#soda machine spare parts

[zeltqz]

It’s crazy how the smallest of incidents could make you hate someone. Especially from a young age.

There you were, in your own little corner of Utopia, you’re grasping a handful of coins in your palm as you stare down the different soda options at the vending machine.

You were extra happy today, having saved up this amount of coins from doing chores around the house, specifically the living room because that was where the spare change always dropped underneath the couch. 

This was your money, no one else’s. At only eight years old, your handful of coins made you feel like the next billionaire, rich enough to buy almost all the drinks at this vending machine.

It’s pretty dumb to be excited over something like this, but you were bored and thirsty. 

The rest of your classmates play around cheerily, laughing thunderously when they’d gotten hit with the colourful water guns, running around volubly to dodge the splashes of water balloons thrown their way.

They’d all learnt long ago not to include you in their games, giving you the distance and space you wanted because frankly…you were a buzzkill. They weren’t sure what had happened to you to cause you to be such a stick in the mud, a buzzkill they’d murmured to each other when you’d walked past.

You weren’t sure either, you just didn’t want to join them. Their idea of fun was lame to you. Splashing around in water like you’re some kind of pond animal. It was filthy and disgusting, and you wanted no part of it.

You were happy by yourself, with your handful of coins, and your drink. 

You lean forward to press a coin into the vending machine, tapping away at some buttons and watch as the can drops down, bending to pick it up and shove the rest of your coins into your back pocket.

“Hey!” A voice of a young boy calls from behind you.

You don’t even bother looking back to see him, opting on cracking the can open and taking a refreshing sip, downing half the contents of it at the same time it takes him to catch up to the vending machine.

He’s out of breath by the time he’s standing before you, hands on knees and panting like he’d ran the equivalent to a marathon. 

“Hey.” You lift your head, turning slowly to face the boy from over your shoulder. “Can—gimme a sec—” He pauses, exhaling all the dirty air from his lungs and you eye him weirdly, watching him with a stank eye as he huffs and puffs, composing himself before standing up straight and your eyes almost widen at how tall he is compared to you. 

“Can I have some?” He points down to your drink and being the stingy little girl you were, you pull it closer towards you. 

“No.”

If you weren’t so ravishingly thirsty, you almost would’ve felt bad at the way his smile turned into a frown.

 “C’mon please, my brother is thirsty and I forgot my change at home and it’s so hot out here—”

“Well boohoo,” you stick your tongue out and take a step backwards. 

The sound of spare change in the front pocket of your overalls catches his attention, but is lost when you start talking again. “I don’t wanna share, so go away.”

The previous frown on his face is washed away, now staring down at you is a boy with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. 

“You don’t have to be sucha bitch all the time.”

The insult has you seething, now even more determined to not share any of your money with him. Ever. 

Shooting him a flat look that mirrors his own, you say, “Well this bitch isn’t drink-less.”

The two of you glare at each other for a moment and your brows are starting to hurt from pinching them so much.

He walks past you to the vending machine, shoving you so hard with his shoulder you almost stumble back, but you manage to ground yourself and watch as he kicks the machine, one, two, three times, then ten times more soda cans drops down.

A bright look appears on his face and he’s waving over his brother who abandons his friends and runs up to the machine in a heartbeat.

His brother is a little shorter in height, wears glasses and has his hair tied up in a little bun that you would find adorable if it wasn’t for the fact they were currently stealing from the machine, using their shirts as a makeshift basket to carry all the drinks. 

A bitter feeling simmered down in the pits of your stomach as you watched them run back to the other side of the playground, handing all the drinks around to your fellow classmates. 

You knew you shouldn’t care because why should you? You had more change in your back pocket to buy the entire world, (not really but one could only dream, right?). 

You may have been stubborn, but you knew when to accept defeat when you had lost. Which is why you felt sort of relieved when you watched the two brothers hand out drinks to the group. 

The boy glances back at you again, lips curled up into a smug smile that made the bitter feeling return inside you quicker than a heartbeat. 

Except this time, that feeling was only reserved for him . 

You went home even angrier than a usual school day, your mother noticing how you stomped your way around the house and asked what was wrong. 

You confided in her, telling her about that boy and his stupid face and smile and height, how he thought he was better than you just because he was taller and could kick a vending machine.

Your mother only laughed and told you to go bed.

Later on, you found out his name was Ran.

That name ended up being everywhere in your life for years to come. As a kid, he was popular, everybody loved him and wanted to befriend him. That popularity never died down even as you both entered your teenage years, 17 years old and still just as, if not more so popular. 

It had been ear aching walking into class and hearing girls talk about how they flirted with him, how he didn’t hesitate to flirt back, how he gave them his number, how let them ride things other his motorcycle. 

Each time you’d heard his name, you felt like you were slowly going insane. 

Ran would recognise you around town. Whenever he’d be hanging out at with his friends, he’d notice you idly walking, or standing by from the corner of his eye. When you’d both make eye contact for a split second, he’d grace you with that smug smile, one that’s been plastered on his face since young age, one that knows gets your blood boiling whenever you’d see it. The smile only intensifies when you’d roll your eyes at him and continue what you were doing. 

It filled him with an ill sense of joy and contentment whenever he’d see your signature eye-roll, scoff, glare, any other sign that you were utterly disgusted with him. 

Though it’s fairly amusing to him, the only thing in question he’s failed to understand for all these years is why you hate him. He’d never done anything to you. 

Your first interaction ended up being the last, because you both never verbally spoke to each other again. 

Verbally never spoken to each other again. 

Physically—lets say there was some moments where he caught you off guard, and you’d fallen for his charm and wits and spent maybe a couple hours in bed together. 

It was a mistake and you knew that. He knew it, but it didn’t feel like one. 

The only mistake that came from that bed incident, was that you used it as leverage to never talk to him again. 

It’s been a couple months since he’s held you, kissed you, looked at you face to face. He doesn’t wanna say that he misses you, no that’s too desperate, too clingy for a one night stand. 

Besides, you’ve seen to move on anyway, judging by the arm around your waist, kissing your cheek from where he’s stood behind you as you fix a drink for yourself. It’s playful, and frisky the way you laugh when he kisses down your neck by your sweet spot, blowing against it almost causing you to drop your cup. 

You’re telling him to stop lemme pour this, I’m thirsty, but your pleas go ignored when he tilts your face to kiss him. 

He makes a face of disgust when he sees who you’re kissing, a guy that at least scratching college whereas you’re in your final year in HS. 

So he’s one of those. 

Ran can’t help but roll his eyes, his jaw aches from clenching it so hard, chewing the soft tissue of his cheek when you drop your drink onto the counter in favour of wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He uses it as leverage to slide his hands downwards, cupping your ass through your jeans and mutters some inaudible words against your bottom lip. 

You can’t help but smile and nod at his words. 

He needs to stop staring at you, surely it’s been long enough for someone to notice his attention is elsewhere. The last thing he wants to come off as is—

“—desperate. Dude!” A nudge to his arm has Ran turning his head, “Why’re you staring in that direction? It’s been like—” 

It was as if a radar went off in Ran’s head, like he’d sensed movement coming from your area. A quick glance in your direction proves him right; your hand sliding playfully between that guys own, the love struck look in your eye as he’s pushing past crowds of people in favour of guiding you up the stairs. 

He decides to take a shot for courage, and his feet move before his friends could even ask where he’s going. 

The sounds of moans ranged throughout the hallway barely drowning out the music from downstairs. Some ranging from desperate pleas to straight up fake moans one would only hear in a porno. That guy clearly had no idea what he was doing. 

The desperate pleas die down a couple moments later and a girl and her lover walk out from the bedroom. 

So that means—

“ Ooh—ooh like that, fuck! You’re so good—yes, keep goin—” 

No, no there’s no way those obviously fake moans are coming from you. You sound like a cheap hooker . 

Ran has to slap a hand over his face, wondering what he would do in a situation where he was fucking a girl and she was so obviously faking her pleasure. He knows how you sound when you’re about to climax, the soft change in your voice when your actual orgasm hits. 

In all honesty, he’s not sure why he cares so much. Not sure why he abandoned his friends downstairs to come listen to his guy have his way with you. 

