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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

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The Quiet Ones 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don't ask me why I did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You keep to yourself. That’s the safest, the easiest way to live. You keep your head down, your eyes to yourself, your voice bottled up.

You grip your phone as you approach the coffee shop. You stand on your toes to see through the painted windows and frown at the long queue. You won’t have to worry about that. Like everything else social, you’ve found a work around.

You look at your phone, the app showing your order as ‘preparing’. It should be done shortly as the progress bar fills close to complete. You can bear the claustrophobia for a minute or so until it’s ready.

You go to open the door but an arm reaches past you and does that first. You step back, patiently waiting for the other customer to precede you. They don’t move. You stare at their shoes. Dark blue velvet loafers with gold emblems on chains.

“Go on, baby face, I got it,” the man’s voice makes your skin crawl.

You shrink down and give a nod, throat clenching as you struggle to find your voice. You’re not much for conversation but you’re but impolite.

“Thanks,” you force out without raising your head.

You scurry through quickly, a bit to close to the stranger than you like, and you clasp your phone against your chest as you stand just away from the cluster of people awaiting their orders. You bounce on your feet as the noises join together to form a cacophony; the hissing steam, the clanging metal, the clinking porcelain, the calls of the workers behind the counter, and the buzz of the crowd seated or standing around the cafe. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck as the chaos swirls a storm around you.

You pull your phone away from the front of your pullover and check the screen. Should be ready any moment and you’ll be free of the circus. You adjust your grip on the phone, almost jittery as another customer joins the wait at the pick up window.

You breathe out. It’s not usually this busy at this time. You have a routine. You can handle the expected. You order on your phone so you don’t need to talk to anyone. You wait outside until it’s almost done then come in too quickly claim your prize. But not today, something’s different and it’s throwing everything off.

It’s only on Wednesday’s that you venture down to the cafe. It’s the halfway point of your week so you mark it with a taste of motivation. The same order every week. A London fog latte. Simple and affordable. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated.

Your name cuts through the din, “...medium London fog.”

You drop your arm to your side and set your shoulders. You march forward through the parting bodies ahead of you and reach for the cup. Before you can grasp it, someone else scoops it up. You nearly cry out in horror. Someone’s stealing your order!

You turn to the tea thief but they make no move to flee. They hold the cup nonchalantly, turning it to read the sticker on the side, reciting the same name that just rose from the barista’s lips seconds ago. You face the stranger but again, your eyes are downward.

The blue loafers!

“Cute name,” he comments as he holds the cup out.

You once more try to take the cup but before you can, he has it out of reach again. Your lashes flick and your fingers twiddle helplessly. His large hand is firmly around the cup so even if you did try to wrestle it from him, you doubt you’d have any hope but to spill it all.

You look around but no one else seems to notice. They’re all staring at their phones or talking with the person next to them. The staff behind the counter are too busy appeasing the rush of orders.

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he taunts, “I’m more of a ristretto guy. Like my espresso.”

You shake your head and rescind your hand, balling it against your fist. What does he want? Why is he bothering you? You said thank you. Did he not hear you?

“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy,” he pushes the tea towards you, “there you are, sweat pea.”

You hesitate. You slowly unfurl your fingers and reach for the cup. As you wrap your fingers around it, you can’t help but brush his. Thick and strong and unmoving. He clings to it for just a moment before he lets you have it.

“Thanks,” you squeak again, this time louder so he certainly hears you.

“You got a sweet voice,” he puts his hand on his hip, a glimpse of a shiny gold watch face peeking out from beneath his sleeve, “I’d love to hear more of it.”

Your eyes round as you focus on the zipper of his thin jacket. You shake your head and meekly raise your cup awkwardly and dip your chin slightly. No thanks.

You turn and weave your way back through the crowd. Your heart is thumping in your chest. What an odd encounter.

More so, you’re dismayed that he saw you. That he noticed you. For years, you’ve done your best to be invisible. You prefer it that way. You don’t even think your neighbours know you exist. But that man, he seemed to see nothing but you.

You push outside and nearly drop your cup. You try to steady yourself. You’re all knotted up and tense. You tuck your phone into your back pocket and bring the cup before you nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the foam. Something about it isn’t as soothing as usual.

You turn down the pavement and wince as a sole scuffs close behind you. Suddenly, another set of steps walk next to yours, measured to keep in tandem with your own short legs. Blue velvet.

You walk faster. Is he following you? Why? What does he want? He’s much taller, you can’t outpace him.

“You know, when I said I’d like to hear more, I thought maybe over a coffee?” He suggests.

You don’t say a word as you keep your eyes forward, squeezing your cup tight as you try not to swish it around too much. You’ve never had to deal with this before. Men don’t see you. There was a time you hated that but since, you were grateful for that.

“I mean, I could do most of the talking, never had much of a trouble with that, jellybean,” he offers.

You shake your head. Your throat tightens. You can’t speak. You want to scream but you can’t make a noise.

As you get to the corner, you stop short. He steps past you but just as quickly catches himself and turns to face you. You gulp and look down at your cup. You can’t keep going. If you do, you’ll lead him right to your home.

“What’s going on, sweetheart? You forget something? How about we head back and I’ll buy you something sugary to go with that?”

You furrow your brow and step back on your heel. You bring your eyes up, a furtive glance at his face, brief and flickering. You just want to know what he looks like so you never see him again.

His blue eyes twinkle, his nose is long but proportioned to his chiseled face, his hair is combed back, the sides shaved, and a thick swatch of hair lines his upper lip. He’s older than you, you know that much, but you’ve never good at gauging age. You’ve never seen him before but you can’t be sure. You don’t look at many faces.

You pivot and cross the street without looking. You narrowly miss a bumper and get a honk in remonstrance. You can’t stop yourself. You’re panicking. You head down the next street as his footsteps follow. It’s all you can hear.

As you pass a bin, you dump the drink. You don’t pause as it plummets heavily into the trash and you fall into a brisk half-jog. You pump your arms, puffing wildly, dizzy as you search for a saviour.

You dash into the library. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Just for anyone to get this man to leave you alone.

You don’t look back as you enter and head straight for the front counter. You’re out of breath as you approach the rounded edge and tap the bell frantically. A woman emerges from behind the window wall and she greets you with a confused chime.

“Hello, can I help you?” She asks.

“Yes, I need...” you gulp and glance at the doors. You push away from the counter and spin, searching. You don’t see the man. He’s probably waiting outside. But you never looked back. You never really saw if he was following. “I...” you turn back to the woman, “never mind.”

You cross your arms and turn away. You cringe as you realise how ridiculous you must have seemed. Worse, you didn’t mean to bother someone just doing their job and over what? You’re own issues. You should go home, back to your reclusion, where you can’t be in anyone’s way.

👄

When you finally muster the courage to leave the library, your journey home is slowed by your paranoia. You have your phone out, held up so you can see over your shoulder with the front camera. You watch the screen more than the sidewalk ahead of you.

You get home without a second shadow. As you let yourself through the grated front door of the building, you can’t help but feel stupid. That man must’ve got the idea when you as good as ran in the other direction. You’re being dramatic.

You close the camera and put your phone away. You waist six dollars in your frantic flight. You mourn the tea latte as the heavy inner door clunks shut behind you. You drag your feet up the stairs as your keys jingle on your finger.

You apartment is at the very end of the hall. You enter and twist the latch. You slide the chain into place and hang the key ring on the little hook beside the door frame. You untangle your purse and leave it with your phone on the table in the corner.

You shuffle the few feet to the front room and look around. You find comfort in the familiarity of your little apartment. Your hideaway.

You go back to your desk and sign back in. You’re back later than usual but you can still make up the time. As long as there’s enough tasks left in the portal. You don’t have to let that man ruin your whole day. You’ll never see him again. In a few days, you won’t even remember him.

👄

Wednesday. Halfway through the week.

You scroll and click around your screen as you watch the clock in the corner tick on. Usually around this time, you’d be excited. You’d clock out for your break and go down to the cafe. As much as you looked forward to the treat, the walk alone was relaxing in its own way.

Not that day. Despite your efforts to shrug off the strange encounter, you haven’t shaken it. So instead, the kettle boils as a bag of earl gray sits in an empty mug. You’re not going. Maybe next week.

You’re a bit depressed but you’re too nervous to make the venture. Oh well, you’ll save a bit of money. You could find a different place next time. That might be easier.

You stay logged in and claim a new task. Hey, you can be done work earlier if you can power through. You might even make a few extra bucks.

The kettle clicks and you get up to pour the water. You leave it to steep, forgetting it for the screen before you. Your fingers tap endlessly across the keyboard, filling the silence as you zone in on the words, transcribing messy ink to Times New Roman.

Your trance is broken by a sudden buzz. You sit up, the kink in your neck pangs. You need to stop hunching. The buzz comes again. Is that... It must be a mistake. It happens now and then, someone buzzes the wrong apartment.

You get up as it sounds a third time and you shuffle down to the speaker box. You hit the button, “wrong number.”

“No--”

You let go of the number before you can hear the response. They buzz again. You sigh. You hit the button.

“I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,” you repeat.

“I don--”

You release the button again and take a step back. Buzz! You’re getting annoyed. You hit the button. “Wrong--”

“Got a delivery. 212.” The man’s voice drowns out your own, reciting your name after your apartment number. Your finger stays on the button as you frown. A delivery?

“I’m not expecting a delivery.”

“Are you...” he says your name again.

“... yes.”

Silence, filled with the low hum of the speaker, “so, can I come up or...?”

“Uh, I guess.”

You pull your finger away and hover it over the other. Maybe it’s from work? There was the one time they sent a cheap mass production travel mug with their logo on it as some incentive. A poor attempt at employee appreciation.

You press down and hold until you’re certain they have enough time to get in. You wait by the door, ringing your hands. You hear the door at the end of the hall open on its old hinges and you peek through the peephole.

You watch the fuzzy figure come into focus with each of his long steps. He doesn’t hold a box nor wear the uniform of a postal worker. No, he wears those blue leather loafers and holds a bright pink paper cup with a white lid. From the cafe.

As he comes close, you get a pigeon’s eye view of the hair on his upper lip and his bold blue eyes. It feels like he can see you too as he stands smirking on the other side of the door. This can’t be real.

He knocks and you wince as the door shifts in the frame.

“Special delivery,” he calls through, “open up, baby face.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #the quiet ones #dark!fic #series #the gray man

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cherryjamandtoast · 11 months

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UPS TEAMSTERS-UNION WON !!!!!!!!!!!

From the article:

[(WASHINGTON) – Today, the Teamsters reached the most historic tentative agreement for workers in the history of UPS, protecting and rewarding more than 340,000 UPS Teamsters nationwide. The overwhelmingly lucrative contract raises wages for all workers, creates more full-time jobs, and includes dozens of workplace protections and improvements. The UPS Teamsters National Negotiating Committee unanimously endorsed the five-year tentative agreement.

“Rank-and-file UPS Teamsters sacrificed everything to get this country through a pandemic and enabled UPS to reap record-setting profits. Teamster labor moves America. The union went into this fight committed to winning for our members. We demanded the best contract in the history of UPS, and we got it,” said Teamsters General President Sean M. O’Brien. ... This contract sets a new standard in the labor movement and raises the bar for all workers.”

“UPS came dangerously close to putting itself on strike, but we kept firm on our demands. In my more than 40 years in Louisville representing members at Worldport — the largest UPS hub in the country — I have never seen a national contract that levels the playing field for workers so dramatically as this one....” said Teamsters General Secretary-Treasurer Fred Zuckerman. “We stayed focused on our members and fought like hell to get everything that full-time and part-time UPS Teamsters deserve.”

“Rank-and-file members served on the committee for the first time, ... “Our hard work has paid off — from those members and leaders negotiating for more at the table to my sisters and brothers building a credible strike threat around the country. Our union was organized and we were relentless. We’ve hit every goal that UPS Teamster members wanted and asked for with this agreement. It’s a ‘yes’ vote for the most historic contract we’ve ever had.”

Highlights of the tentative 2023-2028 UPS Teamsters National Master Agreement include:

Historic wage increases. Existing full- and part-time UPS Teamsters will get $2.75 more per hour in 2023, and $7.50 more per hour over the length of the contract.

Existing part-timers will be raised up to no less than $21 per hour immediately, and part-time seniority workers earning more under a market rate adjustment would still receive all new general wage increases.

Wage increases for full-timers will keep UPS Teamsters the highest paid delivery drivers in the nation, improving their average top rate to $49 per hour.

New part-time hires at UPS would start at $21 per hour and advance to $23 per hour.

All UPS Teamster drivers classified as 22.4s would be reclassified immediately to Regular Package Car Drivers and placed into seniority, ending the unfair two-tier wage system at UPS.

Safety and health protections, including vehicle air conditioning and cargo ventilation. UPS will equip in-cab A/C in all larger delivery vehicles, sprinter vans, and package cars purchased after Jan. 1, 2024. All cars get two fans and air induction vents in the cargo compartments.

All UPS Teamsters would receive Martin Luther King Day as a full holiday for the first time.

No more forced overtime on Teamster drivers’ days off. Drivers would keep one of two workweek schedules and could not be forced into overtime on scheduled off-days.

UPS Teamster part-timers will have priority to perform all seasonal support work using their own vehicles with a locked-in eight-hour guarantee. For the first time, seasonal work will be contained to five weeks only from November-December.

On July 31, representatives ... will meet to review and recommend the tentative agreement. All UPS rank-and-file members will receive a list of improvements in the contract. ... Member voting begins August 3 and concludes August 22.

The UPS Teamsters National Master Agreement is the single largest private-sector collective bargaining agreement in North America.]

Check the article for the full list; but ho ho holy shit.

This is huge. It shows the collective bargaining WORKS. The Teamsters sent a message to UPS and this win will send a message to Corporate America that unions can WIN for rank-and-file workers!!!

#UPS #teamsters #ups strike #labor rights #labor movement #long post

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longlivedelusion · 24 days

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In The Heat of the Moment

A little drabble cause my friends had a small home rave today and there was a hottie there and let's just say it gave me inspo for a Bucky smut? Not really smut. Spice? lmao.

So here we are. Not proofread, wrote this in my phone and am just posting it as is. Will maybe review later idk.

Summary: club time with the Avengers and you're a horny bih who wants Bucky, but Bucky doesn't give you the time of day. Or so you think. No use of Y/N.

