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scoutswritingcorner · 10 days

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Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

Alastor x GN!Reader

TW: Talks of murder, Alastor being Alastor. Alastor realized a lot of things.

A/N: I want to be buddies with this man. Was I listening to AC/DC….maybe, This started as a headcanon thing but it turned into something else. Enjoy!

Your friendship with Alastor.

You met Alastor when you both were alive! You somehow got his attention and then a year or two of you both annoying one another you’re good friends! Best friends even! He wouldn’t say that but you know it.

Both of you are such fucking menaces, while he is much more of a gentleman and very put together. You are somewhat the opposite. You are put together but it’s like you hate fancy dress clothes and you’d rather be running around with a gun in hand stealing from poor fools who didn’t look twice at you. He will forever chew you out for your thieving and how underdressed you are! Where are your manners and why are you laughing at him? He didn’t say anything funny! But he can’t help to think how your smile and laugh suits you.

You walked in on him while he was killing a poor fool one night and instead of running away and freaking out, you looked around and smirked “Can I steal his shit?” He rolled his eyes and waved his bloody hand towards you, “You can’t find anything else to do?” He snarled out easily killing the man below him, he could easily kill you but why would he need to now? You obviously didn’t care, “You know the saying, old friend. Another man’s trash is another man’s treasure~” You cooed out looking through the stuff on the fireplace mantle.

“Don’t make it so obvious.” He hissed out, looking around. “Were you followed?” He asked, making you stop and turn to him, hand on your chest. “Alastor! Are you doubting me? Here I thought you loved me.” You teased making him send you a half hearted glare, “Love is a strong word.” You rolled your eyes, “Right… No one dared to follow me.”

Another thing is when he had to hide bodies, you happily helped him and stood guard to make sure no one followed. He was grateful but he’d be caught redhanded before he said that to your face.

Once he died, you were inconsolable for weeks on end until you crossed paths with some unfortunate souls who sadly got you good before their death. You bled out in some alley way near his favorite speakeasy, you wouldn’t be found until the morning.

BUT IN HELL-

You were an uncontrollable force to be reckoned with, you still kept your spirits high especially when you got a little tipsy or the money was good enough. It took decades for your ass to find Alastor, you were so caught up in your own adventures you just forgot about finding your best friend. Until it got boring and you saw a flier for the ‘Hazbin Hotel’...it couldn’t hurt to look for him there, besides he was fucked up and he could be there to see everything fall to pieces.

So when you arrived and you saw the tall deer man, his smile stretching wider into the grin you could tell from a mile away. “Oh it’s you,” He hummed, making you roll your eyes. “Oh please, Alastor. Don’t act like you weren’t excited to see me. Who else would be able to deal with your insane ass,” You replied looking around, “You missed me, don’t you dare deny that fact.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m not denying anything, Old friend. I just simply thought you wouldn’t look for me.” He walked over, circling you to see if anything changed or was he trying to find a weak point? “See you keep thinking that and I keep reminding you that you are stuck with me forever, there is no escaping that.”

He’s happy you found him but he’s got to keep up appearances, later that night you're sitting with him in the parlor sipping on some whiskey he grabbed from the bar as you tell him all of your stories. It goes silent for a while and it’s comfortable for some part. “How did you die?” He asked one moment and it truthfully caught you off guard. “...Like you said, I’ll get too confident and end up dying on the streets.” You whispered the alcohol on your tongue tastes gross now. He didn’t gloat, or if he was he was doing it silently, “Tried to go after a rich fella. He had a gun and got me good in the stomach that was before I killed him, ran off before I could take anything. Died in an alley near your favorite speakeasy. Guess I was looking for you even after all this time.” You looked down at the glass and sighed, he was too silent for your liking but he was always like that. Why did it affect you now?

He didn’t say much the rest of the night or the next morning. Only gave you a nod when you’d left.

Alastor couldn’t control you much like he could with Husk and Nifty, he couldn’t drag you along with his shenanigans. He could try but it would fail. You were a creature of habit and a stubborn one at that. You left by a certain time to get your fill of thieving, killing and messing with people before coming back to him.

Yet, you still wore that smile on your face and laughed as loudly as you could when something was funny enough for you. He wasn’t used to that, people should be miserable down in this cesspool. But you weren’t why weren’t you miserable? It was something that plagued him all night long.

He adored your smile and laughter.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #gn reader #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor x reader

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barcaluvv · 2 months

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𝐊 𝐄 𝐘 ʰᵉᶜᵗᵒʳ ᶠᵒʳᵗ ˣ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ !! ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ :)

Your whole life your family tries to match you with someone, otherwise it would be friendly families or sometimes even strangers. You were tired of getting ready every time, and you had enough more of arranging. But sigh, another week another family to meet, leaving the house, you think to yourself, what kind of unfortunate guy will he be now, minutes later a black Mercedes-Benz pulled up in your back yard, he was beeping like crazy, I already know he's an impatient little sh!t right there but after seeing the car you understood exactly why they picked him to be your next failed stage.

in the back seat were his parents, I could hear his mother telling him "open the door for her you fool" several times but he just kept his feet on the pedal, smelling his own narcissistic perfume that surprisingly seemed too good. On the way to the restaurant, we sat in silence, you could just see hector looking at you in the rearview mirror, smirking his head off. When you arrived at the restaurant, you couldn't stand it, and with each point he insulted you in a slighty rich-nice way like every other full of money guy. We will leave you now alone, his father told him now, waving at him. When they got out, he immediately relaxed and took off his tie, feeling a relief. So tell me who made u do this, i asked him openly.

"I trusted my gut" said Hector. For exactly what? you asked with a distance on your face. I thought there would be some nice piece, said the curly head with a immense smirk on his face, but now I see it was telling me the wrong thing. Oh shut up, youre not all that. he rolled his eyes at your sentence, "would this change your mind? hmm?" said Hector i assume that's his name.

He brang up a bag, not only was it too much even the bag was shining through. "You can't buy me with all of this but thanks i appreciate the effort lil buddy". "Are you that hard to get?" your answer to that question was just .gulp. just a little gulp, like a needle down your troath.

when we went home, at the very exit we saw that someone stole his car, oh my god, he went crazy. We called the police, but they just told us to find a hotel on the spur of the moment.