Just before he could change his mind and walk away, the door opens, the smell of sex following after the guy and wow he didn’t even say goodbye to you, just walks out and heads back downstairs. 

Asshole. 

Ran peeks into the room and you’re readjusting your clothes with a frown on your face. He can’t understand what it’s there for; the bad sex or the lack of aftercare. 

Probably both. 

He can change that though. 

He heads to the bathroom and fixes up his clothes, makes sure he looks his ultimate best before heading back into the hallway, ready to knock when he hears soft moans coming from the door. 

Oh. 

There’s a frustrated groan and shuffling of clothes, then seconds later you walk out. You seem to walk just fine, meaning he didn’t fuck you hard enough to momentarily pause your ability to walk. 

He can change that though. 

That’s when you bump shoulders with him, painfully apologetic before you realise who you’re apologising to. It’s amusing to him how quick all sense of remorse drains from your body, now replaced with a deadpan glare. 

“Oh,” your voice is flat, “it’s you.”

He only chuckles, and your fists clench when his signature smile is back on his face. He nods over in the direction of the room, crossing his arms and doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart to follow the movement. “You have fun in there?”

“Did I have fun—” you pause, face warped in confusion as you try to make do with his words. “Were you listening in on me?”

Yeah, shamefully so.

 “Did it ever occur to you, that you were so loud, the whole damn party heard you?”

That shuts you up. For the first time in years, you look dumbfounded and embarrassed. He’s seeing your face without that infamous glare. 

Your eyes widen and he can see the embarrassment creep into your body and you hide your face in your hands. “Fu ckkkkkk are you serious?”

No, no he’s not. 

But he’s enjoying seeing you like this. 

He removes your hands from your face and looks down at you with an expression you can’t recognise. It’s oddly soft and concerned, and you hate the way it’s making heat blaze your cheeks. 

“Why do you hate me?” He asks, sliding his hands to your wrists, letting them drop to your side. 

You look down at your shoes and shrug. “You just make me angry.”

“What part of me does?” He’s shifting closer with every word, waiting for you to push him away, tell him he smells or something crazy. 

“Every part,” you shove your hands away from his grip and subtly wipe the sweat from your palms onto your jeans. “You just piss me the fuck off.”

“That so?”

He’s so close , when did he get so close? You can smell him. You’re slowly crumbling when he steps a bit closer, a hand darting out to your waist. 

“Fuck off, Ran.” 

The hand you were going to push him away with is caught in his own, and you’re frozen, watching him pull your fingers out from the fist and eyes the wetness staining your fingers under the low hallway light. 

“What are you—” your words die down in your throat when he drags them up into his mouth, licks and sucks your two fingers. 

Everything falls apart around you, the ground crumbling to pieces when you slowly realise it was the hand you’d used on yourself moments prior. 

You do nothing but blink at him, physically can’t do anything but focus on the feeling of his tongue lapping up the underside of your fingers, the prior wetness now replaced with his saliva. You just stare at him, coming to terms and how fucking hot that was. 

He pops your fingers out of his mouth and licks his lips, smiling cheekily down at your dumbfounded face. 

“You ready to head out, now?”

It’s impressive how casual he can act, as if he didn’t just do that, as if he didn’t just fry your brain for days with that action. Who does he think he is? 

Something possesses you, something creeps inside you and takes control over your limbs because you’re dragging him down to your level and smashing your lips together. 

Almost instantly, his hands move to your waist and lifts you easily, carrying you inside the bedroom, kicking it shut behind him. 

The party ends when you both finish. Laying naked under the soft sheets, you slowly realise what you’d done again . You’ve fallen for his charm a second time. 

“So,” he pants, turning to face you, “was that the best you ever had?”

“I’ve had better.” You curl your fingers in the sheets when you feel his fingers flutter against your thighs. “Stop that.”

He ignores the second part of your sentence, hands sliding higher up your body to your hips. “Who was better than me?”

You clear your throat, tongue sitting heavy in your mouth as you think of a name. When none comes to mind, you shrug your shoulders. “You don’t know them.”

“I don’t know, or they don’t exist?”

He laughs when you glare up at him, dodging your hand when you move to hit him. 

“If I say you were the best, would you shut up?”

He leans in to kiss you and it’s almost embarrassing how your mind goes blank as he works his mouth against yours. The trail of his hands sliding hot along your skin burns addictively. 

That’s what Ran is. 

He’s addictive. He possesses some strange ability to put you in your place without even trying, succumbing to his will with nothing than a kiss. 

“Say I was the best you ever had.” He mutters against your lips, continuing to fry your brain when he does something wicked with his teeth and your bottom lip. 

“The best.” You moan into his mouth when his hand tickles your nipple. 

“Good.” He mouths down your jawline, wet and uncaring of the marks he may leave. 

“Your—” You giggle when his lips graze that sensitive spot just under your jaw, above your pulse, your hands moving to tug on his hair. “Your thrusts were a little sloppy though.”

“They were?” He presses you down onto the bed, hovering above you. “Well, we’re still young. We can try again next time.”

“Yeah, we are still young,” you totally miss the second part of his sentence, only realising when he’s shifting off of you to put his clothes back on. “Wait, next time?” He nods and you shake your head, “no, no this was a one time thing.”

“Uh huh, sure.” He vaguely remembers the last time you’d said that in bed.

“Let’s just blame this on the alcohol.”

He quirks a brow in your direction, only mildly hurt but refuses to show it. “We never drank anything though?”

“Yeah well no shit, Ran. Keep up.” Your shirt and bra is tossed at your face in an attempt to silence you. “Very mature of you.” You ignore his snort in favour of sliding your bra back on. “Just saying that’s my excuse if anyone finds out about this.”

“You really hate me that much, don’t you?”

“Well,” you grab your pants and throw them on, “I didn’t exactly talk all that shit about how overrated you are just to end up in bed with you.”

“But you did though.”

“And,” you crawl up to his edge of the bed and tap his nose, “now nobody needs to know.”

It’s a shame when you avoid him for weeks to come, though he should’ve seen it coming. This was the second time you’ve done this, let him hit then disappear for however long.

This time, the disappearance was shorter than most others. 

There’s a knock at his front door and his brother opens it, spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth as he lets you inside, yelling for Ran to come downstairs.

Ran’s been waiting for this moment, has been waiting to get his hands on you again, hoping you got tired of fucking around with other guys, finally ready to come back to him.

Except, you look ultimately serious when you step inside his house, hands shaking in fear and on the verge of biting off the skin on your lips from how hard your teeth are sinking into it.

“Hey, wait—what’s wrong?” He runs up to you when the tears fall from your eyes, wiping them with his palm and uses this as an excuse to hold you close. You’re sobbing into his shirt, hands gripping onto his back for leverage as he tries to calm you down. “Shhh, you can talk to me about anything.”

“No, I can’t.” Your throat feels clogged and your hands are still shaking even as he sets you down on his couch, ordering Rindou to grab some water for you.

“Look at me.” He’s wiping your face and you flutter your lashes, looking up at him. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“I’m—” you can’t even look him in the eye, busy regretting everything over the last couple weeks, “I’m pregnant, Ran.”

The silence is painful, gut wrenching, the lump in your throat only getting bigger by the second the longer he doesn’t speak.

“Can—” you clear your throat, choking your words out, “can you say something, please?”

“Just—” He presses his hands against his face, exhaling deeply, “sorry, repeat that?”

“I’m  not repeating myself.”

He pauses for a fraction of a second, staring you in the eye, then stands up and paces the proximity of his living room. It’s an understandable reaction. You’d gone silent as you stared at the five positive pregnancy tests sitting on the floor of your bathroom.

“This doesn’t—how the—what the fuck?! You’re eighteen , you can’t be pregnant—”

“I’m not sure that’s how biology works, Ran.” His brother calls out from the kitchen, ultimately ruining the moment, souring Ran’s mood even further.

“Rindou, shut the fuck up and do something useful for once.”

His brother only chortles, hiding the comeback that knocking up a girl is much more useful than anything he’s doing on his tongue.

If it wasn’t such a serious situation, you would’ve laughed along with his brother at the irony of Ran’s sentence.