Warnings: minors DNI, mentions of oral and general sexual encounters, enter at your discretion cause this is just me and my little horny ass wanting a club moment😭 No use of Y/N

Enjoy!

~~~~~

The music was loud where we were, I couldn't hear anything but the beat pounding as a sea of strangers swirled around me.

The team had all decided on a night out, something to take the edge off after a particularly hard mission. But being the Avengers, well... There's always someone somewhere taking photos or gawking. We couldn't just, be.

That's until a certain God of Mischief had the great idea of using his magic to disguise us. We could still see eachother as we were, but everyone else saw just a bunch of random strangers. No Captain America, no Thor, no Bucky Barnes.

So we came to one of Nat's favourite spots, an underground techno club on the industrial side of the city that was exactly what we all needed.

Dark. Loud music. Drinks. No thoughts, just our bodies, the sound and everything else in between. Whatever we needed to let off some steam.

But as much as dancing was doing wonders, my body slick with sweat as ran my hands up past my waist, body bouncing in tune with the sound, I wanted more. Needed more.

And there was only one man who I wanted to give it to me. Bucky fucking Barnes. But unfortunately, said man sat by the bar and had never really given me the time of day outside of normal mission stuff. We were great colleagues, but fuck if I didn't want him to use all that focus, all that drive he had when it came to pounding his enemies to focus it on pounding into me.

So I just danced, eyes trying and failing to not meet the corner of the bar where I knew he was. Sipping his drink as he slowly bounced to the music, Steve right beside him as they talked about something. I didn't let my eyes linger long enough to make out what they were even looking at.

So I kept dancing, closing my eyes and feeling the way the music traveled over me. Imagining it was Bucky's hands instead. Letting my breath get a little bit heavier as I did.

I suddenly felt hands at my waist, unfamiliar ones that made me turn suddenly. Some random guy had come up, a small grin on his face as he bounced along with me. I raised my brow a second, definitely not in the mood for some random guy's attention no matter how horny I . might've been. I was ready to move him aside before I felt a large presence behind me.

"Get the fuck off her." I heard Bucky say, his voice somehow just clear enough over the loudness of the club.

I saw the man retreat with his hands up, eyes wide as he saw the predatory glance towards him. While he backed up, I turned towards Bucky, already frowning. "I could've handled that you know."

He crossed his arms, his body close.

Closer than usual.

"Yeah, I'm sure. But just wanted to make sure you were alright. S'all. " He watched me, an anger in his eyes usually reserved for special moments in battle - moments with HYDRA agents.

Before he could step away, I grabbed his arm. "Wait," I said. "Stay. Dance."

He tries to protest, but I got closer to his body now, slowly bouncing to the beat as he stilled, eyes wide. "Please." I breathed out, eyes gazing up at him. I don't know if was the darkness, the aninimoty of the night, the way my body tingled at his nearness, but I was gonna try to go for it. Needed to. I couldn't just sit around pining and feeling the way I did and not do shit about it. I was an Avenger for gods sake -- I could flirt.

"Alright." I heard him say, taking me out of my trance as his hand snaked around my waist slowly, hesitantly. His touch was featherlight, like he was afraid of going too far as he matched the rhythm with me.

I started to run my fingers up his arms, curious, exploratory. To see if he was just being polite with this or if there could be something more. I felt his grip tighten just a hint before he pulled me in closer, his head against mine as his mouth grazed past my ear, his breath hot against me.

We moved like that a while, bodies shifting to the music, my hands growing bolder across his shoulders, his back, his hair. I let my head fall back as he held me, closing my eyes as I let the feeling overwhelm me. The feeling of him, the sound, the lights. All overwhelming me in the most delicious way.

I felt his movements stutter, opening my eyes again to see his own reflected back at me -- pupils blown and mouth partially opened as I watched him take me in. A hunger and desperation in his eyes that I knew well, because I knew it was reflected right back at him.

I tentatively reached for his jaw, thumbs grazing over his lips as he sucked in a breath. My logical brain decided to show up for a split second then -- I was being careless, our team was close by and his was my coworker, this was so public and stupid and-

He was leaning in. His mouth so close to mine as his eyes took me in, "Tell me to stop." He said, lips just hovering mine. Waiting. Teasing.

My mind stilled. "Please," was all I could breathe out.

The next moment I was on fire, his lips quenching a thirst I'd been settling in for the months since I'd known him. A thirst I thought would never be satiated. I'd craved, so desperately, this man for so long and in this moment, his lips on mine, I knew. I'd never want them to leave again.

I moved my body to his, pressed so deeply into him that I felt each crevice and movement of his against mine. I felt him shift, his clear arousal now pressed against my thigh. I moaned into his mouth, his tongue slipping past and grazing over mine.

I was in hell, in the most blissful, heavenly pits of hell there was because god this man could fucking kiss. And I don't think I would ever want to kiss anyone again after this. I couldn't.

His hands started to grow more confident, his touch hungry as if he could feel the fire too, like we were two torches dancing together desperate for more oxygen.

I pulled away, hands trailing down his body as I took him in. "Bucky, I need you." I practically whined. I'd never whined in my life, but right now I could care less. I needed this man, religiously.

"Fuck," his grip tightened on my body, pressing me even harder into him. "Where, how?" He started looking around, assessing the situation like this was one of our missions.

I grabbed his jaw and pulled his gaze back to me, leaning up and over to his ear. "Bathroom on the right. Follow behind me but don't make it too obvious. I'll be inside waiting for you." I pulled back just enough so I could see his face, "I'll be the one on my knees."

I heard the intake of breath before I could register what happened next. His lips crashing into mine as he groaned into my mouth, taking me rougher than before. He pulled back panting, his body looking like it was fighting a war to do so, and he gave me a long look that had me nearly buckle my knees.

"You've got 5 minutes. And you better be ready for me 'cause that mouth isn't the only thing getting worshipped tonight doll."

He pulled off, pushing me forward towards the bathroom. He stood there, arms crossed as he assessed me from behind.

God was I in for it.

Part Two

#bucky Barnes smut #sorry not sorry #bucky barnes avenger #avengers fanfic #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #no y/n #longlivedelusion originals

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sluttycinderella · 5 days

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Razorgate: an empirical, peer reviewed study*

*there is nothing genuinely scientific about this, it is merely a result of mental illness and unemployment.

So we all saw this right?

But after this bomb was dropped I began to get curious about the other slittenings. Did they use the same razor for all of them and no one had noticed? Do they actually own more than one razor? And if they don't, if this is truly the only phrazor, then I don't think I have to tell you that raises a lot of questions.

Firstly, I went back to where this all began, Phil's Birthday stream, to identify the razor that carved the very first slit and forever cemented itself as a part of herstory:

Now that is very clearly the Manscaped logo, no question about it. Here’s a high quality photo of the logo for comparison:

(You can also clearly see in the Twitter post that it says "Manscaped" across it but I like to double check my work and I also wanted to prove that they were both Manscaped)

And it's a good thing I did double check because OP made a CRITICAL ERROR in their post! They claim that the razor in question is the Lawn Mower 4.0 when in fact it's the Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra! Unlike the PUNY, PATHETIC, UNMANLY 4.0, the Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra comes with an interchangeable foil blade, a USB port, and a more advanced spotlight!

How could OP be so careless? Dan and Phil would never own an outdated razor! They require only the finest in ball shaving technology!

Also fun fact: The first appearance of the Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra on the Manscaped YouTube channel falls right in between the dapg return announcement and their first video back so make of that what you will...I for one shall be sculpting my own hill out of the very earth itself, "Manscaped Sponsorship Hill", I encourage you all to join me.

So after spending far too long researching the intricacies of razors that shave an organ I don't even have, I now needed to check if it was the same razor being used in every slittening:

Here they are side by side for comparison, left is Phil’s birthday, middle is the We're All Doomed post-premiere, right is Dan’s birthday. Now it appears the WAD one is missing the logo but I'm going to go ahead and chalk that up to the poor quality of the clip I found (if anyone has a better version PLEASE hit me up so I can confirm my hypothesis). And considering the photo taken in the aftermath seems to show Phil holding the 5.0 Ultra:

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's the same thing.

“But,” I hear you shouting, “so what if Dan and Phil used the same razor for all the streams? They already said they only owned one razor so who cares?” Well this isn’t so much about proving that they’re the same razor as it is establishing a baseline. It’s hard to trust basically anything Dan and Phil say lately, what with piggate and the “pillow” bar and the fake view from the Phouse, knowing that they aren’t lying about only having one razor (to the best of our knowledge) is crucial in figuring out what exactly is going on. Remember, we’re doing science here.

And with that in mind: In my professional opinion, I can say that for all three slittenings, the Manscaped Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra was the weapon of choice.

Sidenote: I went down a bit of a rabbit hole of Manscaped reviews during all of this and apparently Manscaped razors are kind of just a scam. This razor is $109 and they try to trick their customers into subscribing to their "Peak Hygiene Plan" which you don't actually need by offering a deceptive discount and hiding the terms where people aren't likely to see them. So yeah, fuck Manscaped and I for one think we should cancel Dan and Phil for not ethically consuming under capitalism.

But that's beside the point, we know that they indeed only have one razor and that that razor...is for balls. What does that tell us?

Conclusions

There are a multitude of conclusions one could jump to in the light of such a revelation, I shall display them in a convenient numbered list for your viewing pleasure:

One of them prefers to use straight (lol) razors to shave their...you know...I don't actually know if this is a thing people do or if it's even possible, people with balls please sound off in the comments, thank you

Only one of them actually shaves in which case I support them as an infamous pussy hair enthusiast (iykyk)

They share a razor (Please, God, no, that's actually disgusting)

Either way, this thing was on someone's balls and then it touched both their faces so I really hope they cleaned it properly!

Alright, so that whole exploration may have been a bit useless, it indeed only confirmed what we had already been told, but I spent literal hours comparing photos of ball hair trimmers and I'm not one to admit defeat. Consider yourselves peer reviewed, Dan and Phil, and maybe check out Beardscape instead! Apparently they have better, more comprehensive razors for the same price.

If anyone even more demon than me has any corroborating evidence (maybe of them using straight razors at any point or anything else razor related that they've said in the past) please let me know so I can take it into consideration! Thank you all for your time.

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literary-illuminati · 6 months

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Book Review 68 - Babel by R. F. Kuang

Overview

I came to Babel with extremely little knowledge about the actual contents of the book but a deep sense of all the vibes swirling around its reception – that it was robbed of a Hugo nomination (if the author didn’t outright refuse it), that it’s probably the single buzziest and most Important sf/f release of 2022, that it was stridently political, and plenty more besides. I also went in having mostly enjoyed The Poppy War series and being absolutely enamoured by the elevator pitch of an alternate history Industrial Revolution where translation is literally magic. And, well-

It is wrong to say I hated this book, but only because keeping track of my complaints and starting organize this review in my head was entertaining enough to keep me invested in the reading experience.

The story is set in an alternate 1830s, where the rise of the British Empire relies upon the dominance of its translators, as it is the mixture of translation and silverworking, the inscription of match-pairs in different languages on bars of worked silver and the leveraging of the ambiguity and loss of meaning between them that fuels the world’s magic. The protagonist is pluckted from his childhood home in Canton after his family dies in a cholera outbreak and whisked away to the estate of Professor Lowell, an Oxford translator he quickly realized is his unacknowledged father. He’s made to choose an English name (Robin Swift) and raised and tutored as a future translator in service to the Empire.

The meat of the story is focused on Robin’s education in Oxford, his relationship with the rest of his cohort, and his growing radicalization and entanglement with the revolutionary Hermes Society. Things come to a head when in his fourth year the cohort is sent back to Canton to, well, help provoke the first Opium War, though none of them aware of that. The final act follows the fallout of that, by which I mean it lives up to the full title of “Or the Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution”.

To be clear, this was technically a very accomplished book. The writing never dragged and the prose was, if not exactly lyrical, always clear and often evocative. Despite the breadth of space and time the story covers, I never had any complaints about the pacing – and honestly, the ending was, dramatically speaking, one of the more natural and well-executed ones I’ve read recently. It’s very well-constructed.

All that being said – allow me to apologize for how the rest of this is mostly just going to be a litany of complaints. But the book clearly believes itself to be an important and meaningful work of political art, which means I don’t feel particularly bad about holding it to high standards.

Narrative Voice

To start with, just, dear god the tone. This is a book with absolutely zero faith in its audience’s ability to reach their own conclusions, or even follow the symbolism and implication it lays down. Every important point is stated outright, repeated, and all but bolded and underlined. In this book set in 1830s England there are footnotes fact-checking the imperialists talking heads to, I guess, make sure we don’t accidentally become convinced by their apologia for the slave trade? Everything is just relentlessly didactic, in a way that ended up feeling rather insulting even when I agreed with the points Kuang was making.

More than that, and this is perhaps a more subjective complaint but – for an ostensible period piece, the narrative voice and perspective just felt intensely modern? This was theoretically an omniscient third person book, with the narrative voice being pretty distinct from any of the actual characters – with the result that the implicit narrator was instead the sort of person of spends six hours a day getting into arguments on twitter and for this effort calls themselves a progressive activist. The identities of all the characters – as delivered by the objective narration – were all very neat and legible from the perspective of someone at a 2022 HR department listing how diverse their team was, which was somewhere between a tragic lost opportunity to show how messy and historical racial/ethnic/national identities are and outright anachronistic, depending. (This was honestly one of the bigger disappointments, coming from Kuang’s earlier work. Say what you will of The Poppy War series, the narration is with Rin all the way down, and it trusts the reader enough not to blink.) More than that it was just distracting – the narration ended up feeling like an annoying obstacle between me and the story, and not in any fun postmodern way either.

Characters

Speaking of the cast – they simply do not sound or feel like they actually grew up in the 19th century. Now, some modernization of speech patterns and vocabulary and moral commensense is just the price of doing business with mass market period pieces, granted, but still – no 19th century Anglo-Indian revolutionary is going use the phrase ‘Narco-military state’ (if for no other reason than we’re something like a century early for ‘narco-state’ to be coined as a term at all). An even beyond feeling out of time most of the characters feel kind of thinly sketched?

Or no, it’s not that the characters are thinly sketched so much as their relationships are. We’re repeatedly, insistently told that these four students are fast friends and closer than family and would happily die for each other, but we’re very rarely actually shown it. This is partly just a causality of trying to skim over a four-year university education in the middle third of one book, I think, but still – the good times and happy moments are almost always sort of skimmed over, summarized in the course of a paragraph or two that usually talk in terms of memories and consequences more than the relationships themselves. The points of friction and the arguments, meanwhile, are usually played out entirely on the page, or at least described in much more detail. In the end you kind of have to just take it as read that any of these people actually love each other, given that at least two of them seem to be feuding at any given point for the entire time they know each other.

Letty deserves some special attention. She’s the only white member of Robin’s cohort at Babel and she honestly feels like less of acharacter and more a collection of tropes about white women in progressive spaces? Even more than the rest, it’s hard to believe the rest of the class views her as beloved ride-or-die found family when essentially every time she’s on screen it’s so she can do a microagression or a white fragility or something. Also, just – you know how relatively common it is to see just, blatantly misogynistic memes repackaged as anti-racist because it specifies ‘white women’? There’s a line in this that almost literally says ‘Letty wasn’t doing anything to disprove the stereotype of woman as uselessly emotional and hysteric’.

Also, she’s the one who ends up betraying the other three and trying to turn them in when they turn revolutionary. Which is probably inevitable given the book’s politics, but as it happened felt like less of the shocking betrayal that it was supposed to be and more just, checking off a box for a dramatic reverse. Of course she turned on them, none of them ever really seemed to even like each other.

As a Period Piece

