#i think i was unhappy at the rudeness of a customer at work

[danielsarmand]

no one:

me: google search can i be autistic if i'm good at customer service

[variety-fangirl]

🔥🔥 body worship/praise with tasm!peter parker please!

Perfect To Me / tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Summary: Peter is a giver, loving to focus his time on your pleasure than his own. So, when you aren't feeling particularly good about your appearance, Peter helps show you just how beautiful you are to him.

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS SHOO not much! Smut (unprotected p in v, praise kink, pet names (baby, princess, good girl), female oral receiving, light face grabbing, slight overstimulation), reader feeling unhappy in her appearance, mention of mental health issues and self-esteem, lmk if I missed anything!

Author's note: thank you so much for requesting! I love this idea 😍 hope this turns out how you wanted! I loved the idea, sorry it took so long to do, life's been hectic lately 😅. College has been kicking my ass haha. Liking, commenting, and reblogging really help me out. Thank you!

To anybody who's ever felt bad about themselves, their appearance, or felt like they weren't good enough: you are beautiful, no matter what you or anyone else thinks. You will always be good enough, strong enough, beautiful enough, and worth enough, please talk to someone if you need support, don't suffer alone! 💜💜

Word count: 2.1k

You arrived home to your shared apartment with Peter after a long day at work, your feet aching and your back sore. Today was a particularly hard day, you'd been overly tired and not feeling the best mentally as of late, and so your performance at work dipped a little. You made a few small mistakes and had a customer yell rude comments at you, making you feel worse. All you had thought about all day was getting home and taking a hot shower. Peter watched as you closed the door behind you, took off your shoes and coat, and went to the bathroom without saying a word. He frowned at the sound of the shower running and your light sniffles, shaky breaths leaving you. Peter got up from the couch and made his way to you, it wasn't often that he saw you like this but when he did, he knew what he needed to do.

You sobbed as you stood under the warm sprays of the shower, water flowing down your aching muscles. You looked down at your body and frowned, unhappy with the way you looked. Especially when that one man called you worthless and pathetic at work for making a minor mistake, it fuelled the insecurity and hate you already felt in yourself. You already had a rough few weeks of feeling down and bad about yourself, you didn't need the added extra bullshit from random arseholes at your place of work. The tears continued to fall quickly down your cheeks, mixing with the warm shower water. All you wanted was to have a nice shower, use your favourite body lotion and spray, and get into bed with your boyfriend to cuddle.

You sigh as you hear the bathroom door open, the gentle patter of feet walking across the cold tiles in your direction. You heard shuffling and gentle thuds of objects landing on the floor, and the clinking of the metal rings of the shower curtain being moved. Peter got in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning over to kiss your neck. The overwhelming feeling of your loving boyfriend's comfort pushes you over the edge, more tears breaking free as a sob escapes. Your body shakes in Peter's arms as he holds you, hands grabbing to pull him closer as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Peter understood you so well, better than you know yourself sometimes, that he provided you with what you needed without having to ask. It made you feel so loved, cared for, and listened to. He took the time to make notes of what you needed in times of need and struggle, showering you with love and affection.

As your tears stopped and your breathing went back to normal, you started to wash your body to actually shower. You didn't really feel any better but the crying allowed you to release some of the tension you had felt about everything over the last couple of weeks. The soapy loofa was grabbed from your hands by Peter, "let me take care of you, baby, just relax." he whispered in your ear, placing a gentle affectionate kiss on the side of your neck. You nod, a soft sob escaping as you let your loving boyfriend wash you. You appreciated that he was taking care of you without prompt, he genuinely wanted to make you feel better and do what he could to show you he cared. You sometimes wondered how you managed to get someone so loving and thoughtful, someone, who so selflessly helped others without anything in return.

Peter took his time in caring for you, making sure he was attentive in his actions. He took extra special attention when washing your hair with your favourite shampoo and conditioner, scratching his fingers across your scalp to loosen as much tension as possible. He made sure to lather every inch of your body in your favourite body wash, giving your back a light massage as he went. With every action he could feel your body relaxing against him, your back gently and slowly slumping against his chest. A soft moan of appreciation leaves you as he works on your shoulders, your mouth hanging open as the tight knots loosen and your sore muscles begin to feel less tense. You could feel Peter harden against your ass, and despite how you were feeling, you could feel your pussy become wet with arousal.

"Sorry baby, you're just so beautiful and when you make those little noises, I can't help it," he whispers into your neck, his voice shaky and almost breathless. His hands travelled down to your waist, holding you as close to him as he possibly could. You couldn't help the thought that popped into your mind, the insecurities and self-doubt still looming in the back of your mind. "I'm not" it slipped out before you could catch it, before you could stop the dreaded words from leaving your mouth. You knew Peter would hate that you were doubting yourself and take it personally, feeling that he wasn't loving you enough for there to be doubt. You felt Peter's hands tense on your waist, his fingers digging in but not enough to hurt you, he wasn't happy.

"What?" he muttered, turning you to face him, his tone hurt and filled with disbelief. You face him slowly, keeping your eyes on his naked wet chest to avoid his intense stare. You sigh, "I'm not beautiful." you whisper, exhausted with your current mental state, just wishing you could believe his words. Peter grabs your chin firmly and forces you to look at him, a gasp leaving you at his force, he'd never been this harsh with you before. "Look at me, you stop that right now. You're the most beautiful person I've ever laid my eyes on," Peter grabs your hand and places it on his throbbing hard cock, "look at what you do to me, I'm so hard for you baby." He groans as your fingers grasp him firmly, wrapping around his massive length.

You whimper as he lightly fucks your hand, his face moving into the crook of your neck. "You're so beautiful," he whispers breathlessly as he works his lips across the wet skin, sucking to leave marks in the areas he knew were particularly sensitive to his touch. "I'm going to show you, you want that?" he asks as he stops his actions and pulls back to look at you for reassurance and the 'okay' to continue, he knew you'd had a bad day and didn't want to push you if you didn't want to do anything. He smiles as you nod, his lips connecting with yours in a passionate kiss. As his mouth explored yours, he reached behind you to turn the shower off and led you to the middle of the bathroom. He broke away to gently dry you both, neither wanting to have a wet bed to sleep in that night.

You lay down on your back on the bed, wet with anticipation of what Peter had in mind. His mouth latches onto your left nipple, licking and sucking while his hand plays with the other, pinching the swollen nub in his fingertips. Your panting with need, eyes watching his every action. You watch as Peter kisses his way down your body, taking his time and teasing you as much as possible until you were squirming with need. When he finally reaches where you need him most after what felt like hours but was probably only ten minutes, you're dripping with arousal. His fingers dip into your needy hole with ease, slipping straight into you to the knuckles without restraint, "Jesus baby! Your so wet for me, such a good girl." You whimper at the praise, your pussy clenching around his fingers inside you.

Peter slowly pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy as his mouth attaches to your clit, earning a gentle whimper of approval from you. You can feel him smile against you, his eyes staring up at you with a look of pure hunger and lust, it felt so intense that you had to look away. You felt Peter's mouth move away, your head snapping back to wonder why he'd stopped. "Nu-uh, you watch me, princess. Don't take your eyes off me," he commanded, waiting for your nod before continuing. You give him what he wanted, making sure to keep your eyes on him as he worked you closer to your orgasm with each passing moment, his fingers still pumping slowly. He didn't take his eyes from yours, making sure you were watching him pleasure you, he wanted you to see how much he enjoyed pushing you over the edge.

Peter knew you were close when he felt you clench around his fingers harshly and fingers pulled at his hair, your back arching and mouth open wide with panting breaths. It took everything in you not to look away or close your eyes as you came all over his fingers and mouth, explosions of pure pleasure clouding your vision. Peter's crash to yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue as he explored your mouth. He wasted no time in lining himself up with your dripping entrance, looking at you for permission. You nodded frantically, needing him to fuck all the bad thoughts away. You both gasp as he slowly entered you, your slick allowing him to thrust fully to the hilt without pain or struggle. You were so wet and ready for him that you asked him to move immediately, "fuuuuuck baby, you're so goddamn wet for me." Peter groaned, the sound of your juices filling the room along with skin slapping.

His thrusts were quick, dragging against your walls with precision to hit all the right angles, and slamming back into you with intent. His cock hit your g-spot repeatedly, his finger returning to your clit in slow circles to stimulate you further. "Fuck Peter." you moaned loudly, head thrown back, nails dragging down the skin of his back. You felt like you were going to explode with all the pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you over the edge once again with a loud scream of Peter's name. He slowed his thrusts down once you rode your high, taking a slow but passionate pace instead. Peter's hands roamed your body, appreciating every dip and curve, every perfectly imperfect inch of you that he loved unconditionally.

"I love you, baby, you're so perfect to me." Peter moaned as he pulled you into a mind-numbingly passionate kiss, one that took your breath away as he pulled away to nestle into the crook of your neck. "I love you too, so fucking much." you sobbed, tears flowing down your cheeks, your body was overwhelmed with blissful pleasure and intense adoration from your boyfriend. "So so perfect," Peter whispered to himself with a deep groan as he secured your legs around his waist and pulled your body close to his, cradling your head in between his arms so you could stare into one another eyes as he fucked you senseless. You could feel another orgasm approaching despite your clit throbbing with overstimulation, "you can give me another one baby, you've been so good for me. Cum with me." Peter pecked your lips as his thumb found its way to your clit, pushing you over the edge.

You scream as you see stars in your vision, your whole body shaking in ecstasy. Your pussy clenching harshly around Peter's cock sent him over the edge, his hot cum filling you over and over again as he rode you both your highs. Peter collapsed on top of you, both sweaty panting messes, careful though not to crush you. You both took a moment to catch your breaths as you bask in the euphoric bliss and try to regain feeling in your body again. Once Peter's cock softens inside you he gently pulls out and grabs a washcloth to clean you. You wince with sensitivity as he tries his best to gently clean you, kissing your thighs as he goes along to apologise. Tiredness overtook you once again, you knew you'd get a good night's sleep tonight.

Peter lies on his back and pulls you to lie on top of him, his large warm arms enveloping you, they made you feel safe and loved, wanted by the one person who always managed to make everything better. Peter continued to whisper sweet nothings and compliments into your ear as his lips kiss every inch of skin he could reach without disturbing you, his fingertips tracing gentle patterns over your skin until you fell asleep. Peter would remind you however many times it would take to convince you that you were beautiful, and to him, you would always be beautiful in his eyes no matter what. His beautiful perfect girl.

[into-crazy]

Derry’s Secret Pt. 1

Pennywise x Female Reader series

Important !! For all my Joker followers !! If you do not wish to come across any of my or reblogged Pennywise content, then please feel free to block the 'penny posted' tag. Thank you♡

This first part of this series will involve a child since we're dealing with a child eating clown, and they are only interactions. The setting takes place in Derry in the year of 2016 and so forth. I've written this from a young woman’s perspective as I’m in my early twenties, so I wrote it accordingly. Though you’re more than welcome to perceive it as your own age and such.

Warnings- mature language, violence, Pennywise attacks a child, dark themes, ages 18+

Future parts can be found RIGHT HERE and through the "Derry's Secret" tag🎈

You have lived in Derry for a little over 6 months. Which was enough time for you to get settled into your current home and job. You also didn't have to worry about being completely alone- as your good friend, Gabby, had already resided here a few months prior to your move. She was the one that persuaded you to move here, since she knew you needed a change in your life. And with a small town like Derry, it was perfect. It's got a timeless feel to it, the weather is usually nice, and it's secluded from the rest of the buzzing world. Though despite the town's bad reputation, you've never seemed to have any issues or problems.

Seated in a local café, you're having a drink with your friend and her boyfriend Brian. Mind drifting deep into various thoughts as you stare down at your beverage. Starting to wonder how your life has changed since you've been here.

"Y/n!" Gabby's voice breaks through your subconscious mind. "Hey, you good?" She waves her hand in front of your face from across the table.

"Huh.. " You blink back into reality. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about how stressful it's been at the call center lately." You lightly groan as you rub the right side of your temple.

She laughs. "I could see that. You were really staring down hard there."

"Yeah, I've had a lot of calls this week. And the majority of them involved unhappy customers that weren't very pleasant. It's a little overwhelming, but nothing I couldn't handle."

She shrugs, "it was a tough week. But hey, you got through it. Try not to stress about it too much."

Truth be told you were pretty much used to the busy work time. Working as a customer service representative for a credit card company, it was always teeming with phone calls. Often times with many of these calls you have to deal with rude customers. Luckily the work itself wasn't hard enough to have much of an impact. The work's pretty simple and the pay is good, so there isn't much more for you to complain about.

"I know. Luckily I've got you, and my nice little replenishment right here." You joke taking a sip of your drink.

"Amen to that, uh!" Brian chimes in, kissing his girlfriend on the cheek.

She playfully shoves him away. "Yeah, yeah," she continues, "so hey, about that place you're renting.."

You steadily raise a brow, already knowing where this conversation is heading.

"Oh come on!" She pleads. "You're still welcome to move in with me if you'd like. My place is very spacious and you would pay less rent. Think about all the stuff you could buy with all that extra money."

Shaking your head, you laugh, "not this again. No thanks, Gabby. I'm content with having my own living space."

She pouts at your response, seeing that you've rejected her offer more than a dozen times. "Alright then, fine. I respect your decision and I give up on asking. Just know that you are welcome to at anytime."

Could she really be done trying to persuade you? Well about damn time. If there's one thing Gabby can be, it's stubborn to the max. But you love her for that. Plus, it's not that you would hate to be her roommate. You just need to have your own space because you value your privacy.

Brian sees the opportunity and speaks up, "well, since it's a firm no from her, then maybe we could get a place together hun." He winks at her before laughing with you.

"Oh sure, you'd love that huh?" She tells him with a puckish smile. "I can barely stand you enough as is."

You nearly choke on your drink from laughing at her comment. Their playful banter is always amusing to you.

He puts his arm around her. "Ah, you love me."

"Bet your lucky ass I do." She mocks at him, then refocuses her attention towards you. "Speaking of living spaces, we still having movie night over at your place?"