Good now we have to walk to the hotel, you yelled at him. "Oh shut up you're the bad luck here". That sentence hurted you inside and now you thought with yourself.

His hair is disgusting - 𝐿𝑖𝑎𝑟

I hate the way it curls - 𝑂𝒉 𝑛𝑜 𝑖 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡.

The curves on his shoulders, his lips

theyre sickening - 𝑆𝑢𝑐𝒉 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑎𝑙.

His hands are so uninviting - 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑛.

I hate him - 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

We had luck that after 20 minutes of walking we finally found a cheap hotel 3 blocks away of the restaurant we went.

"Nice now we have to stay in this cheap place, and the worst part of it that you're gonna be next to me." If you don't like it then buy 2 rooms! You can literally buy this whole place but your narcissistic self cannot help?.

"Maybe i dont want you in another room okay." He seemed pretty serious so you just gave up.

The room only has one bed, and a small chair next to it, it's so old that you can barefoot break it.

I'm sleeping on the sofa you said, you take the bed then.

"Cmon here, I'm not gonna let you sleep there, then afterwards pay for your medication, here its way too cold, just dont come near me" said Hector. You both looked at the ceiling until you felt asleep, I mean at least one of you needed. Even though you were in a deep sleep, you could feel his warm breath surrounding your whole collarbone.

That night you had a nightmare, you screamed, calling out his name, all shaking. Of course you woke him up too, but unexpectedly he approached your body, hugging you " Shh!! It's okay Hermosa, I'm here dont you worry youre safe with me love" you felt your body calming a valuable piece of your mind. "See its not that scary, you got me" said Hector holding your hand aggressively. All i thought about was his little whispers, his effortlessly tiny fingertips going through my hair i felt everything. Pooking your blushy cheeks, letting out "you're not that bad as i thought you were, and now if you allow me" he kissed you.

5 year's after this, you didn't have to look for a boyfriend in anyone anymore, because you found a husband in him. after this night, everything changed and this was the story of how me and your amazing mother met, said Hector.

#fc barcelona #pablo gavi #gavi fluff #hector fort #hector x reader #barca #gavi x yn #bellingham x reader #pedri x reader #gavi x reader #love

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octopodeez · 6 months

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𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐬 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐃. 𝐀𝐜𝐞/𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Modern!AU where you end your vacation with a bang by hooking up with some hot guy at the bar.

(Alabasta Ace will always reign supreme ❤️‍🔥)

He must be a local. There’s a certain rhythm to the way he rolls his hips that you can’t find at home, and gyms near you don’t produce bodies like that.

One large hand is splayed on your lower back to keep you close, while the other balances on the brim of his hat to keep it from tipping as his nose brushes against yours. There’s a warmth radiating from him that balances the chill of the ocean’s breeze. It penetrates your skin and settles easily in your bones as if belonging there all along.

He spends a few songs with his strong thigh pressed against your cunt and you spend a few songs grinding on it before he buys you a shot of fireball. You admire him from behind as he leans over the bar a little too far, waiting for the bartender’s attention. There’s a large tattoo on his spine that you’ll likely never get to know the meaning of and, more importantly, dimples on his lower back that form a subtle V. His cargo shorts hang low on his hips despite his belt, and you think about how easy it’d be for him to yank them down and rail you here and now at this shitty beach bar.

When he returns with the shots, you expect him to make a cheesy frat-boy type toast as he clinks his glass against yours, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he simply gives you a toothy grin before throwing his head back, giving you a nice view of his adam’s apple. He chases it by licking into your mouth, lapping up the burn of the liquor on your tongue.

He tells you his name is Ace.

Reaching your hotel room is a struggle, and that thought of yanking down those loose shorts of his becomes more appealing with each wrong turn, but you finally make it and jam your keycard in the lock so hard it nearly snaps. Indignant to the rough treatment, the sensor takes three tries to click open. Perfect timing because you notice Ace was raising his foot to just kick the damn thing open. The door still doesn’t quite avoid his wrath, though, as he gives it a swift kick shut before nearly tackling you to the floor.

The rug feels hot on your back as your shirt rides up beneath him. He’s already patting down his pockets, trying to find what you hope will be a condom, and thank fucking christ, it was. The packaging is red and flimsy, telltale signs of being cheap, but oh well, that’s why god invented Plan B.

He holds the condom between his teeth for a moment as he undoes his belt and zipper. Transfixed by the sound of clinking metal as his open belt sways heavy against his upper thighs, you barely register your lips parting hungrily as he tugs down his cargo shorts to reveal he wasn’t wearing any underwear. The fact that he’d shown up at the bar shirtless had already driven you crazy, but now to know there was nothing separating him from the world except the shorts that hung so loosely on his hips? Fuck.

“No panties? What a slut,” you half-joke.

“Yeah, I’m known to be a filthy tease,” Ace replies dryly, but amused, as he tears open the condom. The film makes a flimsy crinkling noise as another reminder to grab that Plan B tomorrow. “And what about you? You gonna let me see what’s under those tight little shorts or what?”

Ace tilts his head to the side slightly, while fumbling to roll the condom on. Meanwhile, you realize you are about to fuck a man who is wearing nothing but a bright orange hat. Whether or not to omit this detail when you tell your friends about him is a decision best saved for later.

Shifting, you lift your hips slightly to wiggle out of your shorts and panties. Ace makes a show of gripping the meat of your thighs and spreading them to get a better view of your wet sex. He stares just long enough to make you squirm, but before you can start self-consciously fidgeting, his fingers move to trace down your slit experimentally. He seems pleased with the state you’re in now, but decides he can make you messier and dips one of his fingers in your cunt, pressing forward until his palm is nearly flush against you.

Ace hums as he crooks his finger and begins rubbing that nice little spot within you. Like flint to stone, it lights your guts on fire and has you arching to chase after his touch. Had you not been staring at the ceiling, biting your lip, you would have seen his eyebrows quirk in surprise at your response, and it briefly would have made you wonder if maybe he didn’t do this as often as his dancing suggested.

