘em, but I can’t get all of these local.” He signed for the delivery while I tried to place his accent. Australian?

“Luckily we were just coming from a trade hub,” I said. “This stuff is straight from Earth.”

“Excellent. It’s been a while since I was home, and you can’t beat the real thing for spices.” He handed the tablet back.

“Very true,” I agreed. “Where are you from?”

“Melbourne,” he said while I congratulated myself on guessing right. “Still getting used to how little any of that matters out here. To the average offworlder, Earth is one place with one type of person.”

“And we’re all lunatics who eat poison, right?” I agreed with a sly glance at Zhee.

He spread his pinchers. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Hey now, the garlic is only poisonous to some creatures from Earth,” the guy said, pointing to an airtight tub. “And the onions. If you want the real toxins, the alcohol stores are that way.”

Zhee looked at the ceiling. “It’s like you all have a death wish. Or take pleasure in hurting yourselves.”

“Some of the pain tastes good?” I said with a wave toward the hot sauces.

At the same time, the guy said, “There’s a reason they call us space orcs.”

I laughed. “Do they still? I wouldn’t think enough people even know what an orc is.”

To my surprise, Zhee recited, “Mythological creature from your planet, famed for strength, durability, and lack of foresight. Rumors do go around.”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” I said.

“Nobody thinks that’s funnier than my family,” said the Australian. “I get no end of jokes about it. Especially from my mom’s side — she’s from the US, and thinks we all say ‘space’ funny.”

“Does she?” I asked. “Interesting word to focus on.”

“Right? She insists that it sounds like ‘spice,’ and I just don’t see what she’s on about. But!” He held up a finger and fiddled with his collar. “That did lead to my favorite shirt.” With a dramatic sweep of his overshirt, he bared a bright red T-shirt that said “Spice Orc.”

I burst out laughing. “That’s fantastic!”

“Mom was pretty proud of herself for this one,” he said. “Gave it to me for my last birthday.”

Zhee declared, “Appropriate. Entirely in character for your species.”

“And we even brought you spice!” I laughed.

“That you did!” he said, resettling his clothes. “Care to try some? The shredded beef dish is particularly tasty.”

I looked at Zhee, then turned back without waiting for a response. “We’ve got a couple minutes. I’d love some. With extra garlic, please!”

“Coming right up!” He spun his tongs like a gunfighter, and began tossing ingredients onto the hot plate where they sizzled madly.

Zhee just grumbled and looked put-upon, but didn’t object. I planned to make a big deal of enjoying the tasty fire-and-poison meal on our walk back to the ship.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[pukefactory]

•☽────✧˖°˖ TROPICA FOOD COURT ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA X Reader You Both Find A Vending Machine Full Of Strange Drinks

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You spotted it first: an ancient, flickering vending machine tucked behind a crooked lamp post, buzzing suspiciously. The buttons were labeled with things like “Quantum Slush,” “Elixir of Partial Success,” and “Liquidated Memories.” ENA immediately stiffened at the sight, her Meanie side scoffing, “What kind of idiot puts a death trap in a box and sells it for three fake quarters?!” Her Salesperson side, chipper and delighted, started patting down her pockets. “If we play our cards right, we could unlock a fantastic business opportunity here!” she beamed, completely missing the point. You were halfway between concern and excitement yourself.

☆ ENA insisted on letting you pick the first drink, citing it as “user testing.” She even pulled out a fake clipboard, nodding sagely. “This is most categorically doable. Your liver is simply a business expense.” When you hesitated, she leaned down, smiling crookedly, and whispered, “What’s the worst that could happen? Ha ha. Don’t answer that.”

☆ You chose something relatively tame-sounding: “Mildly Unpredictable Tea.” The can hissed open and a bunch of multicolored bubbles floated out instead of liquid. ENA immediately leaned in, trying to “capture the aromas for professional analysis,” only to accidentally inhale one. It popped inside her nose, making her entire left side turn a luminous blue for thirty seconds while she shrieked, “I AM TRANSCENDING STUPIDITY!!”

☆ Her Salesperson side tried to play it cool. “Ahem, minor cosmetic rebranding is normal after product testing.” Her Meanie side immediately clapped her hands over her face and shouted, “MY CELLS ARE COMMITTING TAX FRAUD!”

☆ When it was ENA’s turn to pick, she deliberately chose the most ominous can: “Hot Chocolate, but Worse.” You begged her to reconsider. She did not. The can exploded the second she cracked it open, spraying both of you with a gooey, magma-thick brown liquid that smelled faintly of despair and burnt toast. “THIS IS HELL’S FLAVORED SLUDGE!” she barked, staggering backward. “I’d call it… an acquired taste,” Her Salesperson side added, wiping her eyes and giving you a sticky thumbs-up.

☆ At one point, you noticed that some of the cans had strange little “effects” icons printed on the sides — wings, hourglasses, melting clocks. ENA, squinting at one of the labels, whispered like it was a state secret, “If we drink the wrong one, I might turn into a pyramid scheme.” You deadpanned, “You already act like one.” Meanie screamed, “HEY! MULTILEVEL MARKETING IS A SYMPHONY OF SUCKERS!!!”

☆ You and ENA sat cross-legged in the grass, lining up a few more “experimental beverages” in a row like a tasting event. She made you swirl the cans, smell them dramatically, and describe the “bouquet.” When you hesitated or said they smelled like “wet sidewalk,” Salesperson would encourage you with a very businesslike, “Wonderful, let’s put that in the customer review section!” Meanwhile, Meanie muttered darkly about how “the sidewalk smells better than this rotgut slop.”

☆ At some point, ENA drank a “Lemonade of Emotional Honesty” and instantly folded in half, grabbing her face. “I hate meetings! I hate empty promises! I hate soup that’s too hot!!” she wailed in a confession avalanche. You gently patted her back while she continued shrieking into the dirt about grievances you hadn’t even known she had, like the way clowns tie their shoes.

☆ One drink (“Essence of Charisma”) actually worked. After a few sips, ENA stood taller, glowed slightly, and started rattling off the most absurd sales pitches you’d ever heard — effortlessly persuasive. “Have you ever considered investing in the cyclical futility of your own desires?” she asked an old mailbox. You had to physically drag her away before she sold it a timeshare in the afterlife.

☆ Eventually, you both collapsed under the vending machine’s neon haze, surrounded by half-drunk cans, sticky clothes, and the faint suspicion you were no longer in the same dimension you started in. ENA, lying beside you, lazily spun a can in the air and murmured, “Maybe tomorrow we’ll sell drinks like these ourselves.” Then, Meanie immediately snapped upright to yell, “AND WE’LL PUT A HUGE WARNING LABEL THAT SAYS ‘YOU WILL BECOME STUPIDER’ BECAUSE IT’S TRUE!!” You laughed so hard you almost choked on your own unfinished “Liquidated Memories” soda.

[eyelambspider]

𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝. - König

Part One || Part Two

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : The WX 400 model, or König, had been sitting in a Cyberlife store for nearly six months without so much as a glance from customers. He had been repurposed from a hard laborer to a sort of domestic care-giver... but the thing was, consumers only wanted the newer models. Until you came by. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.2 k 𝐚/𝐧 : consider this my masterpiece, probably will write a second part 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : fluff, hurt/comfort(?), domestic fluff

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄. From the sleek tiled floors, to the large window panes that were cleaned daily, to the Androids that stood on display within.

On white pedestals, circled with fluorescent tags and holograms indicating their model numbers and generic purposes: Domestic housekeepers, caretakers, companions. Smaller synthetic machines that had friendly faces and sparkling eyes. Built for a life amongst humans.

He wasn't built for that. No.

His slate-colored eyes had watched for months, lingering over Cyberlife's newest models at the front of the store. A blank expression as each one smiled hopefully. Perhaps something they were programmed to do. To appear friendly?

He considered it a possibility, sure, but the 'front of the store' androids were a stark contrast to his own model.

The WX-series of androids had been built with only one purpose: hard labor, or to put it more simply, construction work.

When customers came into the store they only wanted one thing: a shiny new companion.

Everyday the eyes of those strangers would frown when they saw him. Hardly sparing the WX a glance before they turned around and considered an AX 400 instead.

An android built for housework and taking care of children, with a soft round face and a smile that reached all the way up to her kind blue eyes...

It seemed a diluted plausibility that one day the repurposed WX would eventually find a purpose. With everyday he inched closer to the possibility of being discarded. Simply unwanted.

Until a particularly cloudy day in May, one of the stares had caught his attention, even in his low power mode. Only able to shift his tired seeming eyes and move at a slow pace. Meeting that oddly new curious gaze of yours. The eyes of a stranger finally lingering on him.

Him.

"Excuse me?" You held your hand up sheepishly, asking for assistance from one of the android retailers, a young looking man with a head of soft brown hair and a blue circular LED on his right temple. The holographic label on his chest reading: Ethan.

"Hello, How can I help you?" Ethan stepped next to your side with a light smile.

You pointed to the WX in front of you, feeling a bit silly for even asking but... "Could you tell me about this one?"

The android salesman nodded, hands folded politely behind him, following your gaze towards the decommissioned android, unable to show the usual grimace humans showed the WX.

"Of course," he agreed easily, "This particular model is a WX 400, a decommissioned laborer. They aren't often sold in stores, but if you are interested I could tell you more about it."

The WX watched you nod, his eyes flickering occasionally between you and the sales-android.

"Why is he decommissioned?" you asked quietly, letting the question linger momentarily before Ethan perked up again, unbiased.

"The WX 400 was only decommissioned in its primary purpose, which was doing manual labor," the mechanical man explained with a synthetic smile, gesturing with his hands for your eyes to follow. "It works perfectly fine, and besides some damage to its synthetic skin and body, and a few replaced parts," he managed a soft light-hearted chuckle, "This model works perfectly fine, just not for its intended heavy lifting purposes. It will work perfectly fine for housework. Is that what you were looking for?"

As the sales-android considered the new possibility, he prompted a new question: "We have many other fine models if you are interested in something else."

The statement, whilst a little profound to you, meant next to nothing to the two androids who patiently awaited your answer.

"I was looking for someone to help around the house," you confirm.

The WX before you, nearing seven foot tall easily in the display case, glanced down at you. Unmoving, but like all androids, his eyes held an uncanny humanity within those blue depths.

He could see the consideration on your face. The way your eyes wearily, almost tenderly, traced the lines and deep scars on his synthetic skin. Deep grooves and lacerations running from his fingers, up his strong forearms and disappearing under the fabric of his standard Cyberlife shirt.

Even the androids face, while once maybe even considered handsome, had a deep scar running over its left side. Over his dirty blonde brow and high cheekbone, tracing over his lips to his chin.

It was a wonder he even worked properly, and the unspoken question must've been written all over your face again.

"The WX has had his diagnostics run perfectly well. I assure you the android itself works perfectly fine," Ethan smiled boyishly when you blushed.

"I don't doubt it," you assured him with an unintentionally adorable grin. "I've just... I've never seen an android like him," you admitted softly, those soft eyes meeting the WX's again.

He was looking right at you again.

Immediately your gaze dropped down shyly, unintentionally reading the blue holographic labels that surrounded the short white pillar he stood on.

"He has a name?" You asked, glancing over to Ethan for confirmation.

"Of course, but if you'd like to reset it-"

"No," you stopped him, feeling a bit more confident than you had when you first entered the store.

"König sounds fine to me."

König watched from his display, with a hint of utter- well... what would you call this?

Disbelief? Surprise?

Surprise when your complexion lit with a smile. Surprise when you said his name and turned to walk with the other android to the front of the store? Surprise as his eyes trailed after your form, unable to comprehend you.

For what reason could you possibly want a repurposed android like him?

It didn't make sense in the slightest, and although he watched you, he felt lost, considering possibilities that felt underwhelming in their answers.

His price was lower than others for being damaged. But so many had passed him by.

It was something König considered for a while, never finding a suitable answer until a new initiative popped across his sensors. Jolting him awake once more.

He was registered now to you. Your name popping across his vision like a directive.

"Thank you," you waved to the man who had helped you with a soft smile, getting a vaguely surprised gesture from him.

"Oh- You're very welcome!" Ethan smiled back and watched for a moment longer as you headed up to König, whom at that moment, was given back full control over his mechanical body. Unlocked from his low power mode.

The blue Thirium that cooled and powered his circuits rushed back into him. Circling through his veins and giving him back full control of his body. The world no longer running in slow motion.

König's hands lifted up slowly. The WX inspecting his hands and flexing his fingers into gentle balls. The two of you watched in silent awe as the large android moved once more, no longer destined for a Cyberlife disposal facility... but for.

König's vision refocused as you reached out. Your tiny hand taking one of his. Warm, and unmarred in contrast to his, and he could feel the almost imperceptible beating of your pulse beneath the contact.

"Come on," you smiled, not quite helping him from the stand, but guiding him down the small step. "I'll show you how to get back home, König," you mused, feeling the large androids cut up hand grip yours a bit tighter.

Next >

© Eyelambspider. I only post here on Tumblr! könig photo credit to my friend @koharu-rk800

[leighsartworks216]

Laundromat

Sylus x fem!Reader

Inspired by my late-night excursions to the expensive as hell laundromat I had to do my laundry at every week when I was in college (lowkey gonna miss it)

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, silly, laundry, sleep, cuddling, developing relationship

Word Count: 1,884

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third - Fourth LADs Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus frowns up at the basic sign above the door. It's not even illuminated; just a boring row of letters in red that spell ‘LAUNDROMAT’. You poke his arm, but you're grinning deviously, excitedly.

"You said you could handle living like me for a week. Don't tell me it's starting to weigh you down now."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Sweetie, a little laundry isn't going to kill me."

You snicker, kill the ignition, and get out of the car. He follows, shutting the door behind him while you skip around to the back of the car. Your car. You take endless pleasure seeing Sylus duck down into the seat, pushed as far back as it'll go, and still having his legs be all squished up against the dash. Using one of his cars would be disingenuous to the experience. And you can't deny the wealth of joy you feel getting to treat him like a passenger princess.

You open up the trunk and lift out a basket full of dirty clothes. He frowns at the sight of some of the nice clothes he bought you being mixed into the pile. "Those should be dry cleaned," he grumbles.

"Yeah, well, I can't afford it." You shove the basket into his hands. It looks so out of place. You grab your detergent and shut the trunk. Two quick taps on the fob locks the car with a beep.

"I already gave you my card."

"Goes against the challenge." You lean up with a grin to pat his cheek. He tries to bite your fingers. "Now, c'mon, it takes, like, an hour and a half for all this."

He follows behind as you head to the door. It swings too easily on its hinges, loose from all the customers that come in here at all hours of the day, and the owner's own lack of upkeep.