You nod, "yeah, of course. Bring a horror movie. I'm in the mood for something scary tonight."

She sips her drink and tries to think of a movie. "Something scary.. hm, alright I got a few."

Brian scoffs, "Gabs trying to get you to move out, yet she still wants to stay the night at your place."

"Hey-" she objects, "my place is a mess right now! Plus, my neighbors upstairs are always too loud."

And yet, here she was trying to convince you to move in with her. The last time you stayed the night at her apartment, the couple that live directly above her had gotten into a huge argument. Voices were raised and doors were slammed. Fighting so loud that the whole complex could hear all of the details as they practically advertised their business. Now, it probably wouldn't have been such a big deal had it not been 2 o'clock in the morning..

You check the time on your phone, it's nearly 3 pm. Which means it's time to get a move on your Saturday errands. A little late, that is.

"Alright guys, I'm gonna head out." You stand up gathering your belongings.

"Okay miss scary," Gabby replies as you give her a quick hug. "I'll see you at your place later."

"See you later. Bye Brian." You wave them both before leaving the coffeehouse.

~~

Roughly a couple hours later, you're making your way home. Grocery tote in hand, casually walking on the sidewalk. Most of the houses here are quite worn and spaced farther apart. In fact, most of Derry is still pretty old. Of course, the stores and businesses here are kept up to date when it comes to their products and technology. But as far as the architecture of the buildings, apparently not much has changed. Along with new additions added recently, so the town is a good mix of modern and old-fashioned. It's a taste you could quite appreciate.

Concentrated on your phone, a bold colored object comes into your side view. Looking up, you spy a red balloon floating down the street past you. It's just.. hovering by. Not even ascending up or coming down. Like it's strictly following a horizontal path.

Well that's quite odd.

Suddenly, the balloon bursts with a loud pop at the sound of a sharp scream.

"Shit!" You blurt out clutching your chest.

Quickly, you search in the direction from which the sound came. A few yards off to the left, you spot what looks to be a little girl by a storm drain. Thrown back with her feet to the opening, frantically kicking while calling for help.

Without any hesitation, you dart over in that direction as fast as you could.

"HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE H-HELP!" She pleads trying to get away from the drain, it seems like she's being tugged in. "HELP!"

Nearing her, you drop your tote and bag on the ground. "Hey! Are you oka-" your words of aid are immediately cut off by the view before you. There is a large, clawed arm reaching out of the opening. It's latched onto the child's foot and trying to drag her into the drain. "Oh my god!" You plead, taking ahold of the girl's hand which she reaches out to you.

You manage to keep her from being pulled any further, but the sharp claw won't let her go. Gripped tightly around her ankle, it wasn't like anything you'd ever seen before. Long and beastly. Like something straight from a horror film.

"NO, NO, NOO!" Broken cries pour from her lips as she thrashes her legs.

"Let her go!" You demand the faceless attacker while struggling to break her free. A deep growl came from inside, responding to your presence. "What the hell-" you gasp. That noise, it was so inhuman. Growing desperate, you grab onto the appendage, trying to release it's iron grip. "I SAID LET HER GO!"

Finally it gave, deciding to release her foot. The sudden force sends you flying back with the child. Landing hard on your backside as she buries her face into your shoulder and clings to you. You secure her tightly into your arms and stand, looking back into the opening.

It's completely dark, aside from the piercing red eyes staring right back at you! An angry gaze burning through your own. Your hold on the young girl tightens, eyes widening in horror. Even though you are in a shocked state, you stand your ground and stare right back. Then, a high pitched chuckle vibrates within the drain. Echoing through before fading out along with the fiery orbs. Once it's gone, you try to process what you'd just seen.

"I've got you, there there." You comfort the frightened child, and probably even yourself. "It's okay. I got you."

What the fuck was that thing?

You pace a couple feet away from the sight before attempting to put her down. But she doesn't want to let you go, only hugging you tighter while shaking her head and muttering a bunch a trembling no's. Eventually, with a few comforting pats, her hold eases and you carefully set her down. She's still shaking, the poor girl. "Hey, it's alright. You're safe. It's gone now." You reassure her as you wipe away her tear streams.

"No, no-" she weeps, "he's gonna get me!"

He?

You attempt to calm her. "No one is going to hurt you. They're gone." Gently taking ahold of her trembling hands, you wait for her breathing to slow down. "No one. Understand?"

She sniffles, glancing back towards the drain. "O-okay."

Not convinced with her answer, you turn her back, "you sure?" She nods her head, a little more certain this time. "Good. Now let me take a look at that foot." Leaning down, you examine her ankle. There are scratch marks and some light bruising from where it gripped on. Her sparkly princess sneaker is shredded up, just barley walkable. "Does it hurt?"

"A little bit."

"Would you like me to walk you home?" You offer gathering your items from the ground. Why even ask? After what had just happened, there's no way you'd let her go by herself.

"Yes please," she replies softly.

"Alright, lead the way." She takes ahold of your hand and escorts you along. "So.. what's your name?" You ask walking alongside her.

"Kimberly."

"Nice to meet you Kimberly, my name is y/n. How old are you?"

"Seven. I'm in second grade." She says proudly, holding up two fingers.

"Wow, second grade? Super cool! You know you're very brave." She stays silent, gazing down on the concrete. Whatever that thing was back there scared her really bad. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head no. She winces, and there’s a slight limp with every step she takes on her injured leg.

"That's okay. You don't have to." You assure, avoid wanting to further upset her. At the same time, you're curious as to what she saw down there. Whatever it was, it could not have been human. Especially with those glowing eyes and monstrous claws. Unless it was a person in a very realistic and convincing costume. But then what about the bizarre sounds they made?

"He was a clown." Kimberly breaks the silence.

"A clown?"

She nods.

"What did he look like?"

"Scary," she thinks, "he was big. Tall and fluffy. I thought he was my f-friend."

"Why did you think he was your friend?"

"Because he wasn't scary at first. He was funny and nice to me. I think his name was.. Very Wise? He said he would give me popcorn and take me to the circus. My mommy tells me not to follow strangers, I told him no."

There wasn't a circus in Derry that you knew of. However telling by the utter confusion in her recollection, and with how she seemed so certain, you realize she must be telling the truth. To her own knowledge, anyway. 

Having stopped there, it wasn't hard for you to guess what had happened next. "And then he grabbed you?"

She pouts, "mhm, I-I think he wanted to eat me."

The whole thing made you sick to your stomach. Not even wanting to imagine what would have happened to this poor, sweet girl if you hadn't been walking by. It also was crazy how no one else had heard her cries for help. The commotion was loud enough to draw attention from the nearby houses, and yet it didn't. No one came out to help, heck nobody even came out afterwards to check or see if everything was alright. It made you a little angry, but alas you bit down on your tongue before continuing the conversation with Kimberly.

"Let me tell you, I love clowns. But he doesn't sound like the kind of clown that I would like."

"You wouldn't," she agrees. "You're really nice."

"Well Kimberly, I don't think that Very Wise will be bothering you any time soon." You recite coming up to her house. Moments after knocking, a woman you assumed to be her mother answers the door.

The woman gasps, "Kimberly! What happened!?" She embraces her daughter, looking to you both for an immediate answer.

"She was attacked by something in the drain," you explain. "I'm sorry, I didn't get a good look at what it was before it fled."

"It's true mommy! She helped me get away from the clown I told you about." Kimberly claims, throwing you off guard.

Wait, she's seen it more than once!?

Her mother quickly quiets her down, "Oh, you and your imagination. It looks like you were attacked by an animal. Must have been a dog from the looks of it. But thank goodness you're okay. I told you not to go out and play too far, didn't I?" Kimberly frowns at her mother's words of disbelief. "And thank you for bringing her home safe, dear." The woman praises you before turning back to the her daughter. "Sweetheart, thank the nice young lady and come inside."

"Thank you y/n," the girl smiles giving you a hug.

"No need, I'm just glad you're safe. Good night." You call before they head inside.

You're still puzzled with the idea that Kimberly has previously encountered the clown being before. It's even more strange how she's warned her mother, yet the woman seemed to have brushed it off as nothing! Especially after an apparent attack like such. It doesn't feel right. What kind of a mother would ignore something like that?

Sighing deeply, you're just glad that it is over with. Letting it go as you head home. Have you got an insane story to tell Gabby later.

End of Part 1.

[pinkopalina]

my schedule is gonna be changing a bit soon. I'm really excited because I think it will improve a lot of aspects of my life than I'm unhappy with. I usually close most nights, so I work at night and get home late. but I'll be working more mid shifts -- and I'm extra excited, because it's three mids and two closes, and it's every other day.

I'm a liiiiiiiiittle worried about my assignments changing at work because I'd be doing a bit more customer facing. I don't really like talking to customers. a lot of them can be really rude and dehumanizing. a lot of them aren't, and I appreciate that, but I just have such little patience for people who are actively being an asshole to me when I'm just doing my job...

I also have a really hard time switching tasks, so I usually just wait for them to start -- which can be really hard after a year of starting my day at 2 pm! so I always feel like I can't do anything until it's time to get ready for work but now since my shifts are more normal range I'm really looking forward to seeing other positive changes

[probablynotnothing]

This picture is from a book called "all along you were blooming" by morgan harper nichols.

its almost unbearably hard trying to be a human who is good, careful, smart, forward thinking, and doesnt harm others. i didnt experience pain like this when i was younger. i know now i dont use any substances at all it is also terrifying and frightening to experience emotions i prevented ever experiencing when i was younger. through numbing in many various ways. some of these emotions its not necessary for me to experience but i dont know yet which these are. so coming off the tail end of the season of pointing my anger against myself, i will use the last remains of this guilty desire to harm myself by experimenting with what does and doesnt help me in certain contexts.

It's so difficult to know myself and what works for me to do to feel better in different circumstances, since i relied on drugs, sex and food when younger in a way that I now associate with my downfalls and shame. Yes many things i did to cope and make myself feel better when younger had outcomes not in my best interest, but there was really magic in doing things by consulting my inner desire and enjoyment. i want to do that now and minimize harm (financial, health, relational) while also being compassionate to myself that my brain doesn't experience joy and rewards with the things that "it should" experience rewards with. I dont have patience, i dont like arts and crafts, I like hands on activities and exploring and learning, and thats ok.

I cant problem solve it and know all the answers right now regarding how to think about myself and life. i'm frustrated so many people know who they are and what theyre doing, and that they feel inherently rewarded doing the things that take me massive willpower to force myself to do. i feel betrayed that i don't enjoy doing much and certainly don't seem to enjoy anything "upright" and "productive".

i have so much debt and dont have any financial plans in place. i keep eating out because its the only way i can feel comfort and pleasure lately and i don't have the energy and patience to cook like i used to. i know my unhappiness directly relates to my job, and my job directly relates to my financial constraints. it seems like a self perpetuating cycle. Don't know the way out but im grateful to remember this is a major aspect of my unhappiness and anger, and I'm not just "broken". I'm experiencing appropriate human emotions for a human in my circumstances and history.

I force myself to go to these classes I dread each week because i tell myself if I don't I may be stuck in my exhausting dead end job forever and never get closer to my goals and just keep breaking down my body more with overworking myself in fast paced physical labor jobs. I'm experiencing the discomfort of something new yes- but I am also experiencing the discomfort of incompatibility and disagreement in philosophy (dog training), and a lack of inherent rewards. I'm trying to force myself to behave in a way I think I should to accomplish my goals, but doesnt the path my end goal need to be filled with things i find bearable and rewarding in order to confirm i'm on the path?

I keep on feeling like a ghost. winding up in situations where i dont want to be rude and infringe ("who am i to sidetrack this person's path"). while its important to be able to quietly peacefully depart paths and leave into the night, at some point i do need to also learn how to be honest about confusion, disagreements, etc. because i need compassion for myself, to be willing to take up room and help those who may not want to ask for help or admit they need help, and i need others to help me by giving me opportunities so i can selfishly have a job that is actually compatible with me and my inherent advantages/ strengths and disadvantages/weaknesses.

I need to recognize for myself the difference between sincerely liking someone and being compatible, and the difference of living in "customer service mode" and trying to be likable and peaceable with everyone.

When i survived when i was younger, and got out of homelessness, could i have accomplished it in ways that didnt involve gritting my teeth and forcing myself to "stick with the program"?

it feel like an overwhelming disaster to examine and sort through how my unhappiness relates to practical matters of the present or past memories, but its worth it for me to try to find my peace adn happiness, and try to get to the life i want to live, even when it feels impossible.