So, the book is set in the 1830s, in the midst of the industrial revolution and its social fallout, and the leadup to the First Opium War (which is, through the magic of, well, magic ,but also mercantilist economics, make into a synecdoche for British global dominion more broadly). On the one hand, the setting is impeccably researched, recent and relevant historical events are referenced whenever they would come up, and the footnotes are full to bursting with quotes and explanations of texts or cultural ephemera that’s brought up in the narration.

On the other, the setting doesn’t feel authentic in the slightest, the portrayal of the British Empire is bizarrely inconsistent, and all that richly researched historical grounding ends up feeling less like a living world and more like a particularly well-down set for a Doctor Who episode.

The story is incredibly focused around Oxford as a city and a university. There’s a whole author’s note about the research and slight changes made into its geography and I absolutely believe its portrayal as a physical location and the laws about how women were treated and how the different colleges were organized and all that is exactly as accurate as Kuang wanted them to be. The issue is really the people. With the exception of a few cartoonish villains who barely get more than a couple pages apiece, no one feels, sounds like, or acts like they actually belong in the 19th century. The racism the protagonists struggle with all feels much more 21st century than Victorian, and the frame of mind everyone inhabits still comes across more as ‘unusually blatantly racist Englishman’ than 19th century scholars and polymaths.

This is especially blatant as far as religion goes. It’s occasionally mentioned, sure enough, but to the extent anyone actually believes in Christianity it’s of a very modern and disenchanted sort – this is a society that sends out missionaries as a conscious tool of colonial expansion, not because of anything as silly or absurd as actually wanting to spread their gospel. Also like, it’s Oxford, in the nineteenth century. For all the racism the protagonists have to deal with, they should be getting so much more shit from ‘well-meaning’ locals and students trying to save their (one Muslim, one atheist, one probably Christian but black and protective of Haitian Vodou on a cultural level which would be more than enough) souls.

Or, and this is more minor, it is a central conceit of the whole finale that if a few (like, two) determined revolutionaries can infiltrate Babel they’ll be able to take the entire place hostage with barely any trouble. This is because the students and professors there are, basically, whimpy bookworms who’ll faint at the sight of blood and have no stomach for the sort of violence their work actually supports and drives. Which – look, I really don’t want to defend the ruling class of Victorian Britain here, but I’m not sure physical cowardice is really one of their failings, as a group? I mean, there’s an entire system of institutionalized child abuse in the boarding schools they went to to get them used to taking and dealing out violence and abuse. Basically every upper-class sport is thinly disguised military drill or ritual combat (okay, or rowing). Half of them would graduate to immediately running off and invading places for the glory of the queen. I’m not sure two sleep-deprived nerds with knives would actually have been able to cow the crowd here, is what I’m saying. (This would stick out less if the text wasn’t so dripping with contempt for them on precisely these grounds.)

Much less minor are our heroic revolutionaries themselves. And okay, this is more a matter of taste than anything but like – the Hermes Society is an illegal conspiracy of renegade current and former Babel scholars dedicated to using their knowledge of magic and access to university resources to oppose and undermine the British Empire in general and the work of the school in particular. Think Metternich’s worse nightmare, but in Oxford instead of Paris and focused on colonial liberation (continental Europe barely exists for the purposes of the book, Britain is Empire.) So! A secret society of professional revolutionaries in the heydey of just that, with a name that just has to be Hermetic symbolism, who concern themselves with both high politics and metaphysics.

They are just so very, very boring. This is the age of the Conspiracy of the Equals, the Carbonari, the Seasons! The literal Illumanti are still within living memory! Where’s the pageantry, the ritual, the grandiosity? The elaborate initiation rituals and oaths of undying loyalty? They’re so pragmatic, so humble, so (and I know I keep coming back to this) modern. It’s just such an utter wasted opportunity. Even beyond the level of aesthetics, these are revolutionaries with remarkably little positive ideology – the oppose colonialism and racism for reasons they take as self-evident and so don’t feel the need to theorize about it (and talk about them with the vocabulary of a modern activist, because of course they do), but they’re pretty much consciously agnostic as to what world should look like instead. They vaguely end up supporting a sort of petty-bourgeois socialism (in the Marxist sense), but the alliance with Luddites is essentially political convenience – they really don’t seem to have any vision of the future at all, either in England or the various places they claim as homelands.

On Empire and Industrialization

The story is set during the early nineteenth century, so of course the Industrial Revolution is a pretty core part of the background. The Silver Industrial Revolution, technically, since the Babellers translation magic is in this world a key and load-bearing part of it. Despite the addition of miracle-working enhancers and supports to its fundamental technology, the industrial revolution plays out pretty identically to history – right down to the same cities becoming hubs of industry, despite steam engines using enchanted silver instead of coal and thus, presumably, the entire economic and logistical system that brought this particular cities to prominence being totally unrecognizable. This is not a book that’s in any way actually about tracing how something would change history – which isn’t a complaint, to be clear, that’s a perfectly valid creative choice.

It does, however, make it rather galling that the single actually significant difference to history is that the introduction of magic turns the industrial revolution into a Legend of Zelda boss with a giant glowing weak point you can hit to destroy the whole enterprise.

On a narrative level, I get it – it simplifies things and allows for a far happier and more dramatic ending if destroying Babel is not just a symbolic act but also literally sends London Bridge falling down and scuttles the entire royal navy and every mill and factory in Britain. It’s just that I think that by doing so it trades away any chance for actually making interesting commentary on anti-colonial and -capitalist resistance. A world where a single act of spectacular terrorism really can destroy a modern empire is frankly so detached from our world that it ceases to be able to really materially comment upon it.

Like, the principle reason to not take the Luddites as your role models is not that they were morally vicious but that they were doomed – capitalism’s ability to repair damage to infrastructure and fixed goods is legitimately very impressive! Trying to force an entire ruling class not to adopt a technology that makes whoever commits to it tremendous amounts of money (thus, power) is a herculean task even when you have a state apparatus and standing army – adding an ‘off’ button to the lot of it just trades all sense of relevance for a satisfyingly cathartic ending.

(This is leaving untouched how the book just takes it as a given that the industrial revolution was a strictly immiserating force that did nothing but redistribute money from artisans to capitalists. Which certainly tracks as something people at the time would have thought but given how resolutely modern all the other politics in the work are rings really weirdly.)

All of which is only my second biggest issue with how the book presents its successful resistance movement. It all pales in comparison to making the Empire a squeamish paper tiger.

Like, the book hates colonialism in general and the British Empire in particular, the narrative and footnotes are filled with little asides about various atrocities and injustices and just ways it was racist or complicit in some particular atrocity. But more than that it is contemptuous of it, it views the empire as (as the cliche goes) a perpetually rotting edifice that just needs one good kick; that it persists only through the myth of its own invincibility, and has no stomach for violent resistance from within. Which is absolutely absurd, and the book does seem to know it on occasion when it off-handedly mentions e.g. the Peterloo Massacre – but a character whose supposed to be the grizzled cynical pragmatic revolutionary still spouts off about how slave rebellions succeed because their masters aren’t willing to massacre their own property. Which is just so spectacularly wrong on every axis its actually almost offensive.

More importantly, the entire final act of the story relies upon the fact that the British Empire would allow a handful of foreign students seize control of a vital piece of infrastructure for weeks on end and do nothing but try to wait them out as the national physically falls apart around them. Like, c’mon, there would be siege artillery set up and taking shots by the end of week two. As with the Oxford students, the Victorian elite had all manner of flaws – take your pick, really – but squeamishness wasn’t really one of them.

On Magic

So the magical system underlying the whole story is – you know how Machinaries of Empire makes imperial ideology and metaphysics literally magical, giving expert technicians the ability to create superweapons and destroy worlds provided that the Hexarchate’s subjects observe the imperial calendar of rites and celebrate its triumphs/participate in rituals glorying in the torture of its ‘heretics’? It’s not exactly a subtle metaphor, but it works.

Babel does something similar, except the foundational atrocity fueling the engine of empire on a metaphysical level is, like, cultural appropriation. As an organizing metaphor, I find this less compelling.

Leaving that aside, the story makes translation literally capable of miracle-working – which of necessity requires making ‘languages’ distinct natural categories with observable metaphysical boundaries. It then sets the story in the 19th century – the era of newborn nation states and education systems and national literatures, where the concept of the national-linguistic community was the obsession of the entire European intelligentsia. Now this is not a book concerned with how the presence of magic would actually have changed history, in the slightest, but like – given how fascinated it is by translation and linguistics you’d think the whole ‘a language is a dialect with a navy’ cliché would at least get a light mention (but then the book doesn’t really treat language as any more inherent or natural than it does any other modern identity category, I suppose.)

As an Allegory

Okay, so having now spent an embarrassing number of words establishing to my own satisfaction that the book really doesn’t work at all as a period piece, let us consider; what if it wasn’t trying to be?

A great many things about the book just fit much better if you take it as a commentary on the modern university with Victorian window-dressing. Certainly the driving resentment of Oxford as an institution that sustains itself and grows rich off the exploitation of international students it considers second-class seems far more apt applied to contemporary elite western schools than 19th century ones. Likewise the racism the heroes face all seems like the kind you’d expect in a modern English town rather than a Victorian one. I’m not well-versed enough on the economics of the city to know for sure, but I would wager that the gleeful characterization of Oxford as a city that literally starts falling to ruin without the university to support it was also less accurate in the 1830s than it is today.

Read like this, everything coheres much better – but the most striking thing becomes the incredible vanity of the book. This is a morality tale where the natural revolutionary vanguard with the power to bring global hegemony to its knees through nothing but witholding their labour are..students at elite western universities (not, I must say, a class I’d consider in dire need of having their egos boosted). The emotions underlying everything make much more sense, but the plot itself becomes positively myopic.

Beyond that – if this is a story about international students at elite universities, it does a terrible job of actually portraying them. Or, properly, it only shows a certain type; just about every foreign-born student or professor we meet is some level of revolutionary, deeply opposed in principle to the empire they work within. No one is actually convinced by the carrot of a life as an exploited but exceedingly comfortable and well-compensated technician in the imperial core, and there’s not really acknowledgement at all of just how much of the apparatus of international institutions and governments in the global south – including positions with quite a bit of real power – end up being staffed by exactly that demographic who just sincerely agree with the various ideological projects employing them. Kuang makes it far too easy on herself by making just about every person of colour in the books one of the good guys, and totally undersells how convincing hegemonic ideology can be, basically.

The Necessity of Violence

This is a pet peeve and it’s a very minor thing that I really wouldn’t bring it up if that wasn’t literally part of the title. But it is, so – it’s a plot point that’s given a decent amount of attention that Griffin (Robin’s secret older brother, grizzled professional revolutionary, his introduction to anti-colonialism) is blamed for murdering one of his classmates who had the bad luck to be studying while he was sneaking in to steal some silver – a student that was quite well-loved by the faculty and her very successful classmates, who have never forgiven him. Later on, it’s revealed that this is an utter rewriting of history, and she’d been a double agent pretending to let herself be recruited into the Hermes Society who’d been luring Griffin into an ambush when he killed her and escaped.

This is – well, the most predictable not-even-a-twist imaginable, for one, but also – just rank cowardice. You titled the book ‘the necessity of violence’, the least you can do is actually own it and show that violent resistance means people (with faces, and names, not just abstractions only ever talked about in general terms) who are essentially personally innocent are going to end up collateral damage, and people are going to hold grudges about it. Have some courage in your convictions!

Translation

Okay, all of that said, this isn’t a book that’s wholly bad, or anything. In particular, you can really tell how much of a passion Kuang has for the art and science of translation. The depth of knowledge and eagerness to share just about overflows from the page whenever the book finds an excuse to talk about it at length, and it’s really very endearing. The philosophizing about translation was also as a rule much more interesting and nuanced then whenever the book tried to opine about high politics or revolutionary tactics.

Anyways, I really can’t recommend the book in any real way, but it did stick in my head for long enough that I’ve now written 4,000 words about it. So at the very least it’s the interesting sort of bad book, y’know?

#book review #babel #r. f. kuang #sff #lesbian space atrocities #-ish #hatermode

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strawberrystepmom · 1 month

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umemiya and tv meteorologist f!reader are both in their mid to late twenties. cw food mentions. divider by cafekitsune, wc 2.2k

“And today’s skies are going to be sunny as ever, a little bit warmer than we usually see seasonally…”

Hajime raises his eyebrows at the TV, the sound of your voice gradually fading into nothing more than background static mixing with the sounds of cicadas indicating one hot summer is due to make its arrival sooner rather than later. He sighs and presses the back of his hand against his forehead, droplets of sweat soaked up by his gardening glove.

“A bit warmer?” He mutters to an audience of himself and his carefully cultivated plants he has spent years growing, most of the current crop shoots off of prior plants he painstakingly tended rather than from seeds.

It takes a long, long time and a lot of effort to build a community garden this elaborate but it has been time well spent as far as Umemiya is concerned. Tomatoes that are available for anyone who needs them will be abundant in approximately a month and so will cucumbers.

His official title in Makochi is Community Organizer though almost everyone knows the truth at this point - he’s still the man in charge of Bofurin. The young men who didn’t leave the town as soon as they graduated continued to follow Hajime’s lead to become upstanding members of the community, even if the means they keep themselves upstanding are a little questionable at times.

Your weather forecast ends and he flips the TV off, trimming the last of the small leaves sprouting off of the stem of his largest tomato plant and gently misting them to ward off this heat.

He’s still stuck on how you said it’s only slightly hotter than what tends to be seasonally normal, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. It clings to his body when he stands, emblazoned with the slogan of some bar he went to years ago in another prefecture, and looks around the garden with a smile. Inspecting each plant with careful precision, he notices the heat already scorching a few of his smaller plants and he simply cannot stand for it.

You say it’s warm when it’s hot, it’s gonna drizzle when it showers. It’s down right deceptive and for someone who takes his role as Community Organizer very seriously, he can’t stand for it.

When he gets home, he’ll send a letter to the local news station declaring his distaste with the inaccurate weather report.

—-

“You got another one.”

Fumi, one of the producers for the morning show, tosses an envelope on the corner of the newsroom that belongs to you. You have various charts and schedules you’re reviewing, glasses propped on your nose. You give the envelope a scant glance out of the corner of your eye until realizing that you recognize the tidy handwriting on the front of the letter.

“This is like the fourth one he’s sent,” you mumble to no one in particular and Fumi hums, pursing her lips.

The weather girl, as they’ve dubbed you despite your official title of a meteorologist, receives enough fan mail no one really fights for the job of delivering it. Sometimes it’s professions of love or letters expressing thankfulness for predicting good weather on an important day in someone’s life, other times the letters are less wholesome but you take it all surprisingly well.

This is just the fourth letter you’ve received from Hajime Umemiya and part of you is concerned it’s somewhere between love confession and threat of violence. You know nothing about the sender, a man you’ve never met before and likely never will, but his letters don’t carry the vaguely threatening aura some of the others you’ve received have. You simply haven’t had a chance to open them yet, the other three stuffed inside of your desk drawer.

“If we need to tell security, let someone know.”

Fumi’s words are half hearted in tone but you know she means them, walking off with a half wave and toward the producers booth. You glance at the letter again, plucking it off of your desk and slapping it against the palm of your opposite hand to make sure nothing is inside of it besides the letter itself.