When Ace pulls his hand back, you make a small noise of protest, but then he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and taps it on your clit, all nice and heavy. Your whining becomes begging and soon he’s slowly spearing you open with his cockhead. The fire he lit within you earlier is now a full on inferno as he presses forward more and more, stretching you to your limits, and pushing him to his as he visibly struggles to maintain control. He’s quivering and sighing, trying to resist the urge to just fuck you in half right here and now on the scratchy hotel carpet, but under that cowboy hat is some mental barrier, and you quietly thank whoever put it there when she taught him how to properly fuck a pussy.

That being said, this is hardly a time you want to be even remotely proper, so you hook your legs around his waist and yank him to his hilt. Caught off guard, Ace hisses a few curses and buries his head in the crook of your neck, nipping the soft skin there in retaliation.

“Fuck, give a guy some warning,” he groans while righting himself and giving you a hungry once over.

“I got impatient.” The words come out far more confident than you expected them to, earning the look of irritation you hoped for. The hamster wheel in Ace’s head is shorting out because how the fuck were you not a blissed out mess now that he was fully plunged inside you?

“Now who’s the slut?” Ace finally replies, and he feels your walls flutter against him. A wicked grin curls over his features having unlocked such a valuable tidbit of information, and he says: “Oh, I see.”

Unable to think of a clever response, you simply huff and roll your hips. The motion lands somewhere between bratty and fucking needy, and you’re pleased to see the way his pupils explode. You do it again, harder this time, pulling a breathy groan and wider smile from Ace.

“You gonna let me do my thing or should I just keep playing sex doll?” His tone suggests he’s fine with either option.

You can’t help but laugh as you thread your fingers through his hair. For a moment, you forget the miles that will separate you soon and just let yourself enjoy how natural being with him suddenly feels. There’s something about him that’s familiar and new all at once, as if you’d conjured him from the scraps of your past partners’ best traits.

A well-timed thrust from Ace chokes off the sarcastic remark on the tip of your tongue. Another thrust draws a breathy moan from deep within your chest that’s quickly muffled by a kiss.

Ace is a multitasker, and consumes you with every part of his body. He’s everywhere all at once and having no trouble figuring out which nipple is a little more sensitive and what angle your hips need to be to get you to make more of those filthy noises. Every now and then he leans down to kiss you. He swipes his tongue over the seam of your lips and hums when you part them, licking into your mouth sloppily, filling another part of your body.

“I’m close,” Ace suddenly pants as his hips continue snapping into yours. He’s grinning like a very confident idiot for some reason and it’s the most endearing thing in the world. “I’m so fucking close,” he repeats with a little more intensity. “Jesus, you feel so good. Can’t believe such a little slut is so fucking tight.”

Ace then crinkles his freckled nose and shakes his head, all too aware of how unnatural he sounded as he makes the snap decision to focus on chasing his orgasm rather than make a joke about his shitty dirty talk. You bite back a smile, too, and tangle your fingers in the scruff of his hair to pull him in for another searing kiss. The way he unabashedly pants and groans against your mouth is way hotter than anything he could say, anyways.

Your nails scrape down his back, settling on those dimples that had your mouth watering earlier and it makes Ace’s hips stutter as he whines into your mouth, coming abruptly. He collapses on top of you and mutters something about how he wished you didn’t live so far away and then, to your disbelief the fucker falls asleep mid-sentence; cargo shorts tangled at his ankles, ass out, hat still on. Something about the gentle rhythm of his snoring and warmth against your skin makes you too tired to comprehend the ridiculousness of the situation.

Once more he has proven himself to be annoyingly endearing and it has you already planning your next trip down.

***

Hi, I’m the queen of shitty abrupt endings but anyways you leave his dumb ass naked on the floor and sleep in your cozy hotel bed then the next morning he gives you the sloppiest best oral you’ve ever had and you almost miss your fucking flight blah blah blah the end ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Also he eats your entire mini bar and you have to pay like $80 for a few bags of Cheetos but he apologizes so it’s fine I guess.

#portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #fire fist ace #one piece #ace x y/n #reader insert #whitebeard pirates #modern au #one piece x reader

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 2 months

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"Time & the Trickster" A Loki/Doctor Who crossover

Chapter 5: Boston

You hit another dead end when you arrive in Massachusetts. While Joey hunts for a way to get you over the ocean, you face the most frightening prospect yet: sharing a bed with Loki...alone.

CHAPTER WARNING: "oh look, only one bed" trope

Previous Chapter · Next Chapter MASTERLIST

Regent’s Park, London, England June 12 11:52pm GMT

Hopeless. It was certainly hopeless.

Of course, it was hopeless that time the Daleks tried to take over the Earth via a slew of deadly reality shows.

It was also hopeless when Rose was lost to the alternate reality forever.

Not to mention, the feeling of existential dread that had happened when The Master aged him near to death, and he had to rely on Martha Jones alone to travel around the world on foot to be saved.

Usually, The Doctor did well with hopelessness. However, without the TARDIS showing any signs of life, things were quickly going from ‘hopeless’ to ‘finished.’

And The Doctor did NOT do well with ‘finished.’

Even his screwdriver had no power here. People thought he was a man in costume waving a toy around. In order to avoid the eye of the police, he learned quickly that he;’d have to get out of this one “the human way,” which basically meant sitting around and waiting for a miracle.

He felt as if he were in mourning, his TARDIS in her final resting place in this forsaken reality, where even the most bloodthirsty extraterrestrials had all seemed to ignore Sol 3. Would he be trapped here? Forced to live for thousands of years more in a fixed timeline, nowhere to explore? No one to rescue?

Nearing midnight, he sat on the ground, his back up against the TARDIS, looking up into the starless night, wondering if miracles were possible in what had to be the Timeline at the End of the Universe itself.

Suddenly, the TARDIS breathed once more, just once. A pulse of dim green glow radiated from the door’s windows, causing The Doctor to immediately spring to his feet.

“Oh, please come back…what cowboys have we got going on here?” He circled the box once, twice, three times, until the green light dimmed again to where it was nearly imperceptible, aside to the Time Lord’s own hyper-keen eye.

“Clom’s blue soil, what is going on?” he mouthed. “What are you trying to tell me? That’s something’s coming?”

Perhaps, something was drawing closer, and it was giving the TARDIS itself hope…

Boston, Massachusetts June 12 6:52pm EST

You managed, by the grace of Fate, to procure a somewhat-comfortable hotel room for $80 a night. With careful calculation, you figured that you could spend a week in Boston if you found a cheap grocery store and walked everywhere. That would give you some time to track down all of Joey’s friends in the city to find a way out of it.