The inside is bright and cramped. White overhead lights beam down on rows of machines that line the walls of the building. Two tables stand in the middle, and wire-basket carts for the clothes are scattered everywhere. Dryer sheets, dirt, the odd spillage of detergent, and a very dubious looking coin cemented to the tile make up the floor. A frazzled mother folds clothes at one of the tables; blouses and baby clothes all laid into piles. A few teens sit at the back, underneath a wall-television that plays some cooking channel. Their clothes sit in garbage bags at their feet as they wait for a taxi to drive them back to their college dwellings.

You slip past him and move with ease toward a washing machine. It's labelled ‘triple load’, but it's atrociously small and nearly $8 to operate. You pull over one of the carts for Sylus to set the basket in, and pull that up to the small porthole door, tossing in clothes to be washed.

You grin at him over your shoulder. "You wanna go get me some quarters?" You gesture over toward the back of the building, to a sign pointing the way into a back room, full of yet more machines. "Ten dollars worth should do."

He quirks a brow at you. "For one load of laundry?"

"They up-charge all the machines when school's in session."

He sighs, but slips past you. This tall, intimidating man looks so out of place, sidling past half-open washer doors, carts, and tables. His clothes are obviously way too expensive to blend in well, despite his best efforts. You should worry about someone recognizing him, but, really, who's gonna think it's actually him?

The mother's eyes follow him away for a moment. She looks back at you with a grin, eyebrows raised. You flush and turn away.

You toss your clothes in until the basket is empty. You're lucky it's not a big load, or else you'd have to use two machines. If they weren't so expensive, you'd even split the load into lights and darks, or pull out the nice expensive clothes to wash them on delicate. But you're not about to blow 15 to 20 dollars every week when you'd be better off saving it for food.

You add your detergent and shut the machine just as Sylus comes back. His large hand is full of quarters that jingle together. That distinct metallic smell of coins sticking to his palm. You quirk a brow up at him. "I said $10."

He smirks. "Think of it as me covering next week's expenses."

You roll your eyes, but you don't argue further. Not like the machine can exchange it back, anyway. You step away from the washing machine, tucking the cart under the table and out of the way, and pull him by his arm to stand in front of it. You point to the coin slot. "Thirty quarters, if you please."

It's like watching him insert tokens for an arcade machine, but the game requires no skill and the reward is always the same. Well, so long as the machine works. The owner's not good about labelling busted machines, so it's a gamble every week to know if you'll be spending longer here, moving your clothes over to another washer or dryer that also may not work.

Each quarter clinks inside, landing in a pile, the little number display counting down for each one. At some point, there is no clink and the number doesn't change. Sylus pauses, but you just reach over and press on the return. The coin slides out into the catch, and you push it harder back into the slot so the momentum carries it past where it hung up before. The coins clink and the number changes. He shakes his head, quietly showing his disdain for this entire process, and finishes putting in the required quarters.

Right away, the machine locks and the clothes inside begin to spin. He spares your pockets the added weight, dropping the last great handful of coins into his own. The display changes to show a 24 minute timer.

"And now, we wait." You smile innocently as you lead him over to the seats by the door. They're plastic and worn and extremely uncomfortable. He sighs as he adjusts. "What do you think so far?"

He shoots you a look, conveying his feelings quite clearly. "You do this every week?"

"Yup," you say, popping the p sound.

"Always at this time?" The sun has long since set outside. The parking lot is nearly empty. It's early for him, but it's late for you.

You nod. "It's less busy really early or really late. I don't like getting up early, so coming in late is better."

A car rolls up to the curb outside. It sits for a couple seconds before impatiently beeping. The teens in the back yawn as they get up from their own uncomfortable seats. One garbage bag thrown over a shoulder and the other carried awkwardly in front while they sidle past the tables and machines. The distinct scent of weed stinks the air as they pass by and into the night, shuffling into the taxi together. Sylus cringes, fighting back a sneeze. He's well used to the smell of tobacco, the smoke of cigars and cigarettes. Definitely not the skunky smell of marijuana.

He sniffs, turning his attention back to you. "What do you do to pass the time?"

You shrug, leaning against him easily, also a little sleepy. "Depends. Sometimes I run errands. Usually I just scroll through Moments."

He looks at the timer display. Only a few minutes have gone by. The fluorescent lights beat down on him, stinging his eyes in the same way the sun does. One light in the back flickers. Someone on the television leads an imaginary audience through a recipe, far too upbeat and energetic for this run down place.

He tries to imagine sitting in here every week: relegated to these awful chairs for an hour and a half, listening to the hum of electricity and chatter of TV personalities, intermingled with the noise of the washers and dryers. He doesn't know how you can stand it. Or maybe you just got used to the discomfort. That thought upsets him most of all.

He dislodges you for a moment to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side where you'll be more comfortable. You settle your head against his chest without contest. "You can sleep if you want," he says softly. "I'll wake you when it's done."

You hum. It feels much safer in here with him. You've imagined horrible scenarios week by week. Strange people cornering you in this place, no one around to hear or help. Of course, Mephisto would alert him if anything like that happened, but actually feeling him take up space in here pushes all those fears far away. If anyone dared try anything, they'd be dealt with without him ever needing to get up. You're dozing in the security in no time.

-

You wake up to the sound of voices. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you come back to the world of consciousness.

The woman speaks to Sylus in a language you don't understand. She's very coy in her body language, smirking knowingly and gesturing. Whatever she says makes him grin, but he shakes his head as he replies in that same language. You watch on curiously. It's not every day you get to see him interact with someone normally, without threats and business and danger. Not to mention, hearing this language roll off his tongue... you want to hear him speak it some more.

The lady laughs as she gathers the last of her folded clothes into her basket. She hefts it up, supporting it against her stomach. Sylus pushes open the door from where he sits. She levels him with a half-serious look, nodding toward you as she tells him something. He nods, saying something short in return.

She heads outside into the night and he lets the door fall shut behind her. You adjust your head on his shoulder to look up at him. "What'd she say?"

His lips curl in smug satisfaction as he settles back into his chair. "She said my wife is very beautiful. I told her we weren't married, but I agreed." Your face grows warm as he looks down at you. His eyes are mellow and soft, adoring. "And then she said I should propose, before it's too late."

The air is electric. Static with anticipation. You can't help glancing at his lips. They're so plush... When you look back up, his own eyes glance unashamedly at your own lips, following them as you speak.

"What did you say?"

He meets your eyes again. Lips curl into a pretty smirk. He leans away, nodding toward the machines. "Your clothes just finished, sweetie."

"Huh?" Sure enough, when you look over, the machine has stopped spinning. A light blinks, signaling that it's finished. How had you missed the buzz?

Sylus's arm retreats from around your shoulder as he stands. He grabs one of the carts and nudges it in front of the washing machine, throwing an amused look your way. "Come on, sweetie. We need to finish so you can go to bed at a reasonable hour."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @leiakitty @lemonn015

[flawssy-227]

The Beginning | a Joel x Babysitter fic

pairing: joel miller x babysitter!reader

wc: 2.6k

summary: how you start babysitting for Joel and Sarah.

warnings: no smut, still 18+ pls!, no outbreak!au, Sarah lives!au, small unspecified age gap, longing, small feelings developing, mostly written in a couple of hours and poorly edited lol, moldboard was hastily created by me to reflect ~vibes~, not physical characteristics

a/n: s/o @saradika-graphics for the dividers. still dusting off the cobwebs, but thank you to everyone who read part 1 and left feedback. I think I will keep writing for this pair–– less of a 'series' and more so vignettes of their lives. feel free to lmk what you would like to see next. and let me know what you think :)

You rolled your neck slowly, trying to release the tension that had been building up the last few hours. You had been working at a bookstore in downtown Austin all summer, trying to get acclimated to your new city before you start your grad program and to help earn a little cash as a cushion–you knew you were about to be way too busy with long readings and lengthy essays to work the inconvenient shifts here.

It should’ve been an easy gig, working at an independent bookstore. You really thought you would enjoy it when you got the call saying you’d been hired. The hours were nice and the environment was warm, earthy and classic Texan. It got slightly busy on the weekends and in the evenings, and there was a small coffee bar that attracted teens and students alike. It would be totally fine if it weren’t for your dick of a manager, Todd.

He was in the middle of lecturing you about cleaning the espresso machine and labeling the milk, just for you to remind him that it wasn’t even your job, and that Erica, his assistant manager still hadn’t trained you on the bar, insisting that despite your previous restaurant experience, that operating the espresso machine was a little out of your wheelhouse. You tried to resist the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes at his droning when you saw a little girl with gorgeous curly hair walk into the bookstore alone.

You tracked her movements as she maneuvered around the store comfortably and found the history section, tactfully looking over titles before her eyes brightened in recognition as she reached for a hardcover that was comically large for her small hands.

Todd was still yapping in your ear, asking if you understood what he was saying, prompting you to let out a halfhearted yup and a silent wish he would leave you alone. You looked at him, offering a half hearted customer service smile, one that probably got you the job in the first place before mumbling something about restocking some returns.

You made your way over to the little girl who was now sitting in the reading nook in the back of the store, golden Austin sunlight highlighting her face.

“Hey,” you offered, making her look up. You notice how she cautiously tracked your face, glancing down at your employee lanyard before she relaxed the slightest bit. “What’re you reading?”

She lifted up the cover so you could see. “Hidden Figures.” She stayed silent after that, curiously waiting to see if you would speak more.

“That’s a good book,” you responded. “Ever seen the movie?”

My dad says I gotta read the book before I watch the movie,” she replied, eyes rolling the slightest bit, making you both giggle.

“Oh,” you laugh, “your dad is one of those?”

She nods eagerly, guards lowering a bit. “Used to not be,” the girl shrugs. “I got put into the gifted program for school this year though. Think he’s pushing me.”

Gifted made sense. What kid her age was comfortable enough walking into bookstores on their own to grab non-fiction history novels and talking to strangers? You sure weren’t that way.

“Where’s your dad anyway?” you finally ask. The store was surprisingly empty for a Saturday afternoon but you weren’t too keen on leaving a girl her age to fend for herself.

The little girl was just about to open her mouth before a man who appeared to be in his 30s stood before you both. You could see his chest moving up and down, like he had run into the bookstore and was trying to get his breathing under control. He looked upset and irritated and it immediately put you on edge.

“Sarah,” he hissed, completely ignoring you and looking at the girl you were chatting with. You assumed this was her dad.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he scoffed at her. “I told you we could walk in here when I finished up my errands. Stop bein’ so damn impatient.”

Sarah was completely unperturbed by his tone, essentially disregarding it. It was honestly comical how bothered he was and how little she seemed to care. “Sorry, dad,” she offered, a brilliant smile on her face, one you were sure got her out of trouble more often than not. “Just came to grab the book.” She flipped over to the cover, just like she did with you moments earlier. “Made a friend.”

At Sarah’s gesture towards you, her dad focused his attention on you for the first time since walking into the store. You offered a shy smile and stood up from the nook before you offered him your hand and introduced yourself. 

“Joel,” he said back, eyeing you in the same suspicious way Sarah had when you first greeted her. 

Some genetics, you thought to yourself of the similarity, but you tried not to let his intensity get to you. He was gorgeous, broad shoulders stretching indecently across a threadbare grey t-shirt and big hands tucked coolly in a perfectly worn pair of Levi’s. His brown eyes were intense on you, making you avert your gaze as you felt heat creep across your cheeks. Dammit, he was attractive. 

“I was just keeping an eye on her,” you offered, not getting a response in return. “I should, uh, get back to work,” you respond after a minute, the stare and silence from Joel just a bit much to handle. “Enjoy the book,” you say to Sarah, before walking away and trying to remember what the hell you were supposed to be doing.

“C’mon hon, VIP section right here!”

You had let your roommate, Avery, convince you to go drinking with her tonight. You’d been in Austin for a couple of months but you hadn’t gone out too much. Instead, you were focused on your annoying little bookstore gig and working through the massive reading list you were assigned before you started your first semester. Plus, outside of Avery, you didn’t really know anyone in Texas.

You looked at what she had just referred to as the ‘VIP section’ and scoffed. She wasn’t too specific when she invited you out tonight, but looking at Avery and her trendy gold jewelry, slinky outfit and YSL purse, you thought you might be going somewhere a little bit nicer than the sticky dive bar you were currently in. 

You scoffed and swiped the crumbs from the cracked leather booth before you slipped in. “Some VIP,” you mumbled.

Avery quirked a smile at you. “What was that? Austin’s latest transplant isn’t a fan of what we have to offer?”

You rolled your eyes at her goading. Despite not hanging out much, you did really enjoy living with Avery. You had been randomly placed together via some roommate matching app and you were surprised at how it had worked out so far. She was clean and respectful. She was out a lot, but never really brought the party home. As far as you knew, she was Texan, born and raised, but this girl was bougie. She did barre classes in the mornings and wore designer pieces to work. You just could not understand why the hell she dragged you to this dive bar.

“No,” you scoff. “Just wondering if this is the place you’re always raving about.”

She hummed quietly, like she had a secret she couldn’t wait to spill, before a cute server came by to grab your drink orders. You finally took a look around the dive, disregarding the kitschy and chaotic decor that has probably been here since before you were born, noticing the patrons. Mostly men, a mix of what appeared to be the most attractive male models cosplaying as blue collar workers and others who looked like they were just in an episode of Yellowstone. It was kind of insane, you’d never seen this many attractive men in one place before. You got it now.

Avery is almost giddy as she watches you take in all the guests. “See anything you like?”

You both laugh. “Okay,” you sigh. “I might understand why you like this place so much.”

“Not only is everyone here so fucking hot,” she giggled. “But the drinks are sickeningly cheap.”

You and Avery were having too good of a time, laughing and tipsy enough before you made your way to the pool table, convinced you wouldn’t embarrass yourselves. A few guys had checked the two of you out, another anonymously even bought you a round of drinks, but no one actually came up to either of you to speak. It was mildly disappointing but you suppose that’s what the apps are for.

Avery was focused on lining up her next shot when someone put two quarters on the table. “I got next,” he smirked.

He fit in exactly with the other patrons of the bar. Tall, dark and handsome. He actually looked a lot like the dad you met at the bookstore the other day. Just leaner, with longer hair and–

“Here’s your beer, Tommy.”

Your breath hitched at the sight. There he was. The dad from the bookstore. Joel. He looked the same, just a little more flushed, like he had spent all day in the sun. He finally looked at you and froze before quirking a small smile in your direction.

Next to you, Avery squealed and embraced the man who had just claimed the pool table.

“Tommy!” she exclaimed, letting herself be picked up and spun around. “Missed you,” she said as she nuzzled herself into his neck. You focused your attention on the two of them, trying to convince yourself you didn’t feel the heat of Joel’s stare. 