When you’re satisfied that there is no mysterious, worrying rattle inside the envelope you slide your fingernail beneath the seal, loosening the paper. The letter inside is folded a little haphazardly, the edges lopsided instead of folded neatly and exact which makes you smile to yourself. Unfolding the paper, you scan over the opening.

“Dearest Weather Woman,

I hope that this letter finds you in good health.”

The formality makes you snort to yourself and you glance around the newsroom to make sure no one overheard you, uninterested in drawing a crowd, and you wonder if this guy read a book or searched for an article about writing formal letters before doing this. It’s so formal you’d be concerned where it came from if it weren’t from the slight smudges of ink dotting the paper in various locations.

“I am writing as a concerned member of the Makochi community who does not always find your reporting of the weather conditions to be accurate.”

Sighing, you drop the letter down on your desk and open the drawer beneath it to pull out the other three letters this concerned citizen has sent, following the same steps and smacking them against your palm to ensure nothing is inside of them. You unfold them quickly and far less carefully than the first one and smile when scanning and realizing they all say the same thing.

“My tomatoes are scorching this early in the season. This may gravely affect our output which may prevent our community from enjoying our garden.”

If the letters seemed less earnest, you’d laugh them off and scoff at the fact a stranger wants you to control the weather. That isn’t what he’s asking you to do but if it were, it’d be far from the first time someone has sent you psychobabble about the sun. There’s something distinctly responsible in the wording of these complaints despite their formality and you sigh, digging your own pen and paper out to respond.

What can you even say? “Sorry the planet is heating up” seems snarkier than you’d like to be so you twist back and forth in your chair, tapping the pen against your lower lip. An idea washes over you and you lean forward in your chair, bending over your desk and scribbling as quickly as you can to offer the stranger your solution.

If he wants to know more about how weather works, you’ll be glad to tell him more yourself if he can catch you at Café Pothos next week when you get one of your pre-show coffees. Scribbling down the date and time, you wonder for a moment if you are taking a risk by offering your time and location to a man you’ve never met but your gut tells you it’s okay. You’ve always trusted it and you stuff your response into an envelope, licking the seal and closing it while dashing off toward the mailroom to have it sent today.

——

Wednesday, 5:45 AM.

Hajime sits boredly at one of the small booths in the cafe, idly tearing bits of his straw wrapper into smaller bits and even smaller ones still.

“What if she’s lying to you and you’re going to get caught on camera being weird or something?” Kotoha shouts from behind the bar and the man sucks his teeth in response, blowing out air in a hiss. “I hope not. That wouldn’t be very nice after personally inviting me to meet.”

His words don’t belay his anxiety but he feels it, concerned his well meaning letters crossed a line though your response was kind and similar in tone to his own. Your letter is in his pocket, he likes your handwriting and has to fight the urge to keep from pulling it out to admire it.

“Good morning!”

He recognizes your voice from your broadcasts and his ears perk up, posture straightening as he looks over the back of the booth, surprised by how put together you look despite not being quite TV ready. Your face looks fresh and mostly makeup free, hair pulled off of your face with a clip. Kotoha looks up from the bar and smiles at you, clearly familiar.

“Morning. Your usual?”

Very familiar, obviously. Hajime raises a brow and looks at his own mug, filled to the brim with coffee he knew he wouldn’t drink when it was poured. He watches you and Kotoha exchange pleasantries, your cat shaped coin purse open as you fish out the last few needed to pay for your drink. Maybe he should have offered to do that for you? It’s too early in the morning for him to feel sure of himself so his eyes flit from your back to the table in front of him.

He isn’t much of a black coffee guy but it seemed right preparing for some kind of strange business meeting to have it. At least that's what he thought until you approached him, cup clanging against the plate beneath it and the brim of it overflowing with whipped cream. Shaking his head, Hajime picks up his own cup half heartedly and sips from it to make it seem like he is doing anything besides waiting.

You stop in your tracks just short of the booth and tilt your head, a smile far bigger than the one you wear on TV crossing your face.

“Oh, I didn’t recognize your name but now that I see your face I remember you. My colleague Jin interviewed you last year about the improvements to the school.”

Umemiya completes your sentence for you and smiles easily back at you, sitting back against the booth. You smile nervously all of a sudden, crowding into the side opposite him and bowing your head respectfully, the mountain of whipped cream on top of your coffee drooping when you set the cup down.

“Umemiya, right?”

The man nods, sipping the bitter coffee from the mug in his hand with a slight grimace that you politely do not mention.

“Hajime is my first name and you’re welcome to use it if you’d like.”

Giggling, you nod and reach for your own cup, delicately lifting it to your mouth and humming your approval as the taste officially starts your morning. He chuckles in response, blue eyes glancing across the table at you with a look you can’t quite name but you think it may be good old fashioned curiosity.

Truthfully, he’s just a little taken aback by how pretty you are up close but he sips his coffee again instead of opening his mouth. You finish your sip and clasp your fingers together on the table in front of you with a grin, easy and natural.

“Well, Hajime, before we begin I just want to let you know that while I am sorry about your tomato plants, I am not a witch and cannot control the weather.”

The sweet smile on your face lets him know you’re joking and he raises his brows, sighing and shaking his head. The corners of his mouth are upturned in a clever smile matching his own and he glances up at you through thick and long lashes, one of his brows remaining raised.

“With all due respect, tell that to my tomatoes.”

Snorting before bursting into laughter, you don’t bother to hide your face in your shoulder when he laughs along with you. You didn’t notice it when you first sat down but he’s extraordinarily handsome even for the predawn hour, white hair flopping over his eyes far more boyishly than it should be allowed to. His eyes are blue and lively, not unlike the skies you love to report on so much, smile big and bright.

“Anyway,” you finish laughing and clear your throat, still smiling. “Now that we have that out of the way, it’s really nice to meet you and I’m here for any questions you may have. We have thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes hardly seems like enough time to ask everything he wants to but he sits back, gently turning his wrist and making the coffee in his mug slosh gently. You giggle again, a very sweet sound that almost throws him off of his coffee twirling flow, lifting your own mug to your mouth.

“Why does it rain?”

Despite yourself, you laugh and rush to swallow your mouthful of coffee, wiping the corners of your lips free of any potentially embarrassing dribbles.

“I’ll need a lot longer than 30 minutes to explain that to you, Hajime.”

He wrinkles his nose, looking around the empty coffee shop.

“Then tell me what you can today and maybe we can meet again tomorrow?”

Mentally, you go over tomorrow’s schedule which coincidentally is the same as today and every day’s, and you nod at him with a loud exhale through your nose.

“Sure. Then maybe you can relay the info to your tomatoes so they can prepare?”

He grins at you, laughing from his chest. The depth of his laughter makes his shoulders gently shake, the long sleeved he wears shirt buckling over his chest.

“Yeah, I think they’d enjoy that.”

#umemiya x reader #umemiya hajime x reader #wind breaker x reader #kendall writes

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jadedxhearts · 4 months

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𝐁𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐢

You wear a new bikini with the intention of teasing Law with it. Only, your plan backfires on you.

Warnings: nsft, afab reader (no pronouns but Law does say “my girl”)

Originally posted on April 21st, 2023

repost from my main @jadedrrose as a part of my most popular fics event.

You’d practically doomed yourself from the very start of your evening out.

The crew was having a night out at some island, and truthfully you’d completely forgotten the reason why. It wasn’t anyone’s birthday, and there weren’t any holidays that you could think of. But, nevertheless you were excited for the excuse to dress up.

It was very hot and humid on the island you’d be spending your evening at; and even with the sun fading away, the heat just never left the air. You also knew it was a beach town, meaning just about everything was on the front of the island, bars and such all incredibly close to the water, some even built on the water. So, with this knowledge combined you decided on an outfit that would work best.

The base of it was a bikini. It was vibrant, your favorite color in a bright shade with a hibiscus floral pattern in white, littered across both the top and bottoms. It was also rather flimsy and small. The top was a basic triangle cup bikini shape that was held together by two string ties; one behind your neck and the other in your mid back area. The bottoms were similar, only the strings were more high-waisted and tied in little bows at your hips. The set was skimpy and daring, hardly hiding anything from wandering eyes. But it was an easy fix. You grabbed a pair of denim shorts and pulled them over the bikini, only leaving out the strings as the bows would get in the way. So while your ass was covered now, one could only imagine how the outfit looked underneath…

You slipped on a thin floral print open front shirt to cover up a bit more, then grabbed your favorite pair of sandals and sunglasses to complete the look. You reviewed the look over in your mirror, before deciding everything was set in place and you were ready to go.

When you emerged from the stairs of the submarine, it became evident that you were the last one to be ready. Some of the crew had stayed back to wait on you, but most had already departed for the island.

Law stood at the front of the group, wearing white shorts and similarly to you, an open front shirt with a pattern on it. He looked at you suspiciously, raising an eyebrow and scanning the outfit you wore. He only let out a light huff and didn’t say a word, though. Once you reached his side, he seemed flustered as he slipped your hand into his and muttered, “took ya long enough…”

You looked up to gaze at his face, playfully smiling. There was a hint of blush dusted across his cheeks. But, you decided not to embarrass him over it. “I wanted to look cute… for you,” you replied to him, leaning up to place a little kiss on his flushed cheek.

—

In the time that you’d spent pretty much partying in the beach town, you’d abandoned the shirt due to the heat. And now, since you were on the beach, you figured it would be fine to remove your shorts. Everyone else was in their swimwear, after all. It’s not like you’d stand out too much.

So you stood up from your seat in Law’s lap, stretching out your limbs before unbuttoning the shorts and moving your hands to slip them down your frame.

You’d only gotten them slipped just under your bottom when you were suddenly stopped.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Letting your hands and shorts freeze in the position they were in before you’d been stopped, you turned your head back to look at Law.

“Taking off my shorts so I can get in the water?”

It was only then you noticed you’d barely stepped a foot away from Law, so you were pretty much directly on display for him.

“Y/n… don’t you know what your bikini looks like?”

“Yeah, why?” You asked, trying to play along with him; pretending to be oblivious.

“I can see all of your ass, you’re practically wearing a thong.” He remarked, arms crossed as he frowned.

“Do you like it?” You teasingly asked, smirking down at him.

“Wh-? Yeah… but, I don’t want some creep looking at my girl’s ass.” He pouted, the same blush from earlier dusting across his face.

You giggled, deciding to let the shorts fall to the sand beneath your feet. “Fine then. You can come with me and cover my ass.”

“I can’t get in ocean water, y/n.”

Rolling your eyes, you decided to just return to his lap, only this time facing him. “Fine, fine. Honestly I just wore it to tease you… I didn’t really plan on letting anyone else see it anyway.”

“Then why did you-“

“To tease you,” you repeated, wrapping your arms around his neck and shimmying further into his lap.

Law sighed, placing one of his tattooed hands on your lower back. “And did you plan on paying for it, too?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t think you can just tease me and get away with no punishment,” he muttered into your ear, placing a small kiss on the skin of your neck.

Feeling more daring, you decided to just dig your own grave now. With a sultry grin, you moved to kiss Law, removing one arm from his neck and placing your hand against his face, holding him as your lips connected.

Law seemed to tense up, probably because of the rather intimate display of affection you two were showing in public, but he moved his free hand to grab your bare thigh, squeezing the soft skin in his grasp.

He briefly pulled away, but only far away enough to get some air. His breath came out hot as he panted against your wet lips, your mixed saliva still connecting you both together.

Just before Law could kiss you again, you subtly began to rock your hips, grinding your lower region against him. A breathy grunt escaped Law’s lips, his body tensing up even more as he hardened his grip on your back and thigh.

“Shit… you’re just asking for it now, hm?”

You decided then to reconnect your lips, giving hot, wet opened mouth kisses against his own lips. You pushed your hips down harder, whining at the friction of your just barely covered cunt against his hardening length.

Though your reply was late, you did so anyway, “mhm… please take me back home… punish me for being a whore, Law.”

Not wasting anymore time, Law practically shoved you off of him and slid your shorts back up, tossing your sandals and shirt at you before grabbing the towel you’d been laying on and taking your hand to lead you back to the sub.

—

As soon as you were back in your bedroom with the door locked behind you, Law jumped at you, grabbing your body and biting at the tender skin of your neck, sucking it between his teeth to mark you.

You let out a high-pitched cry, tilting your head back to give him more access. His lips were still wet, and as he dragged them across your skin, your neck became slick with his spit. The sensations felt so intoxicating; the slight pain of his bite before the feeling of his lips sucking you in, the hair of his goatee pleasantly scratching your skin.

“Law,” you quietly whined, legs shaking with need as you tried squeezing your thighs together, desperate to be touched. But his lips didn’t leave your throat.

“Law, please,” you pleaded, fisting his shirt into your palms. “I need you so bad…”

Finally, his attack on your neck ended and you watched with hazy eyes as Law looked down at your needy body with lust evident in his eyes, along with a mischievous look that meant you were really in for it this time.

Just before you could open your mouth to beg for him again, Law pushed you down onto the bed, grabbing at the fabric of the bikini top between your breasts, ripping the entire thing off of you.

He quickly tossed the garment away, wasting no time to put his tattooed hands on your chest, groping and massaging the plushy mounds. Another whine left your lips as his palms brushed against your nipples, and you leaned your back up into his touch.

“God, you’re so needy,” Law shook his head, removing his hands and watching with amusement as you cried from the loss of his touch.

Then he was grabbing your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he harshly flipped you over to lay on your tummy, one hand landing on your ass to hold you in place as the other delivered a teasing smack to your skin that poked out from underneath your ridden up shorts, which were removed from your body only a moment later.

Law didn’t even try to be gentle as he forced the denim off of you, throwing it away to free his hands. His palms were on your skin again, squeezing the fat of your bottom as he looked over what was left of your bikini.

The bottoms didn’t cover your ass at all, so when he spanked you again, the contact was directly on your skin this time with a loud slap.

“You bought this thing knowing it’d piss me off, didn’t you?”

You tried shrugging but that was difficult with your current position. “I knew you’d like it on me… but not in public.”

“Exactly,” he hissed, smacking you again. “You’re such a brat, y/n.”

Letting go of your bottom, Law hastily untied the bows from your hips and pulled the rest of your bikini off. Once that too was tossed away, he freed himself from the restraint of his shorts. You continued to whine, voice louder now as he rubbed his cock against your skin, spitting down at it to get it wet.

“Law, please!” You begged, “I need to feel you in me… I don’t care what else you do, just stuff me!”

“Don’t care what else?” He echoed your words, lining the tip of his member up with your soaked cunt. “This is a punishment, don’t forget. How about you don’t get to cum until I say so?”

You whined, clearly not liking that idea; but you had no say in whether or not Law would do it.

You felt one of Law’s hands slip into your hair, grabbing fistfuls of it before pulling on it and finally sliding into your throbbing pussy at the same time. Already it was hard to not cum from that alone, and all you could do was moan and scream in frustration as you tried to hold your orgasm back.

Law’s pace was ruthless and hard, not giving you any time to adjust to the stretch from his cock as he repeatedly slammed himself into you, getting lost in the feeling of your warm walls fluttering around him as you tried fitting him in.

Already, your cunt was flooding with juices and that only created more opportunity for Law to fuck you faster, hitting into you more forceful than before; lewd squelching noises accompanied by the slapping of skin echoing throughout the bedroom.

You moaned and grasped desperately at the sheets underneath you, letting your entire body rock back and forth from the motion of Law’s hard thrusts. “ah-ahh. Law!

“Law! I can’t hold it in anymore,” you cried and begged, letting his name fall from your lips a few more times. “L-Law! Please, I need to cum, Law! I can’t take it!”

You listened for his approval but all you got were grunts and loud pants from behind you, Law not giving you any mercy as he kept up with the abuse on your cunt.

“Law! I- I can’t- Law,” you screamed, clenching hard onto his cock in an attempt to stop yourself from cumming.

“I don’t give a damn anymore,” he groaned. “Just cum, baby… cum on my cock.”

With his approval, you finally let yourself go and moaned loudly into the mattress as you came; creaming on Law, leaving a white ring of your cum around his cock.

And Law wasn’t far behind, he continued to fuck you, slam his cock into your spasming pussy for just another moment before tightening his grip on your hips, thrusts becoming sloppy as he let himself start cumming.

He let out a flustered moan as his hot seed began spilling into you, but he quickly pulled away and let the rest of his cum spill onto your back, leaving a warm sticky mess on your skin.