While the room was clean and cozy, it was sparsely furnished, with a television set that looked too old for the Cleaver Family in the corner. Everything came in tones of puke-green and piss-yellow. A highly-stylized divider separated the doorway from the rest of the room, designed to look like a set of wrought-iron loops.

“Well, I’m taking the couch,” said Joey, bouncing his ass up and down on the mattress of the only queen-sized bed in the room. “These spring-mattresses really do a number on my back!”

Your jaw dropped. “You slept on a second hand sofa before today, jackass!” Loki was in the bathroom, so you were able to speak freely to your brother, at least for a few moments.

“So?” Joey said with a wink. “I thought you’d be more comfortable on the bed anyways.”

“But where will he sleep?” you pointed furiously to the bathroom door.

“The bed!”

Your heart may as well have fallen into your stomach. “Joey, fuck that! You’re crossing a line!”

“But you’re getting along with him so well,” he said in a mocking singsong voice only a bratty younger brother could produce. “I thought maybe you’d--”

Joey dove over the bed when you instantly grabbed the nearest pillow to chick angrily at his face. “--you don't think he’d have something to say about it??”

“Say about what?” Loki asked, suddenly appearing in the open doorway, his green shirt pulled sloppily over his torso and clinging to his wet chest. His legs were bare aside from the white towel wrapped around his hips. Your skin went hot, and it was all you could do to keep the beads of nervous sweat from forming on your face.

“I can’t sleep on that, Lokes,” Joey stepped in before you could tell him yourself. “You and Y/N are sharing the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Alright,” Loki said instantly, looking at you with a quick, agreeable smile. “As long as you’re also agreeable, of course.”

Was it possible to leave one’s body without outright dying? It was as if you ejected your own soul, and you were nothing left but a cold, nervous shall while your spirit flew around the room, whooping excitedly.

What to say? How to respond?

“...yeah.”

The evening was spent sharing boxes of cheap takeout and discussing how to go about procuring transport.

“We can’t fly,” said Joey just before slurping back a noodle with no consideration for manners. “He doesn’t have papers, and good luck getting him any.”

“So we illegally cross international borders?!” you nearly screamed. “And an ocean?”

“What other choice do we have? Not like the two of us are staying, anyway.” He put the messy takeout box on the desk beside him. “I think I can see if Paulie can’t get someone to get us across on a boat.”

“A boat!” you moaned, tossing your head back with an exaggerated groan.

“What’s wrong with a boat?” asked Loki, raising an eyebrow.

“Getting to England on a boat could take weeks!” you answered, “Easily, in fact!”

His right leg began bouncing up and down impatiently, triggered by the suggestion. “And we cannot simply stow away on an airplane? Or perhaps I could use my resemblance one last time to secure--”

“--no,” you finally put your foot down. You looked him sternly in the eye and leaned over, taking his hand in both of yours, gripping them tightly enough to demonstrate that you meant business. “Loki, we’re risking enough as it is flaunting you around trains and pawn shops. You cannot do that anymore. It’s too dangerous.”

“As it so happens,” said Joey, “I might already know a guy, if he’s the one Paulie knows.”

Rolling your eyes, you groaned. “Bullshit.”

“He has a 50-foot yacht with international flags. I bet if I go out to see him and Paulie tomorrow, he can give us a fair price for a one-way passage for him, and two round-trips for us.”

Loki looked at you with concern. “If it’s the only way--” he cut himself off and looked about the room, as if looking for a sign. You got the feeling he was looking for more evidence of his timelines entangling with one another, as he theorized.

You bit your lip. “I still think we should all try and get menial jobs and find a way to…ugh…falsify his papers.”

Normally, the mere idea of breaking the law beyond smoking a bowl of weed with Joey before bed made you nervous enough to induce a stroke. That said, if it would get Loki to where he needed to be quickly enough, perhaps it would be the lesser of two evils in the end.

Joey sighed. “Sis, I may be prone so the occasional petty rule breaking--”

“--Joey, the district attorney knows how many nose hairs you have--”

“--but even I don't know where to get phony passports, sorry,” he shrugged and exaggerated a stupid expression.

You weren’t sure how to feel about how nervous Loki looked. He was supposed to be able to come up with a solution on the fly. He was a trickster! The brain! What did they DO to him at this TVA? He appeared to be on the absolute edge of fear at that moment. Usually, he was an expert at concealing his doubts.

“Loki?” you asked meekly. “How are you feeling?”

He pressed his lips together in a face you weren’t sure how to interpret. “Better to take our time and do this right, I suppose.”

You wanted to reach out and touch his arm, but your shyness was in control at present, perhaps to protect yourself from things going too far. Instead you made a comment. “I hate seeing you so afraid.”

He sucked in a breath. “I am not the being those films showed you.”

“I know.”

“Never in my millennia have I been on the same level as humans,” he went on. “Even the energy within me feels…well, less.”

“Hey, now wait a second there, Lokes,” Joey spoke up, straightening his posture and puffing out his chest, “Just because you can’t bibbity-boppity-boo your way out of this mess doesn’t mean it’s cool to talk about us like that!”

You couldn’t help but agree with your brother. Loki’s assertion that being mortal was somehow an inferior existence humiliated you, but it also angered you. “I can’t spark away my problems like you, but who spent her last hundred bucks freeing your godly ass from a holding cell? Who, against all her better judgment, chose to take a chance on you in the first place?”

Offended, you got up and decided that you needed to get out and take a walk somewhere, anywhere, just to cool off enough to keep face in front of Loki. You grabbed your card key from the coffee table and swiftly went out onto the porch of the motel, overlooking the nearly-empty parking lot.

The sun was still high above the artificial horizon formed by the distant skyscrapers and billboards. Two young men were getting out of a classic Chevy Impala, carrying backpacks and looking particularly tired as they bickered back and forth. The only other movement at all was from the occasional car driving by the place. This must’ve been the only sparsely-populated part of Boston.

You heard a door open behind you, and you scrunch your nose in embarrassment, expecting Loki to ask how he offended you.

“Seems he’s not the only drama queen around here, Sis.”

You couldn’t help but smile, relieved and thankful you had a brother who gave enough of a shit to make sure you didn’t bolt into Boston traffic (not that you were planning to).