Rindou tosses you the bottle of water and bag of chips, tenderly squeezing your shoulder before heading up the stairs and for a second, you regret fucking the wrong brother.

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

You can’t stop the glare that houses its way onto your face. “Are you—” you choke on your own voice, feeling dizzy with how quickly you stood up, the bag of chips falling onto the floor in the process, “—you’re serious right now?”

He stays silent. 

“Oh my god, you’re fucking ridicuous. Yes, Ran,” your voice spits venom when you say his name, “it’s fucking yours.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m lost now, are you deaf or just indirectly calling me a slut?”

He laughs, clearly unamused. “Of course you’d head to that conclusion. Are you always this dramatic?”

“I’m dramatic?”

“I’m asking if it’s mine, or that college junkie you slept with minutes prior to me.”

“College junki—” You rack your brain back to that night, remembering the failed hookup, the way he struggled to even stick it inside for the first couple moments, “—he’s not in college. And he’s not a junkie, what?! He’s in my class, and you’d know that if you actually showed up to school!”

“Ohh,” he scoffs, “so now you’re calling me uneducated?”

“Yeah. I am. You’re a fuckin’ idiot, coming into my life, trying to seduce me with your little moves to get me into bed with you and for fucks sake!” You groan, pulling at your hair, the true gravity of the situation dawns on you. You slept with an idiot, now you’re bound to this idiot forever. This was such a mistake, a pitiful mistake that you have to pay the price for. For the next nine months and the rest of your life.

“You know, last I checked, it takes two people to fuck. You let me, so you’re not about to turn this on me—”

“You should’ve left me alone.”

“You shouldn’t have let me in.”

You pause, and look up at him for only a split second, unable to even stare him in the eye. “Wow. It’s—you’re really—after I told you I’m pregnant with your —”

“Who said it’s mine?!”

“You rlly think I’d lie to you?! I don’t even like you! Why WOULD I WILLINGLY WANT YOU IN MY LIFE?!” You barely manage to push out the tears before they’re falling, watering his wooden tiles. “Coming here was such a mistake. I’m out.”

You tasted blood in your mouth for how hard you bit into your cheek, blinded by sheer frustration and anger alone. His front gate opens before you can get to the front door, and his parents walk inside, carrying grocery bags in hand.

“We’re home—oh, hello dear. Who must you be?” His mother steps out of the way and lets his father pass.

You look over at Ran who looks like all colour has drained from his face if you open your mout—

“Your son got me pregnant ma’am.” 

The tears fall once more from your eyes, except this time it’s deliberate, even going as far as to slip a side glance over towards Ran.

Her face falls and she feels faint, his father drops the groceries and by the time you manage to slip out from her hold, the house has practically burnt up in flames from the sheer wrath of his parents' anger.

idk if i shld do a part two n force him to take sum responsibility 🤦🏾‍♀️

i just had a dream and wanted to write this out before it left my brainnnnnnuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[harrysdaydream-tpwk]

part 1 - how you meet

summary: part one, harry and y/n meet for the first time. it isn’t smooth sailing, but shes intrigued.

warnings: none

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Fuck, shit!”, you swore, hitting the espresso maker, once and then again, when the only thing it did was to spew more steam at you, fogging up your glasses.

“You alright?”, one of your coworkers asked and you nodded, though defeated.

“You think you can take over preparing the drinks for me, while I’ll handle the register? If I have to fight this machine one more time, something will be broken and it will either be my hand or the coffeemaker.” You looked at him desperately, your hands folded together in a silent plea.

“Alright, alright”, he laughed, “Don’t want to call an ambulance because you couldn’t control your anger. At least I won’t have to deal with asshole customers anymore.” He passed you and you blew him a bunch of exaggerated kisses before sliding right behind the cash register, slightly more motivated to finish the rest of your shift than before.

It was unusually quiet for Friday afternoon, normally all of the tables would’ve been taken- from desperate college students trying to finish their essays to single mothers, hoping to rekindle their failed love life. Although the job was a pain in your ass and barely covered all the bills and loans you had to pay off, it always had something to offer for your personal entertainment.

But now, as you waited for something to happen, other than the few fifteen years olds throwing straws at each other in the corner booth, you felt terribly bored. Your elbows quickly found their way to the counter and you put your chin in your waiting hands, blowing a strand of hair out of your face.

The nameless indie music idling out of the speakers above your head lulled you in a state of trance as you stared at the passer-by’s outside of the store, the big glass front not sparing you any detail. Even your coworker, who was the only employee inside the store besides you, had sat down on a few cases of soda stacked together, blasting TikTok and its annoying sounds throughout the whole store, but in this moment you couldn’t care less.

Then, suddenly, you were ripped out of your daydreaming by the bell ringing above the door and you stood up fast, startling not only the newcomers, but yourself as well.

“Hey, welcome in. Is there anything I can get started for you?”, you asked, peering at the three men, who just stared for a moment, as if assessing the situation. Weird.

The place you worked at was in a small side street, away from the bigger crowds, with quirky names for almost all of the things you had on your menu, so you gave your new customers a second to understand and choose something from your assortment.

Before you could turn away and pretend to be busy, one of them spoke up, though quietly, you could barely hear him.

“Hi. Sorry, we didn’t expect such an enthusiastic greeting. Is there anything you would recommend?” His voice was deep and gentle and you couldn’t help but admit that he looked exactly like the kind of man you would usually go for.

“I don’t know”, you reply, your voice now back to its usual octave and enthusiasm- or rather the lack thereof, “I usually just get the Iced Caramel Macchiato.”

To this day, you still refused to read any of the actual names of the drinks out loud.

“I’ll take that one then”, the man said, smiling at you. You nod as you type his order into your register.

“Anything else?”, you asked, smiling your “customer service smile” as your friends jokingly called it and the other two men nodded, replying with their orders.

“Alright, will that be to-go or are you staying in?” You waited for a second while they looked at each other and thought to yourself “That question couldn’t have been that hard”.

Finally, the guy with the long, brown hair mumbled “To go, please.”

“Okay then, swipe your card whenever you’re ready. And I need a name to call when your coffee is done.”

“Harry”, the guy who spoke to you first replied and stepped forward, pressing his card on the card reader. You nodded satisfied.

You turned around briefly, to check if you coworker, Charlie, got the order. Pleased that he was already on it, you directed your gaze back to the front of the store. Startled, you reeled back. Harry, who was the only one still standing in front of the counter, was starting at you intently. The other two had fallen back, standing near the door, as if they were waiting- no rather watching out for something- or someone.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”, you inquired, observing how his shoulders rode up defensively. He was wearing a long, blue jacket, a hat and sunglasses and if you were honest, his outfit looked absolutely ridiculous. Paired with the black nike shorts, he looked a bit mismatched, like he was unsure whether it was warm out or not. You could’ve easily answered that question, seeing as you had been sweating profusely since you left your studio apartment this morning.

You were sure you looked disgusting, your uniform clinging uncomfortably to the body parts you most certainly didn’t want them to stick to, mascara probably smudged from the humidity from the steam that had been blowing in your face earlier.

How he managed to still look fresh, even with the thick jacket on was an absolute mystery to you.

“No, no, sorry. I like your button”, he answered, referring to the grumpy cat pin your mother had gifted you a while ago. It was ridiculous and cheesy, but it reminded you of home, so you wore it anytime you felt even slightly homesick. You debated telling him as much, but you weren’t up for much of a conversation, so you settled on a polite “Thank you.”

He smiled and nodded.

“Order for Harry?”, Charlie called and the man looked around, rather paranoid, as if he was scared someone was going to jump up from behind the counter any second.

“That’s me”, he said, still shyly smiling at you before turning towards the pick-up station.

“Have a nice day”, you called out sarcastically behind him and he waved, walking out the door, his company joining soon after.

You exhaled deeply and turned towards Charlie again, who suddenly squealed loudly. “Oh my God, what?”, you said, clutching your hand over your chest.

“Do you know who that was?”, he asked, excitedly, “Harry fucking Styles. And I think he liked you with all that staring he did.”

“No, it wasn’t. Was it?”, you asked disbelievingly. He nodded, “Oh, yeah. It was him. I’d recognize him anywhere. I think he’s actually having a show in town tonight.”