You both panted heavily, catching your breath and calming down from the intense punishment you’d just endured. After a moment, you felt his mess being wiped off of you, Law gently cleaning you off before turning you on your back so he could look at your face.

His soft hand cupped your cheek and a kiss was placed on your lips. “You okay, y/n-ya?”

You nodded, blinking away the tears from your eyes. Another kiss against your lips, and you wrapped your arms around Law once again.

Lifting you up into his hold, Law decided you deserved a relaxing warm bath after what he’d put you through. He carried you to the bathroom, kissing your shoulder and whispering quiet “I love you”s to you the whole way.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x you #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar d law x reader #law x you #law x reader #law x y/n #one piece x reader

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tinydefector · 2 months

Text

Transformers reacting to Nipple piercings

Characters: Mtmte Rodimus, ROFB Mirage, TFP Knockout

Warnings: slight nsfw, oral fixation, nipple piercings, hinted smut, piercing care.

If people enjoy this series I might make some others.

Word count 3K

Request and ask open, read pinned post

_______________

Rodimus

They couldn't sit still. The fabric of their shirt continued to rub against their skin in an unpleasant manner, ignoring it was the only option at that moment. They sat on Rodimus' desk helping him with reports. "How's your report going Rodimus?" They ask while trying to get in a more comfortable position.

Rodimus sighed in frustration as he reviewed the long list of maintenance reports in need of sign-off. "Not great," he replied. "There always seems to be more work to do than cycles in a solar cycle. I don't know how Megatron keeps up with it all. or how Ultra Magnus can write so much" He offers a rueful smile. "Thanks for helping me plough through these. It's much more bearable with help and company."

Taking note of the fidgeting, Rodimus asked gently, "Is your plating bothering you? I wish we had better abrasives to smooth the rough spots. Being cooped up inside the Lost Light so much can't be easy on your systems." His optics shone with compassion for his human friend's discomfort.

"It's called a shirt Rods, humans wear them kinda like how you bots have plating over your body, And no the fabric is just irritating my skin today, keeps catching on my piercings" they mumble the last part to themself.

A curious look came over Rodimus's face. "Piercings? What in the Pits are those?" he asked.

"They are little decorative pieces of metal we have put through our skin. Some we wear in our ears, nose, lips, eyebrows, it's a little bit of a painful process but they are pretty" they explained.

Rodimus nodded thoughtfully at further explanation on human piercings. "I can see the appeal of adornments, even if the application sounds rather narely," he said. Furrowing his optics, Rodimus peered more closely at their frame. "Hmm, if they're meant to be visible decorations, then why can't I see any of you now?" he wondered aloud. "Are they retractable like transformation seams? Or is human flesh somehow capable of covering them up? Your species never ceases to perplex me with your biological quirks and tricks."

They laugh loudly before wincing slightly. "They aren't always on display, but no we can't retract them but we can take them out. Mine are just under the shirt is all. And feel rather tender at the moment"

"So they come out, huh?" Rodimus responded thoughtfully. Curiosity piqued, he asked, "Do you have them on you now under the shirt? Can I see? Do they have lights or are they just metal?."

He tilted his head inquisitively. "Fleshly adornments are such an alien concept to me." Pausing, Rodimus added excitedly.

With a small shake of their head in amusement at Rodimus' curiosity they speak again. "Sure I'll let you have a look." They are quick to discard their shirt sitting there so Rodimus can look. Each nipple has a bar though it with a little ball at each end. Rodimus is overly eager to touch and inspect.

Careful with his touches, Rodimus leaned in slowly for a closer look. "Fascinating," he murmured, optics shining with wonder at the novel modifications. Up close, he was even more intrigued by the symmetrical placements and elegant simplicity of the adornments. Softly, as if handling something incredibly fragile, Rodimus raised a finger and ghosted it above one glistening bar, mesmerised by the contrast of cool metal against warm flesh.

Servo hovering, as always mindful of organic delicacy. Rodimus barely grazed the ball end with his fingertip, amazed by its give underneath hard plating. Cybertronian armour was rigid and unyielding; sensitive inner workings always shielded. He had much to learn about life beyond his kind.

a soft gasp leaves their lips as Rodimus' digit graze against their chest. The piercings themselves were still rather tender, but the soft touch of cold metal against them left goose bumps across skin, they relaxed into the touch. Both their works are forgotten.

Rodimus noted the soft intake of air and sensations rendering their plating sensitive. "My apologies, I didn't mean to make it hurt," he said gently. When they relaxed into his feather-light touch, seemingly soothed rather than aggravated, Rodimus felt his curiosity heightening. The smooth textures and varied temperatures called out to his sensor net to further discern material properties through all means available.

Leaning closer still, Rodimus let his optics dim and his glossa slowly extended, barely brushing one adornment in a tactile sampling. Cool and slick, it traced intricate shapes with an elegance beyond his plated appendages alone.

eyes shoot open wide as they feel the cool touch of Rodimus glossa against the flushed skin, biting back a moan at the pleasant sensation. "Having fun?" They asked in a teasing tone, not stopping the bot from exploring, enjoying the feeling of Rodimus' glossa.

"Frag, sorry, curiosity tends to get the better of me," Rodimus replied lightly, though his field betrayed growing enthusiasm.

He held their gaze, optics half-shuttered, as his glossa traced delicate circles, learning every contour. Something in the way pleased noises were stifled stirred Rodimus's core, spurring his exploration ever onward in a dance of discovery.

Soft ex-vents ghosted warmly over newly sensitised skin, it prickles with more goosebumps as the air brushes the areas he had run his glossa across. eliciting subtle tremors that Rodimus felt to his struts.

They gasp and moan softly as Rodimus softly sucks on the tender skin. "Fuck Rodimus feels good" The young human arches into the touch as Rodimus' other servo slowly teases the other nipple.

Tracing lower, Rodimus' glossa circled delicately, tasting the sweet warmth of their skin through every sensor. His free servo rolled the other nub skillfully, marvelling at how small fluctuations elicited outsized effects.

Ventilation hitched as strange new feelings rose in Rodimus's spark. He focused on their pleasure, marvelling at them. slowly they pull Rodimus back, breathing slightly heavy from the experience. "I think that's enough exploring for one day Roddy, we still have reports to finish"

Rodimus loathes having to release the soft nipple from his intake, it makes Rodimus Rodimus rumbled apologetically as duty calls them back to boring reports. Yet parting from sweet flesh proved unexpectedly difficult after such revelation of how it tasted, It's addictive.

"Just a moment more," he pleaded between languid sucks, unable to relinquish the heady sensations. Never had something like this tempted him so much.

Mirage

Mirage had caught a glimpse of the piercings a few times. Mainly when he had been intimate with his lover, the small metal bars thought their nipples had never escaped his processor, But as they sat together a question lingers on mirages mind. What were they?

"Raj can you grab me a tarp, gonna need it when I do this oil change on This car" they call out.

Mirage processes the request, grabs one of the tarps from the storage area and brings it over to where his friend is working on the vehicle. He sets it down nearby so it's ready when needed.

"Here is the tarp. So..." he thinks back to the memory files of their intimate moments together "I have been curious about those things in your chest. On your nipples specifically. What made you decide to get those? Just something you found aesthetically pleasing? Or is there another reason behind it?"

"My piercings?, I got them as a dare a while back, hurt like a bitch getting them done but I don't really mind them now, until they get stuck on things then they burn, mainly keep them in because I like them" they explain as they move around getting set up to do the oil filter change. Bucket set up under the car.

Mirage listens to the explanation with interest, tilting his head slightly as he processes the words. A playful smirk spreads across his faceplates as his friend mentions the piercings occasionally getting stuck on things.

"Is that so? Well I can understand the appeal of a dare, though personally I think I'm too clever to ever get myself into such a predicament." He chuckles cockily, exuding an air of lighthearted smugness.

"As for liking how they look, I have to agree they do add a certain... aesthetic flair" His optics briefly glance over their body in a subtle once-over before meeting their gaze again with a grin.

"Just be sure not to let those piercings of yours get snagged on any wiring or plating during that oil change. Wouldn't want anything... sticking unexpectedly." He waggles his optical ridges suggestively.

"Let me know if you need an extra set of hands though. Wouldn't want an... accident to occur down there." Mirage offers his assistance in a playfully teasing tone, enjoying the back-and-forth banter as usual.

"Raj! Please, I'm working here! Perv" They call out swatting the bots hand away. They focus in on the car they are under. "Can you pass me the 10mm socket wrench" the call out while setting up their small touch to see.

Mirage chuckles good-naturedly at getting swatted away. "Ah, you know you love it when I tease," he says lightheartedly.

Making an exaggerated show of pretending to pout with downturned optical ridges and a small smirk, Mirage turns towards the tool cart. "Alright alright, no more distractions while you work."

He rummages around briefly before producing the requested 10mm socket wrench. Mirage saunters back over and holds it down for his friend, lover? to take it easily.

Settling back against the wall again, Mirage watches them get to work on the vehicle, angling his helm thoughtfully. "You know, you perform repairs so dexterously." He teases

They work quickly with undoing the oil cap to drain it. But when they lose grip on the small screw they curse. Oil spilling out quicker than expected. "Son of a bitch!" They hiss. Moving quickly after getting oil spilt over them. It makes mirage chuckle in amusement.

Mirage can't help but chuckle in mild amusement as he watches the spat of unintentional spillage. "Well well, looks like someone needs to tighten their grip," he quips lightheartedly, unable to resist the playful jab.

They roll out from under the car, oil covering them, they grumble trying to get the shocked shirt off before more of it could get on their skin or in their hair. And there they are on display again, those nipple piercings mirage liked so much, oil and grease lingering on the skin

Mirage's attention is immediately drawn to the piercings on display as his friend struggles to remove their shirt. His engine emits a subtle purr at the tantalising sight, optics roving appreciatively over the grease-stained form before him.

"Well well, what have we here?" he speaks in a low, smug tone, cocky attitude radiating off him in waves. "It seems our little spill has left quite the...messy situation."

His gaze subtly lingers on the piercings, glistening with oil, before trailing back up slowly to meet thier eyes. A grin plays across his faceplates, brimming with self-assured confidence.

"Need a hand cleaning all that grim off? I'd be happy to...lend a digit or two. And perhaps a glossa too, if you'd like - can't have precious jewellery like that staying filthy now, can we?"

He steps closer, fuel pump thrumming in approval at the enticing view. Mirage oozes smug charm, revelling in the alluring scenario before him. "What do you say...care for some assistance?"

"God you're a nuisance " the huff, but let mirage continue with his antics. Mirage lets out a playful chuckle at his friend's exasperated remark.

"A nuisance, am I? You wound me so." He clasps a hand dramatically over his spark, optics swirling with mirthful mischief.

"But you haven't said no yet..." Mirage points out, emboldened by the lack of outright refusal.

Stepping closer still so they're mere inches apart, he levels his friend with a gaze of smouldering intent, laughter fading to a flirtatious smirk.

"Come now, we both know you enjoy my particular brand of...nuisance. And I do so want to help clean you up properly." His field pulses with suggestive magnetism as nimble digits reach out to gently brush over their exposed skin in a teasing caress.

"Unless...you'd really rather I leave you to your grimy predicament?" Mirage whispers huskily.

"Get me a towel, Raj, then I'll think about it," they state, standing there with a smile as they wait for him to grab a towel.

"As you wish." Mirage's engine rumbles with delighted intrigue as he accepts the challenge.

Whirling on his heelstrut with a flourish, Mirage makes his way towards the storage closet at a leisurely stroll. Rummaging briefly, he selects one of the largest, grease towels.

Returning to his still-grease-laden friend, Mirage holds out the towel with an elegant flourish and a sly smirk. "Well? Have I earned the privilege of assisting further?" he inquires softly,

"Say the word, and I'll gladly help..."

"Trying to get in my pants again?" They ask teasingly before leaning back into the bot's touch, letting mirage help clean up the mess. Mirage chuckles low in his throat at the playful accusation, a hint of arousal mixing in with their humour.

"Guilty as charged." He flashes a roguish grin, azure optics dancing with mischief and desire.

"Can you blame me, though?" Holding their teasing gaze, Mirage leans in to press a kiss to their cheek, his cooling ex-vents puffing against plating still warm from work. "How could I resist such beauty, even coated in oil?"

Knockout

Knockout smirked as he leaned against the medical table, crossing his arms over his chassis. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my favourite lovely little human in distress," he purred, his voice dripping with charm. " I'd ask what trouble you have gotten yourself into, but where's the fun in that? I'd much rather tease you a bit first."

He sauntered closer, his optics lingering "Now, how did this happen, darling? Neglecting proper care for these delicate human chest adornments? It's a shame, I happen to rather enjoy your little jewellery pieces" he chuckled, his tone laced with amusement.

They don't look impressed, looking away when knockout asks how it happened. "Went out on a mission ended up in mud and now they hurt '' they hiss under their breath. "Knockout please I just need some help. I'm not embarrassing myself by going to ask ratchet for help!" They hissed.

Knockout raised an optic ridge, slightly taken aback by the lack of enthusiasm from the human. He couldn't resist a chuckle at their stubbornness. "Oh, darling, you wound me," he replied, feigning a hurt expression. "But fear not, for I am here to help. No need to embarrass yourself."

They continue sitting there uncomfortably while knockout moves around grabbing what he needed. Knockout sets up a dish of salty water with a cloth. His optics flickered with focus as he set up the necessary supplies, preparing to tend to the infected piercings. He approached the human with a suave yet professional air, gesturing for them to remove their shirt so he could properly examine and treat the area.

"Now, now, don't be shy," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a hint of playfulness. "We've got to get a good look at those piercings if we want to fix them up, don't we?"

As the human complied, Knockout dipped the cloth into the dish of salty water, ensuring it was properly soaked. With a gentle touch, he began to clean the infected piercings, his movements precise and careful. "Try to relax," he advised with a soft, soothing tone. "I know it stings a bit, but trust me, you'll feel much better once we've taken care of this."

He continued to work, his optics focused on the task at hand, all the while maintaining a charming demeanour. Knockout couldn't help but let a small smile play on his lips as he worked his medic magic, determined to alleviate the human's discomfort and make them forget their initial reservations about seeking his help.

They sit there quietly avoiding knockouts gaze, as the medic continues cleaning the inflamed piercings. Knockout couldn't help but notice the human's avoidance of his gaze, their quietness speaking volumes. He continued to clean the inflamed piercings with utmost care, his touch gentle and precise. As he worked, he couldn't resist a small sigh, his usual charm momentarily fading.

"Look, I know I can come across a bit... overwhelming," he admitted, his voice softening. "But I want you to know that I genuinely care about your well-being. I may be a Decepticon, but that doesn't mean I can't be a good medic, and primus knows im not letting an infection get you my dear"

With a final, gentle touch, Knockout finished cleaning the piercings and set aside the cloth. He reached for the disinfectant and carefully applied it to the affected area, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Just a little more, and then we'll be done," he assured, his voice filled with sincerity. "You'll be feeling better in no time, I promise."

"Thanks and please don't tell everyone, don't need the whole base knowing about this" they state while motioning to the piercings.

Knockout flashed a charming smile as he applied the cream to alleviate the inflammation around the piercings. "Your secret is safe with me, my dear," he assured, his voice filled with sincerity. "As much as I enjoy a bit of gossip, I understand the importance of privacy, especially when it comes to matters like these."

He leaned in closer, his optics gleaming mischievously. "But remember, secrets have their price," he teased playfully. "Perhaps a dance or a playful conversation in the future can serve as payment for my discretion."

Straightening up, Knockout took a step back, admiring his handiwork. "There you go, all taken care of," he said, his tone gentle. "Just remember to keep an eye on them and follow the aftercare instructions I've given you. If there are any issues or if they don't improve, don't hesitate to come see me."

"I will thank you again, and I might give you that dance once they heal, but don't expect anything" they reply while pulling on their shirt again.

Knockout chuckled, his optics gleaming with amusement. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of expecting anything more than a dance, my dear," he replied with a sly smirk. "But who knows? Sometimes, unexpected connections can be quite delightful."

He watched as they pulled on their shirts, "When those piercings have fully healed, you know where to find me," he said, his voice filled with a mix of charm and sincerity. "I'd be more than happy to share a dance with you, no strings attached."

#transformers mirage #transformers #valveplug #rodimus #transformers rodimus #transformers knockout #transformers x reader #transformers x human #mirage #Knockout #mtmte #tfp #tf rotb #mirage x reader #knockout x reader #rodimus x reader #mtmte rodimus #rotb mirage #tfp knockout

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back2bluesidex · 11 months

Note

Delicate, Yoongi, implied smut?

Delicate - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Yoongi X Reader

Theme: implied smut, a hint of angst, fluff, strangers to lovers AU

Song: Delicate

Word count: 1290