“I don't think he meant anything jerky by it,” Joey continued, leaning over the railing next to you, looking out as the two men with the Impala checked into a room on the first floor. “He’s literally not from our reality. He doesn’t get it.”

“I know,” you sighed.

You felt him wrap his arm around your shoulders.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been out of town, hasn’t it?” he added.

You nodded quietly. Somehow, Boston didn’t feel all that different from Syracuse. Bigger, obviously, and the vague smell of sea air coming from the harbor was a welcome change from the polluted local lake that always made the north side reek like shit in August.

Joey tried again. “You’re letting him fluster you so much because you want him.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” you barked back defensively, looking away.

“He’s leaving once we figure this out,” Joey reminded you. “You think you can go with him when he does, don’t you?”

Honestly, the thought hadn’t consciously occurred to you, but you had to admit that the idea was thrilling. Jetting off into a whole new timeline with Loki leading the way, seeing all of the things that your race had only invented in their heads come to life and greet you!

“You can’t,” Joey insisted. “Because even if you try to, don’t you think the same thing will happen to you that’s happening to him?”

“What thing?” you asked.

“He’s jittery! He’s not the dashing Prince you fawned over at the movies, Sis,” he answered, gesturing with his head to the window. “There’s something about him that feels, I don’t know…lost. He has to get home and do whatever it is he needs to do.”

Loki hadn’t told you exactly how he intended to fix the timelines when he returned, but he seemed solemnly resigned to it. You made a note to ask for him to elaborate on it, because the more you thought about it, the more it felt like whatever awaited Loki back in his native realm wasn’t good for him.

It’s that Sylvie, you thought bitterly. If nothing else, I could go back there to smack her upside her head!

“Um, Sis,” Joey interjected, his eye catching something in the lot below. “Does…does that Impala look familiar to you?”

Your eyes widened as your panic alarms turned on in your head. “Turn away and pretend you didn’t see it,” you quickly insisted, gripping your card key and running to insert it into your door. “We’re booked solid!”

Joey decided to go spend the night with Paulie instead of curling up on the rock-hard sofa. “Maybe I can get some information out of him so you won’t even have to see him, Sis!”

“Fine by me,” you mumbled quietly, your exhaustion finally catching up with you.

Of course, that meant that as soon as Joey took his leave, you were alone with Loki in a hotel room. Oh boy, if only myself from five years ago could see me now…

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” Loki said quickly. “About how awful it feels to be mortal.”

“I overreacted,” you shook your head quickly, attempting to get past the residue embarrassment you felt once you’d calmed down from before. “I need to accept that we’re just…we’re too different, and that you’re simply better than me, and--”

“--oh, stop it!” Loki moaned, grabbing your shoulders and looking intensely into your eyes. “Don’t let me hear you talk about yourself like that. It’s a lie.”

Shaking your head, you ripped yourself out of his grasp and turned away from him, biting your lower lip to keep the emotions at bay.

Loki didn’t touch you again, but he went on. “You and your brother have done more for me in the past few days than most of the gods of Asgard have ever thought to do! You gave me your own bed to sleep in!”

You shrugged. “Just what any decent person would do.”

He smiled silently, his lip twisted up adorably. You couldn’t help but smile back at him. “I’m tired.”

“So am I,” Loki agreed. “Shall we?” He gestured to the bed, as if beckoning you to join him for a lively romp now that you were alone. Your blood instantly ran hot, and Loki saw the embarrassment spread on your face. “Oh Norns, I didn’t mean to suggest--”

You threw up a hand, suddenly not wanting to ruin the opportunity. “It’s fine! Really!”

Although, you wouldn’t have minded tif he had made the suggestion, either…

The unseasonably hot weather had motivated you to pack only a slip for sleeping. In your haste to shove everything into a duffel bag, you hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences of your choice of pajama. Still hoping to preserve a little bit of modesty (given the circumstances), you put on the slip, but layered it with a baggy black t-shirt, which was less than flattering to make up for the fact that your slip barely covered your privates or your ass.

Loki didn’t seem to mind. In fact, much to your surprise, he seemed to respond to it. “Well, now I don’t feel so bad about my lack of sleepwear, if this is the tradition in this reality.”

You opened your mouth to explain how it wasn’t tradition. Before you uttered a word, he let the towel that was wrapped around his waist fall to the floor before he swiftly climbed into the bed.

Jesus Christ, we never bought him underwear!

You definitely saw his…things, but only in the nanoseconds it took for the swift Asgardian to roll under the sheets. He winked at you playfully as you climbed in beside him, much slower and with more caution.

“You are fine with this?” he asked one last time.

“Yes!” you said a little too quickly. To hide the ever-growing embarrassment, you dove under the blanket and burrowed yourself up to your nose. Loki turned off the lamp on the side table, leaving you in complete blackness as your eyes attempted to adjust to the change in lighting.

The bed was creaky and the sheets were coarse. “Loki?” you asked after several seconds of silence in the dark as you rolled onto your side to face him.

He was already on his side facing you in turn, as if you’d beaten him to asking the first question. “Yes, Y/N?”

“You never sleep in the movies,” you said softly. “You’re always pursuing and chasing and running. Did you ever…I don’t know…slow down and stop to feel the Universe turn?”

Loki was unresponsive. His breathing was deep and regular, and your pupils were beginning to adjust to the darkness, so you were starting to make out his silhouette.

“Loki?”

“I’m sorry. No one’s ever asked me that before.”

An ambulance drove by outside, the screeching sirens making you cringe. Loki’s side of the bed rustled slightly.

“No, I suppose I never have.”

“You mean you don’t sleep?”

“Of course I sleep,” Loki chuckled, “But what I don't do is…slow down.”

You smiled. “Maybe you should.”

“I cannot afford that luxury, I’m afraid.” His voice grew weary in an instant, as if centuries of his past were rushing through his head like a river of rapids and he was choosing to surrender to them. “Not now, not when existence itself lies on my back.”

“What if it doesn’t, and you’re just being dramatic again?” you asked.

You heard him click his tongue as he searched for a retort. “I assure you, it’s not that.”

“I’m sorry I asked.”

“Don’t be.”