How the hell did Avery know these guys? You were looking at her quizzically, trying to remember if she ever mentioned a boyfriend to you, just as he set her down. Avery reached for you without fully releasing her hold on the man.

“Babe, this is my friend Tommy and his brother, Joel.”

You shook Tommy’s hand and then did the same to Joel. “Nice to meet you,” you said, giving each other a knowing look.

After a round of pool where you and Avery quickly lost against Tommy and Joel, the two of them offered to grab another round for everyone before they disappeared for a while, leaving you and Joel tucked into the same cracked booth where you started the night.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, being left to sit next to Joel while Avery and Tommy did whatever it was they were doing while they should’ve been grabbing your drinks. He had been funny during pool, a little different than the concerned and irritated dad you met over the weekend. You couldn’t help but notice how relaxed he looked when he smiled. Beautiful, really.

Trying not to stare too long, you broke the silence. “So,” you offered, “how long do you think they’ll be?”

Joel chuckled dryly, rubbing a hand down his face and glancing to the bar. “Well,” he took a sip of his beer, “I wouldn’t hold my breath waitin’ for those two to come back. ‘Specially since they ain’t nowhere near the bar.” He smiled at you, and dammit if it didn’t make your heart beat a little bit faster. “You’ve known Avery for long?”

You shook your head, taking a small sip of your drink just to give yourself a distraction. “No, I just moved in with her like two months ago. Actually moved to Austin two months ago. Brand new.” You smile shyly at his appraising gaze.

“Well if there’s anyone to be a part of the welcoming committee, it’s probably Avery. Swear that girl knows everyone and everything in this town.”

You laugh at that. “Yeah, I’m kinda getting that sense.” You took another sip of your drink. You were happy you didn’t have to work the opening shift tomorrow with how strong and cheap these cocktails were. “Maybe she can help me find a different job.”

“Really?” Joel asked. “Not likin’ the bookstore?”

You shook your head no, offering him a half hearted explanation about your manager being a bit of a prick and the hours not coinciding with the school schedule you just got. “But it’ll be fine. I just have to be patient and wait for something that’s a better fit.”

Joel nodded, trying not to be obvious as he watched the way your lips pursed around the little black cocktail straws, or how you let out a happy sigh at the sweet taste of the mixer. He thought back to how Sarah kept mentioning how nice you were when they left the bookstore Saturday, asking him why he wasn’t nicer to you, why he had been so stand offish, and then promptly adding that he should’ve asked for your number, much to his chagrin. She had been really wanting him to start dating again. He had to give it to his daughter, you were really pretty, gorgeous even, and definitely sweet. Smart too, if you were going to graduate school at UT. Sarah had a better understanding of his type than he did. But he didn’t have time to date, not right now. He and Tommy finally started their own contracting business, and between liability insurance and taxes and 1099s and the customer service aspect of it all, he had been swamped and a little overwhelmed, if he was being honest. He could use some help, personally and professionally. He only came out for a drink tonight with his brother because Sarah was sleeping over at a friend's house. 

He paused for a moment and thought about how he was going to need a little more assistance with Sarah at the start of the school year. He knew some of the other parents at her school had nanny’s who did the pickups and drop offs that were at incredibly inconvenient times to anyone who actually had a job. He had been reliant on his mom and some of the parents of Sarah’s friends to help him pick up the slack for far too long. He decided not to think too hard and just ask. He needed help with Sarah. You liked Sarah. Sarah liked you. That’s all this was. Definitely no other reason he was even considering this.

“You know, Sarah really enjoyed talking to you.”

“Really?” you ask, smiling at the memory of his daughter from your brief encounter. “She was really sweet. Smart too.”

“Yeah, listen, I could use some help with her starting in a few weeks.”

“Oh yeah?” you questioned. “What? You want me to babysit?”

He smiled bashfully at you. “Honestly? Yeah. She liked you, a whole lot, and I could use the help a few nights a week,” he shrugged, taking another pull of his beer. 

Would you ever consider, uh, babysitting?” The worst you could do is say no, he figured.

Your face turned in surprise. You were intrigued at the idea of seeing Joel again, but this wasn’t exactly the context you had in mind.

“Babysitting might not be the right word for it. Maybe, more like a nanny,” he added. “Only if it works with your school schedule,” he said finally, trying to read your expression as you thought about his offer.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed that he didn’t ask you out for dinner or at least a coffee. Babysitting. You could use the money though, and something a little more flexible than the bookstore. And hanging out with Sarah while you did your readings for school didn’t sound too bad. Why the hell not? 

You smiled up at Joel, brown eyes peering into yours. “You know, me and Sarah will probably gang up on you, join forces and take over your house.”

Joel grinned at the idea, flashes of you in his house, acting like you owned the place with Sarah smiling next to you filling his head. “I won’t mind darlin’. I won’t mind at all.”

[the-californicationist]

Cali Cali bo-bali banana fana fo-fali me my mo mali! Cali!

I'm three Budweisers in and got an itch for alpha Price with a sudden need to breed (yay! Surprise rut!), and there's his sweet smelling omega neighbor who he's been keeping at arm's length because he's a professional dammit and has complete control of his urges, thank you very much.

Honestly, I just wanna see Mr. "I'm Married to My Job" lose it and show back up on base abashed and mated, and also ridiculously proud of his lil omega's claiming bite, because "she turned into a wildcat, lads. I couldn't stop her." *wink-wink*

Or not. I'm happy with any smutty Price fic you bestow on us, really. I'm just being weirdly specific because— alcohol = horny thots. 🍺😏🥴🫠

Drunken hugs 🫂 from Random Thot

RTG!! You are the most amazing person, and every time I see your pfp on AO3 or tumblr, I just get all gooey inside. Thank you for the ask! I wrote (and fully deleted) this fic three times because I wanted to get it right. I just pray that I could deliver. <3 <3 Hope this is what you were hoping for!!

MDNI/NSFW -- TW: damsel in distress, ABO dynamics, knotting, fuck-or-die scenarios, CNC, fluids, PIV sex, female OC

Glory, Glory

It was his last beer of the night, and he was ripping it apart. Curling, soggy shards of the torn label were stuck under his thumbnail, darkening the translucent edge and making it look dirty. They littered the sticky, lacquered bartop like ugly snow, falling in a tiny, chaotic mess. His hands were more than just dirty, the captain thought to himself as he used his wide thumb to itch at the glue-covered glass, rolling little, paper shards away from the smooth surface to reveal the amber liquid swirling within. The captain’s hands; they were covered in blood. Not innocent blood, but blood all the same. They’d never be clean again. 

But, that was the job, and he was good at it. His hands were a direct reflection of his hard work. Killing evil bastards kept the world safe. Some poor sob in a factory could clean out the glue-painting machine that pasted these fuckin’ labels on all of these bloody beer bottles because of one unshakable truth: John Price was good at killing evil bastards.

Unfortunately, the killing would need to wait until after the mandated leave window closed again. His argument with Kate still grated inside of his head. He could almost hear her harsh, Yank accent in his ears.

“What do you want me to tell payroll, John? You can’t be here. You’ve got too many days. Go home. See your mom.”

“I see her plenty, Katie. Let me run that ops gig with Keller. C’mon. I’ll do overwatch,” he tried his best to weasel his way back into a bit of active duty.

“You’d be the world’s most expensive overwatch. Hell no. Here’s your ticket,” she shoved an envelope in his hands, “...and your money,” another envelope, “Go the fuck home, Captain. That’s an order.”

An order. More like a toothless threat. 

But, alas, here he was, staring at a freshly shaved, buzzcut version of himself in a filthy pub mirror, undressing bottles left and right. 

“Another, mate?” The barkeep pointed to his almost-empty drink, making a slight grimace at the paper graveyard that was sprinkled across his bar.

“No,” John sighed, pulling out a few notes from his wallet, “I’m off.”

“Happy Christmas,” the barkeep took the bills and didn’t bother to look up again, setting himself to sweeping the torn strips off of the surface, preparing for the next paying customer. 

“You, too,” John muttered, tugging his black wool beanie over his ears before braving the classic cold, wet, and windy Liverpudlian night. 

He didn’t live far. John’s mum had kept up his loft down by the docks, but it certainly didn’t feel like home. Home wasn’t real. Not anymore. As he walked along the Mersey’s edge, he peered into the black water, wondering if he’d ever truly go home again. 

All of a sudden, he heard a shrill scream. Every sense that had been dulled by his lager was now as sharp as a blade and set on its edge. Again, a high-pitched shout pealed through the night air, beckoning him back to his heroism. That keening was the sound of some evil that needed stamping out, and he was hungry for it. 

He sprinted through the warehouse district, chasing the noise of scuffling, ducking behind alleys and abandoned garages, looking for the source. Finally, there was a flash of red that caught his eye, so he ran towards it, his mind making sense of the scene in front of him. 

Voices were jumbled and mashed up together, barely registering in his mind.

“Out here in a fuckin’ heat. Dumb bitch! C’mere.”

“She’s got a knife!”

“C’mere, you little slag. Get –”

In the middle of three huge, stinking Alphas, a tiny Omega was struggling, arm outstretched, brandishing her knife at them to keep them at bay. John came up behind the biggest one, some bald fuck with a dirty coat, and dropped him, cracking his spine in two places with well-placed fists, and breaking his jaw on his way down to the ground, leaving him groaning on the concrete. 

One of his mates, a older man with thick, black eyebrows, lunged at Price, a look of indignant surprise on his face. The Omega screamed, her red coat yanked back over her face by the third man, her knife clattering to her feet. Price focused on Mister Eyebrows, dodging a lazy haymaker before popping him twice in the nose, drawing out his blood and knocking out at least two of his front teeth. Then, John grabbed him by the collar, pulling his jaw into his raised knee and listening to the satisfying splash as he fell into a murky puddle. 

Finally, he set his sights on the last Alpha of the pack whose ropey arm was looped across the Omega’s neck, choking the air from her lungs. He growled at Price, his scent turning to rancid fear,

“Stay back! She’s mine, you big bastard.”

The captain had nothing to say. With a practiced ease, he side-stepped her assailant, breaking the elbow that controlled her throat, making him release her immediately. The evil bastard stumbled back, hand outstretched, bargaining for his life, 

“Wait, wait. I’ll share her with you, how’s that? I’ll even let you have first go!”

A deafening howl came out of his mouth as Price’s boot heel made contact with his kneecap, forcing it to snap at a terrible angle. John’s hand shot out and grabbed the man by the hair on the crown of his head, tugging cruelly at his scalp. Without mercy, John slammed his face into a nearby bollard, and the howling stopped.

It was quiet again aside from the Omega’s trembling breaths. She had recovered the knife and was now pointing it towards John with shaking hands and wide, determined eyes. 

“You alright, love?” Price asked, holding his hands up in a sign of peace, edging towards her in gentle, predictable steps. 

“Y-yeah… Stay! Stay right there,” her voice was bright and clear, and he could hear her strength laced through her words. He stopped in his tracks, respecting her wishes.

“What are you doin’ all the way out here, darlin’?”

“They dragged me over here from Baltic Fleet,” she straightened up, getting her bearings, wiping the blood from a small cut in her cheek, “Fuckin’ bastards. Thank you, by the way.”

“Jus’ doin’ my job,” Price shrugged, waiting for her to lower the knife even further before he continued his approach.

“Police?” She asked, a little confused. 

“Not exactly,” Price smiled, offering a hand out to her, “John Price, Captain of His Majesty’s RAF service.”

“Oh,” she studied him for a moment, and then her eyes fell to the hand, ready to bite but deciding to shake it instead. 

When he touched her skin, Price felt her fever. Shocked, he tightened his grip, not meaning to startle her but too surprised by her temperature to ignore it.

“Christ, love. You’re burnin’ up.”

As quick as a flash, she yanked her hand out of his grasp and retreated back towards the wall of the warehouse behind her, scooting her way towards the corner to get out of his range, ready to bolt. She didn’t respond, but John watched as she wiped her brow, dotted with sweat and covered in concern. 

“Hey,” he moved forward again protectively, “You can’t be out here alone. Not like this. At least let me walk with you. I’ll stay ten paces behind. It’s not safe.”

“I’m fine,” she said with more strength in her voice than what she was ready to produce.

“You’re not. You’re in a bloody heat. When did it start?” He watched as her knees began to tremble, and against her obvious wishes, he helped her sit on the warehouse deck, letting her keep the knife so she could feel safe. 

“Yesterday…” She closed her eyes, trying to shake it off, “It’s… I’m fine. It’s never this bad.”

Now that he was close to her, Price was smothered by the scent of her body. The Omegan glands in her neck smelled like thick, wild honey, and her heat was mixing with her aroma, turning an already sweet smell into a lucious, decadent gourmand, pulling him in like quicksand. 

“C’mon,” he helped her up, “Where’s your place? I’ll get you close.”

The clang of her knife made him glance up to see her eyes closed and her mouth slack. She was out, too weak to withstand the fever and the physical exertion. 

Price felt his body react to her need. He was filled with rage, white and hot, at her situation. Those goddamn monsters were trying to take advantage of her in this vulnerable state. She should be home in her nest, being taken care of by her Alpha, covered in soothing oils and cool compresses, her needy little cunt stuffed full of his knot, staving off these symptoms and enduring them for her. Instead, she’d been hunted, chased, made to fight for her dignity out here in the middle of the docks. Something else inside Price’s chest curled around his anger. 

Possession. 

He tried to shake it off, knowing it came from being unmarked, but it had been so many years as a lone Alpha that he knew how to control it. Or, at least he thought he did. 

Now, though, he found himself pulling at the neck of her coat as he held her in his arms, invading her privacy to check for a bite. He felt the shame wash over him as he covered her skin back up. He had no business searching for a mating bite. She was not his Omega, and he was not her Alpha. 

After a few minutes out in the chilled wind, he made it to his apartment. Thankfully, it was late enough that his neighbors weren’t outside to witness what looked like a literal kidnapping, and he shuffled her inside without much trouble. Price lay her down on his long, leather sofa, careful to rest her head on the soft arm. He went to the kitchen to retrieve a cold rag and pressed it to her forehead, hoping to hold back the fever for as long as he could.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Wake up,” he whispered, trying to gently shed her coat and sweater, peeling her layers off to bring her temperature down to a more manageable level. 

She moaned, her eyes wrenching shut even tighter, her face twisted in pain,

“My head…” She sighed, desperate for some relief. 

“I know, love. C’mon,” John propped her up a bit, moving the rag so that the coldest parts would be against her skin, “What’s your name? I can find an address. Do you have your purse?”