“But why would he come in here out of all places? I mean, we’re far away from anything slightly entertaining or fun.” You looked at Charlie quizzically.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, “Maybe that’s exactly the point. What are the odds of getting recognized by hoards of fans in a small shop like this?”

“I guess so.”

You grabbed a wet cloth from the sink, starting to wipe down the counter, not able to shake the fact that superstar Harry Styles just walked into your workplace, however annoyed you might’ve been at that moment, it had felt oddly right and somehow meaningful. You touched the pin on your apron carefully, smiling at the chipped feeling of the plastic fading at the edges.

-

Two days later, the incident- which was how Charlie kept calling it, was nothing but a fun story you could tell your friends and something to be teased about by your coworkers. Yes, you had been kind of rude to him, maybe you could’ve been a bit nicer. Treat People with Kindness or whatever he always preached. But it was in the past now. It wasn’t like you would ever see him again.

At least that’s what you told the part of yourself that kept insisting that maybe he would return- the nagging voice that believed Charlie, who kept shooting you meaningful glances whenever one of Harry’s songs played on the radio.

You were in a middle of a lunch rush, the small room of the shop packed with people, when your wishful thinking suddenly became reality. Right in the middle, as if the crowd had split in two, he appeared. Or maybe he had just entered through the door like everyone else did and patiently waited in line. You couldn’t be sure.

“Harry, hi”, you greeted sincerely, when he approached the counter, “What brings you back?” You smiled ruefully, thinking about your last interaction.

“Hi. Slightly better mood today, huh?” So he had picked up on it last time. Your eyes travelled down his body quickly- you couldn’t help it, sue you. He was wearing a white button down this time, messily tucked in a light washed pair of denim shorts- although he managed to make it look stylish- and no sunglasses. His hair was hidden by a yellow crochet bucket hat. Cute.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know who you were and I wasn’t having a good day. What can I do for you today?”, you apologized.

“I think everyone deserves kindness, even if they weren’t popular. But it’s alright, can’t always be nice, especially in customer service. I get it, worked in a bakery for some time back at home.” He took his own shtick quite seriously you noted, but smiled politely.

“I would love to talk to you some more, but the place is packed right now. Is there anything I can get for you?”, you tried again.

“Yeah, yeah”, he chuckled, “I’ll get the Iced Caramel Macchiato again, it was really good the last time and also-“, he paused for a second, looking at your display of pastries, “One of the vegan carrot cakes, please.”

“Sure, anything else?”

“No, that’s all, thank you.”

You finish the transaction and say goodbye before tending to the next customer, a middle aged woman raising her eyebrows impatiently at you.

The rest of your shift goes by smoothly, with only a few minor incidents disrupting your flow. It all felt to good to be true, your interaction with Harry still in the back of your mind. The conversation had left you unsatisfied, craving more.

You didn’t know much about him, besides that he was Harry Styles and apparently currently on tour. He shared something with you and you couldn’t help but wonder if there would’ve been more if you had just let him talk. That’s what you reprimanded yourself for as you took of your apron and the shirt you wore for work in the locker rooms, pulling on a black hoodie with a nonsensical print on the front.

“I’ll see you tomorrow”, you yelled in the general direction of the store as you leave through the back door, a cigarette already waiting to be lit in your right hand. It was a bad habit and you were desperate to stop smoking- but on days like this it was the only thing keeping you sane.

“Hey”, a voice suddenly called and you shot up surprised, the cig almost falling out of your mouth. You took a quick drag before lowering it. Turning around, you spotted Harry of all people leaning against the wall of the back of your shop.

“Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?”, you asked disbelievingly, clutching your chest dramatically.

“Sorry, one of your coworkers told me what time you get off. They also told me your name”, he explained, peering at you with his green eyes. Fuck, why did he have to be so handsome?

“Stalker-much?”, you couldn’t help but ask, only half joking. You brought your cigarette up to your lips again, inhaling deeply, before blowing out the smoke through your nose- welcoming the rush the nicotine gave you.

“I just wanted the chance to have a conversation with you, Y/N”, he said, rolling his eyes, but smiling at the same time. It was weird hearing your name out of his mouth.

“Why?” He shrugged helplessly, observing you smoke for a second before answering.

“Fuck if I know. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, even on stage, and my friends kept teasing me. I’m in town until tomorrow, then I’m off to Cardiff.”

“Yeah, I get it. My coworker Charlie kept wagging his eyebrows at me everytime he saw someone wearing your merch. He was the one preparing the drinks for you.” You hoisted up your tote bag, which kept slipping of your shoulder.

Harry chuckled. “He did a pretty good job if I do say so myself. The Macchiato was really good. Cashier had some perks too though.”

“He’ll pass out if I tell him what you just said. But tell me more about this cashier. Were they cute?”, you flirted back, a smirk on your face.

“Oh, very. I was hoping it’d get her number by chance”, he tried as you threw the butt of your cigarette on the pavement, stomping it out with your checkered Vans.

“Well, you’re in luck. It’s not everyday an international pop-star asks me for my cell. Can’t resist your charm”, you said quietly. His shoulders dropped slightly, as if remembering his position in the world, but he caught himself.

Harry hands you his phone and says, “Just type it in yourself. It’s always easier this way.”

You nodded, taking his phone with clammy hands. What a weird, surreal world you were suddenly thrown into. The fact that he trusted you enough to just pass you his phone. The fact that he was standing opposite you, watching you, being interested in you. You wondered if this was all a dream you’d suddenly be woken up from.

But no one did. This was reality, you realized as you pressed the cellphone back into his waiting hand, brushing it with the movement. You looked at each other for a moment.

“The cute girl from the coffee place? Really?”, he asked and you giggled. Honest to God giggled. What has your life become?

Harry pocketed his phone, letting his hands hang loosely at his sides. “Well”, he cleared his throat, “I have to go. Rehearsals and all that. I’m already too late. I’ll text you?” He looked at you hopefully.

“Sure”, you answered, smiling softly, “I’ll be waiting.” You step closer, standing on your tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek- a barely there brush of lips, but he still blushed.

“I’ll see you around, H.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

well, this marks the first part of my first ever series on this account. i’m actually so excited to see what people think. don’t forget to leave a like& follow for more<3 stay tuned!

[seat-safety-switch]

In this modern day, the common person has lost confidence in the advice from authority. Everyone wants to get a leg up on the other fools, and often that comes from a belief in secret knowledge. The president is really a hologram. Toothpaste is just baking soda coloured blue. And a car can get 150 miles per gallon running on nothing but water.

This kind of kooky scam operation has been with us forever, but it's really taken off lately. I think that this is because more people than ever feel a little powerless. Hey, you can figure out this one angle, and hold onto it. Make it part of your identity, especially when the rabble points out that it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. That's how I feel about Subarus.

Subarus are popular now, amongst the mall-adventurer crowd. If you're wearing a fleece jacket indoors right now, or if you just have a child and a dog at the same time, you're probably going to be asking a smarmy salesdroid about a Crosstrek at some point in the next century. This, too, is a form of secret knowledge: let those ordinary rubes suffer winter with their front-wheel-drive Camries while I am thrust aloft their corpses by an unstoppable all-wheel-drive war machine.

As a long-time (and now lapsed) Subaru owner, I can tell you that the reason folks used to get into Subarus is because they were fucking weird. Flat engines, sometimes with pushrods. Spare tire in the engine bay. Turbos in everything, no matter how inappropriate. And sure, we thought that we were onto a vibe that the average person didn't appreciate. Most of them don't like pulling the entire engine just to do a driver-side valve cover gasket, for instance.

If you ask me, they've just gotten too normal right now. That's why I'm moving onto the next big thing that nobody else knows about. In fact, a lot of people hate it and throw rocks at you for owning one. It's called Chevrolet, and they make a whole bunch of cars for not very much money. Dealerships all over the place, just full of salespeople staring at the walls, waiting for anyone to come in and be dumb enough to put down money for an Equinox. Dumb enough like a fox.