“It’s just,” you couldn’t help but go off, just a little, “I guess I was always hoping that if Loki was real, he wouldn’t be treated so poorly all of the time, and that maybe your life wasn’t such a shit heap…”

The choice of descriptor caught Loki off guard, and he let out a laugh big enough to shake the bed.

“Tell me, Y/N,” he said gently after settling down again, “What does this world think of me?”

You sucked in your breath, and your heart began to pick up speed. “A lot of people do admire you, but not necessarily as their hero.”

“A curious answer,” Loki replied. “You had the figure of me in your kitchen, and when I asked you about it, you turned away as if you were embarrassed, and I was only wondering if--”

As if someone behind you was shoving your head, you moved in and quickly interrupted his thoughts with a kiss. Loki didn’t pull away or fight back, choosing instead to accept your gift and respond in kind. Feeling a pair of gentle fingers run down the side of your face and tracing a trail down your neck, you began to tremble as your body found renewed energy.

You finally drew your lips away and whispered softly, “...more like that.”

“I…I see.”

You immediately turned away from him without another word, unsure if you were filling up with regret or excitement. Either way, you needed to shut it all down.

Still, you heard him coo from next to you. “...sleep tight, Y/N.”

You carried his words with the kiss into your dreams. It was the fittest sleep you’d had in years.

TAGLIST: @crashingwavesofeuphoria @kkdvkyya @red-shirt-mania @misschris1412 @salvinaa @marygoddessofmischief @spiderstyles04 @fireflymoonwitch @mochie85 @loz-3 @lcolumbia1988 @lokilurker @eleniblue @gruftiela @starkzdaughter @mrsbarnes-avenger @thedistractedagglomeration @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @holdmytesseract @itsthattimedarling @wolfsmom1 @scully2u @shinisenko @mischief2sarawr @ririsutty73 @lulubelle814 @meg81589 @gloriuspurposeposts @theonetruepotato87 @linllewellyn @wistfulclueless @etherealkistar @tinydancer40 @hardtravelerwizard-blog @fangirllanie @keegansakura @himek0fallenangel-blog @abeeigrl @theoraekenslover @halfbakedideas

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ladamedusoif · 5 months

Text

Hot Chocolate (Marcus Pike x gn!reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 3

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist. FYI: I'm having so much trouble with taglists at the moment that I'm not going to use them for now - if you want to keep updated, turn on notifications for my posts.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 1280 words

Warnings: Implied smut, some heavy making out, Marcus being an adorable foodie romantic art nerd, fluff city. No use of Y/N and no physical descriptions of Reader whatsoever.

Summary: Snowed in and forced to stay over at your colleague’s Georgetown apartment, Marcus whips up a sweet treat to keep you warm.

“I don’t have much by way of dessert,” Marcus muses from the kitchen, where he’s peering into his fridge.

You finish gathering the last of the takeout boxes from his dining table and begin cleaning them out at the sink. “You’ve given me a room for the night, Marcus, I don’t need dessert. Hey, where’s your recycling bin?”

He gestures to a cupboard near the sink and leans back on the counter, thinking. “Actually, would you like some hot chocolate? I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Everything he needs?, you think, wondering what more you could possibly need for hot chocolate beyond some powdered mix and milk. Marshmallows, if you were feeling fancy.

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

He grins in delight and starts rummaging in a cupboard, emerging with bars of dark chocolate and a jar of ground cinnamon, before delving into the fridge and retrieving milk and heavy cream. A heavy-bottomed saucepan is produced and positioned on the hob as Marcus mutters something about finding his grater.

This isn’t going to be cheap-ass powdered mix, is it.

Alright, full disclosure: if someone hooked you up to a polygraph machine and asked you if you had a teeny tiny harmless little workplace crush on Marcus Pike, you’d have to answer in the affirmative.

And who wouldn’t? He was kind and funny, and smart as hell, quietly undertaking a PhD in art history and cultural policy at Georgetown while continuing to work full-time. He was one of the few people in the team who actually kept up with the art world, regularly seeking you out after a new show opened at the National Gallery to exchange your thoughts on it over coffee in the canteen.

The fact that he was also really cute didn’t hurt, either.

When snow and ice blocked the routes out of DC back to your place in Alexandria, leaving you stranded, Marcus immediately suggested that you stay over at his place. See? Kind.

“I’ll be fine, Marcus, really,” you’d protested, searching for hotel rooms in the city and recoiling when you saw the prices - and the lack of options. “Anyway, isn’t your place a one-bed?”

Marcus shrugged. “I’ve got a big couch, spare blankets and pillows, and I won’t stand by and see you hunkering down here for the night. C’mon. We’ll get takeout - I know a great little Korean place.”

He carefully grates the dark chocolate into a bowl while you whisk most of the cream.

“Y’know, I really thought you were going to pull out a couple of sachets of Swiss Miss? I should have known better.”

Marcus chuckles to himself and checks the saucepan of milk. “Usually I’m a Swiss Miss kinda guy, I have to admit. But when you have guests, you do the Viennese hot chocolate. I like to make a fuss.”

You hold out the bowl of cream for him to inspect and he nods, eyes crinkling as he smiles at you. You put it down and fold your arms as you watch him work.

“Is it really Viennese, or is that just a name they use to make it sound all fancy?”

He laughs and looks at you in mock horror. “Of course it’s really Viennese! I even had it for the first time in Vienna.” Marcus takes the saucepan off the heat and adds the chocolate along with some sugar, a little cinnamon, and a dash of heavy cream. He begins to whisk the mixture carefully.

“It was one summer when I was a student - I had almost no money, but I did have one of those European Interrail tickets and I tried to see as much great art as I could. Took an overnight train to Vienna to see the Klimts at the Belvedere.” He pauses his whisking to assess the texture, then resumes.

“Like I said, I was down to my last few dollars - or Euros, or whatever the currency was at the time - but the one thing I was gonna do besides see the Klimts was go to a real Viennese café.”

The hot chocolate is frothy now, thick and glossy. Marcus nods in the direction of a cupboard and you open it, finding some mugs.

“So I’m guessing you got to a café.”

He turns off the stove and smiles at the memory. “Sure did. Café Central. It was like something out of a Stefan Zweig novel.” He takes a ladle out of a drawer and proceeds to fill the mugs with the steaming chocolate. “And I had a mug of something a bit like this - but much, much better - and a slice of apple strudel, and it was heaven.”