[theshadowrealmitself]

Alien Species #1

(I tend to think up background alien species for plot reasons that I end up really liking, but then I always forget to save the info anywhere, because it’s background stuff and I don’t end up even using a majority of the customs and stuff I think up, so I’m gonna start making posts about it)

These aliens have an age where they may be “physically” adults, but they don’t consider a person an adult until they pass a trial of sorts (the trials are monitored by adults that have “high standing”, which a person either gains by being really good a specific skill, or being able to work really well with others)

(It’s not an incredibly difficult or horrifying trial, it’s even changed to take into account a person’s skill set and what they can actually physically accomplish, it’s just one that tests things like: can you work well with others for a limited time like an adult needing to get something done can? can you think critically like an adult? can you be responsible? can you be patient? etc etc etc)

If a person fails this trial, they just take it again at a later date, and keep trying till they can pass it, there’s not really any shame in failing, it just means you aren’t spiritually ready to be an adult yet and there’s resources to help those who failed (like maybe a person failed because they lost their temper at another candidate (these tests are usually done in groups) and they just need some help with managing emotions in situations like that)

For a majority of people tho, it’s that the time limit made them a bit too panicked, and they usually pass it the second time around when they know what to expect

There is times when a person can shamefully fail, but they’d have to be a deeply unpleasant person, and that method usually involves slandering someone else (it’s highly taboo to speak badly about another person, if they’ve done something bad you can speak about it, but you’d have to do it in technical terms, like “they called me this word and it made me unhappy so I don’t speak to them,” instead of “they were rude,” so to speak badly about a person and for it to knowingly be untruthful, that you are just trying to ruin their reputation? hella taboo, you can say goodbye to ever being acknowledged as an adult)

(This all goes back to this society really valuing harmony and being able to work together, and letting other people decide for themselves if they can work with that person instead of that person getting shunned because of a ruined reputation, etc)

Once you become an adult, two things happen: First, you receive a unique earring (accommodations are provided if a person cannot wear an earring), they’re usually elaborate, able to be easily seen, but everyone’s different so some are plain, and Second, you are matched with a Life Partner

Contrary to how that word translates to other species, Life Partners are not spouses, they’re simply the person who balances you out the best so you can be your best self (like somebody who’s really anxious all the time getting paired with a sibling who knows how to calm them down), so it makes sense to stick by them, Life Partners can be best friends, family members, and in some cases, yes, spouses, but they can even be a stranger chosen for you (and oddly enough, even when it’s someone from a different species going through this, the most compatible person is always chosen for them)

If a person loses a Life Partner, it’s customary for them to wear their earring on the opposite side, it’s the only time you’ll see someone wearing two earrings is when they’ve gone through that kind of loss

Sometimes a person won’t be paired up immediately when they’re acknowledged as adults, it just means there currently isn’t someone who’s that compatible with them, and they’ll just have to wait till that person reaches adulthood (v common with close family members with age gaps) there’s no shame in it, there’s only shame in trying to force someone to be paired up with someone they aren’t compatible with

They’ll accept outsiders as adults compared to the outsiders’ customs, unless that outsider wants to join their planet as a citizen, then to be treated as an adult, they must also go through the trial and be paired up

Biggest part of being seen as an adult is mostly getting a say in politics, having the ability to get married (does not matter how close physically you are in age, all involved in wanting to get married must be considered adults, in fact, if you’re dating someone as a considered adult and your romantic partner keeps failing the trial, you may have to end your relationship with them as you would be considering spiritually and mentally much older and it wouldn’t be right of you to keep dating) if you wanna get married, and getting to specialize in what you want to (there’s a big emphasis on children having a rounded education so they just stay learning the basics of everything till they’re adults and can decide what they want to advance in)

(It’s very rare for a person to fail becoming an adult for years, on average, if they fail once they’ll either get it by their second try, or maybe a few tries later, but still in the same year, the trial is more about working harmoniously with others which should get easier the more you attempt it, so that’s why it’s taken so seriously if a partner is taking awhile to pass)

This species is tall, light purple, and humanoid looking, but without any curves at all, to the point where their slitted clothes look normal on them, but on a species like Humans, where each one is naturally curvier than this species, even if they aren’t considered curvy by Human standards, the slitted clothes look more,,, provocative (not to the species, because none of them have curves, they don’t take notice, but any Humans wearing those clothes are Aware™️)

The clothes also include a ton of jewelry and adornments that, much like the earrings, tell everyone else what that person’s place in society is

[im-just-tired2024]

PSA: I know not everyone had a good home life growing up. This is about me and my life and feelings. I’m not wishing bad things on anyone else or wish they can go back to abusive situations. (Feel like this needs to be addressed first cause people seem to lack critical thinking skills or straight up ignore things that are very clearly not about them)

*Sorry if that sounded aggressive or rude but I feel like media literacy is dying

Anyway, wishing to be an adult quicker and daydreaming about being an adult was the stupidest thing I wanted. Like don’t get me wrong it’s nice to have freedom from my parents and family; parents can’t really tell me what to do (in a way but even when you’re grown ass adult and move out they still tell you what to do) like they could and did as a kid/teen and I have my own home and can decorate the whole place and not just my room how I want.

But like I just miss that innocent and youthful time of my life where I didn’t really have a whole lot of responsibilities outside of school and chores. My parents were always really cool and pretty much gave us a lot of leeway to do things. Like late curfews and we didn’t have to have a job in high school. The only thing we needed to focus on was good grades and doing chores. I.e generally speaking I could do most things I wanted to do except like smoking and drinking and partying all night type of stuff (but I wasn’t interested in that stuff anyway so I guess that point it moot)

I know high school isn’t the best years of your life and it was pretty good for me but not necessarily something I’d desperately want to relive. But I just wish I tried more in school and paid attention and actually put effort into things and got my head out of my ass. But I just fucked around and acted like a dumbass.

Even in my early 20’s I just made bad decisions and made changes and made certain choices that I didn’t have to and was just being stupid and now I’m paying for the consequences. I did good my first 3 years in college but acted like an ass cause I don’t know why.

I’m just so tired and exhausted from work and life and I’m just thinking about everything I did and I realized I took a lot of my childhood for granted and screwed around and acted like a dickhead when I should have been focusing on school. But I was ungrateful and daydreamed and fantasized about life instead of enjoying the moment and being grateful for the freedoms my parents gave me that other kids and teens my age didn’t have.

I really just want a break from life and have someone else take care of me for a little bit. Im just tired of all the crap from customers and my boss and my every day life. Even stuff around the world seems to be getting worse and worse every day. I know things were always bad all over the place. It’s just 10-15 years ago no one really talked about it but idk I just feel like things are worse??

Anyway this is a rant and I’m not looking for sympathy and I just needed to vent and get my thoughts out of my head. Without an irritated sigh from my little sister followed by “i know. Me too” or my parents telling me “I told you so”

I’m just tired of dead end jobs, exhausted with everything and everyone and I’m unhappy with my life and my choices right now. It’s whatever and I’m sure in 5 years I’ll be fine and in a better headspace and job. I hope….

[ulises-333]

Starbucks brand evaluation

I chose to analyze the experience I had with entering Starbucks and experiencing their brand of customer service. I was immediately greeted with a "hello welcome!" along with a smile. I engaged in some small talk and it was reciprocated naturally. When I requested caramel drizzle, they responded "of course!".

I believe that they instill this type of customer service in their training in order to make sure their brand is welcoming and friendly. This resonates with me because you always catch more flys with honey than with vinegar. No one wants to walk in and spend money somewhere that they don't feel overwhelmingly welcome. I think the brands team learned how much more likely people are to buy if they receive good customer service. Statistics say 81% of people claim that receiving good customer service makes them more likely to make a second purchase. The baristas being trained to make the environment more welcoming is part of the four c's that are mentioned in our textbook (Kocek, 2013). The culture of the company revolves around being welcoming and inviting to outsiders, and on top of that making them more inclined to stay and relax or work at a Starbucks. This all starts with customer service. Of course, I do think some people come in with such negative attitude that the smiles on the baristas faces do not affect them, but I am sure if the baristas were rude this would incite even more anger in these unhappy customers. This culture that the company has built is the reason they have been so successful. Starbucks is welcoming, but beyond that they know how to keep people at their coffee shops. Clean buildings, comfortable chais, and soothing music make Starbucks the perfect spot to get work done or unwind over a cup of coffee. This communications strategy is help within every Starbucks franchise. I have never personally been to a Starbucks with poor customer service, or unclean facilities.

Outside source: Statistics, 2023 Customer Service. (2023, June 7). 2023 customer service statistics. 123 Blog. https://www.123formbuilder.com/blog/customer-service-statistics#:~:text=81%25%20of%20people%20claim%20that,meet%20all%20of%20their%20needs. 

[z0mbie1uvr]

why do customers have the audacity to ask you if you’re mad

[hyperfixated-gvf]

What’s in a Name?

On the first day of Tropemas, hyperfixated-gvf gave to me:

A fluffy coffeeshop AU featuring Danny.