[marxistswiftieism]

a brief list of items that either were at one point banned or are currently banned from being imported into Gaza through Israel

gravel, cement, lumber, steel, iron, glass, or any types of "reconstruction materials

any type of beans or lentils

tomato paste and tomato juice

pasta (previously banned, now unbanned)

dried food, ginger, chocolate, soda, juice, spices, jams, shaving cream or gel, potato chips, cookies/biscuits, and candy (all previously banned, but now unbanned)

A4 standard size printer paper

toilet paper

wedding dresses

musical instruments

crayons

appliances such as refrigerators, washing machines

mattresses, cookware and crockery, cutlery, light bulbs, matches, needles, sheets, blankets, shoes, thread, and any spare parts for cars or other machines

batteries for hearing aides and weelchairs

fishing supplies

fuel (only from Israel, allowed through egypt)

[stvlti]

Snippet from my untitled Blue Beetle & Teen Titans rejects fic :)

Click. Snap. Click. Snap.

They're sat inside a Big Belly Burger, waiting for their order of fries. A female singer he doesn't recognise croons Spanglish over weirdly retro beats on the speakers. Eddie is fidgeting with the catch on his now-useless slider phone, out of nerves or boredom, he doesn't know.

The first thing they did once they got into town was to buy a mobile phone. It's strange, but there aren't many payphones around, and whatever happened to them while they were in the Bleed and subsequently in their fall back to Earth must have fried their cellphones. Luckily, he found one of those rundown stores selling spare electronics for cheap that accepts cash and doesn't ask questions. At least one thing hasn't changed.

Click. Snap. Click. Snap.

The phone they bought is a palm-sized thing with a wide touch-screen, one of those smart-phone models that only came out last year, and yet the store owner seemed almost happy to part with it. "It's ancient," he'd said in a comfortingly thick accent, "I was about to chuck it out with the garbage. I'd sell it to you for free, chiquito." Things only get stranger from there. It took less than a minute for Khaji to jail break the phone and recalibrate itself to the local network. They tried his family's numbers again, even tried the Titans Tower secure line, but no dice. What Jaime found on the internet was even less reassuring.

Click. Snap. Click. Snap.

"Hey, Eddie."

The fidgeting stops.

"Could you go grab us some drinks? I need a minute alone with the scarab."

"Sure...?" Eddie throws another glance at Jaime, not quite hiding his worry as he slides out of his seat.

[ You were vexed by his opening and shutting of his phone case. ]

"I didn't realise it was state the obvious hour."

Khaji Da does not respond. Jaime rubs his temple.

"Sorry, sorry. Yes, I'm stressed. Tell me you have some good news, at least."

[ You are still alive, as is Eddie Bloomberg. You have enough money to acquire sustenance for another week, during which I can help you find a job and — ]

"Khaji. I need to get home."

[ You are technically in your hometown. ]

"But it's not the El Paso I know. Right? Tell me I'm not crazy."

[ Jaime Reyes is correct. Based on our quick search of the government domains, social network platforms and news sites, the Reyes family never lived in El Paso. There is no record of your parents or extended family in the state registry. Your name does not exist in the class registers of your high school. Your sister— ]

"Also doesn't exist! I know! I got it the first time." Jaime looks over to the self-service machine. What is taking Eddie so long? "I asked you for good news, Khaji."

[ Actually, your sister exists. Milagro Reyes, age 18, enrolled in Edge Keys High School. According to her posts on Instagram, she was last seen at the Kord Centre Mall — ]

"Did you say eighteen? And where the heck is Edge Key?"

[ I have some more good news. While there is no record of your other family members in the state of Texas, a Reyes Auto Repair Shop was recently removed from the business registry in Edge Key, Greater Palmera City. ]

"What? We have to go to Edge Key!"

"What's Edge Key?" Eddie sets a tray down, almost spilling the two extra-large cups of soda balanced precariously on it. The fries look tiny in comparison.

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Khaji, can you — hold on, I'm syncing you to the phone so Eddie can see."

The phone lights up, and Jaime expects Khaji's words to crawl across the screen like text messages the way he's done the few times Jaime tried to sync the scarab to his old phone via blue-tooth. Instead, the phone starts talking in a lady computer voice.

"Your scarab was a chick this whole time?" Eddie exclaims, the half-chewed fry in his hand forgotten.

"What? No! I didn't even know it could speak like this."

"I simply utilised this phone's built-in text-to-speech system. It is not my problem that the manufacturers could only imagine AI voices as female."

"I think it just insulted every super-computer in the cape community..."

"Anyway, the coordinates?"

[ There is one last thing you should know before you go, Jaime Reyes. The Blue Beetle was last sighted in Palmera City six hours ago. ]

The boys pause and look at each other.

"Show me, Khaji."

And on the screen of the phone appears a crisp, 4K picture of a guy in a costume that looks exactly like him, mid-flight in the streets of a city he's never been to.

[elvenbeard]

I'm late, heck, but for the detailed headcanon asks: 6, 12, 22, 35, and 45? 👀

Thanks so much for asking!! Never too late, I'm always here to talk about the boy :3

6. Eating habits and sample daily menu

V doesn't have the best eating habits tbh. When he's stressed he barely gets anything down, and the stress working at Araska brought with it only made that worse. Since he's usually out and about all day really, "lunch" is usually just whatever and whenever, usually from a vending machine or street food, despite him not being fond of either as much. Honestly, I see him as the kind of guy who probably makes it through the day fueled by energy drinks. He'll try to have something small for breakfast at least, at least a protein bar of sorts, or cereal (dry even, just to eat *something*). Dinner though then at least is usually a "proper" meal, something warm, something filling, doesn't need to be fancy (although being able to go to fancy restaurants regularly is one of the things he actually misses most about not working at Arasaka anymore during his first few months as a new merc).

Sample daily menu:

Breakfast: Coffee (with milk and sugar) & protein bar/ cereal/ toast with eggs (when it's a slow day with spare time in the morning)/ french toast or waffles on days "off" when there's time to go eat out somewhere that serves either

Lunch: varies wildly, sometimes also just nothing when it's a "one gig/ appointment after the other" kind of day; whatever he manages to get down in all the stress, and sometimes that's just soda or energy drinks or coffee and the like

Dinner: pizza, ramen, something warm and filling, can be streetfood, but ideally something a bit more high quality and tasty/ if he can afford it he'll go eat sushi somewhere nice

12. Favorite book genre?

I have to say I don't see him as much of an avid reader. To wind down he's more a "play a game/ listen to music/ watch TV" kind of person. Most of the books he has revolve around tech, maybe some history and culture stuff from all around the world. So I guess nonfiction as a whole as favourite genre? xD Maybe with a handful of scifi novels and spy thrillers thrown in, but they're in the minority.

22. Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

Depending on how much time of nothing to do we're talking about here, he'd probably start planning out something interesting to do. An exciting vacation for example, a list of places he'd like to see and why, if we're talking a few hours at most. With more time (and post-Sun ending) he'd probably come up with a detailed plan on how to make the Afterlife run even more efficiently. He might request more than one piece of paper for this though.

35. What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

Going shopping xD There is so many better ways to spend an afternoon, but in his mind it brings him back to simpler times, there's always new things to see, and, let's be honest, he just loves clothes a little too much.

45. Superstitions or views on the occult?

No views on the occult whatsoever. He indulges Misty with her tarot stuff because he likes her as a person and considers himself relatively open to new experiences. But it's probably as far as he'll ever venture down that path, and half of the time he's not quite sure what to make of anything Misty says. He's not a superstitious person, but he does believe in luck, and that sometimes it just plays a part in you ending up in the right place at the right time (or the wrong place at the wrong time, if you're unlucky).