“They… took it? I don’t… I dunno…” She muttered, obviously having a hard time stringing her thoughts together, “I don’t feel so good.”

This was not ideal. Price knew what came next. A high fever, exhaustion, fatigue, nausea, increased heart rate, and then… 

“Alpha?” Her eyes were open, glassy and dark, the pupils fully blown, looking up at him with an outpouring of unfathomable need. Her scent rolled off of her in mind-altering waves, shoving Price’s carefully-built walls out of the way and sending shocks of desire straight to his heart and his fat, growing cock. 

“No, baby. I’m not your Alpha. Who is he? Can you give me a name?” John asked, checking her coat pockets in a rushed panic. He was running out of time. 

“Alpha, please… I need… Help me, please,” her shaking hands reached under his jacket and shirt, her knuckles rubbing against his furry belly, her strong fingers digging around for his belt buckle, getting right to the point. 

Price felt the room flex around him, and he tried to breathe in air that wasn’t saturated by her vanilla spice, searching in the deepest recesses of his mind for some semblance of his self control. 

“Easy, love. I can’t m–mmngh!” Her mouth slotted over his as he tried to protest, stopping his heart and his words at the same time. 

She was heaven. Her smell was making his skin tingle all over his body, down his arms and up his legs, rushing to his central, sacral core. And her taste was even better. His little cinnamon roll, so sweet and warm, burning for him like a flame, hot and ready to scar him for life. 

“Mngh… Love, mmm… Wait…” Price held her back, using more force than he thought he should need, surprised by her sudden power. 

“John…” He met her eyes and found a particular clarity within them. She was coming out of her haze. But, it wouldn’t last. This was his final chance to keep her from doing something she would regret. 

“Darlin’, I can’t. I’m not your Alpha.”

“You smell like you are,” she mewled, rubbing her wounded cheek across his engorged neck gland, spreading his scent all over herself. 

“I can’t,” he moved away from her, trying to hold her in his arms for comfort rather than to bask in her expressive heat, “My work… I can’t leave you here, pretty girl.”

She sobbed out, trying to hold back from writhing against his body, doing everything she could not to make it harder for him to turn her down. Her eyes were rimmed red and pink from exhaustion, and she was staring down at her own hands, vibrating with tremors, slurring her words,

“Just lock me in the bath. I’ll run cold water. I’ll be fine…”

Something ancient and feral snarled in Price’s mind. 

No.

“No,” he said, involuntarily, the voice in his head escaping from his throat. 

“Please… I can’t stop myself… I want your knot, Alpha. Lock me up before I do something to you… Something you don’t want…” She could barely put two words together. Every thought was a struggle. He was losing her again. 

He grabbed her and held her to his chest, clutching her like water in his palm, using all his strength to keep her with him,

“I want you, love. I want… Fuck, I need you.”

All of a sudden, the energy around their bodies stilled. That cracking, sparking electricity that bound them together was roiling just beyond John’s consciousness, ready to surge. But, he stayed perfectly still, waiting to see what she did next. She locked eyes with him and leaned in close, as if she would kiss him. But, she didn’t. She dipped her head down until she found his Alphic gland, swollen and bruised purple from him holding back his lust, nuzzling at it with the tip of her nose, rooting against him, testing his patience, checking to see if his temperament was true. Then, when he let her sniff him in his most potent spot, when she knew his soul was as pure as his scent, that he was true, she sucked his flesh between her lips, drawing his musk onto her tongue.

She’d accepted him. He reeled from it, unable to hold back a groan, his cock jerking against his zipper, thrashing to escape, flooding with hot blood and threatening to fill his knot before he’d even had a chance to taste her. 

John pulled her mouth off of him and stared at her eyes again, in awe of her beauty, his mind swirling and yet perfectly sharp, begging her darkly,

“Give me your neck, Omega.”

The ritual had begun, and as she swept her hair away from her shoulder, pulling it around her back, she bent for him, arching her head down in a submissive bow, revealing her Omegan mating line. It looked like a keloid scar, the raised skin swollen and painful, like a pounding vein that ran from below her earlobe down to the top of her shoulder, full of her hormones and thick with her magic. One bite, and he would be in her thrall, pliant to her every whim, beholden to her needs until her heat had run its course. 

Price had never given his bite to anyone. It had been easy to abstain. In fact, in his youth, he had a hard time understanding his mates’ commitments to their Omegas, scoffing at their lack of duty to their stations, doubting their commitment, and - moreover - doubting their loyalty. He remained a captain through and through, and he’d never made room for anyone or anything else. But, here he was, his teeth aching in his jaw, bigger and sharper than they should’ve been, his every sense heightened and taking her in like a drug, compelling him to punch through her delicate flesh and suck her nectar deep into his belly. 

The feeling of her skin against his lips was enough to send a chill through his body. He was cooling from the inside out, and his body needed her heat. She was forcing a rut to take hold in him, and he could feel himself changing for her. Then, he bit down as hard as he could, breaking the thin seal of her mating line with ease, feeling the searing mixture of her oil and her blood filling his mouth and throat like a ripe plum, wet and sweet, and promising pleasure if he chose to swallow her. 

He drank from her for as long as he dared, taking her in long, slurping gulps, letting her essence coat his throat, feeling the hot fluid burn inside of his chest and down into his stomach where it pooled and lingered, warming him up from the inside out. 

“Alpha…” She moaned, raising her hand to cup his cheek as he sucked her life into himself, rubbing her thumb so softly over his shut eyelashes that he barely felt it. 

John pulled away from her, his eyes fluttering open, her bright orange blood iridescent with her mating oil, making the red cells burn bright like a fresh-cracked yolk, gleaming, trapped between his teeth like gold. He watched it drip down her chest, staining her clothes, and he began to tear them off of her. She let him, limp and mute as he peeled her open, making her naked and pulling her into his arms. 

He carried her into his bedroom, kicking open the door and busting the bolt through the strike, splintering the wood and not giving a shit about the damage. John lay her in the middle of the mattress and set to surrounding her with whatever softness he could find; his shirts, his blankets, even his scarves. Anything warm and comfortable was added to the nest, giving her as much support as he could before standing back to admire his work. 

She eyed him from her recumbent throne, commanding him with her gaze. John stripped off his shirt for her, raking it up his back and over his shoulders, feeling as if he was moving his body for her and only for her. All of his motions, even his ragged breaths, were only escaping from his lungs because she wanted them to. His buckle clattered apart, and he popped open the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper in a sharp, metallic rip. 

Once free, his heavy prick flagged, leaping forward and pulsating for her, proudly showing her his gleaming head. He was drooling an unrelenting stream of iridescent precome, his balls tight and full of Alphic oil, ready to coat her warm insides with his shining sex. 

John climbed onto the bed, his face focused on her wet mound, admiring the plumpness of her, imagining her - in every delicious way - like a tender peach. He crawled to her, his mouth still stained neon orange from her gland, and he smeared her wet quim all over his lips and tongue. He wasn’t licking her so much as he was wearing her like warpaint, moving his nose and cheeks through her to ensure he was soaked in her heady slick, his body making wild, unbridled choices purely on instinct.  

“Yes, baby, please…” Her voice went straight through him like a bullet, tightening his cockhead to an uncomfortable degree, and it jerked against the mattress in protest. Her hands were in his hair, scratching through his scalp, encouraging him to sink his tongue deep inside of her hole. 

John obeyed, helpless to her desire, his mind wiping clean and being rewritten by her will. He was swimming in her scent, drenched in her slick, and gasping against her pussy, his eyes fixated on her form as it writhed above him. When she met his eyes, she bit the inside of her lip, crying out for him, rewarding him for his prostrated fealty. Then, she began to rock her hips against his jaw, fucking herself on his face, and he let her use him to her heart’s content, staying strong and sure, allowing his body to be used, objectified and glorified by it. 

When she began to come, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He followed his tongue inside of her with two of his thick fingers, pressing against her walls, pushing her over the edge. She bolted upright, wrapping her thighs around his face, smothering him with her body, trapping him breathless between her legs. Her whole being trembled for him. He could feel the shimmer of her very soul, rattling and writhing with her siren-like keening. And just when he started to see spots in his vision, needing air just a little less than he needed to please her, she lay open for him, blooming outward like a flower, releasing him from a limbo he longed to return to, oozing with a stream of rainbow-tinted come, the Omegan oil within her womb escaping to advertise its promises to her mate. 

Without knowing why, John found himself lapping it up from her pulsing hole like a hound, swallowing mouthful after mouthful and grunting with each pass of his broad tongue. 

“John, I need... Please, put your knot inside me. I’ll be good…” She begged, tears shining at the corners of her eyes from her come-drunk bliss, her hands plucking at her nipples and trying to soothe herself down from her high. 

“My pretty girl wants this knot, yeah?” John grinned devilishly, dipping his finger into her over and over and licking it clean like she was a jar of endless honey, “Wants me to breed this gorgeous cunt…”

At that comment, she spread her legs even wider for him, opening up for him like a blossom for the sun, ready to take whatever he had to give her. It was mesmerizing for John to see her like this. Everything about her was filled with intoxication and need. He was just a vessel for her pleasure, pouring himself into her to make her full again. Dizzy and drunk with adoration, he notched his girth at her entrance, struggling to fit even his cockhead within her. 

“Fuck… so bloody warm…”

Her body was burning him with every millimeter he sank into her, the heat of her tight sex in such high contrast with his cool rut. It felt like he was swimming in a roiling pot of sugary caramel, clinging and cloying and sticking to every part of him, and yet it was not enough. He needed more. His hips thrust forward, savage yet steady, reaching deep inside of her like an anchor, rushing to settle himself within her darkness. 

The way his Omega cried out this time was different, and it snapped him to her attention, his mind immediately sensing a new need. 

“Love, tell me what you need.” He purred, his mouth kissing her lips and her neck, lapping at the now-healing wound his own fangs had made, talking to her between long licks of his tongue, “Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“You’re so big. I’ve never…” She sounded ashamed. 

Price slowed to a creeping pace, focused fully on her face, 

“Never had a knot before?”

She shook her head, her eyes full of worry. John wrapped her up in his arms, dragging himself out of her slowly before filling her up again as carefully as he could.

“Tha’s alright, baby. You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“Feels like I’m burning alive,” she sighed, her brow furrowing with distress, “John, I need… I don’t know how…”

“Look at me, alright?” He helped her focus her eyes on his, “Don’t… Just stay with me, right here. You’re gonna come for me, and then… I’ll give you what you need.”

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice so small. 

Price set himself on a path with a purpose. He used his hand to rub small, rhythmic circles beside the rigid body of her clit, coaxing her pussy to drop even more slick around him, using every ounce of willpower he had left not to let his knot slip inside of her prematurely. His thrusts were jerky and restrained, but he felt her begin to rock back and forth with his hand’s movements, bringing her closer and closer to her glowing joy. 

“Good girl,” he praised her, watching her as she began to fall apart around him, “Tha’s my good little Omega. Come for your Alpha just like that. Just… mmf-fuck! Like that! Holy fuck.”

The feeling of her slick pussy clenching and twisting around his cock’s tugid body was enough to make him see stars. He felt almost sick with pleasure, his whole core lighting up like a roaring fire, spitting and aching to bury himself within her. 

At the end of her crescendo, he felt himself let go of the chain, and he rutted his knot inside of her, humping himself forward ruthlessly, his body contorting itself to fit her needs. His knot sealed him within her, and although he was not yet orgasming, he was filling her with his come, the creamy flow of it spilling out of his tip, filling her hole and coating his prick from inside of its hungry little sheath.

“Your come… I can feel it inside of me. Oh, my God,” she sighed with some sort of relief, her eyes rolling inside of her head, her arms losing their strength, and her back arching towards him, lifting up as if she would float right into Heaven. 

And just like that, her fever began to abate. With his knot stuffed inside of her, locking his seed within her hole, his Alphic oils could soothe her heat, bringing her back to the realm of consciousness and delivering her from her wild state. 

“John,” she lay back, her hand pressed to his cheek. 

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he bent forward on his elbows and kissed her mouth, chastely at first, and then languidly, exploring her taste. When he did finally pull away, she was awake and alert, sated and happy. He smiled down at her, 

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispered, wiping her hair back from her face. 

“Hey,” she smiled back at him, wrapping her ankles around his back for comfort, not knowing that it was just enough to set his cock on edge again, his Alphic instinct rejoicing at the feeling of being trapped by his mate. 

“You alright?” John asked, a tinge of worry at the edge of his voice.

“I am now, thanks to you,” she sighed, tucking herself in beneath him, rubbing her hands along his ribs and the soft fur of his back and arms, feeling every bit of him as if she was seeing him with her touch, “You saved me, Alpha.”

“Aye,” he nudged her jaw with his nose, asking her wordlessly to give him the vulnerable softness of her neck. She obliged, and he spoke to her between sucking kisses, “All mine. My Omega. Innit that right, baby?”

She was practically lambent beneath the scrutiny of his possession, rolling in it like a wave in the sand, captured by it and surrendering to the riptide of his unbreakable grip. She nodded, humming her ascent, her expression turning a little rueful right at the end of his kisses. The sorrowful timbre of her voice broke his heart, 

“I’m grateful. But, I know this isn’t what you wanted, and I’m so sor–”

“No,” he kissed her words away, feeling his length throb inside of her, urging him to kiss her again, “No, love.”

“I won’t bite you,” she promised, her gaze still full of apology, “You won’t be stuck with me.”

“Bite me, Omega,” he bent his head and buried his face in her shoulder, giving her his gland in total surrender, “Go on. I’m yours.”

“John…” She hesitated, but he could feel her body flood her hole, excited beyond measure at the thought of binding him to her as her mated Alpha. 

“Go on,” he commanded in his smoky growl, holding her tighter and bracing for the ecstasy of her teeth.

He felt her lips first, and his balls tightened, ready to fling him into a messy orgasm as soon as he felt his gland shatter in her mouth. Her Omegan teeth wouldn’t break the skin, but he knew she was strong enough to crack the shell around his swollen node. The anticipation of her bite was wrecking his mind, and he was gasping for breath by the time he felt her jaw set itself against him. 

“Baby, please…” He whined in her ear, his hips thrusting in short, jerking thrusts, unable to move much with his knot still trapped up inside of her, holding his gushing come in her hole, pushing it into her womb from the sheer volume of it. 

Her teeth connected, and he could hear his unbroken shell give way beneath her strength, the hormones inside of it rushing through his system like wildfire, burning through his veins and making him scream for her. At the same time, John felt his core throw him into a raw orgasm, his whole body trembling above her, wringing himself from the inside out. 

“Alpha,” she sighed, licking his neck to comfort him, “My Alpha…”

“Yours, baby. All yours.”