Christmas Song Pairing: “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” by Michael Bublé

~~~

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Reader

Warnings: None

Words: 4.8k

1. Monday: Gretav

You loved the holidays. You knew it was cliché and commercialized and cheesy and you also knew that not everyone felt the same.

In fact, working as a barista at a coffeeshop, you saw a whole lot of people who put a whole lot of effort into hating not only the holidays, but themselves, the people around them, and just life in general. Not that you could blame them – you knew the range of human emotion was stinted sometimes due to factors you couldn’t even begin to understand, so you chose to take it all with a grain of salt and continue living your own, holiday-loving life without them in it.

But it was always nice having those customers that didn’t share the same dreary pessimism and bitterness.

The man who had just walked through the door looked like he was falling within the former category, though, so you pasted on a smile and got ready to receive a glare at any formality you might offer and the short utterance of an order that would hopefully put him in a better mood.

“Good morning, how can I help you today?”

Once he put his palms flat on the counter and leaned forward to study the menu, you realized that he definitely seemed to be just as frazzled as he was dour.

“Morning. Could I have a vanilla latte with oat milk made with your organic, free-trade medium roast with cinnamon on top, a caramel cappuccino, a peppermint mocha, a regular black coffee, and I don’t care if you have to charge me extra for it, but I’m also going to need a large cup filled with whipped cream, please.”

Well, at least he wasn’t one of the rude, unhappy customers. You smiled as you put the order into the computer. “Someone got a sweet tooth?”

He huffed a sound that could have been a laugh, could have been a scoff – you weren’t sure, but you got the idea that he didn’t get along with those he was ordering for. “Actually, it’s for Mr. Black Coffee, who refuses to admit he doesn’t like the taste of it after a drink or two, so he gets a cup of whipped cream to pour the rest of it into as if it’s not just cream and sugar.”

Perhaps you were wrong about his feelings towards the other coffee-drinkers – there was a hint of affection behind the scorn. You chuckled.

“Not a bad idea. Though, I’m not sure what other people would think of you if you’re ordering a whole cup of whipped cream, if he’s thinking about his reputation. Could I have a name for the order?”

The man’s phone went off and he got distracted, mumbling out, “Yeah, uh, Greta V—”

He cut himself off and closed his eyes, grimacing and looking up at the ceiling with a small blush on his face, and you looked him up and down with an amused tilt of your lips.

“I definitely wouldn’t have pegged you as a ‘Gretav,’ that’s an interesting name. Maybe, like, a Julian or Anthony or something.”

His eyes lit up for the first time and he let out a throaty laugh. “That’s – that’s not actually my name. It’s…well, part of my band’s name. But surprisingly enough, you’re not the first one to tell me I look like a Julian. Maybe I should have a talk with my parents about changing my name.” He cast a glance over you, and you turned around to hide the faint blush that appeared at his attention. He was a very attractive man, you couldn’t deny that much.

“Alright, then, ‘Gretav,’ I’ll have your order waiting over there at the other counter when it’s ready.”

You hoped you’re fingers brushed when you handed him his drink.

…

2. Tuesday: Greedy

It surprised you when he came in at the same time the next day. That specific time of day was not busy – in that middle ground where it was too early for a lunchtime coffee break but just after that ‘I’m late but still getting my coffee’ straggler’s period.

But he had said he was in a band, so you figured his schedule was probably a little less structured day-to-day than other jobs’.

He smiled at you this time when he pushed the door in, his initial bad mood from the past day gone, and instead of the subtle intimidation you’d had previously, your heart kicked up a notch. A very attractive man, indeed. He looked at the Christmas decorations that had popped up overnight – a garland border at the register, hanging string lights, a small, waving, Santa animatronic by the pick-up counter, and a red-bow wreath on each of the entrance doors.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” he commented once he approached the counter.

“Everywhere you go,” you responded, smiling back. “What can I get you today?”

“Just a peppermint mocha, please.”

“No secret whipped cream?”

He chuckled. “No. Jake’s not a big coffee drinker normally, and the bandmate that made the fuss for coffee yesterday went to the store and bought more of his regular roast – he’d run out yesterday and we all heard about it until I offered to go on a coffee run. And of course, this coffee shop was the only one listed nearby that had coffee suitable enough for his wonky sense of morals.”

You typed the order in and calculated the total. “Small coffee businesses do tend to cater to wonky morals. I’d have made him get his own.”

You glanced up as he searched his pockets for his wallet, the hem of his shirt twisting with his body as he patted his back pockets. “Well, he’s also my best friend, and I’ve been known to dote on him. He was being a whiny princess that didn’t want to leave the studio yesterday, so of course it became my job.” A strip of skin at his waistband peeked out and you blinked at it, clearing your throat a second later when it disappeared and he offered his card to you, a small smile playing at his lips.

You’d only been looking at him for a whopping 3 seconds – he couldn’t have caught you, could he? “Sounds like a lot of love there. What about your other bandmates?”

You didn’t even know this man, but you were prepared to go to bat for him if he was always delegated menial tasks like coffee runs all the time. You printed off his ticket and gave him the customer copy.

“Well, the other two are his brothers, so they would have hit him over the head with his own bass before getting him coffee. I wasn’t recording at the time, and I needed a break from them, anyways.” He took a glance at it and then did a double take, confusion taking over his features. “Does this say…Greedy?”

You tried to hide your smile. “What? I could’ve sworn I put Gretav again.”

“Oh.” He laughed in understanding. “I never did tell you name, did I? Its—”

You cut him off before he could say. “You can tell me, but if I’m being honest, if you come in again, I’m just going to put the wrong thing in again.”

It may have only been the second day he came in, but you were already hoping he’d become a regular. The mystery added to the experience – you were almost certain his band was well-known with how naturally he’d answered the name question, as if he was very used to being a whole instead of an individual, but you refused to look up bands with ‘Greta’ in their name regardless of the screaming curiosity that kept you up last night.

He cocked his head in a very puppy-esque way and nodded, eyes lighting up in shared mischief. “Okay, then. Sounds like I’ll just have to keep coming in.”

Your smile grew, and you ducked your head to try and hide how much you were enjoying the conversation, focusing then on his drink and acknowledging the customer that pushed through the doors.

You put the finishing touches on the coffee and set it down in front of the man.

“Have a good day, Greedy.”

…

3. Wednesday: Greeta

A cold front had blown in – not bringing any snow, just bitter wind and gray skies. You were glad for the influx of customers looking for a warm drink to double as a hand-warmer that it brought in – tips were always nice, and it kept you from daydreaming about the mystery man.

It didn’t, however, keep you from looking towards the door every time it opened, hoping it would be him.

He didn’t come in at his usual time, either, and that made your heart clench in misplaced disappointment – he had to be a busy man, and you were clearly getting way too attached to him as a customer, especially after just two days.

When it came within two hours of your shift end, you were convinced he wasn’t going to show up, But as you finished up with a customer, you looked towards the register and saw him standing there, waiting with an small, expectant grin on his face.

“I thought you weren’t coming today,” you said as you approached the counter. You might have been able to hide the rapid flutter in your chest, but you couldn’t help the grin that you returned.

He batted his hand through the air. “And miss an opportunity to see what name you come up with this time? Never. I can’t leave off at ‘Greedy’.”

You chuckled. “I’ll have to come up with a good one, then.” In actuality, you’d had a name picked out since you opened the doors that morning, but that wasn’t information you were willing to divulge to this handsome stranger. “Peppermint mocha again today?” You were already typing it in.

“Yep,” he said. You missed the way he was studying you, a soft smile still on his face. He looked away but had his card ready when you went to hold your hand out for it.

“So do you just like the taste or are all the peppermint mochas an attempt to get into the holiday spirit?” you asked as the card was processing.

He blew out a ‘pffft’. “Holiday spirit, 100%. My mom used to get one from Starbucks on the way to school when I was younger every Friday when they were still a new, seasonal thing and she’d always share sips with my sister and I, so it reminds me of them.”

“That’s sweet.” You started getting the drink ready. “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you late today?”

The man leaned against the counter to watch you, and you tried to ignore the watchful gaze. You absently noticed that his hair was put up in a messy bun, and you were digging it.

“Ah, just band stuff. I had to record some stuff and Josh – our frontman – had a bunch of changes and comments and input into my part and performance, so I had to stay and collaborate.”

“You don’t sound super excited about it,” you observed. But once again, you could tell there were no ill-feelings driving the comment.

Man-Bun huffed out a laugh. “Josh always has something to say, and I was missing my coffee run.”

You blushed a little bit, letting the knowledge that this was a memorable part of his day as well wrap you up in warmth.

You snapped the lid onto the drink and put it in front of him, the name turned towards him.

“It’s not super exciting, but it’s better than Greedy.”

He lifted the cup up to examine it and smiled. “I love it, it’s great.”

“Well then, Mr. Greeta, I hope your hands don’t freeze out there.”

…

4. Thursday: Regreta

“My band asked me where I keep going in the morning today, and honestly, I’m just surprised they stopped fighting long enough to notice me leaving.”

You’d been turned around, organizing the coffee bean bag shelf when you heard his voice float down to you. Your head turned and you twisted your torso to see him, getting up and stretching after having been crouched to the level of the bottom shelf.

“They seem to fight a lot.” He opened his mouth, but then a lightbulb went off in your head. “Wait, didn’t you say they’re brothers? Cause that explains it.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Two of them are twins, too, so sometimes Sammy feels like they gang up on him when I’m not there – even though the twins get into more than anyone else.”

You put his order in without asking him, and his card must have been lying on the counter since he came in, because it was waiting for you. It dawned on you how comfortable you were with this stranger, how quickly you formed and became attached to a routine simple as ordering a drink.

“Must be hard sharing everything from a womb to a band.”

“A temper, too.”

You laughed. “And you?”

He cocked his head, a move that was becoming signature to him – a very cute one, too. “Me, what?

“What’s your temper like? Are you an instigator or a mediator?” You gave him his receipt and got a cup out, jotting down the name you’d picked out for him that day, liking the potential jokes that could be made with it.

“A mediator – almost full time. They’ve offered to rebrand me with the title ‘Keeper of Peace’ instead of drummer, but I turned it down, I’d miss my kit too much. And probably go crazy.”

You hooked onto the extra informational tidbit he’d slipped in, and had to clear your throat when the first thought that popped up in response was that it explained why his arms were so deliciously toned – not that you could see them clearly today underneath his sweater. But those first couple of days – he had some really nice arms.

But they were secondary to him in general, really. After that first bad mood, he’d been the sweetest person you could imagine meeting.

“Have to pay you extra?” was what you offered instead of your observation on his arms.

He snickered. “They wouldn’t be able to afford me. If I didn’t love them all like they’re my own brothers, I wouldn’t have stuck around.”

“And where would they be without their drummer, right?”

The blush creeping up his cheeks was adorable and endearing. Handsome, kind, and humble.

“I’d like to think they’d still make it to where they are today, but we’ve got something special.”

You wanted to tell him that he was special, but you really didn’t think you were at that point after knowing him a total of four days now and without a specified way to address him.

“Well, I’m sure you’re definitely irreplaceable.” It wasn’t much better, but it wasn’t as personal.

“Thanks,” he said softly. You met his eyes and shared the smile that followed his words before pushing his drink towards him.

He took a look at his receipt again, smile growing wider.

“I hope you don’t ‘Regreta’ being in a band.”

…

5. Friday: Feta

“You’ve got to be getting tired of peppermint mochas by now.”

The man looked up from his wallet, an amused glint shining in his eyes. “I mean –”

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a gaggle of tired looked college students coming through the door, and you knew it was bound to be finals season, so you gave the handsome man a regretful smile. “Sorry, looks like we won’t have time to talk today.”

He shrugged. “Always another day, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, printing his ticket. He moved down to the pick-up counter and you saw a couple of the students eying the man. “I’ll be right with you guys,” you told them.

You wrote down your name for the day and started making his mocha in a much quicker manner than you would with no other customers.

While the expresso brewed, you went back to take the group’s order. The expresso drip stopped right as you were finishing payments, and the group moved over to where Mr. Man was standing, looking at his phone with an amused smile.

You eyed the students, still watching Mr. Man with an interest that you could only chalk up to their noticing him on basis of attraction or knowledge of his band, neither of which you wanted them to acknowledge but neither of which you could control.

And so, when two of them took the plunge and walked over timidly, you hurriedly found the correct lid size and snapped it onto the drink, walking up to the counter just in time to hear them ask, “Hi, we don’t mean to bother you, but are you –”

“Feta?” you called.

His eyes snapped from the college students to you, failing to hide his smirk.

“That’s me,” he said. He turned back to the students. “I’m Feta.” And then he winked (which was much more attractive than it had any right being) and took a photo with them, giving the classic pinkie/pointer ‘rock on’ pose.

Your hands brushed as he took the drink from you, and winked again, this time at you. “Thanks, Y/N” he said, but his tone was different – cockier, more confident – but you supposed that the recognition would do that to a person. It was also the first time he’d addressed you by name, which made your heart flutter furiously and thank the owner for making you wear a nametag.

You tried not to watch him leave, but couldn’t help your straying eyes. Your brows furrowed as you started the students’ drinks, watching as he walked down and across the street, only to stop in front of a homeless woman. You knew her – she stopped by the shop sometimes for a cup of coffee at the end of the day, when the owner had given permission to give out any extra drip coffee for free.

The woman smiled at him and he handed her his drink.

Interesting.

…

6. Saturday: Gretel

You wanted to conduct an experiment.

You also didn’t want to get your hopes up, but yesterday inspired a train of thoughts that all began with what if?

What if the man only came to order a coffee because he was ordering from you?

What if you were just projecting your crush and he just gave it to her out of the kindness of his own heart because he felt like it that day?

What if he looked forward to your daily interactions just as much as you did?

What if he was unhappy with his band and took any excuse to get away from them and you were just the most convenient option?

What if he hadn’t wanted a peppermint mocha?

The only way to get the question queue to stop growing was to decide on a theory and conduct an experiment – obviously, since direct confrontation was never even a consideration.

Theory: Handsome Man was into you.

Conducted Experiment:

· Step one: Order him a peppermint mocha without asking again.

· Step two: Use the homeless woman’s name as a hook

· Step three: Determine level of recognition of the name from reaction

· Step four: If recognition occurs, despair

· Step four, part two: If recognition does not occur, talk about band

· Step five: Determine level of happiness from discussion

· Step six: If unhappiness occurs, despair

· Step six, part two: If happiness occurs, observe final coffee location

· Step seven: If coffee is consumed, despair

· Step seven, part two: If coffee is not consumed, proceed with caution

You thought it was a good plan. Was it overkill? Perhaps. But if you’re gonna do overkill, you might as well do it well.

Of course, he had to show up first, and you were worried now that maybe he wasn’t a weekend coffeeshop kinda guy, not everyone was.

The weekend-only coffeeshop customers kept you busy in the morning – the skies had cleared up a little to let some sunshine through, and despite it still being snot-freezing cold, some sun-obsessed people were still dragging themselves through the streets pretending to enjoy it.

You were a little on edge since you had your potential revelation, and wanted everyone to go away so that you could focus on being a scientist of love.

You finally caught sight of his lovely long hair through the doors, and he pushed them open, immediately looking for you and letting a goofy smile catch his lips when he saw you looking right back at him.

There were a few people in front of him, and you honestly wouldn’t have been able to recall what it was they said to you or you to them or if you made their coffee correctly because you were stuck repeating the steps of your petty experiments in your head.

“Hi there. So you’re a weekend coffee-drinker too, huh? I was wondering if you’d come today or if you were a Monday through Friday kinda guy.” It was probably just your nerves, but you thought your voice sounded a little higher than normal, your words a little more rushed. You put in his order.

Step one, complete.

The man shrugged, drawing one hand out of his pocket with his card at the ready. “We actually didn’t record, but I wanted another peppermint mocha. Once I started, I forgot how hard it is to stop.”

“Well, luckily for you, I know how to make one. Obviously.”

He laughed. “Oh, I know. You’re very good at it.” You blushed at the compliment, your fingers almost slipping on the marker as you wrote down the name.

“I’m a fan of your name today, by the way,” you said, handing him his receipt. He’d taken to not looking until he got his cup, but you needed to pique his curiosity to go through with your plan.

Step two, complete.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, pocketing his card and glancing down at the receipt. “Huh, you know, this is the first day that my name has actually been a name. It is a good name, though. Reminds me of Hansel and Gretel, which always reminds me of Christmas with the candy house and making gingerbread houses and everything.”

There was no recognition of the name beyond the fairy tale, from your perspective.

Step three, complete. Disregard step four, part one.

You swallowed, putting the expresso onto brew. “Speaking of Christmas, has your band ever put out any Christmas music?”

Step four, part two, complete.

Mr. Man puttered around the stretch between the register and pick up counter, moving with you and studying your work. He hummed, but smiled.

“Not officially, no. But I’m sure there’s a video or two out there floating around of us singing a Christmas song. Where we’re from, Christmas is a big thing. I’ll have to mention it to them, though – we’d have so much fun recording a Christmas album, I just know it.”

The sentence held lots of happiness and lots of warmth – the man seemed to embody both concepts.

Step five, complete. Disregard step six, part one.

“Alrighty, then, Gretel, I hope you have a good weekend. You’ll have to let me know when you drop a Christmas tune or two.”

He raised his cup to you just as another Saturday pedestrian wandered in. “You too, and I definitely will.”

You only paid half-attention to the customer in front of you, blatantly watching the man walk out the door and look down the street where the real Gretel was bundled underneath a blanket.

A smile grew on your face when he handed her the drink and a few bills.

Step six, part two, complete. Disregard step seven part one.

Step seven part two: proceed with caution, commenced.

…

Sunday: Surprise

It was the first time you’d asked for a day off in a long time. You liked your job, and you needed money, so you worked any shift that became available, and after the first two days of Cute Guy coming in, you started making sure you were always there at his regular time.

So it earned you a strange look from your coworker when you stepped through the doors the next day – a very cold, snowy Sunday. Unbeknownst to them, you were about 15 minutes early from when the man usually came in, so you fielded your coworker’s curiosity at the register as quickly as you could and ordered a peppermint mocha and a gingerbread latte, waiting on bated breath for him to waltz through the doors, any minute now – hopefully unburdened by the new blanket of snow that had fallen since your last meeting.

“Could you leave the latte cup blank and give me a marker after you make it?”

Your coworker nodded and started working on the drinks.

Step seven was going to fail, you just knew it. There would be no caution in the proceedings – you were wholly infatuated with this mystery man.

A couple minutes later, your coworker called out your name and you took the marker out of their hand, jotting today’s name down on the space dedicated to it and moving yourself and the drinks to a table with a seat facing the door.

You couldn’t help the nervous movement that followed – shifting in the chair, tapping your foot, scratching at the coffee cups, drumming your fingers on the table – but it all ceased when a familiar head of dark hair stepped through the door, frowning when he didn’t see you at the register.

“Gretav?” you said, the name carrying the short distance over to him. He turned towards your voice, surprise evident in his expression, but then he beamed, taking in your casual dress and customer-location.

You couldn’t help but smile back, motioning him over.

“Why, hello there, Ms. Barista. Look at you, all dressed down.”

You winked. “I only dress down for a select few.”

“Well, I’m glad to be included,” he laughed, taking the seat across from you and eyeing the two cups in front of you. “Is one of those for me or am I interrupting something?”

“What would you do if I told you my boyfriend was just in the bathroom?”

He leaned back, seeming unconcerned. “Well, I don’t need a cheating scandal, so I’d probably run for the hills.”

You took in his relaxed posture. “You don’t look ready to run.” A sadistic streak made you want to make him squirm for how much unintended anxiety he had caused you.

He paused. “Wait, are you serious?”

You laughed at his silent panic. “No. One of these is yours, but it’s not the peppermint mocha.”

He gave you a bemused furrow of his brow. “But that’s my drink.”

“Your drink, or Gretel’s drink?”

“Depends, am I still Gretel?”

You shook your head. “Names are only good for one day. Gretel, however, is the name of the homeless woman that hangs out down the street.”

His eyes widened in recognition, and he blushed furiously. “I – I’m not – okay, there’s an explanation there somewhere, just let me come up with one.”

The drink you had written on was pushed towards the man. “Well, while you think, maybe you should take a look at your new name.” He tipped the cup around to see your number written on the side and jerked his head back up to you, a hopeful light in his eyes and a smile on his face. “I mean, you don’t have to come up with an excuse, but if it’ll make you feel better…”

He laughed bashfully, fiddling with the cup in front of him in a nervous gesture. “I stopped drinking them on Wednesday. I’m not much of a coffee drinker, to be honest, and I was getting tired of the taste, but didn’t know what else to order. That’s the truth.” You rested your chin in your palm.

“And that’s why I got you that,” you said, nodding to the drink in front of him.

He studied the cup and then took the lid off. “What is it?” He brought it up to his nose and sniffed. “It smells like Hansel and Gretel!”

“Gingerbread latte,” you chuckled. He took a tentative sip and his eyes lit up.

“I think I found something else to order.”

“You found?” you teased. “But I mean, now that you have my number, you don’t have to keep coming in here all the time, if you don’t want to. If you want to, well, that’s your decision.”

He took another sip. “Please, a nice conversation with a beautiful woman for a few minutes won’t break up the band’s timetable – if we actually had one, that is. You’re sure you won’t run out of names? Or can I finally tell you mine?”

A smile played at your lips. “Well, Danny, I am a curious one. I finally caved last night and looked up your band.”

He sighed playfully. “Well, the anonymity was fun while it lasted. It's nice hearing you say my name, though. My real one, that is.”

Your blush was interrupted by the door swinging open more violently than usual, the wreaths rattling and bumping against the glass. Danny turned to the door and his eyes widened at the three red-faced men that stood in the doorway, tracking snow all over the floor.

“You abandoned us for a girl? I knew it! Danny you dog.”