Warnings: Mention of drinking, one night stand, reader is head over heels for Yoongi.

Minors and Karens Are Not Allowed in this Blog!!

A/N: Thank you so much for this request Anon! Delicate is one of my personal favorites. and especially thank you for confirming your age, I appreciate you for complying with my request. Hope you like this one and hit me with your feedback.

The bartender smiles at you as you settle down on a bar stool.

“Welcome back.” he greets. You are half shocked to find out that he actually remembered you after seven long months.

“You remember me?” You return his smile.

“How could I not? You are certainly one of the most beautiful yet humble ladies I have ever served.” he compliments and your smile widens.

“Thanks..” you reply, being quite flattered.

“Will you take the same as that night?” the bartender asks.

Just the mention of that night spreads goosebumps on your entire body. Oh how you want to repeat that night, how you want to end in that same position over and over again. You must be a freak for wanting so, but you don’t care.

“Yes, yes please.” You murmur your order.

You do a quick scan of the bar, trying to find that one face you came all the way here for. But to your dismay, you don’t find what you are looking for. You get no sight of him.

“He is not here tonight.” the bartender pipes in while placing your drink down on the bartop.

“Huh? I- I didn’t get you.” you lie.

“You are looking for him. The guy from that night. Aren’t you?” he smirks.

“I won’t say no.” You take a sip of your drink, “is he a regular here?”

“Yes. Almost. But never seen him hitting on anyone other than you though.”

“Oh.” you reply, taking another sip. The bartender gives you one last smile before he leaves you to your own devices.

As soon as the space is empty, you let your mind (and heart) drift back to that night of seven months ago.

Seven months ago

“Long island iced tea is the best choice if you want something refreshing.” a voice interrupts your menu reviewing process as you look up from the screen to take a look at the owner of the voice.

You are spellbound. Your eyes have never had the privilege of resting on a more handsome man. His pale skin perfectly compliments his feline eyes and thin lips. His long and dark hair reaches to his nape enhancing his beauty even more. If there is anything you could compare his beauty to then it would be a mansion with a view of a wide blue sky and equally blue ocean.

You don’t realize that you are staring at the stranger with your mouth hanging open.

You only get your composure back when his bicep brushes with yours as he tries to settle on the bar stool next to yours.

You avert your eyes from him and proceed to place your order, “One long island iced tea please.” The bartender nods.

“Thanks for the suggestion.” you look at him again, this time with a small smile adoring your lips.

He smiles back at you and god! Why is your heart acting up like this? You look away not being able to tame your hormones that are making you feel all giddy in the presence of a handsome stranger.

“Is this your first time here? In this bar? I haven’t seen you around before.” he asks and you face him again.

“Ah yeah. I am visiting Daegu for a family function and going back to Seoul tomorrow… so… enjoying some alone time, I suppose.” you don’t know why you are spilling up so many TMIs, when only a ‘yes’ could have worked perfectly.

“I see. Nice to meet you Miss….” he raises one of his eyebrows playfully.

“Y/N” you complete for him.

“Yes. Y/N. I’m Min Yoongi.”

“Nice to meet you too, Yoongi.”

That night ended up with you withering under Yoongi while he pounded into you, with your fingers tangled up into his long dark hair that you liked so much. You loved everything about that night. You loved everything about Min Yoongi. Staring from his dark jeans and Nike shoes, the way his footsteps sounded on the hotel staircase, to the way his cock felt in your tight cunt, the way he sucked on your nipples and bit on them to make you whimper, the way he painted your skin with bruises that took days to disappear and especially the way his lips fit with yours as if they were made for each other.

Next morning you woke up beside him with his body pressing into yours. You had to bid him goodbye in a haste since your bus was leaving within an hour. You regret not asking for his number or anything else other than his name. But then again, you were just his one night stand and he could have easily rejected your proposition. So it’s probably for the best.

However, there’s not a single day you haven’t thought of him in these seven months. His face, his touches, his kisses keep coming back to you almost every time you close your eyes. And as a result, you are here, after seven damn months. You don’t even know if you are going to see him or not. And if you do, then you don’t even know if he will recognize you or not. And if he does then, you don’t even know if he will ignore you or not.

You inhale sharply as you take another sip of your long island iced tea.

“Welcome back… Y/N” and there it is, the voice you were craving to hear. The man that you are here for. You follow his voice and you see the man standing there with all of his glory, giving you one of his gummy smiles and taking all of your breath away.

“Yoongi.” you smile back in awe.

“Didn’t think I was going to see you again.” he says coming closer to you.

“Neither did I.” you mutter.

Silence settles between you two as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“Do you have any plans tonight?” Yoongi questions.

“Not really.” you answer.

“Then.. would you like to go for a walk? By the beach?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t wanna freak you out but I couldn’t stop thinking of you since that night.” you murmur in between the kiss. The moonlit sea is roaring before you.

“Neither could I. Why did you think Jimin called me as soon as you arrived at the bar?” Yoongi breathes out placing chaste kisses on your lips.

“Jimin? The bartender? You know him personally?” you detach your mouth from his and look into his beautiful eyes.

He gives you a small smile, “well, he is more like a friend and less like an employee.”

“Employee? Wait- you own that bar?” you untangle your hands from his neck and try to stand straight only for him to push you back on the wall and press his body on yours even more.

“Yes. and you are the first customer I have ever hit on since the birthday of my bar.”

You giggle, “Really? Then I must be lucky.”

“Maybe? Or maybe you just made me crazy?” Yoongi’s lips come closer to yours once more.

“I did?”

“I know it’s too soon to make promises but that one night wasn’t enough. I want to know you more, discover you more, fall for you more.” Yoongi whispers right into your month.

"Yoongi-"

"Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate." he cuts you off.

“What do you think I am here for Yoongi?” you ask him, “I want you just as much.” you seal your lips with his.

This time the night ends with you watching the sun rise on the beach, standing barefoot on the sand as Yoongi wraps you from behind in a tight back hug while promising each other more than just nights from now on.

#bts smut #yoongi smut #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #bts x you #yoongi x you #bts fanfiction #bts angst #bts fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfic #suga #min yoongi

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luxthestrange · 4 months

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TWST Incorrect quotes#690 Same Boat Gang

This is a song I feel resonates with...Ruggie stans, Jamil Stans

Yuu*After seeing his sad past that turned them into the...piece of work, he turned out to be and sighs*...

So things look bad, and your back's against the wall Your whole existence seems fuckin' hopeless You're feelin' filthy as a dive bar bathroom stall Can't face the world proudly and dopeless~

You've lost your way, ya think your life is wrecked Well, let me just say you're correct~

Ruggie/Jamil*Is sitting down, feeling the worst then eyes widen confused at you* Wait, what?

Yuu*Smirking at him taking dancing steps back with a beat In your step,making a "L" with your finger on your forehead* You're a loser, baby A loser, goddamn, baby You're a fucked up little whiny bitch~

Ruggie/Jamil*Offended seeing you dance around him mocking him* Hey!

Yuu: You're a loser, just like me~

Ruggie/Jamil: Thanks, asshole

Yuu: You're a screws loose Loser An only one-star reviews-er You're a power-bottom at rock bottom But you got company~

Ruggie/Jamil: This supposed to make me feel better?!

Yuu*Looking at your own reflection and thinking about your past while also the BS you have to deal with Crowley* There was a time I thought no one could relate To the gruesome ways in which I'm damaged But lettin' walls down, it can sometimes set you straight! We're all livin' in the same shit-sandwich

Ruggie/Jamil*Looking at his own hands at all the damage and hurt he caused others from his less-than-ethical deeds and now people close to him*... I sold my soul to a Depressed Freak/Dumbass Freaks-

Yuu*Snickers at that and raises a brow at him, Holding a hand out for him to take* Haha! And you think that makes you unique? Get outta here, man!~ We're both losers, baby We're losers, it's okay to be a~

Ruggie/Jamil: Greedy, Puppeter Thief?/Pridefull, Brainwashing Liar?

Yuu*Getting close to him with a smile* Baby, that's fine by me~

Ruggie/Jamil*Smiles and starts to get into the groove and proudly singing* I'm a loser, honey~ A schmoozer and a dummy But at least I know I'm not alone~

Both of you in harmony: You're a loser, Just like me~

Ruggie/Jamil*Leans on your back and looking at your affectionately* You're a loser, baby~

Yuu: A loser, but just maybe if we~

Both of you: Eat shit together, things will end up differently

Yuu*Both of you start to dance in each other's arms as you sing to him your feelings* It's time to lose your self-loathin' Excuse yourself, let hope in, baby Play your card, be who you are~

Both of you holding each others hands as you gaze into each other's eyes: A loser, just like me

youtube

When you are both dependent on this rich guy who practically owns your entire life by now and a whole ass income...Same boat Gang~

#twst #twst disney #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x yuu #twst yuu #twst savanaclaw #twst scarabia #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie bucchi x yuu #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper x yuu #jamil viper #twst fluff #twst incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #Youtube

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yandere-romanticaa · 4 months

Text

The moon has risen and the clanking of mugs in the air rings loudly inside the bustling tavern, signaling the end of another working day and the start of a new fun filled evening. Well, for the patrons at least, not the bartender. He didn't mind, despite his stoic face. As per usual, the young master mixed the drinks and created absolute perfection, the colorful liquid shimmering brightly against the light as his fingertips swiftly danced across the wooden counter, serving yet another satisfied customer. They thanked them profusely and he nodded politely, his face neutral and curt. Amongst the hustle and bustle, no one was able to see that the bartenders mind was quite preoccupied.

You were wearing the red dress he had gotten you recently. Diluc could feel the corners of his mouth twitching in excitement as the happiness of the simple gesture made his chest swell with pride.

The dress he had picked out was modest but tasteful. He was no prude by any means, anyone with a pair of proper eyes could see your beauty. He lowered his ruby red eyes up and down your body, admiring each and every curve he could see. Each little bow, every piece of exposed skin - it set his heart ablaze. Diluc licked his upper lip as he felt the tips of his ears turn red, shame overcoming him.

What was he doing? He was no wild animal, he had no right to oogle you in such a manner. He ought to give you the respect you deserve. Yes, perhaps he ought to keep him hands to himself, just to be safe. Maybe later in the evening if he felt brave enough, he could go say hello. Offer you a drink too, non alcoholic, obviously. It was a brand new creation of his, he was curious to hear your thoughts on it. You always gave him such colorful reviews, he couldn't help but to turn you into his unofficially official favorite taste tester.

Besides, he just liked to spoil you with free drinks. It was the least he could do.

And just like that, all was well. The night was slow but he was used to it. He had a lot of energy that evening so he insisted on taking things in stride for the time being. He watched the various patrons enter and exit the bar, all of various ages and genders. Old men past their prime, flocks of young women who he could hear gossiping about him even from the other side of the bar, a few loners here and there, nothing too out of the ordinary.

Taking a glass in his hand, Diluc raised it slightly in the air and pointed it in your direction, an attempt to hide his true motives. To anyone near him it just looked like he was searching for a stain but Diluc knew better.

He could not get his eyes off of you.

Strong fingers gripped the frail glass, a few cracks forming on it as Diluc felt his heart leap straight out from his chest as the sound of your laughter reached his ears. There really was nothing quite like it, no love song, no hymn could ever compare. The man closed his eyes and savored the sound, like one would when eating a decadent chocolate. Lovely and divine, Diluc could already feel the burst of sweetness inside of him, taking over his entire being as he got swept up in the moment.

A moment which was all too cruelly taken away from him once he saw a man place his hand around your waist.

Diluc staggered and choked on the air for a split second, nearly causing a commotion by dropping the glass from his hand. He managed to catch it in a nick of time, it just barely touching the ground.

...That was too close for comfort. The same could be said for that mysterious companion of yours. What was he doing, touching you so carelessly? Even from that far away there was no mistaking the flames of want in that man's eye and if he could, he would steal a kiss from your sweet lips right there and then. Diluc pressed his lips in a tight line as he continued to clean the mugs in a hurried manner, his mind going haywire by the minute.

You remained oblivious to his pining, as did the man. He despised the fact that the sweetness in his heart was gone, replaced with this vile, putrid blob of inky blackness, shredding his insides bit by bit. A few flickers of angry fire accidentally left his fingertips and it took all of Diluc's willpower to not grab the greatsword hidden in the back and slash the man into minced meat. He could already feel the taste of copper in his mouth as the man would scream and scream in the night, but no one would hear him, no would would come to his aid.

Diluc was far too intelligent and rich to ever have such a crime be traced back to him.

Jealousy consumed him, the all too familiar feeling of the green eyed monster was a demon Diluc had to grapple with on a daily basis, and he did not have a clue on how to tame it.

His heart ached for you, it burned for the need to merge your soul with his but for the love of Barbatos, he always promoted to tail you from the shadows instead, shooting himself in the foot in the process. He could not resent you for not being aware of his feelings because he was a fool, a coward too scared of being rejected, forcing him to simmer in his own bitter feeling.

It was torture.

Diluc lowered his gaze downwards and sighed. He recalled the love stories he had read over the years and this was not how he pictured his playing out. All of those stories made the pining sound so romantic and eloquent but he knew better now.

Lies. Those were all lies, he was in Hell and he was angry.

Later in the evening when he could, he was going to strike. He could not risk it, he could not risk you falling for anyone other than him. He was a selfish man and he hated himself for that.

But seeing you in the arms of another... Now that, that made him seethe.

🎀 TAGS: @genshinarchives, @mod-kisa-blog, @juuuuuj101010, @xiaopleasecomehome, @mayulli, @cc-6789, @saturnalya, @alatusprinz, @lakxcpsta, @mewmeowmika, @ranposgirlboss, @goldenglow149

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gunnerfc · 5 months

Text

Charity Event | Alexia Putellas x Actress!Reader

Summary: You’re one of Alexia’s favorite actresses and when you both attend the same charity event, Alexia tries her best to play it cool despite how excited she is to meet you.

Warnings: none!

WC: 1.7K

AN: this does switch between R and Alexia before they meet, so each section is broken up with ----

If you were being honest, you weren’t looking forward to attending the charity event. It’s not like you didn’t want to be there in support but it was being held in Spain and with your broken Spanish, you were expecting to have a lot of awkward conversations.

You had spent the entire day getting ready, hoping your nerves would decrease with your focus on your outfit and overall look. However, as it got closer to leaving, your nerves grew. The entire ride to the event, you reviewed everything you knew in Spanish, hoping the quick revision session would be helpful.

When you arrived, it was already in full swing. There were cars parked along the streets in front of the building with a large sign with the organization hosting the event branded across the front. You took a deep sigh before exiting the car, flashing lights blinding you the second the door opened. You quickly posed for pictures and spoke to one journalist who was outside before you were ushered inside.

-------

Alexia knew inviting Mapi over to help her get ready was a terrible decision but she needed the support of the defender, even if it came in the form of jokes. The midfielder was full of excitement over the idea of possibly meeting you tonight since you were one of her favorite actresses.

This little fact was not a secret to Mapi, who took every opportunity to tease her friend about meeting her “future girlfriend.” Each joke was met with a pointed look from Alexia but the shorter of the pair ignored each one, enjoying the bright tint on Alexia’s face.

“Estarás bien. Simplemente no digas nada vergonzoso, (you’ll be fine. just don't say anything embarrassing)” Mapi jokingly shouted as Alexia was walking out the door. The midfielder turned with her middle finger raised in Mapi’s direction, closing the door as the defender laughed loudly.

The only reason Alexia even said yes to attending this event was because she saw you would be there. While she did admire your work, some of her admiration came from her not-so-little crush on you. She wouldn’t tell anyone that though, she would never hear the end of it.

The car ride to the event was quiet, the driver left her to her own devices which meant Alexia preparing herself for any conversation you two may have. The blonde went over any and everything you might say to her and how she would respond. She was too deep in her thoughts to realize she had arrived.

Her door was opened for her and all she could see was bright lights from cameras flashing. Alexia gave them all a quick smile before continuing inside.

------

You had spent the first few moments talking to the organizers who spent the whole conversation bragging about the event doing well because of the big names they were able to have. When you were finally left alone, you found yourself at the large bar googling how to order your favorite drink in Spanish.

You maintained your stay at the bar for a large part of the evening, only talking to those who came up to you. However, most people only wanted to know spoilers from the big project you were working on or if you could give them some inside scoop from set. There were times when you had to end the conversation because you couldn’t understand anything the other person was saying and didn’t want to seem rude.