— — — — — 

The new trainees filed out of the gym, sweaty, bloody, and eager to be out of the captain’s sight. Price had run them ragged, forcing them to spar with practice weapons, pitting them against each other in a strained, exhausting competition. Ghost and Soap sat with Gaz as they eyed their commander, their eyes glued to the fresh bite mark on his neck, shocked into a silent stupor. 

“I cannae believe it. Mated? To which lassie?” Soap asked, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think he’d ever take a mate,” Gaz marvelled.

“I thought he was savin’ himself for marriage,” Ghost quipped, earning himself a scuff from Soap.

Price made his way across the mat, pulling his sweaty shirt off his back to trade it for a clean one. The red welts and nail-marks across his shoulders and down his belly made Gaz let out a low whistle. But, his commander’s glare stopped him mid-note. 

“Wha’s that, Garrick?”

“Nothin’, sir. Just… admirin’ your battle scars,” Gaz smiled, wishing his two teammates would stop snickering so loudly. 

“Looks like a hell’uva fight, Cap,” Ghost added, looking everywhere but into Price’s icy eyes. 

“Wha’s her name?” Soap asked outright, skipping over the double entendres and going right for the point. 

Their captain sighed, zipped up his gym bag, and stood in front of his three officers, glaring down at them with a look that was on the border of dead-seriousness,

“If I told you that, lads, I’d have to kill you.”

[kingkruell]

THREE NIGHTS AND FOREVER | GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS - three nights in tokyo. a stranger with rain in his hair and a crooked smile. shared umbrellas, bad jazz, pancakes at midnight. and now, sometimes, when it rains—you still think of him.

CONTENT - gojo satoru x reader, reminiscent of before sunrise, brief encounters, strangers-to-something more, melancholic, fluff, angst.

WORD COUNT - 4.550

A/N this is purely self-indulgent. not really satisfied with how the writing turned out but this is quite literally my way of coping with something similiar, probably the same, that happened to me lol (HELP ME. i am yearning, i need him back).

listening to surrender - suicide

01 —

the first night, it was a mistake—or rather, a coincidence. you hadn’t meant to bump into him on the quiet side street just as the rain started to pour, your umbrella uselessly tucked in your bag. he looked down at you, almost bemused, the rain dripping from his stark white hair. then, with a little tilt of his head and a crooked grin, he offered to share his umbrella.

and that was how it began. 

the thing about being in a foreign city is that it’s exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. the air felt different, dense with the most unfamiliar scents. tokyo loomed around you, towering buildings draped in lights and adorned with billboards in a language you couldn’t quite grasp. the sounds too, were unfamiliar, snippets of conversations in rapid japanese mingling with the distant hum of traffic. faces passed by, each one a stranger, and you couldn’t help but feel like a tiny, misplaced puzzle piece in this sprawling metropolis. you had to remind yourself—this was what you wanted. you’d spent months dreaming of this, convincing yourself (and your parents) that you needed this break, that you wanted to see more than just the streets of your hometown. 

still, it was daunting. the sheer size of the city made you feel small. you clutched your phone a little tighter, the map open, your location marked with a blue dot that felt so isolated among the dense web of streets.

thankfully, you weren’t alone. the thought of traveling on a budget, navigating public transportation, and eating at hole-in-the-wall restaurants all by yourself would’ve been too intimidating. you and your friend had spent weeks planning the trip, pinning places to visit, calculating train fares, and mapping out hostels. you had watched countless travel vlogs, trying to absorb every piece of advice, but nothing could really prepare you for stepping onto tokyo’s streets for the first time.

the morning you landed was a blur of heavy eyelids and aching muscles from the long-haul flight. you navigated the airport in a half-dazed state, shuffling through customs and baggage claim, your friend grumbling about needing coffee. once you reached the hotel—a compact room with twin beds squeezed together and a narrow window overlooking the street below—you didn’t bother to unpack, just dropped your suitcase, splashed water on your face, and tried to shake off the fatigue. the city was waiting and you couldn’t sit still. 

so, despite it all, the excitement was enough to get you propelling out the door and into the bustling streets of the city. you walked through the nearby neighborhoods, narrow street lined with vending machines, an old record shop tucked between modern boutiques, a shrine hidden behind an iron gate. you stopped at a convenience store like it meant something, and maybe it did, because you were miles and miles away from home, and even the mundane felt important here. the fluorescent lights flickered as you picked up a canned coffee, examining the unfamiliar labels before tossing it into your basket just for the novelty of it.

you took pictures of everything: the uneven cobblestoned path, the gnarled trees casting long shadows, the sky shifting from soft orange to deep indigo. 

by the time you and your friend made your way back to the hotel, the sky had deepened into a rich navy, dotted with scattered stars just barely visible through the city lights. 

your friend trudged in behind you, barely managing to kick off her shoes before flopping onto the bed face-first. you raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe.

“that’s it? you’re tapping out already?” you teased, trying not to sound too disappointed.

hhe mumbled something into the pillow that sounded vaguely like “comatose” and then turned her head just enough to give you a halfhearted glare. “we’ve been walking for hours. my feet hate me.”

you laughed softly, tossing your jacket onto the other bed. “i did warn you about the long walks.”

she groaned, rolling onto her back and waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “yeah, yeah. worth it, though. but seriously, i’m done for the night. Wake me up if you find somewhere to eat.”

you looked at her, sprawled out with one arm draped over her eyes, and you knew she wasn’t moving anytime soon.

“you sure?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

she just hummed in response, already halfway to sleep. you watched her for a moment, considering. maybe you should just stay too, let the tiredness catch up. but then you glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of the neon signs flickering on the next building over.

grabbing your phone and jacket, you moved quietly to the door. iI’ll just go for a walk,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her.

she didn’t respond, already breathing softly in that deep, dreamless way. you couldn’t help but smile, pulling the door shut gently behind you.

stepping back outside, the air was cooler now, brushing past your cheeks as you walked, your steps echoing softly on the pavement. Tokyo at night was different—a bit calmer, but still pulsing with life. you passed late-night eateries with their warm glow, groups of friends spilling out into the street, laughter bubbling over.

you hadn’t noticed the clouds rolling in until the first raindrop hit your cheek. you stopped, looking up just in time to feel a few more drops dot your face. within seconds, the drizzle turned into a full downpour.

"fucking hell." you cursed under your breath, rummaging through your bag, but of course, your umbrella was neatly folded between the notebook and paperbags you carried out of habit–useless at the bottom. you were contemplating whether to make a run for the nearby convenience store when a shadow fell over you.

“didn’t bring one, huh?”

you turned, blinking the rain from your lashes, and found yourself staring up at a tall figure holding an obnoxiously bright, polka-dotted umbrella over both your heads. His hair was stark white, drenched from where it peeked out from under the umbrella, and his eyes—pale, crystalline blue—crinkled with amusement.

“uh—” was all you managed to get out, and he chuckled, the sound low and almost teasing.

“figured you’d need some rescuing,” he said, his tone breezy as if he did this all the time, saving strangers caught in the rain.

you swallowed your embarrassment and managed a small smile. “i, um… yeah. I wasn’t expecting it to rain.”

he tilted his head, considering you. “tourist?”

“is it that obvious?” you asked, more sheepish than you intended.

he hummed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “a little. you’re lucky i was around. you’d have been soaked.”

you glanced at his own wet hair pointedly. “you don’t look much better.

“he gave a dramatic, exaggerated sigh. “yeah, well, the hero always gets a bit messy, right?”

you couldn’t help but laugh at that, tension easing out of your shoulders. the rain kept falling, steady and relentless, but you didn’t feel rushed to move. he just stood there, holding the umbrella as if time didn’t matter.

“i'm satoru,” he introduced, leaning closer so his voice didn’t have to rise over the rain.

“i”m y/n.”

“y/n” he repeats, as if testing how it sounds on his tongue

“where were you headed?” he asked, glancing around as if he could read your thoughts from the streets themselves.

“nowhere, really,” you admitted. “Just… walking.”

he nodded, “best kind of walking,” he said. 

the city around you glistened under the rain—reflections of red traffic lights stretching like ribbons across the wet pavement, the hiss of tires, the hum of a vending machine trying to outlast the drizzle. You weren’t sure why you stayed there under his umbrella, or why he made no motion to leave. but something about him—his ease, his presence—made the silence feel less lonely. satoru shifted slightly, tilting the umbrella more toward you. you noticed he was getting wet, his shirt clinging just slightly at the shoulder. you opened your mouth to say something, to suggest maybe he should be more under the cover too, but he beat you to it.

“let me guess,” he said, grinning, “you packed the umbrella, but it’s at the very bottom of your bag. under, like, three novels and at least one completely useless souvenir.”

you squinted at him. “close enough. how did you know that?”

“because you look like someone who overthinks what to pack, then forgets the important stuff.”

You feigned offense, but laughed again. “okay, that’s… disturbingly accurate.”

he shot you a proud look, and for a moment, he looked younger—boyish, carefree. not like someone who should be wandering Tokyo in the rain rescuing lost tourists. you wondered where he came from. what he did. why he was here.

“come on,” he said suddenly. “there’s a 24-hour café down this street that sells pancakes the size of your face. warm drinks. bad jazz”

you raised an eyebrow. “and you’re inviting me to get pancakes... with a complete stranger?”

“i’m offering you shelter, nourishment, and potentially life-altering conversation,” he said solemnly. “some might say I’m a guardian angel.”

you snorted. “some might say you’re a guy with a ridiculous umbrella trying to lure a girl into a café.”

his grin widened. “and yet you’re still standing here.”

you were.

you hesitated. He was a stranger. you didn’t even know his last name.

you didn’t quite know why, but maybe it was the way he spoke, half-mocking but never unkind, or the way his eyes didn’t try to look through you, just at you, like you were interesting just for existing. maybe it was the way tokyo looked with him beside you, less like a place to get lost in, more like somewhere you were meant to be.

“okay,” you said, surprising yourself. 

the café was just as he promised, quiet, glowing softly with yellow light, a bell chiming as you stepped inside.iInside was mall, with steamed-up windows and soft yellow lighting. it smelled like coffee and something sweet, and the jazz was, indeed, bad. some ti   trumpet over a scratchy speaker, but it worked. the warmth hugged your skin, chasing away the chill. Satoru shook the rain from his umbrella like a dog, nearly whacking a decorative plant by the door, and you laughed again, your hand covering your mouth too late to hide how easy it was to enjoy this.

he ordered pancakes and hot chocolate for you both, without asking. you didn’t mind. He sat across from you like he belonged there, like you’d done this before—like this was just one of many rainy nights you’d find yourselves tangled up in each other’s company.

he leaned back, his arms spread comfortably along the back of the booth, his legs stretching out beneath the table. he looked relaxed in a way you weren’t used to seeing in strangers. like he wasn’t trying. like he never did.

you wrapped your fingers around the ceramic. It was hotter than expected, and comforting. outside, the rain blurred the city into a watercolor, and you took a sip.

“so, what brought you here?” he asked. his tone was casual, but his eyes were too focused for it to be small talk.

you hesitated, then answered honestly. “restlessness, I guess. I needed to be somewhere else for a while.” he nodded like he understood. “the city’s good for that. It doesn’t care who you are. It just lets you be.”

you hummed as your fingers nervously tap on the ceramic glass holding the hot chocolate, “what about you?” you asked. “are you from here?

”something like that.” he didn’t elaborate. 

he looked out the window for a moment. “more or less. i come and go.”

with that, you let it rest. some things didn’t need to be unpacked right away. Instead, you talked about little things; your favorite convenience store snacks, the weirdest souvenirs you’d seen, the way tokyo felt like it belonged to a different world at night. he told you about a bakery that only opened after midnight, and a cat that lived near the train station who hated everyone except him. you didn’t know what was real and what was embellished, but you liked listening. you asked lighter things. favorite food. best childhood memory. the last movie that made him cry.

“the wind rises,’” he admitted. “don’t tell anyone. gotta protect the cool guy reputation“

you laughed. "i won’t. as long as you don’t tell anyone I cried at a toothpaste commercial once.” 

“deal.”

the rain had stopped by the time he walked you back to the hotel. the streets were slick, shining like glass, catching every amber streetlight in pools beneath your feet. mist clung low, softening the edges of everything—cars, buildings, even the distant clatter of closing cafés. it felt like the city was exhaling.

you walked in silence for a while. not awkward, not heavy. just full. like neither of you wanted to break whatever spell the night had spun around you.

he didn’t offer his arm, but your hands brushed once, then again, until your fingers found each other without thinking. his hand was warm. steady. you held on like you’d been doing it for years.

the hotel came into view too soon.

outside the door, you turned to him.

“this is me,” you said, like it wasn’t obvious.

he nodded. “i know.”

neither of you moved.

you wanted to say something. about the night. about how strange and lucky it felt.

“i’m glad we met” he said. quietly. honestly.

you swallowed the knot in your throat and nodded. “me too.”

“goodnight,” he said.

“goodnight,” you echoed.

he turned and walked back with his hands in his pockets, head down. you watched him until the fog swallowed him whole. and then you went inside, heart pacing ahead of you like it already knew what this night would mean.

and even then, even as sleep finally pulled at you—you could still feel the shape of his hand in yours.

02 —

you didn’t expect to meet him again, but there he was. 

he was waiting in front of the steps to the hotel. he stood there like he’d always been meant to stand under that awning. this time, he held two convenience store drinks and a bag that smelled suspiciously like fried food.

��� I have brought offerings,” he said, holding out a piece of curry bread.

you raised a brow. “what if I hadn’t come?” you asked, accepting the bread he offered without question.

he looked mock-affronted. "then I’d have to eat  two breads and drink two disgusting convenience store coffees.”

tonight, he led you toward the quieter streets by the river. the city softened there—lights dimmer, footsteps slower. You walked in companionable silence for a while, sharing stories in between bites,

“so,” he asked, once the city faded to river sounds, “what did you want to be when you were a kid?”

you smiled. “an astronaut. I used to read random astronomy books in the back of the class in primary”

he laughed. “that’s adorable. i wanted to be a superhero“

“and now?”

he paused. “not now. just want a soft kind of life.”

you wanted to ask what he meant, but something about his expression made you pause and that honesty, the honesty startled you. he hadn’t said much about himself, not directly. but every answer carried a weight. Like he’d lived too much.

he bought you another canned coffee before the walk back, despite your protests.

“i like taking care of people,” he said, half-joking. “don’t get used to it.”

you were already starting to.

and just like the night before, satoru walked you back to the hotel. You lingered near the front steps hesitantly. the lights from the lobby painted his profile in amber as he turned to you, eyes thoughtful, lips parting like he wanted to say something.