~~~

Tag list: @fleetsonfire

[beigehearts]

Yandere Chrollo soulmate au

For some reason this is a really long one, so enjoy its unedited sooooo my b

TW: dub con, kidnapping, chloroform, fxngering (fem!reader)

Never in your wildest dreams could you imagine that your soulmate… kidnaps you.

Soulmates have what are legally called “rings”. Part of your ring finger glows the color of your partner’s mood. If they’re any kind of negative emotion? When your partner is happy your finger will turn a color between green and yellow. If they’re aroused, it turns pink. If they’re bored, it turns grey. If they’re angry, it turns red, if they’re sad, it turns blue. Your finger will turn black if they’re scared or very unhappy. Colors can mix but I think you get the point. The way that you find your soulmate, is when you get close, you can physically feel a tug on your finger, similar to it being magnetic. And when rings touch for the first time, they shine white.

Your finger is constantly changing colors, every time you look down it’s a different color. It always makes you wonder what kind of person they are to have such a wise range of constantly changing emotions. You also wonder what color their ring usually glows, probably mostly grey, you definitely don’t live an as exciting life as them.

You work at the front desk of a casino hotel, it’s always busy and noisy. And your ring usually garners attention when a customer sees it practically causing someone an epileptic seizure.

You glance over at your desk partner Nanami and groan. She rolls her eyes at you and pats your back, “Only two hours left until your shift is over, come on straighten your back otherwise you’ll turn into a hunchback.”

You stand up and watch Nanami as a customer approaches and she gets them checked in. You admire her, she smiles no matter what and is always so kind. You don’t know if she’s dumb or a good person.

Someone taps the desk in front of you and you whip your head towards them and feign a smile. “Hi! How can I help you today?”

The man examines you carefully and it takes everything in you to not say that staring is rude. “We’re checking in, under the name Lucillfer.”

“Of course, let me just get you guys signed in.” Behind him is a group of shady looking people, but it’s not unusual when you work in a casino. You pull up their name and look back up, “Two rooms are registered under this name, will you be using both of them?”

The man brings his crooked nose closer to your face, “Got a problem with that?”

Your smile remains unfaltering, “Of course not, I was just making sure. Here are two keys, one for each room.” You hold out the keys and he snatches it from your hand. Feisty huh.

“Nobunaga hurry up.” A woman calls out from behind him.

“Yeah yeah I’m coming.” He groans.

The automatic door opens again and you suddenly feel this weird pulsating feeling in your finger.

“We have the keys Chrollo.” That man ‘Nobunaga’ says.

From behind him a tall man dressed a little strangely walks in. With every one of his steps, your finger begins to feel itchy, or pulsating. Is this?… the man seems to notice it as well and saunters up to the desk while holding eye contact.

Nobunaga calls out again, “What are you doing let’s go.”

The man holds his hand up as a sign to be quiet, and Nobunaga complies. The man’s finger glows a light purple, a sign of confusion and anticipation in his partner.

Nanami seems to notice what’s going on because you can tell she’s holding her excitement in next to you. She says that every man has the same look when they find their soulmate, so she must see the look in his eyes.

He stops in front of the desk and looks down at you. He outstretched his hand and smiles sweetly, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting love.”

Instinctively you reach your hand out, and place it on top of his. Your rings glow a blinding white that only the both of you can see.

After that, you and Nanami spent the rest of your shift being giddy and gossiping. But it all had to end at some point.

Somehow you’re now sitting on the couch of your soulmate who knocked you out with chloroform so he could bring you home. You didn’t get a first date, you didn’t get a sweet first kiss, you were kidnapped and that’s that. It’s been about a month since it happened.

You watch as Chrollo stands in the kitchen, cooking something that smells delicious. But you won’t eat the food until he tries it first, worried he might poison or drug you.

He places two plates at the table, on them are a sizzling piece of steak, asparagus, and pan fried potato wedges (which are just his fancy way of saying French fries.) He pours two glasses of some expensive red wine and beckons you to the table. He’s a trophy house husband with a kidnapping problem.

You do as he says and sit at the end of the table. Before he sits down, he cuts a small piece of your steak and chews it slowly to show you that it’s safe to eat. You stare at the plate emptily until he tries the asparagus. You trust the wine since you saw him open the bottle and pour it.

He sits down across from you and watches you expectantly. You glance to his finger quickly and see it glowing black. Your finger is glowing a bright yellow.

“I know you’re hungry, why won’t you eat?” He asks with concern lacing his words.

You scoff and cut a piece of the steak, “I’m vegetarian.” You say and then chew on the delicious piece of meat.

He laughs and take a sip of his wine. “That’s the first time you talked today.”

You think to yourself, ‘and the last’.

You two finish dinner, he talks on and on about his day, knowing that you may not be listening. He does the dishes and the two of you sit on the couch, you try to inch as far away as possible from him.

But before you can even reach the end of the couch, he grabs your waist gently and sits you between his legs. He’s always gentle with you, even when you tried to stab him with a fork. He pulls a blanket over the two of you and turns on the tv, finding something to watch on Netflix. It’s some bad romcom you’ve never heard of, those are his favorites as you have found out.

He takes a sip of his wine and sets it on the table next to the couch. You watch the movie intently, trying to find some escape in this main characters idiocy.

You feel his hand slide down from your front, towards the waist band of your sweatpants, but you don’t think much of it since he’s touchy.

But when his hand begins sneaking under your waist and you grab it and hold it tightly. “What do you think you’re doing?” You ask bitterly.

There’s no response from him, you’re simply not strong enough to stop him. You scratch at his wrist but when you feel his warm hand touch your womanhood you freeze up.

You begin to stutter, “Uh, Chr-Chrollo… I don’t think this is, uh…” but you bite your lip when you feel him rubbing circles around your clit.

“You don’t think this is what, baby?” He asks politely, as if he wasn’t invading your personal space.

“It’s not app- well I don’t think uh…” you stutter out.

He chuckles and whispers in your ear, “Big girls use their words. Use your words baby.”

You open your mouth to speak but immediately shut it when you feel a finger begin to massage your entrance.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He coos.

You find yourself becoming frustrating, trying not to fall into temptation, “We shouldn’t do thi-“

Your cut short when a long finger pushes inside of you without warning. You grip his wrist tighter, trying to hold back a moan.

His finger explores your insides, pressing and prodding until it begins pumping in and out of you. He whispers again, “Let go of me baby, I’ll take care of you.”

Reluctantly you listen and grip the blanket instead. You begin to breathe heavily with each lump of his finger.

He adds another, make your pleasure even more intense, you squeak out at the feeling of him stretching you and exploring you. He continues exploring until he hits that spot and you let out a quiet moan. Your face begins to burn red and you go wide eyed. Did you really just moan?

He pauses for a second and you can feel his breath hitch for a second. But it’s not for long, his fingers begin pumping in and out of you, touching that spot every time that makes your legs shake and moans uncontrollable.

He bits your ear gently and brings his other hand up to your face. It’s then that he realizes his finger which has been black for the entirety of the past month, is pink. A pure pink. That’s it, that’s his last straw. He shoves his fingers in your mouth and you can feel him getting hard from behind you.

“Suck on my fingers baby.” He commands. You listen and suck on them, tonguing at them and gagging slightly when he presses at the back of your tongue.

The sensation of his fingers in your mouth combined with them inside of you is enough to draw an uncontrollable string of moans and squeaks from your lips. You moan around his fingers as you feel a build up of what and pleasure in your core.

“Chrollo” you pant out, “Too… too much” you muffle around his fingers.

He ignores your pleas, encouraged by your pathetic moaning.

You try to speak and plead with him but he halts you with his fingers pressing deep into your mouth. You squirm in his lap and cry out as his fingers torture you with relentless pleasure. Twisting in and out of you, making squishing and vile sounds from your wet womanhood.

You arch your back and cry out in intense pleasure as your walls clench around his fingers. Your vision goes dark for a second and your legs tremble. Finally your body releases all of its tension and you go limp against Chrollo. You pant and cover your eyes with your hand out of embarrassment.

He pulls his fingers from your mouth and your legs. He pulls his fingers up and puts them in his mouth, fasting all of your slick and cum.

He stares at his hand, the band is green with speckles of pink. His heart starts pounding and he wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing the top of your head.

“You’ll never be sad again, I promise.”

[kiridarling]

𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐔𝐏!

shouto todoroki | f!reader, ceo heir!shouto, mirror sex, hair pulling, choking, inappropriate use of showerhead, alcohol. minors dni!

— 3k words

"You're so pretty when you make a mess, aren't you?"

Miss Y/N,

I couldn't help but notice the latest project my father assigned is extremely difficult. If I'm going to be completely honest, you'll work yourself to death at this rate, and your greys double by the day. Drinks on me at Club 777 at 7 pm. Sound like a deal?

— shouto todoroki

“A club.”

“Glad you could make it,” Shouto gives you a small smile; it’s anything but hostile. And yet, that’s all yours is as you assume the space to his right in the velvet crescent booth. “I hope it wasn’t too hard to find. Club 777 is pretty popular around he—what are you doing.”

As your fingers fly across the keyboard, you give him an indignant huff, the screen highlighting the underside of your face electric blue as you continue hacking away at your presentation. If you’re going to be forced to go out, you’re going to make the most of it—and that’s by getting the work that you would be getting done at home, at a club. And a rather loud one, at that.

"You're a workaholic," he observes with a sigh, and you flash him a fat sarcastic smile. Stupid fucking CEO heirs and their entitlement.

"Congrats, you've solved everything! Can I go home, now?"

"No," Shouto frowns before he rudely snaps your laptop shut and sets it to his right. Pushing a plate of clear-colored shots your way, your eyes bulge—there have got to be at least fifteen. "Drink up—it'll take the edge off."

You blink between your coworker and the shots. You trust Shouto and you've known each other for a while...somewhat. His father is your boss, and with Shouto as the next in line you’ve got no choice but to play nice. He’s as cocky as he is aloof, but you suppose he’s fine overall—and he's seen you break your back over this project for a solid month and a half. Positive you won't be able to keep your conscious from running laps over all the work you have to do otherwise, you snatch the first shot and chuck it down your gullet with worrying enthusiasm. Shouto lifts an eyebrow and you reach for another.

"Thirsty?" He chuckles, before grabbing a shot for himself. The second shot burns, but never as much as the first, and the back of your hand catches what doesn't make it into your mouth as you say:

"More than you could think."

"And then—and then I was like, um no sir, I think you got my change wrong by at least five bucks! He didn't believe me, like at all."

"Did he make a fuss of it?"

"Of course."

"That means he has a small dick," Shouto advises with the second to last shot in his hand, wrist-watch glinting in the club light. His face is a deeper red than his hair and you've never noticed how nice a suit fits him as if you don't see him in one every day. You giggle at that, too far gone yourself to be offended on the stranger's behalf. Shouto's jacket drapes over your shoulders like an oversized blanket even though you bickered about not being cold, with enough alcohol in your veins to warm a village.

"Probably," you rest your head against the crescent booth, dismissive at the softness from the red velvet that’s probably ruining your hair. "Either way, I pulled a Karen and called the manager on 'em.

Shouto nods, "As you should. Once I tricked my father into thinking he had a very unhappy customer by sending him a million emails from 'John Appleseed' and calling his personal secretary twice as much."

You cackle, throwing yourself across the table at the thought of your Boss’ face hot and red with anger (as it does.) Shouto's loved nothing more than to make his animosity against his father well-known—to you, at least—and to say bored Heir been getting creative the past few months is an understatement. "Oh fuck—when'd you stop calling?"

Shouto shrugs, muscles rolling underneath his white dress shirt, "Once I filled his voicemail box.”

He holds a smile, small and distant, as he watches you wheeze as if he just told the funniest story in the world. In your defense, Shouto's never really been a funny guy, but he does funny things. Like when he stares at you when he doesn’t think you notice, or when he gets so close your chests nearly touch, but doesn't notice it. Doesn't point it out, at least. You find your laugh dying along with the smile on his face, though, and when he says nothing afterward but stare.

"...Shouto?" You snap in his face to make sure he's still in there—but it's hard to tell, with his glazed eyes and scarily steady breathing. His arms find either side of you, and you're too tipsy to realize you've been caged against the booth until it's too late.

"Your eyes are quite mesmerizing, Miss Y/N," he marvels. You can smell the vodka on his breath, and positive that compliment would’ve set your face aflame if the alcohol hadn’t already, any hints of cherry obscured by the neon club lights.

"I—um, thank you," you giggle, and if you were sober, you'd shoot yourself in the foot for reacting like a school girl. But you suppose you can give yourself some leeway—this is Shouto Todoroki after all, and for some reason, he's complimenting you. "You...you aren't too bad yourself."

"You wouldn't mind if I got a little closer, would you?" Though Shouto holds a cheeky half-drunken smile on his own, knowing any closer will result in nothing but a kiss and perhaps a little more. His eyes flicker to your lips the same time yours flicker to his, and you and you catch a heat in his eyes you didn’t notice before.