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[mentoscola]

list of items israel has banned from entering gaza at some point in time

cardamom

cumin

coriander

ginger

jam

vinegar

Halva

chocolate

fruit preserves

seeds and nuts

biscuits and sweets

potato chips

gas for soft drinks

dried fruit

fresh meat

plaster

tar

wood for construction

cement

iron

glucose

industrial salt

plastic/glass/metal containers

industrial margarine

tarpaulin sheets for huts

fabric (for clothing)

flavor and smell enhancers

fishing rods

various fishing nets

buoys

ropes for fishing

nylon nets for greenhouses

hatcheries and spare parts for hatcheries

spare parts for tractors

dairies for cowsheds

irrigation pipe systems

ropes to tie greenhouses

planters for saplings

heaters for chicken farms

musical instruments

size A4 paper

writing implements

notebooks

newspapers

toys

razors

sewing machines and spare parts

horses

donkeys

goats

cattle

chicks

Fresh meat

Sage

Canned fruit

Biscuits

Sweets

Potato crisps

Seeds and nuts

Fresh fish

Canned vegetables

Processed cheese

Margarine

Pastry

Lentils

Pasta

Tomato paste

Cookies

Instant soup

Baby formula

Juice

Soda

Tea

Coffee

Flavorings and spices

Fresh apples

Grapes

Melons

Plums

Avocados

Garlic

Wheat

Rice

Sugar

Salt

Cooking oil

Fresh milk

Yogurt

Ice cream

Snack foods

Heaters

Fans

Refrigerators

Washing machines

Gas for cooking

Light bulbs

Candles

Matches

Batteries

Flashlights

Generators

Light fixtures

Electric shavers

Computers

Printers

Scanners

Blank CDs and DVDs

Radios

Televisions

Cell phones

Microwave ovens

Air conditioners

Heaters

Cameras

Video cameras

Photocopiers

Paper

Pens

Toys

Playing cards

Chess sets

Sports equipment

Fishing rods

Binoculars

Telescopes

Cigarettes

Shaving cream

Shampoo

Soap

Toothpaste

Dental floss

Deodorant

Perfume

Makeup

Skin care products

Nail polish

Sanitary napkins

Diapers

Toilet paper

Towels

Bedding

[sssodamachine-1]

SS Sugarcane Juice Machine

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[quvend82]

The Uses of Buying Used Vending Machines

Vending machines are necessary for industries now where consumers can buy products and make money without trying too hard. The owners get profits without a huge effort. The choice between bringing in a new or used vending machine might be caused by a process aimed at integrating them into your institution, namely a school, office, or retail space.

Incontrovertible, numerous merits can make the persistence of high-end bulk buyers preferable. These advantages may be compelling in the long run. The used vending machine market holds a great future for business startups as it consists of multiple contributing factors that control demand and supply accordingly.

Significant Cost Savings

The most notable benefit is major savings of 40-60% compared to new machine prices. Used machines provide the same functionality at a fraction of the investment. The savings allow business owners to purchase more machines and increase revenue potential.

Proven Reliability

Quality used vending machines from reputable suppliers have been completely refurbished and tested for reliable performance. As long as you avoid extremely old models, used machines purchased from trusted vendors serve businesses faithfully for years.

Variety of Models and Brands

The secondary market provides access to a diverse range of used vending machine models from leading commercial brands that have yet to be available. Based on requirements, you can select from soda, snacks, coffee, and other machines with desired configurations.

Low-Risk Investment

For new vending machine business, used vending machines allow entry with lower risk. You can test location viability before making higher investments in new machines. Even if a location underperforms, the low equipment cost limits overall risk exposure.

 

Spare Parts Availability

Established vending machine brands have spare parts supply chains to maintain units that have been operational for decades. For older used models, parts are easily obtained online from various manufacturers and third-party suppliers.

Easy to Maintain and Repair

Vending machines utilize simple mechanical designs that repair technicians can easily service and maintain. Diagnosing issues in used machines is straightforward. Buying from used vending machines for sale, parts like coils and switches can be easily and inexpensively replaced.

Built Solidly To Last

With mostly metal bodies and rugged internal parts, vending machines are manufactured for longevity in commercial use. Refurbished units may have worn exteriors but structurally withstand heavy daily use over many years.

Vending Machine Experts Help Select Well

Reputable used vending sellers have the expert knowledge to assess machines thoroughly and identify models that, after refurbishing, provide reliable performance. Their input helps buyers avoid mistakes.

Allows Buying More Machines

Because used machines cost significantly less than new units, you can purchase multiple used vending machines for the price of one new machine. This results in higher combined sales capacity.

Ability to Upgrade Later

As your business grows, used machines can be moved to lower revenue locations. Higher traffic sites can feature new machines with the latest features and collector appeal.

 

Tips for Buying Used Vending Machines:

Research Thoroughly: Spend some time researching different types of vending machine features to ensure you settle on the one that meets your business needs.

Inspect Carefully: Checking out used vending machines carefully for marks of wear and tear, damages, or breakdowns takes a low level of priority.

Verify Functionality: Aim to pre-test the machines, placing emphasis on each component, including coin devices, bill acceptors, and the refrigeration system.

Check Maintenance History: Ask questions about the service history of the machine in order to determine its state and find out if any mechanics have been tasked with its repairs and upgrades.

Buy from Reputable Sellers: Purchase supplies from well-known dealers or sellers who offer warranties, service agreements, and tools to upgrade that are desperately needed.

Conclusion

The upside of purchasing pre-owned vending units becomes very obvious for business owners who intend to improve their profits, pursue sustainability, and increase effectiveness. The used vending machine offers long-term benefits, which you can see from the immediately available options, environmental friendliness, and wide selection that are clearly significant.

By examining your business operations and looking at the multiple options offered, you will be able to make a decision that will align with your goals and, therefore, lead to a successful vending run.

For more information visit here - https://www.quvend.com/foliak-c-14.html

[sunrisetune]

Tag! If you would like, please tell me about your Courier and F:NV run decisions -- and DLCs as well, if you'd like! Did you have a favored home base in the game? Creepiest location?

Thank you Syrup from the past whose question I definitely didn't never actually answer publicly hahaaaaaa sorry friend! I appreciate it <3

My courier is actually a repurposed Killjoy OC of mine from several thousand internet years ago; she isn't my only courier but she was the first one I played, & only one I’ve finished the game as so far Her name is Violet! her hair’s blue and she does have pronouns.

She worked out an Independent Vegas with no treaty between the NCR and the Vegas gangs. (It annoys both my storytelling sensibilities and my like 'interpreting political messages in video games' sensibilities that the "best" ending is the 'Annex everything to the sci fi-US government" one but ANYWAY) Tried to solve problems diplomatically, but when she can’t, shoot them with a multiplasma rifle and cause chain reactions until they melt down into radioactive goo. As one does

In the DLCs: she tends towards the choices that kept the most people alive. Example: I flat-out didn’t know that we could talk Ulyesses out of the whole ‘nuke half the desert from orbit’ plan, if I could I would’ve spared him. As it was, decided to shut the facility down & let our brave robot friend make his sacrifice honourably. And I only cried about it a little bit! Ignoring ‘Honest Hearts’ bc it is both bad and stupid; I still haven’t played Old World Blues, but I’d like to! Whenever I hear something about that one I think, “Okay, this has to be the weirdest and horniest thing in the add-on” but somehow I have been wrong every time so far. x)

- I had two (2) favourite home bases actually! The first one was our hotel room in Novac. The second was the luxury suite in the Lucky 38, both bc I’m a sucker for The Drama and bc I can fit all of our friends in there with things I gave them. I liked setting up the ‘canteen’-type area in the kitchen and, like, isolate different parts of my inventory in different fridges. Like, “This is where the soda and street food goes! And this one’s for the medicine and the bombs c: “ We had at least three coffee tins and pots at a time, everyone got their own cups. And one (1) teddy bear per friend, bc I’m not a monster

- Creepiest location in the general game for me is Searchlight, for sure. It’s so avoidable and so fucking sad. And, like, one of the ways that the game used toxic waste as not just a backdrop or funny status effect but part of the plot, and how horrifying it is as a weapon. The soldier we meet there who’s ghoulified?? I’ve said this somewhere before but man I love when the game remembers it’s a sci-fi story. - Creepiest place including the DLCs would be the Sierra Madre! Dead Money is my favourite for a reason. The sheer body horror & regular horror of the ghosts. Some of the same as Searchlight as well; the place itself, the air, is hostile to us; we’re absolutely surrounded by dead; and (stealing a line from a Bioshock post I’ll link w/ I find it), the plot knows what it’s point is. The whole resort was metaphorically and literally broken, from the very beginning and the ground up, and that was what doomed everyone in it.