“hey,” he said, almost like he was changing his mind as he spoke. “wanna meet again? tomorrow night. yoyogi park?”

you blinked, “yoyogi park?”

“It’s nice at night,” he said. “quiet. there’s a little bench under the trees that no one ever sits on. it’s kind of mine.”

you tilted your head. “and you’re inviting me into your secret territory?”

he gave a faint grin. “only because you’re special.”

you looked at him for a beat too long, searching his face. there was something about the way he stood there—unguarded for once, a little shy in a way you hadn’t expected.

“okay,” you said quietly. “i’ll be there.”

“ten?”

“ten.”

03 —

the park was nearly deserted. only the faint rustle of leaves in the dark and the occasional distant bark of a dog accompanied your footsteps. the moonlight draped over everything in silver, and streetlamps cast halos of soft orange on the path.

he was there first. sitting on the edge of a fountain, head tilted back to watch the sky like it might offer an answer. he didn’t move when he saw you,just gave a lazy wave without looking away.

you sat beside him, close but not touching. The air between you was cooler tonight, filled with something unspoken.

“stars are clearer tonight,” he murmured. “tokyo doesn’t give many of them.”

you followed his gaze. “they’re still there. just hidden, i think.”

“yeah,” he said, and you weren’t sure he was talking about the stars anymore.

you stayed like that for a while. he asked about your childhood. you asked about his travels. slowly, the details began to paint a picture. He’d been everywhere and nowhere at once. teaching, he said. but not the kind you imagined. he spoke of students with reverence, but there was always something behind it.

“there’s risk in what I do,” he admitted. “but I chose it. doesn’t make it any easier.”

You turned to him. “why tell me?”

he was quiet for a beat. “because you listened. ”

the wind stirred. you tucked your hands into your coat.

“i didn’t expect to meet anyone like you here,” you said.

his gaze dropped to you, and for the first time, he looked genuinely unsure.

“i don’t know what I can offer. i'm leaving here tomrrow.”

“i know.” His voice was soft. you swallowed, heart ticking a little faster. “then don’t promise anything. just be here. tonight.”

he looked at you like he wanted to memorize you. then, slowly, he leaned in.

the kiss was soft. hesitant. his hand came up to cradle your face, fingers brushing your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real. it wasn’t rushed—it wasn’t about urgency or passion. it was the kind of kiss that asked, Is this okay? and gave you the chance to say yes without words.

when he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. you could feel his breath.

“this doesn’t last,” he whispered.

“i know.”

“but it’s real.”

you nodded. “it is.”

you exchanged numbers. and for a while, you talked. voice notes. random photos. one-line jokes. you told him about the barista at your regular café who misspelled your name three days in a row. he told you about a crow that stole his entire sandwich. 

there were nights you fell asleep with his voice still echoing in your ear, a half-finished voice message paused on your screen. other times, he'd call when you least expected it, his voice bright even when he was clearly exhausted.

did you eat yet?

text me when you get home.

it didn’t matter that it was two a.m. on his end. He called anyway. He never said why, but you didn’t need him to. the warmth behind his voice was answer enough.

you learned the rhythm of his days, or the ones he allowed you to see. sometimes, he vanished for twelve, fourteen hours. yhen he’d return with a blurry photo of a skyline or a vending machine or a cat on a motorbike.

still alive, he'd caption. barely.

you got used to waiting. But never too long.

until one day, he just stopped replying.

you’d sent a photo of your dinner, captioned You’d hate this, because it was drenched in mayonnaise and he had strong opinions about condiments.

no reply.

you checked the message again the next morning. still delivered. still unread.

the next day. still nothing.

you waited a week before trying again. a soft message. a half-hearted joke. a photo of your cat looking unimpressed by your playlist.

then the check sign beside the message, as you had realized, only showed one. it wasn’t delivered. 

blocked.

you stared at the screen. closed the app. opened it again. tried from your laptop, in case it was a glitch.

but it wasn’t.

you didn’t cry. not right away, at least,

you sat on your bed, the last voice note still sitting there, unopened. his last words were something dumb and sweet, something about seeing a dog wearing shoes and thinking of you. the screen stared back, blank and final, and for a while, you just sat there in disbelief.

you told yourself it was fine. you barely knew him. three nights. Some messages. a few hours of shared breath. that was all. hell, he was a stranger. you told yourself all this in the mirror.

but then days passed, and the habit didn’t fade. your fingers still hovered over your phone when you were walking home. you still found yourself typing his name into the search bar, knowing you wouldn’t find anything. you still opened the messages, scrolling up slowly, watching the screen load his jokes, his questions, the little audio clips where his voice was soft and tired but always there.

and then one night, somewhere between one a.m. and a glass of wine too many, it cracked.

you started rereading your replies. the way you’d laughed in text. the pictures you’d sent him: your coffee, the bookstore cat, a sunset that reminded you of that last night in tokyo. you remembered what it felt like to sit across from him. how light your body felt when he was near. how safe.

and slowly, the logic of it all dissipated.

he was a stranger, yes. but he had seen you—really seen you—in a way no one else had for a long time. and you had let him. willingly. easily.

that was when it started to hurt. sharp, slow, and deep. like a bruise blooming in your chest.

you didn’t delete the messages. you couldn’t. so you did the only thing you could do.

you stopped looking at it.

you taught yourself to stop waiting.

or at least, you tried.

....AND REPEAT

It was 11:03 p.m. when your phone buzzed.

you were curled up on the couch, an old hoodie draped over your knees, the television screen paused on something you weren’t really watching. outside, the night hummed quietly, the kind of silence only small towns knew. You hadn’t been expecting anything—least of all a message from a number that had been long deleted but never quite forgotten. it has been exactly a year, the exact same month, may.

a message.

just a photo.

you blinked, stared, breath stalling somewhere in your chest.

the bookstore. your bookstore.

the one on the corner of your street, where the green awning had faded in the sun and the sleepy white cat had made the windowsill its permanent throne. the light was on, casting a soft yellow pool onto the sidewalk. the street was empty, silent. familiar in a way that made your heart ache.

you stared at the photo for a full minute, maybe longer. It felt like memory and dream and disbelief all at once. your fingers hovered above the keyboard.

then you typed,

where are you?

his reply came seconds later,

outside. want to walk?

your heart kicked into a pace that was at once wild and steady.

you slipped on your shoes, barely remembered to grab your keys, and stepped out.

when you turned to the street, he was there.

leaning casually against the lamppost across from the bookstore. hands deep in his coat pockets. that same ridiculous umbrella—the bright polka-dotted one—looped lazily over his wrist. His hair was longer now, tied back messily, and he wore glasses tonight. But his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet curve of his mouth, and those eyes, impossibly pale even in the dark—hadn’t changed.

for a beat, you just stood there. watching. trying to understand.

“hey,” he said.

that was all.

and somehow, that was enough.

you didn’t ask why. you didn’t ask where he’d been, or why he’d disappeared, or why it had to be like this. because some questions—when they finally get their moment—don’t feel like questions anymore.

instead, you walked.

for three nights, he stayed.

you showed him you.

the river path where you used to run when you needed to breathe. the noodle stall tucked between two faded buildings, where the old man behind the counter still remembered your favorite order. yhe tiny bookstore where you’d once spent hours reading poetry in the aisle. the hill behind your childhood home where the city lights blinked in the distance like stars trying to reach the earth.

he didn’t speak much the first night. but he listened—really listened. like the space between your words mattered. like he’d missed even the silence of you.

you talked, eventually. about life after tokyo. about how it had felt like waking up from a dream you didn’t want to end. you told him how your job kept you tired but steady, how sometimes you still walked late at night hoping for something to stir in the air. you told him how you tried to forget. tried not to check your phone at two in the morning. failed.

he told you about the places he’d been. the people he couldn’t name. the nights that bled into days. the weight. the solitude. how there were moments he wanted to reach out—more than he could count—but didn’t.

“i wanted to protect you from it,” he said on the third night.

you sat side by side by the lake just outside town, the water catching the light in soft shimmers, your shoulders brushing with every breath.

“from what?” you asked, even though you knew.

“from me.”

you turned to him. really looked at him. there were new shadows around his eyes. new lines drawn into his expression. but there was still a softness, buried under the weight. a familiar one.

“you didn't have to come” you said quietly.

“i know."

“but you’re here.”

“i wanted you to know i came back.”

you reached for his hand. found it already reaching for yours.

the kiss wasn’t dramatic. It was just… soft. familiar. the kind of kiss that belongs to memory but lives in the present. his lips were cold from the night, but his hand was warm where it held your jaw, thumb brushing slow and careful. you kissed like people who knew it wouldn’t last, but still couldn’t help needing it.

when he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours. breathed you in.

“thank you,” he whispered.

“for what?”

“for making it real again.”

then he left before dawn.

you didn’t ask him to stay. you stood on your porch and watched him walk away, the polka-dotted umbrella swinging gently in his hand. you didn’t cry. not this time.

some stories loop. not perfectly. not endlessly. but enough.

maybe for now.

[forthelostones]

𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺ 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 #10 (𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 1)

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. guys, you're awesome that's for supporting me. i've recently stopped using grammarly for a more real writing experience. so if things are wonky, just know thats why! no more ai help.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. come see me by jill scott ♫

“Shit, what time is it?” She rubs her eyes.  

“Almost 12, but lucky for you there are no clients on the schedule today. It’s a planning period, remember?” You said, suddenly nauseous. 

Ms. Anderson’s hand grasped her chest and she slowly breathed herself out of the early chaos. In a poor attempt, she rakes a hand through gnarled hair and you stand with your arms crossed like an upset mother waiting for their daughter to explain a wild excursion. 

“Right.” She managed. 

“Nice robe.” You mutter sarcastically. 

Abby’s face contorts in pure embarrassment as she grips her ribcage before scurrying into the hallway leaving you alone with the ghosts of last night. An empty bottle of red wine with a gold label sat on the coffee table in plain view. You scuff, literally, letting out a breath of disbelief because the things you felt and believed were now un-real. You slump down onto the couch face warm from a certain humiliation that you could only associate as conflating her looks and kindness for more. You did it again. 

Abby walks out in a white Anderson and Co. t-shirt with the logo across her back. The fabric stretching across her traps, tightening around her muscles. You admire her ass in those dark wash jeans and her slick bun. Even as you were upset you couldn’t help but admire how her grays shimmered. “Want a cup?” 

Her offer of coffee was tempting after the night you had with Ellie. Being stubborn would make you look even more like a child so you kindly accept with the intentions of not drinking it at all. You follow her into the kitchen and stand in silence, staring at the unwashed pots and empty glasses. 

“I’ve been off my game, I had an unexpected visitor, I promise I’m more organized than this.” She sighed. 

Unexpected visitor.

“It’s perfect that I’m here now then, isn’t it?” Your voice unusually timid. 

She turns away from her machine and closes her eyes as if they weighed a ton. “It seems like once I gotcha, I lost all my senses.” 

A beat fell between two and the coffee drip pulled at the thick tension as Ms. Anderson’s gaze fell on you. You crack a willful smile and then peer at the kitchen floor knowing you can’t hide from her here. 

The time that you spend with Abby seems to go by quickly because by the time you check your phone it’s already 8:00 p.m. You press your hand to your forehead after looking through numbers and endless identical names, small square boxes on digital screens, it was straining on your eyes. You couldn't complain, you needed the distraction. After Ms. Anderson cleaned up her mess and you both settled into her office, the conversation and work flow clicked effortlessly. She listened when you spoke and took time to process every syllable, all while teaching you her customer management systems, and the basics of organizing a comprehensive schedule. The main priority today was allocating tasks to her staff for upcoming projects and seeing Ellie’s name on the roaster made your stomach flip. 

“Listen, I was thinking last night, this is pretty monumental for me as I am shifting into a new level of A&C and you joining me, maybe if you’re not busy we can celebrate?” She asked. 

“Oh,” Is all you manage. 

“Or not? I see you’re tired and had a long day, unpaid time with the boss, I get it.” Her instant defeat was a little adorable.

“No, no, Ms. Anderson I would like that, I just wish I wore something nicer.” You sigh. 

“I think this looks amazing.” She said drinking you in.

You arrive at one of the few standing lesbian bars in the state that invited all female jazz musicians to provide the entertainment. The building was brick and seemed small but spanned all the way down the plot, housing a wide parking lot, shockingly full with cars on a weekday. 

“I won’t tell you how long I’ve been comin’ here.” She smiles putting the car into park, flaunting those kind crowfeet. 

Slipping out of the truck and walking on the gravel you started to hear the grumblings of a drum kit and wonder what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into. As expected she opens the door for you and welcomes you into a private sliver of her world. Given Ms. Anderson’s past of being a bartender it made sense that she’d take you somewhere like this, but it being a lesbian bar, made it all the more interesting. Women, mostly older, scattered around in two main parts, the dining area with small duo only tables, or the bar that was cornered by a stage and dance floor. You had never seen so many lesbians in one place before, studs and butches vying for attention from femmes flaunting their silky legs and ready bodies. 

“Let’s have a bite. I promise it’s nothing like you had in college, sweetheart.” 

Self seating was a blessing as Ms. Anderson picked the prime seat, a booth big enough for two. You slip into the far end and Abby follows suit and reaching to pull out her glasses, but before she could you stop her. “I could read it for you.” 

Her brow rises and she sinks down a bit to spread her legs wider. Wider into yours. Her thighs brush yours and it was sweet, so sweet. The menu was held in a black, clothed book and the options spread from appetizers to dessert. A waiter, about your age, came over with Barbie pink lip and electric blue eyeshadow. “Hi, what do you want to drink?” 

No niceties just direct and you liked that. 

“I’ll have an old fashion and whatever she would like.” Ms. Anderson smiled at you. 

“I will have… that.” 

The waiter looked at you shocked and so did your counterpart. Back to the menu you lean in even though the music was a soft tickle of a riffing piano. “So, how hungry are you?” Looking up into her eyes was dangerous but you couldn’t help it. Abby chewed on the corner of her mouth and shrugged. 

“Hungry enough to eat,” 

You order two appetizers that serve as your meal. Once the drinks came out Abby turned towards you and raised a glass to make a toast. “For my very first and best-est assistant, thank you.” 

In unison the cups come to your lips with unwavering eye contact. Your eyes dipped over the rim to watch the handsome woman lick her lips to digest the flavor fully. Your body jolts from the immediate heartburn, this drink was nothing familiar, which made her laugh. 

“You didn’t have to get that.” 

“I know, jus’ something new when I’m with you. Plus, I need something stronger than a cider right now.” You add. 

“You’re okay right?”

You exhale allowing a tug at your lips, “I will be.” 

The pianist concluded its set before another large brass band started to infiltrate the stage.