"Not at all."

You blink and Shouto's lips are on yours. They’re soft, painfully so, and it's clear he knows what he's doing—with his hands dropping to your waist and tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the right. Nudging your lips open, his tongue easily finds it's way around, mapping the insides of your mouth and taking note of what makes you shiver the most.

Shouto tastes like vodka. It's a familiar taste, one that you associate with seven minutes in heaven and quick make-out sessions in high school—and yet this time it spurs your heart to beat faster, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in even closer, as if it's possible.

When you pull away it’s clear neither of you really want to, but unfortunately you need to oxygen to live, chest heaving in unison as your eyes catch his own. Shouto's grip tightens around your waist as he licks over his already wet lips, glossed by what you assume is your spit.

“You’re one dangerous woman,” he rasps with swollen lips. You giggle, but you know he knows his words’ effect on you because goosebumps are impossible to hide.

“Thank you,” you respond, a bit awkwardly—because what else are you supposed to say?

"I'm positive it isn't the alcohol talking when I say I want to take you right here." Shouto growls as his eyes hold you in your seat. You shiver, the request sounding impossibly inviting, and your thighs discreetly rub together to take the edge off a bit.

"Bathroom," you breathe against his lips, this night turning for the most unexpected.

"Off, off, get all of this off," Shouto pants the moment you two step into a gender-neutral singles bathroom. You don't doubt they made it gender-neutral for this exact reason, but that thought leaves as quickly as it enters when Shouto pins you against the sink starts to pepper hot kisses down your neck. He scrambles to bunch your dress to your waist over taking it off completely and growls at the sight of your lower-half in absence of your usual attire.

"Do you know how long I've wanted you? Hmm?” He's breathless as he settles between your legs with a lick of his lips, pushing the excess of your dress into your hands. You really don't know how long he’s wanted you, but you find yourself biting your lip at the prospect anyway—that you've been driving your boss's son, your future boss, just as crazy as he's been driving you.

"Shouto—"

"Shhh," he interrupts, pulling your panties to the side. "Let me take care of you. You've been working hard these past few months, no?"

You guess so.

Either way, all clarity dies when Shouto licks a fat stripe up your slit, chuckling when you slide a tentative hand into his hair. Your grip tightens when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, slipping a finger between your folds to elicit a whimper or two. He bites his lip when you tug a little.

"Keep doing that and you just might ruin me," Shouto groans, before his mouth returns and he’s adding another finger. When the digits curl just right, your hips buck in faint frustration—they're moving too slow.

"Can you, um," you blush, eyes skittering to the bathroom walls instead. The club music permeates despite the fact that they look like they're made of solid brick, vibrating the floor and sink underneath you both. "Go faster?"

Shouto's eyes snap to yours. For a second you’re afraid he's going to say no, but he tosses your leg over his shoulder and adjusts your hips until they're at a perfect level, licking his lips and growling:

"My pleasure."

You're positive whoever loiters near the bathroom door hears your yelp as his mouth descends to devour your pussy, eating you so enthusiastically that you see you're slick smeared across his pink cheeks. Shouto pulls your hips deeper into his face with a defiant growl and you have to drop your forearms on the sink to keep yourself from falling to the hard ground, your grip around the porcelain ever-tightening.

"Feel good?" He rubs a heavy thumb over your clit in place of his mouth and stuffs you with a third finger. You nod with a broken moan as he pulls his digits out all the way out before burying them knuckle-deep again, grasp on the sink slipping. He flicks your clit, "Answer me."

"Y-Yeah," you nod again, near-hyperventilating. You’re sure Shouto’s getting a kick out of it—at least, if his chuckle has anything to say about it.

"Good girl," he coos, the circles on your clit slowly quickening, "You're so pretty when you make a mess, aren't you?"

You're nodding along with him, though you're not exactly sure why—but then his mouth returns and suddenly, why doesn't matter as much.

Shouto's more vocal than you expected, groaning into your sweetness as your thighs trembles next to his head. He holds you like you're precious, like you're actually something to him, but you're much too drunk to unpack all of that right now. Instead, you tug at his hair. It pulls a much louder moan from his gut and you find yourself enjoying the vibrations, yanking harder to hear him again.

"W-Wait, Shouto," you whimper out, painfully close as you pull at his hair but this time to pull him away from you, "I wanna—wanna cum on your cock...if that's okay."

Shouto blinks once, twice, and then you're staring at yourself in the mirror listening to him frantically undoing his belt, cursing when the metal slaps him across the palm. You giggle.

"Eager, are we?"

"You don't even know," he pants, and the tip of his cock kissing your entrance has you biting your lip. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and they melt when he fits the head of his cock inside, the grip he has on the porcelain sink turning white as he pushes further.

"You are—you are painfully tight, Miss Y/N," Shouto wheezes into your neck, teeth grit as his pelvis finally brushes against your ass. You resist the urge to wheeze with him, his cock filling you to the point where your lungs struggle to find room to breathe.

"I'll take that as a compliment," you joke, eyes fluttering shut. Shouto tuts, grabbing the underside of your face as he says:

"Eyes open, Miss Y/N. I want you to watch yourself fall apart as I fuck you."

Your eyes peel open, albeit reluctantly as you whine, not understanding why you need to watch your own face when you can enjoy the sight of him instead, "But Shouto, that's embarrassing..."

"Just trust me," he grunts, and his hips are snapping into yours, sending you jolting into the sink to the point where you have to brace a hand on the mirror to keep yourself from being squished flat against the porcelain. Shouto leans over, "You trust me, don't you?"

And well. When he puts it like that...

"Look at yourself, not at me," Shouto says, catching you redhanded. You whine when the hand holding your head moves to your neck and squeezes, cutting off your oxygen supply just enough for your eyelids to drop halfway. "See? See how good you look? So wrecked for me already and we've barely started."

"S-Shut up," you moan more than you say, finding yourself mesmerized in the way your lips part and by the redness of your cheeks. Shouto dips his head into your neck and sucks, prompting your free hand to find his multicolored hair again and pull. His reaction is almost automatic, the way the smooth rock of his hips changes into a quick snap in a heartbeat. It has you keening, his cock reaching places spots you weren't aware you had, and he crushes you against the sink to rub at your clit.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous for me," he grunts, hips finding the energy to pick up the pace. You whimper and he's sucking a hickey into your neck, hot breaths punctuating along with his sharp thrusts. "Feel so good around my cock, like you were made for me—shit—"

This time you break the rules, eyes flickering to look Shouto in the mirror as you watch him come undone. His hips stutter as he muffles a broken moan in the back of your neck, body shuddering while he fills you up. His thrusts slowly dissolve into nothing and soon it's just your heavy breathing between brick walls, until Shouto pulls out with a hiss.

"You didn't cum."

"O-Oh, um," You blink at his unimpressed gaze through the mirror as if you got caught redhanded. "I...usually can't. Without a vibe.”

Shouto hums at that but says nothing. You watch something in his brain churn, eyes surveying the room before a lightbulb appears above his head and he's snapping his fingers.

"The shower."

"...What?"

"The. Shower." Shouto says, a little cheekier this time, as he guides you towards a simple shower hidden behind a curtain. Now, why there’s a shower in a club bathroom is beyond you.

"Well. This seems awfully convenient," you click. Shouto shrugs.

"Sun (the author) says it's to clean up the drunks who vomit all over themselves." He takes the only shower seat available, back pressing against the tile.” I think she just wants you to ride a showerhead ****if I'm being completely honest."

"Maybe she tried it for the first time recently or something,” you hum absentmindedly, but that thought flies out the window as Shouto grunts:

"Either way, it's irrelevant. Strip."

"I—completely?" You exclaim, covering your body despite the fact that it's already covered by your dress again. Shouto raises an eyebrow, settling both elbows on his knees once grabbing the showerhead from its bar.

"Unless you want your outfit to get soaking wet, yes. Completely."

Touché.

You're naked fairly quickly and Shouto lays you across the tile even quicker. You watch him test the different modes on his hand, before choosing the one with the most...gusto. You spread your thighs and fight the embarrassing blush dusting your cheeks from the exposing position.

"Ready?" You roll your eyes.

"I swear Shouto, if you do—o-oh."

He presses the rushing water to your clit, and you have to take a step back, fully unprepared for how nice the pressure would feel. Shouto chuckles at that, the soles of his loafers soaking in the lukewarm water with you as he sits with his legs spread, brazenly enjoying the view.

"Feels good?"

You nod, hips subtly grinding into the hot stream. Shouto bites his lips at the view and it turns you on that much more to know you can have such an effect, before his free hand drops to his palm himself through his dress pants.

"I get the perfect view, too," Shouto growls to himself, tilting his head ever-so-slightly as you release a broken moan, bare hips stuttering against the tile. "A perfect view of that pretty little pussy. Ah ah, keep those legs for me."

Your inner thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, the edge looking much closer than it did previously. The combination of Shouto's words, his sounds, and the steady beat of the water against your clit is enough to have anyone shaking, and the only complaint you have is that you wish he wasn't so fucking far.

"S-Shouto," you whimper, hands scrambling across the slippery tile. "I'm close."

"Yeah? Do it then, make me proud," Shouto growls with a feral smile, grip tightening around his cock—you nod, chest shuddering.

“Y-Yeah just adjust the—oh fuck, Shou, right there!”

Your thighs clench as you gasp and your fingernails dig into the grout between the tile as you orgasm, your moan nearly bordering on a scream. Shouto groans, grip tight on his cock through his damp suit pants, and you nearly giggle as your high ebbs.

“Have I ever told you how dangerous you are, Y/N?” Shouto says cheekily. You grin back, cocking your head to the right.

“Only a million times.”

“Well then I owe it to you again,” he says lowly, and you get the message you two aren’t done as he joins you on the wet floor to cradle your jaw.

“You’re one dangerous woman, Y/N.”

a/n: i fully expose myself in this, and you know what? i'm fine with that.

click to return to CLUB 777

[rxttenfish]

3 for Aaravi and Miranda!

3. Do they wear the other’s clothes? (sweatshirt, bandana, necklace, etc.)

YES YES YES MIRANDA IS A CHRONIC CLOTHING-STEALER AND IT'S SO FUCKING RUDE.

however, the whole... difference in their respective body plans. makes it a little hard to wear each other's clothes so readily. there's a reason miranda singles out aaravi's cape so much, alongside any and all jackets of aaravi's. they're easy to drape over herself, and she doesn't have to worry so much about fitting herself into something that doesn't even have the arm holes in the right places.

there are some oversized shirts that aaravi has (mostly sleep shirts, the goofy kind) that miranda will also relentlessly steal, and in being oversized for the both of them, they aren't too hard for miranda to fit into.

(jewelry also OFTEN gets stolen. miranda will absolutely wear aaravi's necklaces and bracelets, and she only encourages aaravi to steal her own rings and chains and chokers. the only jewelry item that doesn't get stolen is miranda's crown, which... she wears less and less as she gets close to aaravi anyway. there's other stuff going on, there.)

aaravi... less steals miranda's clothes, and moreso miranda tries to give her clothes. like. a lot. there's a quirk of merfolk culture that the land misses out on, where the wearing of items that either are or symbolize the other person/people in highly committed relationships is one of those little expectations, derived from the unique perspective merfolk have on things like "identity". in a way, you can almost think of it like more traditional "marking", as much of a trope as that is, but it's less ownership like we think and more... representative of that shared identity. you are mine, but i am yours as well, and we are one in the same. it's a gesture and a symbol of that closeness and bond, a very physical reminder to other people that these people belong to each other, and a subtle implication to treat the separate individuals as one.

in the case of ul'kiha particularly, which is the situation miranda and aaravi have going on, they are considered literally the same person in two different bodies. hence, extra wanting to show that off to other people, since refusing to treat them as such can result in... some big merfolk customs no-nos. given miranda's title and aaravi having a pseudo-title through this relationship, doing that kind of faux pas is... a big deal. a very big deal. likewise, due to the legal protections aaravi gets through this relationship and the merkingdom's general discomfort and unhappiness with their relationship, it's just a good safety measure to ensure that no one from the merkingdom can look at aaravi and say they "didn't know" her and miranda were a Thing.

also, a funny thing about miranda is... she's oddly very generous? as in, she has a very strange perception on money and resources and physical goods, and thus what's pocket change to her and given out readily is NOT considered pocket change to everyone else around her. she doesn't even really think about giving people clothes, even very expensive and tailored clothes, because it's such a non-issue for her. she's been surrounded by royals for so much of her life. she doesn't know the worth of these things.

so she will look at aaravi wearing out a shirt or a pair of pants and not even have a second thought when she offers to get her another, often more expensive, piece to replace them.

(and aaravi very much does turn her down on this most of the time - she'll get a few nice items that she REALLY needed and feel more like gifts from her wife, but it's a pride thing. she doesn't just want to come off as entirely relying on miranda and her money, and she wants to feel like she's earned and worked hard for what she has. anything else is guilt and shame and discomfort that leaves her unable to even really look at it. miranda... doesn't really understand this, like i said, she has no idea the worth of things and she's already considering that everything that she has is aaravi's too due to how identity is constructed by merfolk, but she's trying to understand, and respects aaravi's wishes. hence why she offers, and listens if she's turned down. trying to navigate being a person for the first time in her life has some bumps in the road, but they can live with it.)