You were unaware of the arrival of a certain footballer that everyone in the room wanted to speak to as well. You were also unaware of the fact that the moment she stepped foot in the large room, her eyes were trying to find you.

------

Alexia was practically bombarded by people when she walked in, everyone wanting to speak to ‘La Reina.’ The footballer stuck to her usually short answers, only giving basic information that anyone would know with one google search. Each time she thought she had a break from overbearing people, someone new would take their place.

Alexia spent what felt like forever talking to people that she didn’t want to before excusing herself to the bar. If she was going to be stuck talking to these people, she would have to break her rule of not drinking during the season just this once.

Alexia paid no attention to those at the bar, instead focusing on ordering her drink to avoid having to talk to anyone else. While waiting for her drink, the blonde tried to subtlety look around hoping to see you. She didn’t have to look for long because you were sat to her left, two empty seats away.

The midfielder’s eyes widen before she quickly looked away from you. Her excitement returned but also nervousness at the idea of actually talking to you. She was tempted to pull out her phone to text Mapi for support but quickly decided against that knowing Mapi would never let her live this down.

When her drink was placed in front of her, she quickly thanked the bartender before almost downing the alcoholic beverage in one go. The seats between the two of you were still emptied and Alexia went back and forth in her head debating if she should move closer to you.

She took one small glace in your direction just as you turned your head towards her. You offered a small smile before turning back to your phone. Alexia could feel how hot her face was over the smallest interaction. If she blushed this hard because you smiled at her, what would happen if she actually spoke to you?

The blonde finished the remainder of her drink before building up the courage to scoot closer to you. You could feel her presence when she got close, which prompted you to tear your gaze away from your phone.

“H-hi,” Alexia stuttered when you towards her, cursing herself for sounding so nervous talking to you.

“Hola,” you greeted the blonde, the same smile on your face.

The silence between you didn’t feel uncomfortable, the nervousness Alexia felt and your tiredness kept the conversation at a simple greeting. Until Alexia spoke up again.

“Um, I’m Alexia. I play football.. Sorry, soccer,” She corrected herself, even though it didn’t really matter.

“I know who you are, it’s hard not to,” you winked at the blonde, you could feel the nerves mixed with excitement radiating off of her. “I’m Y/n.” you knew she knew who you were, but still you felt like being polite.

“Yeah, I know,” Alexia mumbled before clearing her throat. “Are you having fun?” the blonde questioned and immediately regretted it. You wouldn’t be sitting at the bar alone if you were having a good time.

“Um, no not really,” you laughed before you explained further. “It’s nice to be here for this charity but I’m tired of hearing the same questions and having to say “you’ll have to wait and see” each time. It’s exhausting,” you groaned before taking a large sip of your second drink of the night.

Alexia nodded along with each word, completely understanding what you meant. “Same, you can only handle so much before it can be too much,” the footballer stated as she watched you with a look of fondness. You lifted your drink in her direction as a way of saying you agree.

“I think it’s a bit better now though,” you started before pausing to look at Alexia. “Now that you’re the one I’m talking to.”

Alexia knew her face was more than likely bright red. “We could leave if you wanted? Go somewhere quieter with no one to ask us dumb questions,” the blonde asked with a smile, hoping her question didn’t come off differently than what she meant.

“What did you have in mind?” your smile now a smirk as you finished your drink. Alexia offered you her hand as she stood up, which you took without hesitation.

The blonde led you through the crowds of people, not caring to stop and tell anyone you were leaving. You normally would have said no to someone offering what Alexia did, but something about the Catalan made you feel drawn to her.

You let Alexia lead you to her car, not understanding the address she gave the driver in Spanish. The driver nodded before pulling out of the parking lot and Alexia’s focus was back on you.

“Where are we going,” you asked, hoping it was in fact somewhere quieter, the loud music had given you a budding headache.

“It’s a lookout over Barcelona, we can sit somewhere away from anyone else who might be there,” the blonde replied, a soft smile gracing her features. You just nodded at her words, turning your head to watch the city pass by.

The drive to the lookout wasn’t as long as you thought it would be, which you were thankful for. There were a few other people there, some in groups or pairs. Alexia led you away from the closet group of people, wanting to sit in somewhat privacy.

The city of Barcelona below you was bustling with nightlife, people just getting off work or people heading out to clubs. The lights from cars or buildings reflected off both of you, giving you both a warm glow.

“It’s pretty here, it’s calming,” you mumbled as you took everything in. The city of Barcelona was growing on you.

“Yeah, it is,” Alexia said in a whispered tone, but when you turned to look at her, expecting her to also be looking at the city below you, she was staring right at you.

It was your turn to feel warm in the face, as you quickly looked away from the footballer. Something about her intrigued you and you wanted nothing more than to know everything about her. Alexia felt the same way about you and hoped that you would give her the chance to get to know you.

The two of you stayed at the lookout for what felt like forever, though neither of you were complaining. Alexia eventually took you back to your hotel but she didn’t let you leave until asking if you would go get breakfast with her in the morning, like a date. You answered with a shy yes before pressing a small kiss on her cheek, near the corner of her face. You were looking forward to seeing where this could go and maybe you would have a reason to come back to Barcelona in the near future.

#woso x reader #woso #barca femeni x reader #espwnt x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #barcelona femeni

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hellishjoel · 6 months

Text

tequila!

6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter

summary: a night off and some well deserved drinks put you and frankie in the same spot on a friday night.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), food and alcohol consumption, intro to triple frontier friends, reader is mentioned having hair and wearing perfume, swearing, pet names (princess), jealousy, angst, hot girls cry in the bathroom, smut, fingering (f! receiving), cum eating, discussions of men being douchebags. if I missed anything, please let me know!

A/N: it’s been since halloween! how are we doing?! here’s more frankie and princess figuring out their shit and actually communicating! can we get a round of applause? thank you to @undercoverpena for the emotional and plot support! thank you to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

The town was small, but you guys knew how to kick it.

Pool balls clattered, people cheered, and butts of beer bottles clinked in celebration.

This was exactly what you needed, a night off and a fucking drink.

You tried to tell yourself that your spat with Frankie a month ago hadn’t taken its toll on you, but he was plaguing your thoughts. The fastest way to forget your inhibitions? To forget Frankie?

Tequila.

Sideways was known for breaking health code violations and overserving its customers. Despite their negative Yelp reviews, they were the only bar in town packed on this Friday night.

You were two and a half drinks in with your girlfriends, the ones you never get to see from working late shifts. They were sweet and funny as hell. They were the pick-me-up that you really needed after what happened with Frankie.

It was still sitting in the back of your mind, playing on a loop like Christmas songs do in the winter.

“What do you want from me, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

Heat scorches your throat, burning and scraping at the inside as you accept a shot from a stranger. Not your smartest decision, but you suppose you haven’t been making a lot of those as of late anyway.

Just as you take a deep sigh, you see it. That stupid hat and nest of dark curls accompanied by broad shoulders. What was Frankie doing here?

You try to drop your head, avert your gaze, but it's pointless. The moment your eyes meet, time warps into slow motion. His usual honey-brown eyes look oaky-brown in the low light ambiance Sideways provides. His face softens at the sight of you, taking you in. Even as he walks past your small table, his head cranes to keep you in sight.

Then his friends slap his back and keep him moving, their large and loud group weaving through the sea of strangers. And it’s over. He’s gone, probably somewhere tucked in the back of the bar ordering drinks. Time returns to its normal pace, and the loud hum of drunk twenty-somethings returns.

“Jeez, Fish, that’s like the second bullseye tonight.” Frankie’s friends playfully clap with mustaches tickled with white foam from their beers.

Frankie shrugs a shoulder, glances at your table, sees your pretty smile and the way your hair swishes before his eyes return to the dart board. An angry huff leaves his lips before he raises his arm, eyes narrowed on the dart board a good seven feet away from him, before he releases the dart like a lightning fast whip and he sinks it right into the center.

His friends howl, a little smile on his lips at their approval.

“Make that three!” One chimes in. “He’s hot tonight, folks! Get’em while he’s hot!”

Despite being with his friends and cheap alcohol, Frankie didn’t feel very happy. Not after what went down after the last time he saw you. And now, you were here, which was making the pistons in his brain fire a whole lot faster. He wonders what happened, why you threw up your hands that night and pushed him away.

Work has been hell trying to avoid you. Nothing more than giving him orders and brushing past him with your pretty smelling perfume that has put him in a trance since the first day he started at the diner. Now you were here, huffs of people in between you two, and he could still pick out the sweet blossomy smell he considers to be your own.

“I need a fucking drink,” Frankie mutters, plucking the darts from the board as he slaps them in the hands of his buddy for his turn.

Frankie pushes through people to the bar, gently rapping his knuckles against the dark wood of the bar for a beer. His head dips down to look for his wallet, pulling it from his back pocket. The last thing he expects when he looks up is… not you.

“Do you know that girl or something?” Your friend nudges, eyes still locked on the glowing redhead who had approached Frankie at the bar.

“No.” You mutter, sucking in at the side of your cheek as you watch her put the moves on an adorably awkward Frankie.

“You sure seem to act like you know her, you won’t stop staring.” She teases before she’s distracted by one of your girlfriends spilling off her barstool.

All you can see is the way she blocks your view of Frankie, doing all the typical flirtatious moves you can get away with when you’re hot. Twisting her hair around her finger, smiling at Frankie like he was the funniest guy in the world, leaning into his front. She had a gorgeous body, tight waist, glowing smile, and a huge fucking rack she purposely accentuated when she threw her head back in laughter.

First off, you hate the way she looks at him like he’s already hers. Second, when did Frankie become so goddamn funny?

You huff out a sigh and throw back another tequila shot as soon as it’s delivered.

Jealousy wasn’t your thing. Frankie just knew how to pinch your fucking nerve. It’s so fresh still, you know? Now here he was, talking to another girl. Part of you feels like you deserve it. You cut him loose, there were no more strings that tied you two together. So why did you feel like this? Angry, annoyed, sad. Jealous.

Fuck that.

“Another tequila?” The bartender perks up upon seeing you nudge your way to the front of the bar’s counter.

You give him a tight nod and a blank mhm leaving your mouth, leaning over the counter as you wait.

His cologne shatters your thoughts. “Hey.”

You look up to see Frankie has turned away from his girl, eyeing you over. You couldn’t deny how good you looked tonight, taking advantage of your one night off to wear something that accentuated your figure.

And it was catching more eyes than Frankie’s. The woman beside him glares at you as if you took her favorite toy on the playground, as if she had dibs.

You hate to admit that your eyes drift as well, a certain sexually charged energy between you both. His classic khaki jacket and ballcap accompanied by a dark wash pair of jeans. His stupid hands are stuffed in his stupid pockets, and his stupid chocolate curls curve up toward the brim of his hat.

Frankie’s eyes fell to your sweet neck, then to the curves of your body, your mouth going dry at the way he was drinking you up.

“Hey,” you muster up, giving him a tight-lipped grin as you nod as a greeting.

You want him. He looks so fucking good tonight. But he already had a date going, you didn’t need to interrupt. You nip at your lower lip and force yourself to stare elsewhere.

“Rum and coke, please, Frankie,” The woman coos, an attempt to stray Frankie’s attention from you. She’s obviously seen the way he looks at you, both of you practically eye fucking each other right in front of her. You kind of got a kick out of getting under her skin, though.

“Hi,” you say as you reach your hand past Frankie, offering the woman a handshake and your name. “I work with Frankie.”

She gives you a snotty little hmph, nodding tightly instead of shaking your hand.

“I’ll meet you at the table with my drink.” She insists to Frankie, leaving the two of you on your own, but not without a squeeze to his broad arm and a certain look in your direction.

“Wow,” you fake applaud, “she’s a real keeper, Frankie. No, really, I mean it. Didn’t know you had a thing for girls with tits bigger than their face.”

“I just met her ten minutes ago,” Frankie mutters as he’s served his beer and the girl’s rum and coke, as well as your tequila shot being delivered.

You try not to roll your eyes too obviously. “Well, she’s certainly all over you.”

“What do you care?” He counters, finally facing you again, his eyes still lingering on your body for longer than you know he should. “You came up here to us, princess. If there’s something you wanna say, say it.”

A larger group comes in through the front door and pushes through to the bar, a light gasp leaving you as you’re shoved into Frankie, your fronts aligning. You feel his toned torso and smell his fresh cologne as his hand instinctually clutches your waist to keep you upright.

Both of you take one another in again, not being able to fight the tension between you both that could be cut with a knife.

The last time you were this close was Halloween. The last time he touched you was Halloween. Now, he was touching you again, and god, all you wanted was for him to flip his hat around, duck down, and kiss you. Kiss you hard, make up for all the time you had lost.

Have you ever missed someone so much you feel physically sick? You had no idea how much your little talks in the kitchen meant to you until you forced Frankie to let you go. You had the overwhelming urge to run away, like he was too close, he would learn everything about you, and he’d leave after finding out you’re just a broken plate that can’t be glued together.

You were unfixable. And Frankie was a fixer, down to his bones, and in his heart, he would try to mend you back together, only to be disappointed after many failed attempts. You wouldn’t put him through that, and more importantly, you didn’t want anyone to try. It would just hurt you more.

But you looked at each other a little too long to be just friends.

If there’s something you wanna say, say it.

I can’t.

Frankie’s eyes sink as you throw back the shot, feeling the liquid burn your throat and then your chest again. This is what you’d rather feel than hurt.

“Well,” you say, a bit raspy from the fresh alcohol. You gently push your hand into Frankie’s abdomen in an attempt to squeeze out from between him and a random drunkard, nails sinking into his toned torso. “Have a good rest of your night. See you at Tommy’s.”

Your shoulders swivel back and forth as you carve through the bar to the rest of your friends, toppling over people to get back to your seat as you sigh defeatedly. God, why are you torturing me?

It’s an hour later, followed by two tall water glasses. Your friends have ordered some appetizers off the menu to soak up the alcohol. And because you were all damn hungry. Your eyes stray to Frankie’s table every few minutes.

You couldn’t help it, you were overthinking. Was he looking at you when you looked away? Was he not looking at all, too into Miss Red? The more you thought, the more your chest felt like it wanted to give way. But you weren’t prepared for what you saw the next moment you looked up.

Big Red decided to make her move, her long fingernail catching Frankie’s chin and swiftly guiding him to face her as she leaned in and kissed him.

She kissed him, your Frankie, she kissed him. Put her pink lipstick on his mouth and marked him as her own.

Goosebumps flood over your skin, eyes sinking as you watched helplessly from across the room. Suddenly, it was all too much. The loud talking, the buzzing of people, the alcohol, her and him, it was all too much.

Your feet find the floor before you can stop yourself, you feel like you might shed a tear in your race to the bathroom. You tug on the handle, and it’s locked.

“Occupied!” Some snotty girl whines.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you shout amongst the crowd of people to ensure she can hear the urgency in your voice. Your throat feels thick with wetness.

Finally, the door opens, and the woman looks you up and down in annoyance. You don’t care. You put a hand on her shoulder to guide her out of the doorway, trying to push yourself in and close the door. Not before a familiar pair of thunderous boot steps echo in your ears.

You let out a grunt as you attempt to slam the door, but you see a hand curve around the frame. He speaks your name, it’s Frankie. Your stomach falls, and you quickly shake your head, feeling angry tears threaten to spill.

“Fuck off,” you say behind gritted teeth, attempting to use your body to finish closing the door. But he’s a hell of a lot stronger than you.

“Come on, princess, open up, just wanna talk.” He pushes himself in, tall figure looming over yours as you look away with annoyance. He flips the lock and presses his hand above the wall you’re leaning back on. “What’s wrong?”

Anger surges through your voice, planting your hands on his chest as you attempt to shove him away again. You find yourself confused when your own hands curl in on his shirt and bring him closer. “I told you to fuck off, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He says as his hands attempt to cradle your face, but you shove them down.

“Then stop looking,” You quickly shake your head, the heat of his hands making your stomach churn.

Suddenly, you don’t want to cry, you want to shout.

“I saw you kiss her!”

Frankie’s eyes met your glaring ones, your lips parting as you let out panted breaths.

“I didn’t kiss her,” he starts to say before you interject.