Also about Dead Money: I appreciated how the reason for the setting made sense. Like w/ playing it I was thinking ’’Oh, vending machines that can print whatever’s needed’’; and then Elijah is like ’’vENDING MACHINES THAT CAN PRINT WHATEVER IS NEEDED!’’ Also Pt II: stuck a grenade in the creepy-ass ghoul singer’s pocket. Arguably most satisfying kaboom in the game. Get smithereened douchebag

[dancer-subclarington]

Open Para || Kyla & ____

Kyla looked around the dance studio, the turn out was pretty good, especially considering how many people hadn’t even known where the room was. She’d covered the mirrors to avoid annoying fingerprints that could be potentially physically dangerous to have on the mirror during dance, and most of the space was covered in mats to spare the floor. The ‘stage’ area was the only place that had the dance floor showing, and it had the karaoke machine sitting there along with a large screen that took up half the wall, to display the song lyrics.

Along a different wall was a long wooden surface that was being held up by the wall-mounted ballet barres. It had tequila and vodka, plus some other liquor and some wine coolers and some ice and soda. And of course there was a spread of pizza, mini tacos, and other things Hunter had made. There were a few tables set up like at a karaoke bar, but she’d also scored two couches. It certainly didn’t have a fancy vibe to it; the only remotely fancy thing there being the ice luge. Delilah’s decorations to represent different decades in different parts of the room really tied everything together.

For her part, Kyla was entirely ready for a trip through the decades. She had four songs, each from a different decade, and she started out the show with a tribute to the movie Clueless and a 90s banger to match. She’d now just finished with a 70s hit in a different outfit, dressed casually to duet an Abba song from Mamma Mia with the singing partner she’d found on campus. “Hey,” she said to basically anyone. “Are you enjoying the party?”

[siddhantgusain]

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[aishamalhotra]

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[littlemisspascal]

Mailroom Crush Part 7

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word Count: 3000

Summary: A story about Reader who works in the mailroom of the embassy and her encounters with a handsome, brown-eyed DEA agent.

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, Reader sits on Javier’s lap, inaccurate depiction of an embassy mailroom, this is only loosely based on canon of Season 3 so the timeline does not 100% match the show’s

Author Note: Thank you everybody for your amazing support and encouragement! I appreciate every word and I hope y’all enjoy this segment 💝

PART 6 / PART 8

(gif made in canva by me)

For all the letters and packages you successfully deliver, items will still inevitably wind up getting lost. You do your best to double-check the names on the labels and envelopes match the recipients’, but sometimes papers stick together or the handwriting is messy and they’re accidentally sent to the wrong office or placed in the wrong mail slot. 

You deal with hundreds of deliveries per week and although you hate to admit it, you’ve learned to accept the fact you can’t account for all of their whereabouts 24/7. Sometimes it isn’t even your fault the items are lost. The embassy staff are forgetful creatures, creating unorganized piles on their desks or feeding dozens of documents into the shredder at once. 

Point is, mail is easily lost.

But being easily lost does not guarantee never being found again. Sometimes those missing items have a funny way of being rediscovered. Once somebody taped a letter to the mailroom door with a note saying it had been mixed in with their bundle accidentally. 

So now when something’s missing–be it mail, pens, your car keys, whatever–you cling to the hope of it returning instead of drowning in worry over its disappearance. You’ve learned to become observant, alert, mind and eyes sharp for the tiniest of clues. But you’ve also developed the belief that if what is lost is meant to return to you, then one way or another it will.

The time’s verging on eleven o’clock when you step out of the mailroom to grab more paper from the embassy’s supply closet. Usually the cupboard in the mailroom is fully stocked with everything you need to get through your night shift, but apparently there must have been a bunch of documents printed during the day shift because you couldn’t find even a single spare sheet on any of the shelves. 

As your footsteps echo off the tile floor with an annoying clicking sound, you contemplate stopping by the vending machine for a soda or maybe even a candy bar. There’s nobody around except for you so it’s not like you’ll face judgment if you indulge in your chocolate craving. The cleaning crew is already finished with this floor, and you figure if Javier was going to drop by then he would’ve already. 

Your little late night rendezvous with Javier in the mailroom aren’t usually preplanned. He either shows up or he doesn’t. On the nights he’s absent, you’ve learned it’s most likely because he’s consumed with sifting through his boxes of files on the Cali Cartel, oblivious to the passage of time and the rest of the world, but on two memorable occasions you’ve peeked into his office and found your boyfriend asleep on the couch instead. He looks younger when he’s dreaming, peaceful almost, a lot less burdened than he looks when he’s awake. 

The sight of a light on in one of the audio rooms sends your thoughts scattering. Even without being able to see inside you know it’s Javier. Throughout the week you’ve caught glimpses of him frequently going in and out, usually with Stoddard on his heels, though what exactly he’s been listening to you haven’t the faintest idea.

You pause outside the door, torn between knocking to check on him or leaving before he discovers your arrival. Ever since the misunderstanding with the photographs, Javier’s been determined to keep you distanced from his work, maintaining a carefully constructed wall around all things pertaining to the Cali Cartel. As a result, Agent Peña continues to remain an elusive side of Javier’s personality to you.

Not for a lack of trying on your part, however. 

Your attempts at getting Javier to open up about his job and unload some of the stress he carries on a daily basis have all been slyly evaded like a fox outsmarting a trap. Sometimes he’ll distract you by deflecting your questions back at you, seeming to enjoy listening to you ramble on about the positives and negatives of your day, or he’ll talk about growing up in Texas, knowing you’re always interested in hearing of his life before Colombia. And if those tactics don't work then a couple of heated kisses has you turning to putty in his hands, unable to remember your own name let alone those of the Cali Cartel leaders.

Once you stopped by his office during your lunch break, bringing him an extra piece of cake you’d packed with the intention of sharing it. He’d smiled at your impromptu visit, leaning over his desk to press a kiss to your cheek, but he’d also made a point to shut all the open folders he’d been browsing before joining you on the couch. 

Trying to erase the lines of tension on his face, you’d said in-between bites, “I’ve watched a couple of true crime documentaries, Javi. I highly doubt there’s anything in those files that would give me nightmares.”

His expression tightened, eyes turning dark, looking at you like you had no idea what you were talking about. Like you were hopelessly naive and disillusioned.

“Oh, tesoro, I wish that were true.”

Biting your lip, you surrender to your selfish desires and knock twice. You wait a beat, then mentally slap yourself because duh he won’t be able to hear you if he’s wearing headphones. The doorknob twists without resistance when you grab it and you poke your head inside, eyes immediately finding Javier sitting at the sole desk in the room listening to a recording.

You tap his shoulder. “Hey.”

Javier jolts, a flicker of alarm crossing his face before his expression relaxes when he realizes it’s you. He slides the headphones down around his neck and asks, “What’re you doing here?”

“I saw the light was on. Thought I’d say hi,” you answer simply, though your gaze strays from his tired face towards the audio equipment on the desk, noting the various wires and buttons. There’s a label on one of the tape reels with the name Christina Jurado on it. You recognize her as the blonde photographed with Javier who he claimed is married to a banker with big ties to the Cali Cartel.

You raise an eyebrow. “What’re you doing here?”

He sets his hands on your waist, lips curling into a pleased smirk. “You came all this way just to say hello? I’m touched, tesoro.”

He’s doing it again, you think even as you wrap your hands around his wrists, finding comfort in his pulse beneath your fingertips, and move to stand closer between his spread legs. Sneaky little fox.

You reach out a hand and his eyes shut in expectation of you caressing his face, something you’re quite fond of doing during your moments of alone time with him, but instead you tap a fingernail against the side of the headphones.

“You wiretapped her phone, didn’t you?”

Javier’s eyes fly open, lips parting with surprise. He shouldn’t be though. Despite being a lowly mail clerk, you know not everything that happens in the embassy is legal. It’s practically an open secret around here that everyone, including the ambassador himself, have all bent or outright broken the law in order to get the desired result of a positive outcome. Politics have been and always will be messy, one of the abundant reasons you stick to sorting mail instead of seeking any kind of promotion. 