(and, to be fair, there are some of miranda's clothes that aaravi can wear, but she's less of a blatant thief than miranda. partially because this closeness still feels strange, still feels bizarre, that she still has a persistent worry and fear that she's not wanted, that this would be a step too far, that it would upset miranda or make her angry, and that's enough to turn aaravi off the idea, and partially because she really does just prefer her own style, her own clothes, something she's already used to.

she's not opposed to miranda laying her cloak over her shoulders and kissing her hands, just as expected from a princess, but it has to be bestowed. if it doesn't make her lift her head up all the higher, if it doesn't bring a swagger to her walk, if she can't get miranda all flustered over it, if it's not like miranda bestowing a favor onto her most beloved and most adored knight, then... it's not really the same, to her. as it is, having miranda fasten it around her shoulders or fall over herself blushing and flustered, also helps deal with the lingering trauma and unwanted feeling. there's some things in her closet that miranda gave to her one night, because it was cold or she needed some cover, and aaravi hasn't worn them since, but miranda is far from asking for them back.

and that's not even mentioning what miranda brings out when they're actually getting dressed up for something. just something to match for the two of them. something for people to look at aaravi, almost playing up the body guard and the knight and the muscle to protect miranda, and see her with a delicate fur shroud or scarf across her shoulders, blatantly belonging to the princess beside her.

it's a very similar feeling to what she gets when other merfolk look at her, and see the two earrings, carved out of miranda's own teeth, that she's wearing. or, when they look down and see miranda herself is wearing aaravi's jacket, wrapping herself up in it and beaming up at her, knowing she's safe beside aaravi and they don't stand a chance. absolutely fucking fantastic.)

likewise, more than anything, they make each other clothes. aaravi especially - she's grown up VERY rarely buying clothes for herself, either getting everything secondhand or making it herself. it's part of the reason she takes so MUCH from her kills, as she knows how to tan her own leather and carve her own bone buttons and create her own needles and thread and spin her own yarn to knit with. she's had to figure out how to repair her own clothes, and likewise, how to make her own patterns. (and having something to do with her hands that's tedious and slow and creative is good for her mental health too.)

it's been a challenge to figure out how patterns that will work with miranda's anatomy and fit her, but she's done it several times! and you will KNOW which items they are too, because miranda just. CONSTANTLY wears them. she takes good care of them, yes! but the physical reminder that aaravi is there, that she does have someone who loves her, that it wasn't just a dream and it's not going to go away when miranda has to step away for a while, that aaravi loves her enough to be compelled to create for her - it does a lot of good for miranda too.

especially because there's a LOT about landfolk clothes that... are not made with merfolk in mind. mostly in the sense that they don't understand the range of motion that any given merfolk has and how to NOT accidentally stick their arms to their sides, but also in terms of... they need something that can get wet over and over again and will tolerate salt water. they also cannot thermoregulate like warmblooded animals, mostly relying on their size, the fairly consistent temperature of the ocean, and some anatomical tricks to warm cold blood and cool hot blood in their bodies, so weather is also a HUGE issue and make overheating and freezing real risks. merfolk, especially abyssals like miranda, are more used to a lot of pressure spread out consistently over their bodies, and thus having clothes that are very light and flowy can exacerbate the anxiety and nervousness that they can get over feeling so weirdly disconnected and weighed down by the world at the same time. and, of course, certain materials around her fins and gills can REALLY irritate them and even injure miranda if they aren't careful.

it's a major point of frustration for miranda, a reminder of exactly how alien and very nearly unwelcome she is on land. she's having a horrible fish out of water experience, and the constant feeling like special exceptions have to be made so SHE doesn't have to get hurt or can even just exist within the same space as everyone else is... kind of really upsetting to her. especially when the accommodations for her all have to be shipped from the merkingdom, since the land doesn't know anything about and cannot provide them for her. it's a subtle reminder that she doesn't belong. a reminder that she's still reliant on the merkingdom and can't leave.

so this finding a neutral ground, trying to meet miranda where she is and make her feel accepted, means SO MUCH to her. it's them trying to make it work. they are caught between duality, and it's not enough to just refuse to engage with one for the benefit of the other. miranda is trying to use her title for the mundane things, the good things, trying to show that she isn't just the title she was born into and that she will step away from it and discard it and use it for aaravi's benefit so they can share a life together. and aaravi is using her knowledge of her hands to shape a space in her life that miranda can occupy without hurting herself, the first home that's ever felt like home to her, that she can create without it being used to harm, that they are not just doomed to be a beacon of death and destruction to be pointed in a direction and used by someone else. they can do this together. they can create something that is entirely theirs together. they can make flowers bloom out of the ashes of themselves, and they're working hard on doing it.

[onmykneesforhotdilfs]

Oooh i'm gonna with #3 please! And Valtor as a bartender.

He truly loathed his job.

The disgusting smell of cheap drinks spilled on the bar mixed with the stench of sweat and cheap perfume, from grinding bodies on the dancefloor and humping barely-legals in the corner, made him nauseous. The music was loud to the point his heartbeat developed arrhythmia whenever a bass boosted song played through the obnoxious sound system. To make matters worse, one of the speakers was set directly above the bar and Valtor was sick of buying earplugs every week, because if he didn’t use any protection, he’s pretty sure he would go deaf before he hit 40 and he once again cursed himself for forgetting them at home.

A particularly high note came on, and the crowd cheered while Valtor cringed as he felt the microscopic hairs in his ears, sensitive to high notes, shrivel up and die. He rolled his eyes as he spotted a tall blonde dragging taller brunette towards the restroom. Apparently, couples basically dry humping each other on the dancefloor and sucking their faces off in the corners wasn’t enough, so universe also decided to throw in a couple about to commit an indecent act in a public bathroom?

He was just about to call one of the bouncers when it hit him – he doesn’t care. Oh well. What can you do?

A woman, wearing something Valtor could only describe as lingerie, came to the bar and ordered a fruity cocktail and for the umpteenth time, he wondered how his life turned into this? How did he go from graduating on a prestigious college, having a stable job and a fiancée, to wiping down spit from the counter top on a Saturday night.

He used to be a successful attorney, his yearly salary reaching up to five-zero figure, a stable relationships, loving girlfriend and more, and yet, all of that collapsed under the enormous weight couple of words held.

His hands worked on autopilot, mixing the necessary drinks while his thoughts were miles away.

Now, whatever’s left of his past life lives in a small condo across the town and Valtor chuckled at the irony of life giving him lemons while he chopped one to mix it into the cocktail. He squeezed the juice out of the poor fruit, with probably more force than was necessary, getting some of it on his shirt in the process.

“What are you chuckling about?” The woman was leaning over the counter, her chest basically spilling out of her dress as she played with the ends of her dark hair.

Valtor raised an eyebrow as he bent down to retrieve one of the decorative umbrellas. “Nothing that would be of interest to you.” He saw her flinch in surprise at the rather sharp tone he unintentionally used. “Miss.” He added as an afterthought, hoping it would make him look less abrasive. Unhappy customers don’t tip well after all.

“Oh. Well maybe it does interest me. You’ll never know unless you try.” The woman smiled flirtatiously while her fingers continued twirling the strands of her hair. “I’m Mitzi, by the way.” She offered her hand to him.

Valtor only quirked an unamused eyebrow. “I don’t remember asking for your name.” The smile was quick to disappear from her face and she snatched her hand back like it’s been burned.

He closed his eyes as his tongue, once again, proved to be faster than his brain. It’s what got him into trouble a lot of times and this one might’ve just taken a cake because if the girl went to complain to his boss, he’d be in a world of shit. “I was trying to be nice, but it seems to me you’re too much of an asshole to appreciate it.” Mitzi gritted out with obvious false confidence because a fierce blush was very much present on her face. This obviously didn’t happen to her a lot.

First time for everything, Valtor thought.

“What I would really appreciate, Mitzi,” Don’t do it, “is if you could stop your 36C's, that you stuffed into a 34B bra, from spilling all over my counter.” You absolute moron! “I have to wipe it.”

Now you’ve done it.

Mitzi turned even reader, and Valtor wondered if he should start dialing an ambulance just in case, but she only snatched the drink he placed in front of her and threw a 5$ bill in his face. “Jerk!” And just like that, she was gone.

“Have a nice evening!” Drop dead.

He rolled his eyes and took a glass that needed wiping just to occupy his hands for a minute because he felt like a coiled string, just about to snap and burn everything in its path.

“I have to say,” girl’s voice reached him, “you just fixed my evening.” Valtor lowered the glass to the solid surface and turned to face the owner.

His brain short circuited.

Though her body was mostly obstructed by the counter, he could see that the navy blue slip dress she wore draped beautifully across her slender figure. She was also incredibly short that even standing up straight, in what Valtor assumed were ridiculously high heels, she was at least head and a half shorten than him. But the most obvious, and striking thing about her, was her red hair. Valtor never even thought that hair could be as vibrant as hers.

In his almost 35 years of life, Valtor has never seen someone as interesting as the girl standing in front of him.

When he finally shook himself out of his stupor, and when it became painfully obvious he was making her uncomfortable with his gawking (really, there was no other word for it), he smiled and spoke. “Well, I’m pleased to hear that because it will undoubtedly ruin my life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about her reporting you.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Her ego is too big for her to accept she just got rejected.”

“You know her?”

There was something nostalgic in her smile. “I used to know her… or maybe I just thought I know her.”

Valtor observed the unusual girl in front of him. In his several years as a bartender and even before, he developed quite a knack for reading people. She seemed, to him at least, like one of those lost souls that recently had their world turned upside down but tried despite to appear normal. You and me both. “Would you like something to drink?”

Her head snapped up and her electric blue eyes met his. “Oh! Yes, um,” she fidgeted slightly, her hands wringing together and picking at her nails, “anything with vodka.”

He nodded and turned his back on her to find a bottle of the best vodka the club had to offer. He didn’t know why he suddenly paid so much attention to what he’s mixing into drinks but something pulled him towards this girl like gravity and he was too weak to resist it. “Straight?” He asked without turning around.

“Ummm, that’s a bit personal don’t you think? I mean, I just met you.” Valtor stopped what he was doing and turned his head so she could see the confused frown on his face. “I don’t even know your name. As far as I know you could be a serial killer.”

It downed on Valtor what she was talking about and he chuckled at her adorable rant. “I meant the Vodka.”

Her lips shaped into a silent “O" and he saw how her neck and face turned red from embarrassed. She moaned and buried her face into her hands. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He picked the bottle and turned back around so he was facing her. He extended his unoccupied hand across the counter top. “I’m Valtor.”

She shook his hand, her hand incredibly small in his huge one, blush still present on her cheeks. “Bloom. And yes, straight vodka is fine.”

“I’ve only seen Russians drink vodka by itself.”

“I’m quarter Russian. My mom’s dad is from Russia.” Valtor nodded along as he fixed her a drink.

“Impressive.”

“it’s really not. It only made me the laughing stock of the entire class.” She took the glass filled with clear liquid, their fingers brushing together on accident, and Valtor felt a spark rushing up his nerve endings. “But, I can drink most people under the table so I guess I should be grateful.”

Humor was obviously one of the things she used to deflect the pain and trauma bullying inevitably caused. “Your hair is very… unusual. Natural?”

She nodded. “Yup. This is one of the things I inherited from grandpa.”

“Sorry if that made you uncomfortable, it wasn’t my intention.”

“No no, don’t worry.” Her lips wrapped around the edge of the glass as she took a sip and closed her eyes to savor the feeling of burning liquid sliding down her throat. “It’s actually one of the nicest things someone has said to me about my hair.”

Valtor looked at her with a small smirk on his face. “That bad, huh?”

“You don’t want to know.” Bloom tilted the glass and took a large swing of the drink, only a small amount remaining at the bottom. “What about you?”

Valtor shrugged. “What about me?”

“You have an unusual hair too.”

Indeed. His long strawberry blond hair was tied in a ponytail, but unlike herself, he loved his hair and didn’t particularly give a damn what anybody else thought about it. “I don’t really care about somebody else’s opinion and neither should you.”

“I’ve stopped that long time ago.” Valtor nodded towards her almost empty glass and she slid it towards him for a refill. “But you know, scars remain.”

He nodded. “That I do know.” Valtor saw another guy coming up to the bar so he excused himself. As soon as he moved away from her, the unpleasant sensations that accompany prolonged presence in a loud room came rushing back like a rogue train and Valtor felt the onsets of a headache forming. He served the guy and returned to Bloom who was now nursing her drink instead of knocking it back like the first time.

“So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She quirked one eyebrow. “A girl like me?”

“Not to be rude, but this doesn’t seem like your cup of tea.”

She laughed. “It’s my friend’s birthday. She dragged me here against my will while promising she’ll stay with me the entire time. It took me turning around for her to vanish without a trace with her boyfriend.”

“That friend of yours,” he started, “wouldn’t happen to be a tall blonde dragging a brunette with her?”

“That’s her.”

Valtor made a face. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing a lot of her tonight.” His eyes slid to the direction of the restroom.

Bloom followed his gaze and she groaned when she saw where her friend went to. “Not this again.”

“Again? This happens a lot?”

“Unfortunately, it happens more than I would like to.” She rubbed her forehead.

“Right,” he drawled, “because who doesn’t like seeing their friends going at it.” Sarcasm was dripping from his words.

“How long have they been in there?” She asked while looking at her wrist watch.

“Fifteen minutes or so.”

“Damn animals. I’m never coming to the club with her again.”

An amused chuckle escaped him. “That’s not the first time you’ve said that, am I right?”

She smiled and took a sip of vodka. “Nope.”

Just as he opened his mouth to ask her another question, her blonde friend wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Valtor’s eyebrow did a backflip. How she managed to avoid detection while leaving the bathroom was beyond him.

“Damn Bloom, I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already seducing hot bartenders!”

“Stella! First of all, I am not seducing anybody,” Maybe not intentionally, “secondly, it’s been almost twenty minutes and thirdly, what happened to your promise of not ditching me? And the moment I turn around, you’re already gone?”

Stella, if Valtor heeard correctly, giggled. “Oh live a little Bloom. Besides, it’s not like you were in a bad company.” Her eyes ran over Valtor’s form. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of that.” She ogled Valtor like a piece of chocolate cake.

“I’m standing right here.”

“Okay, that’s enough for today! We’re going home.” Bloom grabbed her purse and was about to pull out her wallet when Valtor raised his arm to stop her.

“It’s on the house.”

“But Blooooom,” There was really no words to describe the sound that exited blonde’s mouth, “we just got here.”

“The fact that you're talking about having a threesome with a stranger says enough about your state.”

“I’m pretty sure Brandon wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, time out. Let’s go.” She turned towards Valtor, a small card between her fingers. She leaned over the counter while one of her arms stayed behind, supporting her friend. “Thank you.” She slipped the card into his hand. “Call me if you wanna talk sometimes.” And with that, she spun on her heel and dragged Stella towards the exit.