“I saw you! Why are you lying to my face?” You accuse, feeling your body flush with warmth as your hands gently push at his pecs. “Get away from me.” You mutter, but Frankie always returns despite how many times you push him away.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere until you listen to me, okay?” Frankie goes to cup your cheeks again, but the warning look on your face makes him groan in annoyance and drop his head before he comes back up to look at you. “She kissed me, I didn’t kiss her back, and-and I didn’t want her, okay? I want you, I want you, I want you, goddamit, I want you!”

You quickly shake your head, feeling your hoop earrings gently hit your cheeks. “No.” You whisper, feeling small under his gaze. And he’s looking at you again like you put the sun in the sky. You absolutely hate it in some ways, but he looks at you with such clarity that it makes your heart flutter. Like he knows his place is with you.

“No, what?” He challenges. You find yourself fisting at his shirt, both in comfort and also a way to keep him at a distance.

“No, you don’t want me, Frankie,” Your face is pinched in anger, eyes searching for his intentions. You watch as his face sinks at your words, hurt by what you’ve said.

“How can you fuckin’ say that? How can you say I don’t want you? You don’t get to decide that for me, alright?” His voice is stern, eyes narrowed in on yours as he fills the space between you two, no matter if you take a step back, he’s right there on your toes. “I like you.”

“You don’t know me, not really,” You say.

“I want to, though. I’m scared as hell to want you, but here I am, telling you I want you anyway because that’s how much I care. I want you more than I fear the rejection on Halloween happening all over again.”

All you can do is shake your head, feeling the mixture of angry sad tears start to melt at your eyes again. You hurt him so badly on Halloween, yet he was still here trying to say how much you mean to him.

“Frankie,” your lower lip wobbles, straying eye contact.

“No, listen to me, I’ve got more to say,” he says as he cradles your face once more, and this time, you don’t push him away. His beautiful brown eyes pour into your own, and you feel so drunk that he’s kissing your soul with his eyes.

“I haven’t even missed you,”

“Bullshit, I know you fuckin’ miss me because I miss you.” He sees through all your lies, you feel transparent as he holds you close, backing you up against the sink as he strokes a thumb along your cheekbone.

“No,” you start to say, shaking your head as tears cloud your vision.

“No, no, no,” he mocks, “Is that all you can say?”

You despise how much your throat feels swollen, and your words sound thick with wanting to cry. “I just wanted you to fuck me, but then I got greedy, and I wanted you to love me, too. But that would be a waste of your time, Frankie, you need to listen to me.”

The admission felt like a dam breaking inside of you, and Frankie only pulls you closer. Suddenly, the buzz of everyone else outside the bar died down, and all you could think or hear was Frankie.

“Loving someone is never a waste,” Frankie whispers.

You playfully scoff and wipe under your eyes around his hand. “You don’t love me.”

“No, not yet. But I could. I know I could. Because this past month has been hell without talking to you. I don’t wanna walk around the diner, pretending like you don’t exist or that you don’t do something to me. You do everything to me, you are everything.”

Frankie starts swiping away the tears you didn’t even know were falling, taking them away with the pads of his thumbs.

“I think of you at two in the morning when I can’t sleep, you’re always the first place my mind runs to. You stayed over once, once, and my body just fuckin’ craves the way I got to hold you. It was addictive, how it felt to finally be close to you, when you finally let me in.”

You force yourself to close your eyes and try to breathe, his words feeling like the powers a hurricane carries. Your shaky fists are still clutching his shirt at his sides, not willing to let him go after his confession.

After you gather a few breaths, you meet his eyes. “Frankie, once you care, you’re fucked.” It’s a warning.

Now, he’s the one shaking his head. “I don’t believe that for a minute. I’ve cared for you ever since I started working at Tommy’s, and even more when you kissed me at the Christmas party last year.”

You playfully scoff and break a smile. “We were both drunk.”

Frankie shrugs. “Yeah, and I wished I was sober so I could remember every bit of how good it felt. Now we’re almost a year later. It took me from December to August to make another real move on you, and I don’t want to let you go. Not after having the real thing. This feeling doesn’t just go away. I miss you.”

You nip at your lower lip, goosebumps flying across your skin away.

“I just don’t want to get hurt,” you whimper, your forehead gently leaning into the support of his large palms. Your glassy eyes make him melt.

He hushes you gently, your voices growing softer the closer he comes to you. Your noses gently brush, making your wet eyelashes flutter. Frankie sighs before he speaks. “If you promise to stay, I’ll promise not to leave.”

Frankie’s care for you was evident. You knew pushing him away was wrong, trying to save yourself only wounded you both. But what a waste it would be not to try with someone who was as good-hearted as Frankie.

The douchebag you once knew was long gone. In fact, it feels like he started to drift away after last December. Because he had made up his mind a year ago that he wanted to be with you, and he would change for the better to make it happen. He’s been showing you all this time what you mean to him, that he wouldn’t hurt you.

You must have left him hanging for too long because he parts his lips to speak your name.

“Stop talking,” you whisper as you lean up and crash your lips against his. No more words needed to be said.

You can feel Frankie’s cheeks perk up from his smile, both of your mouths upturned, happy to be in one another’s arms again. Being apart felt like a drought, and he was finally touching you. And both of you were fucking starved.

Frankie’s once soft movements turn greedy. As do yours. Hands are gliding over waists, teeth are tugging lips, and your core physically buzzes as Frankie flips his hat to face backward without breaking your kiss. Jesus Christ. His tongue glides against your bottom lip and you easily part your lips to grant the access he so desperately craves.

“Lemme make it up to you,” Frankie mutters against your mouth, tasting remnants of his ale and he, your citrussy-lime tongue.

“Please,” you beg.

He doesn’t waste another moment, nipping at your bottom lip and making you mewl while his large palms find the back of your thighs. His strength makes lifting you look easy, gasping into his mouth as he sets you on top of the sink while his hands fasten on your waist once more.

You push his hand towards the button of your jeans and he pops it open with one hand.

“Fuck,” you moan out, jaw dropped as his hand pushes past the band of your panties, large fingers gliding down through your slick, then back up your valley. A breath catches in your throat, your back archiving off the mirror as Frankie takes the opportunity to bury his head into your chest, planting kisses along your breasts over your shirt. He eventually moves his lips up your body, across your sweet neck, to where he nibbles on your jawline.

Your jaw drops against his cheek, your faces smooshed together as you feel his familiar stubble scrape against your soft skin. It’s like there’s a non-stopping rollercoaster in your mind, with his fingers moving up and down your soaking pussy, you can’t fucking think.

A weak cry leaves your lips against the shell of his ear as he plunges two fingers into your entrance. You brace an arm around his shoulder and pull him into you, ensuring he keeps his damn fingers stay buried in your cunt.

“Please,” you whimper, grinding your hips with vigor against his hand, his wrist rolling with you.

“That’s it baby,” his silken voice purrs with praise, “let go for me.”

You become completely pliant under his touch, under the lead of his fingers. He was already filling you up, you couldn’t imagine being filled up by the girth of his cock after a month without it.

With two fingers inside of you and his thumb working sweet circles around your clit, you feel as if you might explode. He walks a line between kissing and sucking on your neck, the surface of your skin becoming clammy and raw.

There’s a sense of safety in his arms, his tense bicep that’s hardened from the one that’s working up into you.

You barely acknowledge the knock on the door, forcing yourself to bite down onto Frankie’s shoulder and his jacket flap to keep yourself from spilling out loose moans. Loud music and even louder chanter is muffled by the door.

“Fuck, fuck, Frankie-” you moan, mouth stuffed and jumbling your words.

Frankie clamps his free hand over your mouth, guiding your head to rest back against the mirror once more, your hot pants fanning against his palm.

“So fuckin’ loud, don’t remember you bein’ this loud for me.” He says with a wide cocky smirk. You will yourself to roll your eyes, but they end up staying at the back of your head as you continue to fuck yourself against his fingers.

He curls them inside of you, your back arching as you feel your stomach swirl with excitement. Your small hands clench at his jacket, gasping shakily as your high nears closer.

Your muffled moans stay concealed by Frankie’s hand clamped over you, letting your weak moans and cries land into his palm. It felt so good, the way your clit twitches under his control and his fingers work effortlessly to plunge deeper and deeper into your depths.

There’s another incessant knock at the door. Fuck, there was no way to be quiet.

Frankie smirks wider as your walls clench around his fingers, one long moan of his name landing muffled against his fingers as his eyes fixate on your own, spilling your orgasm across his fingers.

“Good girl, just needed to get off, didn’t you?” He belittles.

You sigh weakly against his hand, hearing still fuzzy from feeling so over the moon. A slow, tired smirk grazes your lips as you playfully push his face away.

“Such a douchebag.” You mutter, nipping at your lower lip while Frankie gently removes his fingers from your entrance. You feel empty, you hate it.

Frankie raises his two fingers to your lips, your eyes studying the pretty cream he’s gathered amongst the mix of your slick.

“Taste yourself, baby.” Such a fucking charmer. You can’t help the heat that gathers at the back of your neck, shyly leaning in and wrapping your lips around the tips of his fingers. You lock your eyes with his own as you flatten your tongue and hollow your cheeks, sinking your mouth lower and taking him to the knuckle.

Your heart pounds thinking about his cock angrily twitching against his thigh, desperate for his own release. But he’s always put you first. And you always make his loyalty to you worth his while.

Frankie’s cocky face slowly melts as you swallow around his fingers, lips parting as he looks over you in a sense of pride.

Another damn knock on the door. More like an incessant pounding.

He forces himself to release his fingers from your mouth.

“What?” Frankie protectively barked, voice laced with annoyance.

“Fish?” A voice called from the other side. One of his friends.

He looks at you apologetically, grabbing you by your hips and lowering you off the sink. His hands are already on the hem of your jeans, and securing the button while you zip the fly and hurry to make yourselves presentable.

Frankie puts his hand on the knob, ready to flip the lock. He feels compelled to kiss you one more time. He spins on the spot and cups your cheeks, meshing your lips together and pulling your chin up to face him. He savors it, lets his tongue tangle with yours to get that last taste of come on your tastebuds.

He forces himself to let you go, finally opening the door.

“Santi? What, man?” He asks in annoyance, seeing his friend on the other side.

“Sorry, sorry,” he pauses to look past Frankie, to you, a sly little smirk on his lips after he’s put two and two together. “Listen, uh, Benny’s been arrested.”

Frankie shares a look of confusion with you. Frankie and Santi both stand there a little dumbfounded, unsure of what to do.

“Well, come on, he can’t stay there all night. Let’s go.” You urge. It’s enough to snap the two out of their surprised trance. Frankie takes your hand and leads you towards the bar’s exit, pushing people aside with his arms and broad shoulders so no drunk asshole knocks you around in the crowd.

You’re surprised to see his friend, who you’ve gathered is Santi, doing the same. It felt like you had two incredibly handsome escorts. Or maybe a better term would be guard dogs, pretty and sleek Dobermans.

After saying goodnight to your friends and grabbing your purse, Santi catches up you both while Frankie drives his truck.

“This drunk guy came up and started hitting on this girl he knows from.. somewhere.. I don’t know, but then he started getting all belligerent when she rejected him, and Benny stepped in. They started knocking each other around, it was so fuckin’ crowded in there, and I didn’t know where you went. Surprised you guys didn’t hear all the commotion.”

You weren’t surprised you missed the whole fiasco. Frankie had you coming so hard that you saw Jesus Christ himself.

“So, what?” Frankie prodded, annoyance laced in his voice as he drove over the bumpy road, glancing in his rearview mirror every few moments to see you. “The police got called and they both got arrested?”

Santi makes an affirmative humming noise, looking out the window as they pull up to the town’s police department.

“Fuck,” Santi swears as he hops out the back of the truck. “I haven’t done this in a few years. Don’t remember how it goes.”

You jump in before you can stop yourself. “We need to go in, ask for his name, and figure out what he’s being charged with. We pay his bail, he completes his release paperwork, and as long as he didn’t bad mouth any cops in there, we should be in and out, bada-bing-bada-boom.” You say as you clap-wipe your hands in demonstration of how painless this process should be. But Frankie and Santi still look starstruck.

“Don’t ask. Let’s go.” You say as you hop out of the truck, the two men following suit.

You imagined their friend Benny to be this mean, big, bad guy. But you guys didn’t see the way this man smiled upon seeing his friends come to pick him up. He was the definition of a Golden Retriever if we’re still speaking in dog lingo.

Tussled dark blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a smile that would make any person melt. He just wasn’t what you were expecting when you heard that one of Frankie’s drunk asshole friends was arrested. Maybe you expected another stoner-type who didn’t give a fuck. You were wrong.

“Arrested for defending a woman’s honor,” Benny scoffs as he digs his possessions out of a large envelope. You eye the way he delicately places his watch back on his wrist before bumming a cigarette from Frankie. The glow of the lighter illuminates his face a mute orange before the end of his cigarette caught blaze. Then you were all surrounded by the blue of a midnight sky again.

“What, like you wouldn’t do it again?” Santi teases, stuffing his hands in his pockets as the cigarette slowly made its way down the line to Frankie.

“Fuck that, I’d do it again tomorrow if I had to.” He chirps with a laugh. “Fish, you should have heard the way this guy was badmouthing this woman, I mean, the most vulgar shit that came out of his mouth just because she wouldn’t let him buy her a drink.”

“M’glad I wasn’t there. There would have been two guys arrested tonight.” Frankie mutters, the cigarette passing from him to you.

“Wouldn’t believe how often that shit happens.” You mutter before you take a drag. Benny leans forward to take a look at you, maybe just now realizing you were even here.

“Yeah?” He probes for more as you slowly nod, tipping the ash off the end of the cigarette.

“My friend was called a cunt last week after saying no to a guy wanting to sit next to her at the bar. He knew the seat was taken, our other friend just went to the bathroom. He purposely waited until she was alone to make a move.”

“No shit.” Santi hummed curiously.

“Seriously. Called her a fat bitch, said he’d hope somethin’ really bad would happen to her. If I was there, I would have knocked his teeth in.”

Benny slowly smiles, nodding proudly. “I have no doubt. Just wish you didn’t have to do that stuff in the first place.”

You sigh as you glance at Frankie, who’s looking at you with sympathetic eyes. But he knows you don’t really like it when he looks at you like that, so he quickly glances at his shoes.

“Wait,” Benny whispers with a goofy grin. “Fish, is this the girl from the diner you always talk about?”

Even in the dark of night, Frankie’s sweet glowy blush tints his face. Or maybe it was the alcohol, but he wouldn’t have driven if he was that out of it.

“Yeah, yeah, Benny, this is her.”

“Oh shit, hi,” Bennys says as he stands in front of you and offers you his hand to shake. “I know this is kind of a bad start, gettin’ me out of jail and all, but I’m Benny Miller, nice to meet you in person. My guy here,” Benny pauses to playfully yank around Frankie’s shoulder, “he’s always tellin’ us stories about the diner. Can’t think of one you’re not mentioned or the star of the show.”

The smile on your face can’t help but grow as you playfully eye Frankie who is being all too quiet. You hand Frankie the cigarette as a distraction, shaking Benny’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Benny. And trust me, I’ve met guys under worse circumstances. Like working with them at a diner.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Frankie mutters playfully around the cigarette in his mouth.

The whole group erupts into laughter, Benny and Santi both taking the opportunity to say their proper greetings and apologies for busting up your night with their friend.

“I should probably get back to my brother.” Benny hums, motioning his head back to the bar’s general direction. “If he thinks I had to do another overnighter, I owe him twenty bucks.” He teases as you all start piling back into the truck.

Frankie drops Santi and Benny back off at the bar, the entirety of the building shaking with applause and whistles to see that their noble heroes have returned. A very specific pretty blonde rushes up to Benny and thanks him with a kiss.

“And he still gets the girl.” You hum, watching from the passenger side window.

“He always does, that one.” Frankie teases, his hand coming over to rest on your upper thigh, thumb making gentle circles over your jeans. “Lemme take you home.”

You swallow down a lump in your throat, gently resting your hand over Frankie’s. “Is home your apartment?” You ask, slowly raising a hopeful eyebrow as he nods.

“Can be.”

A nod to that, Frankie starts his truck down the road again.

You need to tell him the truth, that this didn’t make you official. That you were still wary, trying to learn how to ride a bike again, sort of thing.

“What?” He asks, knowing you’re thinking too loud in your head.

You part your lips to speak but realize you shouldn’t feel bad about what you have to say. “I’m not ready for a full commitment. You’re not my boyfriend, Frankie, not yet. I just wanna take things slow. See if this is what we both really want.”

The right side of Frankie’s mouth twitches up into a smile. “We’ll figure it out. If no label is what you want right now, I’ll wait.”

You can feel your heart swell at his understanding. The last thing you wanted was for Frankie to start announcing to the world that you were dating. Not when you didn’t feel fully ready. You had bad relationship habits, ones you were ready to finally outgrow. But you didn’t want him to be subjected to your learning process. So you both could wait.

Frankie’s hand rotates palm side up, fingers apart. You slip your hand over his, your fingers interlocking as he starts the familiar route back to his apartment. This would be a lot of work, and you both had to be patient.

“Take things slow...” Frankie slowly murmurs. “Does this mean we can’t have sex?”

“No, fuck that.” You both laugh, squeezing his hand in your hold.

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