The grip on your waist tightens and his mouth opens, a protest ready on his tongue, but before he can voice it you take a page out of his playbook and sit on his thigh, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt over his chest, and look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I know you’re trying to protect me,” you say quietly, “but please no more lies, Javi darling. Don’t make me worry about you more than I already do. Let me in.”

Javier’s jaw clenches, mulling over your plea. You know this is hard for him, that he’s doing all he can to keep you away from the darkness of his job, to prevent a target being painted on your back, and here you are begging to jump right into the deep end of it all with him.

You can’t ask him to quit his job. Partly because you don’t want to feel the hurtful sting of rejection when he chooses it over you, but mostly because you know if he did quit, if he did stop chasing after bad guys and let them get away with their sins, then he’d never know peace. Not truly. He might fake it for a while, smiling at you over grilled cheese dinners and thinking up ridiculous puns to make you laugh, but deep down his desire for justice would remain unsettled. He’d grow to resent you. And then he’d leave you. 

An alternative option would be you leaving him first. Sever all emotional ties and go back to your safe (and lonely) bubble of existence you lived in before dating him. But you tried that already and those two weeks apart were some of your worst days in recent memory. 

The fact is, Javier’s a part of your heart now, wrapped up in your bones, as necessary in your life as the oxygen you breathe. You’re willing to take the plunge and walk with him through the dark if that’s the only way to stay together. Perhaps you could even help him find the light on the other side. Question is though, will he continue keeping you at arm’s length or will he accept your choice?

The gentle touch of Javier’s hand upon your cheek has your eyes locking onto his. You say nothing, just lean into his palm and pretend your heart’s not pumping a frantic beat in your chest.

“Tesoro,” he starts, thumb brushing against your skin. “You’re asking me for something dangerous.”

“I’m asking for you to talk to me,” you lightly amend. 

There’s a lengthy pause that follows your words, long enough you start to feel defeated in your endeavor, but then he nods. “Okay,” he says, reluctance so thick in his voice it’s practically dripping from the word. He swallows, tries again. “Okay, you want to know what’s going on then I’ll tell you. No more hiding.”

And then it’s like the floodgates open up. He starts talking, brutal in his honesty of all the nitty-gritty details, telling you about finding Gilberto Rodriguez hiding in a crawl space beneath the stairs of his bathtub, and the mounting pressure of trying to take down the other cartel leaders before Gilberto finds a way to slip out of jail, and the discovery of Franklin Jurado as the cartel’s banker which led to wiretapping Franklin’s wife’s phone with hopes he’d slip up and reveal something important. Except he didn’t and time’s fucking running out and desperate times call for desperate measures.

You sit on his lap and listen silently throughout the whole explanation, keeping your face carefully composed even when he brings up his meeting with Christina at the bar, how he’d attempted to flirt with her in order to get her to spill information. Javier holds onto your hand during that part, lacing and unlacing his fingers through yours like he’s trying to soothe you both. Admittedly, it does help you stay grounded in the moment, especially when he confesses to visiting Christina a second time earlier this week to convince her to make her husband flip—a visit he had not so much as hinted one word about to you prior to this conversation.

There’s a small part of you that feels slighted by the tardiness of this revelation, but the intrigue and relief flooding through your system are stronger sensations. Javier’s finally handed you all the puzzle pieces you’ve been missing, trusting you to see the whole gruesome picture instead of just the pretty parts. 

“So,” you finally speak after Javier’s gone quiet and you’ve absorbed the overload of facts. “Was your second attempt at convincing her successful?”

Javier’s mouth twists. “Kind of.”

“What does that mean?”

“She said she’d think about it.” He sighs through his nose. “Then Stoddard got a recording of her talking to Jurado this afternoon, trying to persuade him but it didn’t go well. Here, listen for yourself.”

Javier lifts the headphones off his neck and hands it over. After you adjust the speakers comfortably over your ears, he leans over to press a button and then a woman’s voice—Christina’s, you presume—is all you can hear. 

“Maybe we have more options than we think, Franklin,” she says, a nervous lilt to her tone. You imagine her pacing while holding the phone, too restless to sit still. 

“What do you mean, ‘more options’?” Franklin counters, tense and suspicious. 

“You know things. You know about the organization, how it all works and—”

“You want me to be a rat? Have you been talking to someone?!” 

You wince as the couple dissolves into an argument, voices increasing in volume and overlapping, vying to subdue each other into submission. Barely able to understand them anymore, you start to reach up to remove the headphones except then Franklin’s voice goes abruptly polite, clearly talking to somebody else on his end.

“Danki masha danki, right? Thank you.” A pause. Then, speaking again to Christina, the banker says, “That was room service. I’ve got to go, but this discussion isn’t over, bonita. I’ll call you later.”

The audio equipment beeps, signaling the tape has reached its end. 

“What language was he speaking at the end?” you ask, looking at Javier with furrowed brows. “I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

“I asked around, turns out it’s Papiamentu,” he answers, taking the headphones from you and setting them on the desk. Seeing the lingering confusion still apparent on your face, he elaborates, “It’s the local language in Curaçao.”

“Oh,” you blink, not what you’d been expecting as an answer. “So…I guess it’s safe to say he’s probably doing business there? I bet Curaçao has a lot of banks.”

“A lot of fucking banks,” Javier agrees with a nod. “There’s also a luxury resort there with a guest using one of Jurado’s aliases.”

You bite your lip, unsure what you’re supposed to say to that, and Javier is just staring at you, a look on his face like he’s hoping you’ll connect the imaginary dots, sparing him from having to do it for you. 

It seems fitting this moment is happening within such a private space. You and Javier have a habit of finding these places—the supply closet, his apartment, the mailroom past sunset—where you can just be yourselves without any witnesses. 

However, this moment feels different than previous ones. Heavier, somehow, like the air is filled with dread, reminding you of being caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella. You don’t like it.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, unable to stand the silence anymore. “This is the big break you’ve been waiting for, right? You know where he is now so you can–”

Oh.

Your shoulders slump, realization striking you square in the chest. “You’re going to go after him.”

Javier’s hands tighten around your middle, wanting to pull you closer but having to resist because there’s absolutely no way cuddling would be comfortable in this chair. 

“Yeah, tesoro,” he admits softly. “I have to.”

You could argue, tell him that technically no, he doesn’t have to be the specific agent who makes the arrest. You could, but you don’t because you know this mission of dismantling the Cali Cartel has evolved from being another career defining moment for Javier as a DEA agent into something profoundly personal for him. Something he has to see through to the very end.

“When are you leaving?” you ask, toying with his sleeves rolled up around his elbows. 

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

You inhale a deep breath and close your eyes for a moment, trying to make everything slow down, if only for a few precious seconds. 

“I was going to come by your place in the morning and tell you,” Javier continues, voice still so soft it almost pains you to hear him speak.

Eyes remaining closed, the question slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, “You weren’t going to tell me tonight?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to. You’re on shift and I didn’t want to distract you by dropping that kind of news on you.”

You look at him now, eyebrows climbing incredulously up your forehead. “So, what, you were gonna tell me you’re leaving the country to chase down a member of one of the biggest cartels in the world over coffee and donuts?”

Javier’s silence is confirmation enough that’s pretty much exactly what he was going to do. He looks everywhere but your eyes, uncomfortable now that you’ve managed to put a crack in his armor. You have hopes one day he’ll have no need to wear it around you at all, that he’ll feel safe enough to do so.

And it suddenly occurs to you then, that he was going to bottle the news of his leaving as long as possible to keep you from being hurt by it. God, this man…

“Oh, Javi darling,” you breathe, the amount of affection you feel for him threatening to choke you.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he promises, squeezing you again, mistaking the emotion in your voice as disappointment. 

When things go missing, it’s your belief if what is lost is meant to return to you, then one way or another it will. It’s a belief that requires a high amount of patience. To wait, and wait, and continue waiting for an outcome that may never come to pass.

Luckily for you, your job has taught you how to be a master of patience. 

And if anybody’s worth waiting an eternity for, it’s Javier.

You offer him a small smile, leaning in close to murmur against his lips the same words you’d said to him last time his job stole him away from you. 

“Good luck, Javi.”

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