Valtor stood in shock, not knowing how to react for a few minutes, staring at the business card in his hands.

Bloom Peters MD.

He shook his head, hand safely pocketing the precious cargo before he picked up the glass she’s been drinking from and turning around to wash it. The sound of retching caused him to turn around in time to see some wasted man empty the content of his stomach on an obnoxious red carpet. The stench of vomit mixed with other delightful aromas and Valtor was once again reminded how much he hated his job.

[fairhairedkings]

Hey bestie! Just wanted to say I absolutely LOVE all of your AO3 fics! So much so, I think if you were in the writer’s room, Good Girls would have been so much better! So if you did write for the show, what would you have done differently?

oh ho ho. first of all, thank you. :)

secondly...it depends.

i was running through the show being like ok where would i start interfering, but there were so many things that i would want to tweak or cut or emphasize, so then i decided to imagine that i was redoing it from the start, although keeping the same set-up.

first step would be to hire a diverse group of staff writers so that we could treat race, class, gender, sexuality with care, nuance, and respect from the beginning.

step two would be to draft out where i wanted the characters to end up in contrast to where they start. so that would be something like:

- beth starts out in a bad marriage, with little control over her life, unhappy, in a bad financial spot. at the point when the show ends, i would want her to be out of that marriage for sure. depending on if i wanted to set it up to have a happy or a grim ending, i'd want her to be in control of her finances and her life OR i'd want her to be facing the consequences of her actions. because it's me, i'd want it to end with her in a good place THROUGH crime, committing herself to it after a couple of false starts/stumbles (not as many as on the show. i’m talking like...2). i don’t even know if i would have brio as endgame, but i would want them to become genuine business partners with mutual respect for one another.

- ruby starts out with a good marriage, in a bad financial position, with little control over her life. by the time the show ended, i would want her to have regained control over her life and finances. because she had a good marriage and because of how i think she was the least eager to continue doing crime, i would want to end with her in a good place and not involved in beth's criminal activity or at least minimally involved. like maybe she starts a business with beth as a silent partner and we get to see her dealing with rude customers the way she deserves to be allowed to. we weren’t given a lot about what ruby’s dreams were (ugh), so i’d build that in from the start.

- annie starts out in a bad financial position, with little control over her life (there is a pattern here), and in a place where she seeks validation through others. at the end of the show, i would want annie to feel comfortable alone. again, i'd want her to have control and enough money, but i don’t think i’d want her to end up in crime.

once i knew where i wanted it to end for the three main characters, i’d move on to other characters or points that i want to hit:

- set up rio to become a pov character for s2, with plans to work in his family at that point (after marcus). also have him doing a bunch of white collar crime, allowing me to go onto a several episode long tangent about how we classify and punish crime. especially since the show is set in *checks notes* detroit, a city that was pretty severely impacted by the financial crisis.

- kill off boomer. (ideally, beth would do it willingly as part of her path to crime.)

- delve into how beth, ruby, and annie face disproportionate punishment for their crimes.

- show how ruby’s healthy relationship with stan is impacted by her participation in crime, BUT have them work through it together.

- have beth deal with concerns about how like dean at least one of her kids is.

- make annie and ben address how annie’s reliance on ben isn’t the healthiest and take steps to change it. (without annie latching onto her therapist.)

- explore the double standards in law enforcement and how it creates criminals.

- lean on the discomfort of things that people (beth especially) were saying and doing. focus on the hypocrisy of the whole boss babe thing! hone in on her tendency to use the threat of the police to get her way!

there’s a bunch of other stuff too, but those are the big ones off the top of my head. my biggest complaint with good girls has always been that there’s so much fucking potential there and then they...just kind of dropped it on the ground, kicked it under the couch, and forgot about it. i think that they didn’t have a clear idea of where they wanted anyone to wind up and it showed.

anyways, i’m sure that other people have specific things that they’d want to see or that they’d rather do!

[imhereforbvcky]

Watch Me Run - Part 17

Masterlist  -  Series Masterpage  -  Part 18

Summary: You inherit a family relic that gives you the gift of foresight but there are others who are interested for more nefarious reasons. You turn to the Avengers for help. (Bucky x reader)

Chapter: You finally make contact with the Avengers again but everything is not as it seems. Or rather everyone.

Word Count: 1928

A/N: the next 2 chapters are more “Move the damn plot, Mee!” than “yes, brain! Deliver some flowing, symbolic prose!” I’m not thrilled about it either, but here we are.

The village was small. Hearty in the way towns are that have crawled out of the wilderness, just barely keeping the wild at bay. It was rugged and worn, and if you’d been there by yourself, you’d have passed right through without marking it.

Bucky pulled the creaking truck beside one of the larger single-story buildings. You’d have guessed the shutters hadn’t been painted since they were installed sometime in the late 1960s. The windows were probably last cleaned around the same time. The concrete wouldn’t need painting. No, eventually it would crumble into the dust whence it came.

For now, the entire side of the building had taken on a soft brown patina; decades of road dust streaked grey with the steady drip of melting snow and ice. Most couldn’t have picked it out of a line-up from the other buildings. Nothing distinguished this one as a government building except the sign in the filthy window of the door advertising its hours of operation. You doubted very much if their adherence was strictly enforced.

“Only library with wifi for the next hundred miles,” Bucky had told you as he gassed up the truck for the drive. You’d yawned and handed him a coffee in a white styrofoam cup. The liquid was black and cloudy as the sky overhead. Even the 3 creams you’d dumped into yours had done little to brighten the stale, hefty brew.

The library door groaned when Bucky drew it open for you. Not the gentle squeak of a place welcoming a new guest. No, this was the deep angry howl of a door stubborn and calloused in its disuse. The woman scowling at you from behind the counter stood as the physical embodiment of the very sound. Grey wisps of hair tumbled out of a hastily tied knot, a worn and grease-stained flannel hung on heavy shoulders over top of a fading wool knit. The collar had begun to fray long ago, as had this woman’s patience.

“Hi.” You offered as pleasant a smile as you could find, a customer service smile, though you were the customer.

The frown didn’t budge one millimeter. Her eyes though, turned to Bucky when he stomped heavy boots on the rug at the door. Muddy slush from the day-old snow dropped off his boots in clumps.

“Please wipe your boots outside,” she scolded.

“The snow’s right up to the door—“

Her head snapped and her eyes burned with the sort of anger only a stern teacher could conjure.

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky nodded before cracking the door just enough to knock his boots on the brick wall.

“Do you need somethin’?” she asked you. Not, ‘Can I help you?’ Not, ‘Are you looking for something in particular?’ Not even a, ‘Are you lost?’ This was a terse, ‘Honey, I know you’re lost and I know trouble. I want nothin’ to do with either.’

“Yes,” you jumped forward, matching her eagerness to rush you out. “I’m um… I’m not from here and—“

“Well I can see that.”

Bucky stepped in then, a scowl as deep as her own. He turned it down on you though. If you could kick yourself, you would. One of his rules of being on the run – don’t give away unnecessary information. Not who you are, where you’re going, who’s coming for you, not even what you need. Be nondescript. This was a difficult rule to follow when you were a nervous talker, when your sympathy scale was off the charts and the best way you knew to communicate was to connect in a personal way.

“We need to use your computer,” Bucky said simply. “You have internet here?”

She pointed to a back corner of the building. “Yeah. We even have indoor plumbing,” she grumbled.

“Well, she hates us,” you fidgeted, leaning close to whisper at Bucky’s shoulder as he led the way toward the computers. “You remember people you hate. She’s going to report us or something.”

Bucky chuckled as he looked back at you. “To who?”

“I don’t know… a Mountie? Loki could be anywhere right? Anyone?”

“Loki is from another planet. He’s not Interpol. There’s no hotline running for us. Far as she knows we’re a couple on a fishing trip.”

“Really? You don’t think she’ll remember us?”

He shrugged, pulling a chair over beside the one he took in front of the computer. “She wouldn’t have remembered some idiot who forgot to wipe his boots. Probably gonna remember ‘I’m not from here, please like me,’” he teased, donning a high squeak of a voice.

You smacked his arm with the back of your hand. “That’s not what I sound like.” A glance over your shoulder at the woman unfurling a cough drop at the desk. “She just looks so unhappy. How many  people smile at her in a day, you think?”

“Not enough,” Bucky agreed. Grim places made for grim people. Harsh living and meager needs made even the softest people harden at the edges. Necessity, he called it. Survival.

“See. I might be the weirdo that cowered at the library door, but she’ll have a story to tell her partner when she gets home. Bet she’ll laugh about it.”

Bucky chuckled, sparing a glance over to you as he booted up the software. The computer was ancient and it made a dissatisfied grinding noise at the request.

“You laughed at least,” she nudged his shoulder with her own.

“That wasn’t a laugh,” he argued, failing to stifle a grin. “That was a… a snort at best.”

“Oh come on. There was at least a chortle.”

“A what?”

“A chortle! Look it up, we’re in a library. Ma’am!” you hollered, turning over your shoulder and waving.

“Knock it off!” Bucky laughed, reaching for your arm and pinning it to your side.

“Ma’am, could you point my friend here toward the dictionaries, he needs to look up a word—Umpfh!”

He’d clapped a hand over your mouth, the other still firmly wrapped around your arm, enveloping you thoroughly.

“No, we’re fine with the computer. Internet, so helpful,” he hollered, over your muffled chuckle.

The soft tickle of breath on his hand, the gentle shake of your laughing shoulders set off that warm, brightness in his chest. He was smiling down at you as he let go.

“Well I definitely got a smile, at least,” you nudged when he did lift his hand away. “You don’t smile enough either.”

“I smile.” His brow crinkled, like he wanted to scowl, but then… he would be proving your point. So he kept a half a smirk on his lips.

“Well, yeah, everybody smiles sometimes. But you rarely,  and you never laugh—“

“I do too. I laughed yesterday when you fell on the stairs.”

“That was rude. You didn’t warn me they ice up like that.”

“It was funny,” he shrugged. “You looked like a cartoon. You should’ve seen your face.”

“You should see your face, Sir Scowls-A-Lot.”

“Scowl?” His eyes went wide and the smile threatened to erupt into an astonished laugh.

“Yes. You have the worst case of RBF I’ve ever seen.”

“What the hell is RBF…?” he wondered. But by now you were talking over each other, arguing and laughing all at once.

“People say, ‘If looks could kill…’ but, really. When you’re grumpy it’s like… if looks could kill, gimme Captain America’s shield because, nothing could stop those silver bullets.”

“It’s not that bad,” he rolled his eyes, typing away on the keyboard.

“It is. I mean, it’s fine, it’s a good looking face, so it works. But it’s a definite scowl.”

“A good looking face?” His entire visage lit into a grin now. His grey eyes were sharp and glittering like the cat that got the canary.

You were suddenly, glaringly aware that you’d been carrying on about all the little looks you’d noticed about your indefinite bodyguard all while you were still pressed tight against him from shoulder to hip. Heat flooded your cheeks and nose and throat at a record pace as you scrambled for a proverbial ripcord.

“Oh, you know you’re handsome.” When had denial ever worked for anyone? Misdirection, was clearly the way out. “Don’t act like I’m the first person to tell you that.”

He was still as marble for a long moment while you picked at your nails. The grin had dimmed a little, no longer a beaming mischievous thing, it had settled to a gentle warmth. He was Bucky again, the one who carefully assuaged your fears, who listened, who made eggs when hot pockets wouldn’t do.

“No,” he agreed finally and you looked up at the sweet softness of his tone. “First time in a long time it’s mattered to me, though. For some damn reason… I care what you think.”

“Hello?? Is this thing even working??” Tony’s voice thrummed angrily through the computer’s speakers. “Barnes, can you hear me?”

Bucky took a sharp breath, deep into his lungs, breathing in the last of the stillness between you and taking it with him when he turned to the monitor. “Yeah,” he said and then he was talking to Tony. Something about a Doctor and the big bang and some powerful stones. But you couldn’t take your eyes off of Bucky.

Tony was irritable. Fuming, actually. The “doot-doot blub-blub-ting doot-doot” of the videocall ringtone repeated again, fueling the inferno. Waiting on technology was not something he was accustomed to. Waiting for inelegant, vulnerable technology that was too old to exist to project an image of the inside of his offices out into the world, well that would have been an a resolute No before today. But his teammates are nothing if not stubborn. Barnes most of all.

“Finally!” he sighed, leaning forward and peering at the image. “Why is it so grainy. I can’t… That’s a terrible picture.”

“It’s good enough,” Dr. Strange deadpanned beside him.

“No that can’t be it. Connection’s bad or something. They can’t even hear us talking!” He began waving haphazardly at the screen, hoping to catch the eye of the soldier or the stone-keeper.

That’s when he noticed what was actually on the screen. Bucky’s arm around you, tightly. A laugh. The goddamn Winter Soldier, your guardian for this mission, looking down at you as though he…

“Holy shit,” Tony mumbled, leaning closer. “Are you seeing this?”

“Yeah, you have to allow the app to access your microphone,” Strange rolled his eyes, entirely missing the point.

“Hey, Rogers?” Tony called just as Steve strode into the room, slightly out of breath. “I think your bestie has compromised the mission.”

His eyes were glued to the screen as Steve leaned his shoulder with a hand on the desk to get a closer look.

“Indeed,” he hummed through a grin as he watched the screen.

“What?” Tony frowned up at him.

Steve shook his head minutely. “Bucky’s fine. He’s only ever failed one mission. And I’m not this mission.”

Tony’s frown never lifted as his eyes darted over Steve. Doubt clouded them for but a moment. He hammered a quick line of code into the digital projection of a keyboard and swiped the screen away.

“Hello?? Is this thing even working??” Tony asked after patching the room’s audio systems through to the rudimentary video conferencing software. “Barnes, can you hear me?”

Not a second later, Steve – or rather Loki projecting himself as Steve – noticed a slight shift in the cameras in the room. One after another, they made slow sweeping turns until he stood squarely within each and every frame.

Part 18 >>