Marcus finishes off the chocolate by placing a large dollop of whipped cream in each mug, and hands one to you.

“This is…incredible. I don’t think I can ever go back to Swiss Miss.”

Marcus chuckles and sips his chocolate, sitting beside you on the couch. “I’m glad you like it. Perfect drink for a snowed-in night.”

You take another deep draught of the delicious, smooth drink and hum happily to yourself. “And I’m checking out flights to Vienna first chance I get.”

He looks at you intently. “Uh, you’ve… uh…”

You can see a giggle rising in his chest. He can’t suppress it, and he laughs out loud.

“Why is the thought of me going to Vienna so funny to you?”

Marcus’s expression shifts to one of concern and he quickly shakes his head. “No, that sounds wonderful - you’ll love it - it’s just…” He reaches over and gently rubs the tip of your nose with his thumb, removing a large blob of whipped cream. “You had a little, uh, something.”

“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry.” You look down into your mug, a little embarrassed, but try to lighten the mood. “Feels like we’re in a scene from a cheesy holiday movie, y’know?”

He quirks his head. “How so?”

“Oh, you know. The whole ‘one character has whipped cream or something on their face and the other has to swipe it away and then…’”

You stop short, realising what you were about to say - and becoming very aware of just how close you are to him now.

Marcus’s voice is warm and low. “And then?”

Is he moving closer?

“And then… um. And then they usually, uh…”

He finishes your sentence by leaning in and kissing you, softly, gently at first. Your breath hitches as you feel the softness of his lips on yours.

He breaks away for a second, staying close. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s…it’s great.”

He takes your mug and puts it on the coffee table before cradling your face in his big hands and leaning in to kiss you again: a little harder, now, his tongue seeking entry to your mouth as your hands reach for his body and you lean back on the couch.

You moan and whine with pleasure as you feel Marcus’s hands caressing your body, taste the bittersweetness of the chocolate on his lips and tongue. As he moves his mouth to your neck, sucking and nibbling and licking his way along the sensitive skin, you begin to unbutton his shirt and reach for his belt buckle.

“Marcus?”

He looks up for an instant, hair tousled and eyes as deep and dark and shiny as perfect hot chocolate.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch tonight. You’re keeping me warm in bed.”

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x gn!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fluff #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

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pinkanonwrites · 1 year

Text

Stargazers, New and Old

Another Vash fic! Forgive me, TWST Fans, I’m so deep in the paint on this guy it isn’t even funny.

Vash the Stampede/Reader, +3,000 Words, GN!Reader, Mutual Pining, Cuddling, Stargazing

Through your shared time as drifters, you and Vash had spent plenty of time together beneath the stars.

Granted, it was usually from the roof of whatever cheap hotel the two of you were staying at for the night, tearing into snacks and idly chatting about whatever Vash had or hadn’t accidentally managed to blow up that day. There’d even be a celebration sometimes, if things went right! Townsfolk would spill into the street, drinking and dancing and celebrating another one of Vash’s many perfectly timed victories as they piled your table high with heaped praise and overflowing mugs of alcohol. As hectic as they could end up being, you often got plenty of enjoyment out of the fuss, watching Vash stumble around sheepish and drunk as his praises were sung up to the starry evening sky.

But if you honestly had to choose? You’d say you enjoyed nights like these much better.

Sometimes Gunsmoke’s two suns would sink deep into the horizon and the two of you would find yourselves between towns, lost to the sands of the evening desert. Not too often, really. Usually Vash was quick to make sure you had at least the basic amenities readily nearby: food, running water, a creaky old motel mattress that was only barely better than sleeping on the floor. He was fine going without them for an evening or two, but he hated to put you out in any way. But sometimes you’d get stopped up along the way, or have to stealth around a bandit camp, or get distracted watching wild Thomases scamper up and down the sandy hillsides, and end up somewhere in the empty desert, iles from the nearest town.

Luckily both of you were prepared for this kind of thing at this point, Vash even proudly showing off some of his little “survival trinkets” he’d scooped up before meeting you, like a miniature campfire set that packed away into a pocket-sized tin.

“Ta-da!” And that was where the two of you found yourselves now, tucked around the fire at the base of a large dune, Vash presenting you with a metal camping mug full of instant noodles with all the pride and bravado of a chef presenting a five-course meal. “Your majesty, may I present…. Dinner!”

"Why thank you, chef." You took the mug with both hands, letting the warm metal soothe the calluses on your palms. As Vash prepared himself a mug you cracked him a sly smile. "Or are you more my court jester?"

"What, was 'knight in shining armor' already taken?" He chuckled, cupping his own mug in his gloved palms and sipping carefully. "YEOWCH! Still pretty hot! Be careful, m'kay?"

"I will." You blew on your own cup of broth before sipping it. Shuffling over a bit, you let yourself lean heavily into Vash’s side, leeching his excess body heat. A single glance up showed the rosy-red blush that began to creep across his face at the contact, but you chose not to comment on it. “It’s really amazing how cold the desert can get during the night.”

“It’s actually because there’s no humidity. Without the water in the air to hold the heat, it cools off a lot faster.” Vash took another slow slurp of his noodles, staring out over the vast landscape beyond your tiny fire. “Deathly hot in the daytime, dangerously cold in the night… It’s a really formidable place.” A familiar, distant expression overtook Vash’s face at that. He did his best to hide it from you but you’d long since caught on to it, those moments where his walls faltered and you could damn near watch in real time as the melancholy of a man who had seen far too much began to creep in along the edges.

“And yet, here we are.” You simply responded, gesturing to the small campfire with your mug before holding it up to Vash. You never really felt like you could offer him much in these moments, simple placations and apologies feeling far too hollow. But at the very least, you could offer this. “Cheers to surviving? Despite everything?”

He chuckled, low, soft, and tired, bringing his cup up to yours to clink the metal rims together. “Despite everything.”

You let your head thump gently against Vash’s shoulder, the two of you absorbing the cool silence of the desert night. There was little need for words between sips of noodles and broth; the silence with Vash never crept into uncomfortable. As the fire and your supper dwindled in unison the sky inched ever further towards utter blackness. With no towns within a good dozen or so iles in any direction the deep velveteen shades of space were even more apparent than usual, long strips of indigo and blue speckled with pinpoints of distant light.