“I would enjoy it if you joined me to watch the band.” She muttered, her words a bit stiff as if she had practiced them first. 

“Of course.” 

The image of Ms. Anderson, young and reckless flashed in front of my eyes as she swayed alongside you to the silky sound of the sax. The woman’s lower body rocks in opposition to her shoulders, making a good synchronous bounce to come about. Slightly shocked you watch her slyly rock side to side balancing another thick scotch in her left hand, eyes locked in on the band. Her eyes fluttering, a very subtle indication that she’s nearing intoxication.

Your eyes pace the room, searching for something other than Abby’s nose, that you can’t help but think about. Those lips sat perfectly between it and her chin, pink and damp, stinging from her top shelf beverage. Attempting to appear normal you step side to side and bob your head as the tempo increased. Couples begin swirling around you and Abby and suddenly you were transported to a different era. Legs thrusted out in kicks and ball changes which made your heart bounce. 

Abby leaned back slightly and lifter her glass in an admirable jeer. A slow figure closes in on your left side, taller than Abigail by a few inches and absolutely lofty. The woman had a head full locs, split down the middle, cascading down to her shoulders and skin so dark it had a sheen under the blue stage lights, as if she was glowing. She was probably closer to thirty and her confident was exuberant, you couldn’t help but lean in as she cut past all the flailing limbs. 

“You’re looking pretty nervous,” She chuckles in your ear. 

Her warm breath tickled you and as you adjusted to her body next to yours, you notice Ms. Anderson take an awkward sip, chucking a tight grin in your direction. 

“I need something to make me… less nervous, I suppose.” You reply, nearly yelling into her ear as she bends down, accepting your hand on her shoulder. 

“Your girl isn’t helping?” 

“Boss.” 

It stung to say that, especially with you and Ellie on the fence and an undeniable crush on Ms. Anderson, being in this position felt weird. 

“Shit, that makes more sense, would you like to dance?” 

She was so gentle with her large hand resting just above your hip ever so. You look at Abby who locks in on the stage while nursing the last few sips of drink. 

“Teach me?” You say, as she tugs you into her hips and dips you towards the ground. 

Her strength made you yelp over the clattering of instruments. Directly under a sudden white spotlight, her deep brown eyes focused into view, gold hoop in her nose, and a wide mouth that she wet slightly with the tip of her tongue. 

Once pulled back up, the audience began clapping and the next song began without missing a beat. Your new friend spun you around and twisted you so quick that before it registered that you could even move like this. Something opened up inside of you like a newfound freedom beckoning you to simply let go, which you did. 

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

[sexyirish7]

Tattoo Parlor Decor Set for The Sims 4

This set was inspired by my personal experience getting tattoos. Some of the signs are those I remember from my friend’s tattoo parlor. While I was excited about getting tattooing in the Business & Hobbies Pack, I did want more in terms of décor objects. I did my best to keep the items as low poly as possible, but be sure to check the poly counts for what your computer can handle.

The building in my screenshots is one I downloaded from the gallery and made modifications so it resembled my friend's tattoo parlor. The username is MickeySimmers and the original build is a NY Pizzeria uploaded on 4/7/25.

When appropriate, objects are available in English and Simlish versions. Simlish font credit to Franzilla: https://modthesims.info/  For new meshes made by me, textures from Blenderkit were used.

SexyIrish7 Phoenix logo credit: © Liliia Marchuk via Dreamstime.com

All items are base-game compatible.

This set includes:

·         Tattoo Counter

·         Supply Cabinet

·         Salty Signs – Small, Medium, and Large

·         Tattoo ink bottles

·         Tattoo ink cups – empty ink cup and cups with ink colors

·         Tattoo ink cup holder

·         Sharps container – Wall-mounted and counter versions

·         Tattoo Coil Machine

·         Foot switch

·         Power Supply

·         Stencil Machine

·         Autoclave

·         Non-sterile Nitrile Glove Boxes

·         Portfolios

·         Consent form

·         Tip Jar

You may view an Imgur album with 31 screenshots of the set here

Creations by SexyIrish7

DOWNLOAD for FREE: SFS

OR at Patreon*

*You must be over 18 to access my Patreon page.

These cc objects are new 3d meshes created using Blender and Sims 4 Studio.

All CC have:

*Ability to search catalog using search terms: sexyirish7 and si7

*Customized thumbnail

*******

CREDITS:

Software credits:

Sims 4 Studio v. 3.2.4.3 (Star): https://sims4studio.com

Blender 4.0: https://www.blender.org/download/

GIMP v. 2.10.34: https://www.gimp.org/

Inkscape v. 1.2: https://inkscape.org/

Thank you to the creators and moderators producing tutorials and answering questions!

*******

TOU:

Do not re-upload and claim as your own

Do not re-upload and hide behind a paywall

Mesh and Image Credits along with descriptions of each item are below:

Tattoo Counter

I was dissatisfied with the number of slots and their placement on the tattoo counter that came with the Business & Hobbies pack, so I modified EA’s The Ultimate Nightstand so that it served as a larger counter and added décor slots to it. There are a total of 3 large slots, 9 medium slots, and 27 small slots. I made some minor modifications to the EA texture for The Ultimate Nightstand but did include all 20 swatches.

Polygon Count: 162

Supply Cabinet

I have long been disappointed with the lack of deco slots in various displays. For this object, I modified EA’s Carina Dining Hutch so that it would serve as an appropriate supply cabinet. I made some minor modifications to the EA texture but did include all 9 swatches. There are a total of 2 large slots, 15 medium slots, and 140 small slots.

Polygon Count: 114

Salty Signs

There are 3 files of what I call “salty” signs. The large signs are not as salty, but I wanted to stick with my theme overall. What do I mean by salty? Well, these are signs that are not for the faint of heart and for those with a darker sense of humor. They were inspired not only by signs that I saw at my friend’s parlor, but also by things he and his colleagues would say frequently.

Large Signs: 7 designs (11 total swatches)

Medium Signs: 9 designs (18 total swatches)

Small Signs: 10 designs (20 total swatches)

Polygon Count: 4

The following were used in several textures in all three files:

Caution/Warning Sign Templates by kenshinstock via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/blank-label-warning-caution-sticker-template-set_30903862.htm

Large Sign Image Credits:

Swatches 1-2: Original Artist Unknown. Image from https://razorbacktattoosupply.com/tattoo-studio-feel-the-burn-wrapped-canvas-graphic-art/

Swatches 3-4: Original Artist Unknown. Image from https://www.creativefabrica.com/product/funny-tattoo-artist-hourly-rate-cut-file/

Swatches 5-6: Original Artist Unknown. Image from https://www.pinterest.com/pin/tattoo-artist--218917231881445322/

Swatch 7-8:

Hands, Soap, and Ointment Icons by rawpixel.com via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/coronavirus-prevention-icon-set-vector_30086831.htm

Do Not Touch Icon Image by Myshopsigns https://all-free-download.com/free-vector/download/18_warning_signs_47669.html

No Swimming Icon by Fitri Handayani via Vecteezyhttps://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/51936014-no-swimming-sign-illustration

Bathtub Icon by Fitri Handayani via Vecteezy  https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/51406319-bathroom-icon-with-bubbles-and-soap

Sun and Breeze Icons Images by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/weather-icons-set_709126.htm

Talking on Phone Icon by Mungujakisa Edmond via Vecteezy  https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/25410803-do-not-talk-on-mobile-cell-phone-icon-sign

Swatches 9-10: Tarot Card Images designed by Eight (Elian-James Showell) https://www.eightco.in/

Swatch 11: Original Artist Unknown. Image from https://www.amazon.com/Tattoo-Artist-Tarot-Card-Sweatshirt/dp/B0D8JBHBFZ

Medium Sign Image Credits:

Background images for Swatches 5-8 by All-Free-Download.com https://all-free-download.com/free-vector/download/advertising_sign_templates_retro_shapes_sketch_6849470.html

Swatches 1-2 and 13-14:  Tattoo Gun Image from IMGBIN https://imgbin.com/png/ZNRSzcqv/tattoo-machine-tattoo-ink-tattoo-artist-png

Swatches 3-4: Original Artist Unknown. Image from https://www.amazon.ca/Artist-Tattoo-Artist-Kitchen-Vintage/dp/B0B6DRXFZN

Swatches 5-6: Tattoo Gun Image from IMGBIN https://imgbin.com/png/36i2fKAG/tattoo-machine-body-piercing-tattoo-artist-old-school-tattoo-png

Swatches 7-8: Bullhorn image by All-Free-Download.com  https://all-free-download.com/free-vector/download/megaphone_312061.html

Swatches 9-10: Border by Rawpixel.com via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/vector-set-vintage-elements_3139397.htm

Picture by EA from Business & Hobbies release video

Swatches 11-12: Cheese Grater Image by Macrovector via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/cooking-food-icons_1530806.htm

Saw image by EA

Swatches 15-16: Images by EA

Small Sign Image Credits:

Swatches 1-2, 5-12, 19-20: Caution/Warning Sign Templates by kenshinstock via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/blank-label-warning-caution-sticker-template-set_30903862.htm

Swatches 3-4: Tip jar image by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/jar-background-with-hand-drawn-money_1148170.htm

Swatches 13-14: Image by Printable Designs https://free-printable-signs.com/

Swatches 15-16: Image by by Mungujakisa Edmond via Vecteezy  https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/25410803-do-not-talk-on-mobile-cell-phone-icon-sign

Swatches 17-18: Crying Emoticon Image from CLEANPNG  https://www.cleanpng.com/png-smiley-emoticon-crying-clip-art-no-whining-clipart-546524/

Tattoo Ink Bottles

Due to file sizes, I split these up into 2 separate files. One file has all of the bottles in English, and the other has all of the bottles in Simlish. I modified the EA debug glue bottle. There are a total of 24 swatches.

Polygon Count: 126

Tattoo Ink Cups

There are 2 files for this object. One is an empty ink cup. The other has all of the ink colors as different swatches. There are a total of 24 swatches for the filled ink cups. I modified the water glass object to create these items.

Empty Cup Polygon Count: 107

Filled Cup Polygon Count: 162

Tattoo Ink Cup Holder

When an artist is using a few different inks for a piece, they can sometimes use a holder for the ink cups so the cups do not get knocked over or spilled. This is an original mesh made by me. I have the object set up so that the ink cups (full or empty) will snap to the holes in the holder. Once the ink cups are in, you can move the entire holder to where you want it and the ink cups will go along. Or you can place the holder and then add the cups. While the holders I tended to see were plastic, I decided to make mine a metal version with slight ink stains.

Polygon Count: 208

Sharps Containers

I created 2 versions of sharps containers for this set. I originally was only going to create the wall-mounted one, but then decided to add the counter version of it as well. These are original meshes made by me.

Biohazard symbol is a public domain image

Wall-Mounted Sharps Container Polygon Count: 268

Counter Sharps Container Polygon Count: 106

Tattoo Coil Machine

There are different types of tattoo machines available, but I find the coil machine to be the most recognizable and therefore wanted this version in my game. This is an original mesh made by me. There are a total of 5 swatches.

Polygon Count: 640

Foot Switch

I created a foot switch to operate the tattoo machine with. This is an original mesh made by me. There are 11 swatches.

Design inspired by FK Delta Foot Switch https://www.fkirons.com/products/delta-foot-switch-cosmic-storm

Polygon Count: 57

Power Supply

For this object, I modified the EA Retro Rock of Ages Stereo mesh and texture to create the power supply. I used a few other EA textures to make adjustments to the components of the object.

Polygon Count: 336

Stencil Machine

Unless you allow your artist to freely draw on your skin before tattooing, many use a stencil machine to create the stencil so you can make sure that your tattoo is placed correctly and looks correct before beginning. This is an original mesh made by me. There are a total of 6 swatches (3 designs in English, 3 designs in Simlish).

Design inspired by Vevor Tattoo Stencil Printer https://www.vevor.com/tattoo-machines-c_12593/

Phoenix Image: © Liliia Marchuk via Dreamstime.com

Claddagh Image:  http://clipart-library.com/clipart/8iGbR5bbT.htm

Wolf Image: https://freepngimg.com/png/2674-tattoo-wolf-png-image

Polygon Count: 62

Autoclave

No tattoo parlor is complete without the sterilization equipment, namely the autoclave. For this object, I modified the EA The Schmapple Micro Microwave mesh.

Design inspired by Tuttnauer Valueklave 1730 https://tuttnauer.com/us/veterinary-practices/tabletop-sterilizers/manual/valueklave-1730

Polygon Count: 346

Non-sterile Nitrile Glove Boxes

For this object, I modified EA’s Softy Brand Tissues object. There are 2 box colors available, black and gray. There are a total of 12 swatches.

Non-Sterile symbol is a public domain image

Polygon Count: 40

Portfolios

A detail that I thought was missing was a display of the tattoo artist’s work. In real shops, they can be wall displays or portfolios. I decided to make a portfolio with different tattoo designs. There are 3 swatches of different tattoos. This is an original mesh made by me.

Polygon Count: 262

Image Credits:

Swatch 1: EA

Swatch 2:

Snake and Flying Swallow Images by dgim-studio via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/new-style-tribal-tattoo-collection_1168313.htm and https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/colorful-flying-swallow-template_8136770.htm

Colorful Old School Images by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/old-school-funny-tattoo-collection_1165044.htm

Tribal, Achor, Ship’s Wheel, Skulls, Roses, Dice, Cards Images by Macrovector via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/tattoo-black-white-icons-set_9398078.htm

Tribal Images by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/new-style-tribal-tattoo-collection_1168313.htm

Swatch 3:

Colorful Images on Left Page by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/collection-hand-drawn-decorative-tattoos_1175499.htm

Colorful Vintage Images on Right Page by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/pack-vintage-hand-drawn-tattoos_1194571.htm

Crossed Swords, Anchor, Skulls, Scorpion Images by Macrovector via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/attoo-studio-flat-icons-collection_4430574.htm

Consent Form

I created a consent form on a clipboard. This is only available in Simlish. I modified some EA textures to create the form. The clipboard is an original mesh made by me.

Polygon Count: 90

Tip Jar

Tipping is heavily encouraged for getting tattoos, at least in the U.S. As such, I decided I wanted to make a tip jar for my parlor. I modified the EA debug jar and some different debug simoleon meshes. The result is a tip jar with both coins and bills inside.

Polygon Count: 579

[natequarter]

thinking about the fourth doctor (again) (it happens often). often labelled as one of the most alien incarnations of the doctor - especially in contrast to his successor, the fifth doctor - and yet i just don't see it. or rather, i do, but i think i'm disagreeing with the wrong thing. the doctor is alien. and certainly, across the fourth doctor's tenure, he spends his time as anything from errand boy to president for his home planet. he's very aware of his status as a perpetual outsider; he remarks as much to sarah, sulking. but sarah is the clue here. the doctor is an anglophile, a post-imperial successor to the victorian inventor. when he travels with humans - contemporary humans, that is, harry and sarah - he is held at a distance from humanity, but clearly partakes in their culture: homo sapiens, he asserts, indomitable. this is clearly not the proclamation of someone who is human, but it is also clearly not the proclamation of someone who doesn't give a shit about humanity. he exists outside of human culture - but he conforms to its eccentricities; that is, he locates himself on the peripheries of english culture by the very act of adopting english eccentricities. would you like a jelly baby? he's a bohemian - strange, but strange by the standards of humans. he sticks out like a sore thumb on gallifrey. there is a stark shift across his tenure from earth to the rest of the universe - first the doctor ditches unit in robot, then he ditches contemporary earth in the hand of fear, then he ditches humanity full stop in the invasion of time, then he even ditches our universe in full circle. and yet at the end of it all he comes back, to die in england in the presence of contemporary humans. the doctor's humanity - the spirit of humanity, not the literal species - is arguably ever more present the longer he spends with Literally Anyone Other Than Sarah. he's the teaboo who explains leela's own heritage to her when they land in england - more often than not in the victorian era, as it happens. he's that freak who's obsessed with irrelevant humans to romana, who is completely detached from humanity-slash-emotion and argues for what we might now recognise as ai art (computer logic) in city of death, whilst the doctor angrily insists on the importance of earth culture and human, indistinguishable here from non-machine, sentient, artistic touch. he coaches adric through the typical idioms and customs of twentieth century. ironically, the longer the doctor spends with the obviously non-human - with romana, who is handily from the same cultural background, or k9, a literal robot - the more the doctor's humanity becomes evident. in a sense he drags romana down with him - he attempts to instil in her a sense of humanity, varying from desperately trying to go on holiday to literally taking her to cambridge university. and to some extent, it works! but the doctor will always be the more human one. contrasted with harry and sarah, he naturally appears more distant, more alien - they are recognisable as pov characters, similar to us. but contrasted as he is with the cold logic of k9, the distance in time of leela, or the alien worldview of romana, and the doctor becomes the torchbearer for us, the human audience. the doctor becomes the one who is overly familiar with english culture. the doctor becomes the one who edits shakespeare and advises da vinci, or maybe it was the other way round. when he quotes shakespeare to sarah, it's an irritating distraction because she knows what he's talking about and wishes he would stop trying to get them killed. when he quotes shakespeare to romana, it's a baffling irrelevance with no meaning or weight to her. the doctor is no longer an alien burdened by his exile on a planet he doesn't even like all that much; the doctor is an ambassador for humanity, an inheritor of its literary allusions. he defends the spirit of humanity, joie de vivre, imagination, passion and love. he is not physically human - but he is its byronic hero. maybe next time he'll even play cricket.

[kirlicues]

Lot Previews and Build/Buy Mode Mods I use

Finally! Pretty much everything I had on my old Simblr has been reposted here! Thank you for your interest in these homes. I hope they continue to bring a smile to your face as you play with them. 😊

Here are some previews of the lots I've been polishing up recently. Fun fact: 90% of these lots started out as houses I built for my kids' sims families when they were young (ah how the years fly by!).

These will eventually get uploaded at least that's the plan as I have more time.

Here's where I could use your feedback though:

I love to build and landscape, but decorating the insides...not quite as much.😅

I'd be able to put these lots up faster if you're ok with furnishing and decorating them yourself. I'd add things like kitchens and bathrooms and place beds in the bedrooms.

What do you think? Scroll through and let me know!

I am using Reshade 4.91 for the images that you see. That link will take you to Reshade's official repository folder for Reshade 4.0 series downloads.

Other than cropping and resizing, this is how they look in my game. I'm blessed enough to have a machine that will let me play with this beautiful custom LUT I configured. It helps to see bright, happy colors, especially in winter. 😎

So now a few words about the mods or hacks I use to make building a whole lot more fun, considering I play with very little CC in my game.

I use a number of building cheats such as 'allow45degreeangleofrotation true', 'boolprop snapobjectstogrid false', "setquartertileplacement on", and of course, "moveobjects". If you notice an object blocking something feel free to move/remove it. Grab this mod to allow your sims to sit in chairs placed at 45 degree angles.

I use a lot of shiftable decor mods: shiftable wall lamps, ceiling deco made shiftable, shiftable wall decor. The other day I ran across this mod that allows you to shift just about anything up or down, so I may switch to this in the future. Today I came across Fway's Object Freedom mod which I'm going to start testing out since it includes the "Shiftable Everything" mod. If you've been frustrated by the limits of where things can be placed in order to be used, this might be the answer!

I also use a few default replacements (head over here for a more complete list):

CuriousB's Lush Terrain

Peppermint & Ginger's Shrub defaults

TVickie's Phlox default replacement

PineappleForest's Spiderlily texture default (along with a number of other defaulted things).

Fway's Default Garden Plot

Less saturated BG flowers (I can use the poppies finally!)

Lunatech Lighten Up Ceiling Light Placement Fix

I do use a few other things but these are the primary ones.

And as far as CC goes, these are the only items you'll have to deal with (Use Sims 2 Pack Clean Installer to remove any of these things if you don't want them in your game):

Anything Maxis "Lost and Found", preorder "Bonus" items, or items that were offered on the Sims 2 website. I'll label this in the lot post.

Functional Washer/dryer

Maxis Match Wall Cabinets by CTNutmegger at ModtheSims 

Maxis Match Chimney Recolors: Brick, Stucco, Southwestern Style Stucco, Masonry

So there you have a short list of things I have in my game that you may already have in yours, but if not, you now know where to find them. :) I'm looking forward to hearing your feedback on what I should do with the lots (since my time is pretty limited by real life responsibilities). 🎉😄

[pukefactory]

Hiiiii, are you open to writing about ENA from Dream BBQ? If so, could you please make a request for an ENA x female reader who is simply too rich? I imagine ENA being poorly compensated for her work, it would be nice to see her with someone who buys EVERYTHING she wants LOL

•☽────✧˖°˖ RICH AS ROCKAFELLA ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA X Rich Female Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ ENA showed up to your marble-laced home like a disgruntled delivery driver who didn’t realise the customer was the CEO of everything. “Whose plushie is this? Why is it shaped like ME?!” You bought it from a shady seller for two hundred Fatty Catty’s. Meanie shrieked, clutched its deformed yarn eyes, and then threw it off the balcony. You bought three more. She said she hated you. Then asked if the pink one had velcro hands.

☆ “Am I a kept woman now?” she asked one evening, curled upside-down on your chaise lounge like an emotionally unstable banana. You had no answer, mostly because your mouth was full of strawberries and she had eleven shopping bags in her hands. “Oh look! You got me the silly shoes with the teeth on them! I could just chomp-chomp-chomp communism into dust with these bad boys—WHEEEE!” She kicked a lamp. You didn’t care. You said you’d buy her another pair of shoes. She groaned, blushed (maybe?), and muttered, “You… moron. You know I like when you spoil me.”

☆ The moment you replaced her broken megaphone with a custom, titanium-plated, LED-rimmed one that shouted “WHERE’S THE BOSS?!” in six languages that probably weren’t real. Something cracked. Not in the megaphone. In her soul. “I…I don’t know what to do with this level of support,” ENA mumbled, holding the glowing abomination like a newborn child. “Do I… threaten the bourgeoisie with it? Or just… marry you?! Don’t answer that. I-I’m not asking, I’m… conducting a consumer survey.”

☆ You bought her a bathtub shaped like the Boss’s severed head. She screamed. Not because she hated it. Because she loved it too much and it made her soft. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” she hissed, the Salesperson side flickering with manic light. “One more act of devotion and I might start trusting people again. You wouldn’t like that.” Later, you caught her gently patting the tub like it was a horse.

☆ Sometimes ENA would stomp into the room in her full Meanie persona, shouting things like, “WHO AUTHORISED THE PURCHASE OF A GOLD LEAF TOOTHBRUSH?!” Then you’d raise a hand. “…Oh. Well. Bless you for your business.” Then she’d mutter under her breath, “You’re either an angel or an economic mistake.” She used the toothbrush. Twice. It’s now in a glass case labelled “Artefact of Love (and tax evasion?)”

☆ Meanie tried to complain about being pampered. Really, she did. “I’m a working anomaly! A girlboss disaster! I hustle in the face of cosmic dread!! I don’t need…a wallet made of albino alligator leather??” And yet. Three days later, she was colour-coordinating it with her socks. “Shut up,” she grumbled. “Let me be cringe and frivolous in peace.”

☆ After a long day of yelling at doors and accusing clouds of conspiracy, ENA came home to a fully automated massage throne, two robot hands, and a butler who only spoke in haikus. Meanie stood there, vibrating with tension. “…Is this a trap? Is this how rich people imprison weird creatures?” You offered her a glass of rosewater and a scented napkin. She sat down. “If I die,” she warned, “bury me in glitter and lawsuits.”

☆ Your security team reported her sneaking out at 2am to shout at a vending machine. “WHY WON’T YOU TAKE MY FUNNY MONEY?!” You installed a vending machine that only accepted her voice. She cried. “I’ve been given the world’s first emotionally intelligent snack dispenser. You’ve broken me. Do you want a hot dog?” You said yes. It was soggy and full of love.

☆ She started staging dramatic breakdowns whenever you tried to pay for something in front of her. “NOOOOOO! Let ME be the breadwinner this once! I can offer you a coupon! I found it in the trash!!” You let her try. She handed a ratty piece of paper to a luxury clerk. “…Ma’am, this is a ticket to a cursed ballet.” “SEE?? I’M CONTRIBUTING!!”

☆ The day you bought her an island shaped like her own polygonal head, she collapsed to her knees and screamed into the ocean, “YOU INSANE GIRAFFE OF A WOMAN! WHY?! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?!” You said it was because she deserved everything. She stared at you for a long time. Then whispered, “No one’s ever…invested in my madness before.” She kissed you. And then asked if you could install a water slide shaped like the Bathroom.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Gray Woman 3

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn’t help me resist this beast, I blame you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Just the wine, thanks,” you tap your card on the edge of the lane counter mindlessly. The cashier rings through your single bottle and sends it down the next conveyor. You tap and the machine chirps. “Have a good day.” 

You take your receipt as the woman on the other side of the counter greets her next customer. You do your best to make yourself as little as a nuisance as you can when you switch roles. It saves everyone a whole lot of trouble. 

You go to grab your wine but it’s plucked up beyond your grasp. You keep your arm outstretched before you recoil it, staring at the stranger as he reads the label. You swallow and take a breath. You don’t have a window between you or a security button on a desk. It’s different when you’re out in the world. More dangerous, less orderly. 

“Excuse me, may I have my wine?” You ask flatly. 

The man clucks and tilts his head to look at you. He pokes his tongue into his cheek and smirks, turning to face you completely. He keeps the wine in his hand. His bristly mustache slants in amusement. 

“Let’s try again. ‘Mr. Hansen, may I have my wine?’” He outlines the words with a flutter of fingers. 

You squint and shake your head. “Do I know you?” 

His lips part as he stammers, “uh, yeah? You—from the bank—Jesus. Doesn’t matter.” 

You nod warily and reach for the bottle. You wrap your hand around the narrow neck but he refuses to let go. Instead, he steps back, drawing you with him as the next customer comes down the lane. You cling to your middle shelf purchase. 

“I know you fucking remember me. You’re just trying to piss me off because Ronnie isn’t here to lay down the law. Trust me, I can do it myself, sweat pea.” 

He glares down at you. He sure has a lot of anger. You’re not entirely sure what you did to him. Working with peoples’ money is not easy, for either party. It’s such a sensitive subject as it is. Still, you don’t remember doing anything so egregious as to earn the spite creasing between his brows. 

“Alright,” you pull on the bottle again. “I just... I can’t remember. Honest.” 

He grips the bottle even tight. His large hand easily clings to the full belly. You sigh and let go. 

“Fine, it’s cheap wine anyway,” you shrug. You’re growing uneasy with this man. Not only is he aggressive but he’s much bigger than you. 

You let go and spin, striding away as you shake of your disappointment and the trickle of nerves. As the automatic door slides open at your approach, you hear a pursuit. You’re not sure if it’s him but you refuse to look back. You only speed up. 

“Hey, I don’t want your fucking wine,” he catches up to you as you come outside. 

You don’t stop. You step off the curb and keep your head straight. You deal with the erratic passengers on the subway, you can handle some stuck-up jerk made about a bank fee. 

“Would you stop? Hey, I’m trying to have a conversation here,” he huffs. You keep going. “Hey!” He grabs your arm and reels you back to face him, standing just behind a parked car. “Do I need to show my ID to have a fucking chat?” 

You blink at him and scour your mind. Mustache, demanding, intolerable. You think you remember now. He’s the one who refuse to show his ID. You glance back at the grocery marquee and your lips thin. As a black card holder, you don’t expect him to be shopping at a bargain grocery. 

“Can I help you?” You face him. 

His cheek twitches, “relax, darling, we’re not at the fucking bank.” 

You consider him, eyes darting as you search for some sense in all of this, “uh huh. So...” 

“Do you just not turn it off or are you really a bitch?” He sneers. 

You shrug, “guess I'm a bitch.” 

You look at his hand on your arm and yank away. You once more turn to strut off and he snorts. Once more, he has your wrist but you try to ignore him. Try to snatch it free as you refuse to turn back. He’s too strong. 

For as long as you’ve had the canister in your purse, you don’t relish using it. You wonder if it’s expired. You reach into your open purse, dangling by your hip and turn. Before can speak, you raise the nozzle at him and press down. The coyote spray scours his eyes and he recoils. 

The bottle of wine smashes at his feet and the staggers, stomping as he wipes his eyes desperately. He whines and wheezes, coughing through the cloud of spray. You back up to keep free of it. You allow a single second to mourn the pinot then scurry away. His anguished moans fade away as you dip around another car. 

You head down to the subway and wait on the ramp, looking back and forth over your shoulders. You’re certain he didn’t follow you, that he couldn’t see enough to do so, but still, you’re addled. The city isn’t the place to take chances. 

All you wanted was a drink or too. You planned on nursing that bottle over a few nights. The bank’s been so hectic, just the thought of getting up to go back has been keeping you awake. Well, a few chapters of your latest read will put you to sleep. 

You board and find a seat near the doors. You make yourself as small as you can as you hug your purse. You’re agitated. You can smell the spray on your fingers. What an asshole. He didn’t just waste your wine, he ruined your night.