“All done?” Vash finally spoke up, taking your empty mug from your outstretched hand. “I’ll take care of these if you want to get the sleeping bags ready.”

“Sure.”

The first few times you had slept out beneath the stars, you were adamant about having your sleeping bag a reasonable distance away from Vash’s. ‘Personal space,’ you insisted, even as he joked that you’d be too wooed by his natural charms if you slept any closer. But over time you just couldn’t help yourself. Getting to know Vash, to really know him, seemed to go hand in hand with your own sleeping bag drifting ever so slightly closer and closer to his with each passing night. Now you barely even blinked as you rolled the two of them out, side by side.

With a belly full of warm food and the promise of a cozy place to sleep ahead, the exhaustion seemed to wash over you in a sudden, leaden wave. You barely had the energy to kick your shoes off, shuffling yourself awkwardly into the bag until it was pulled nearly up to your chin. When Vash turned back around from putting your mugs away he barked out a short, surprised laugh.

“Comfy in there?”

You nodded, biting back a yawn as your eyelids fluttered. You watched through bleary lashes as Vash put the cap over the top of the pocket bonfire, snuffing the flame with a soft hiss and plunging his silhouette into moonlight. You could catch the vague shimmer off of his glasses lenses, the glint on the pauldron of his prosthetic arm, and the barest hint of a soft smile by the light of the five moons.

“I’ll finish cleaning up, why don’t you get some sleep?”

You nodded again, humming softly as you let your eyes slip fully shut and melted into the darkness behind your eyelids. “Mhm… Thank you, Vash.”

You swore that as the comfortable fuzz of sleep crept further into the edges of your mind, you felt a warm, metallic hand pat you gently atop your head.

And then, blackness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You normally slept incredibly well with Vash by your side, safe in the knowledge that whatever may happen, he’d be there to protect you.

Which is why it came as a bit of a shock to you when you jerked suddenly awake, the fog of some already-fading nightmare seeping away from your consciousness. Even as you struggled to recall it the details continued to slip away, flashes of smoke and gunmetal and blond hair streaked with clumped, drying blood all that remained on the peripheries of your subconscious. It left you as most nightmares do, feeling hollow and distinctly paranoid.

The chill in the air certainly didn’t help either. Even within the plush confines of your sleeping bag you could feel the cold cutting through, leaving your entire body tense and shivery, muscles aching. You certainly wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time soon.

But just as you saw fit to roll over and curse your bad luck, you noticed Vash. He was sat upright, leaning back on the heels of his palms, sleeping bag pooled around his waist as he tipped his head up towards the night sky. His face was lit in profile by cool, white moonlight, and without his familiar tinted lenses on you could see the reflection of a thousand little stars in his aqua-colored eyes. A look of incredible serenity was upon his face. You almost hated to disturb it.

But at some point he must have felt your eyes trained upon him, because he turned his attention to you, and that distant, moony gaze seemed to focus into something soft and concerned.

“What are you still doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” You sat up and immediately regretted it, the frosty wind cutting straight through your thin, linen shirt. “Aren’t we getting up early tomorrow to beat the heat?”

“Yeah… Guess I just couldn’t sleep, is all.”

“Me neither.”

You fell silent again, following Vash’s gaze as it trailed back up towards the marbled sky. Shivering, you tucked your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them as your eyes flit back and forth across those tiny, oh so distant specks of light. It was hard to even imagine that each one was just like one of your two suns, even harder to imagine that somewhere out there is where humans originally came from. Was Earth somewhere in this milky spiral of stars? Could you find it, one day, if you really looked hard enough? Or was it already too far gone, too distant or dim or lost to the hubris of the people who came long before you? You supposed you’d never really know for sure.

“Do you know any constellations?”

You startled a bit when Vash broke the silence, and just barely in the moonlight you could see him put up his hands as a sort of ‘Sorry!’ gesture. He’d had time to adjust to the dark, so maybe he could see you better than you could see him.

“Not really.” You replied. “I know what some of them are called but I could never figure out how you were supposed to find them.”

“Want me to show you? It’s really not that hard, if you know what to look for.”

You nodded, scooting your sleeping bag as close to Vash as you could get. He wrapped his right arm around you and rested his chin on your shoulder, reaching up towards the sky with his prosthetic. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him, thrumming like an old yet sturdy machine. He outstretched a single finger, a thin glow of blue-green energy pulsing beneath the metal as he pointed.

“See that bright one, right there?” His voice was barely above a murmur, hesitant to break the silence of the vast desert. “Follow my arm, it’s gonna be just at the tip of my finger.”

“I…Think so? Is it just to the left of that kinda red one?”

“There you go! That’s the main point of Luridae, the Scorpion. It’s supposed to be the tip of the tail. If you draw a line to the one right below it, then the one below that, you follow the trail and make like, an upside-down hook shape. Seven stars.”

“But how is that supposed to be a scorpion?”

“You’ve gotta use your imagination!” He laughed at your furrowed brow, moving his hand a bit further to the right and up. “If you can find Luridae you can find Sula, the Spear. That’s an easy one, it’s those five stars in a straight line, see? It points right towards the tail.”

You squinted, trying your best to follow Vash’s instructions. Sure enough, just up and to the right of that bright star was a line of five, neat in a row like someone had sketched them up there.

“I see it! It’s right there, right?” You brought your arm up right next to Vash’s, sides of your arms touching all the way up to your palms as you traced the line in the sky with your fingertip. Even the metal of his prosthetic was unnaturally warm, just enough to be comfortable, like it was still holding its heat from the evening sun.

“Yeah, you got it!” His cheek was nearly pressed to yours, and you could feel him smile at your success. The excitement was infectious, leaving you feeling floaty and light despite your exhaustion. “Wanna try a few more?”

“Sure! What about up here?” You tipped your head all the way back, staring straight up into the night sky, only to wince at the sharp twang of pain you felt in the back of your neck. “Ow.”

“You okay?” Vash’s face filled your vision, expression soft with concern. You just shrugged, rolling your shoulder and pressing your fingertips into the tense muscle.

“I’m fine, just tweaked my neck a little. The cold just makes all my muscles kind of achey."

Vash's hand rested on the side of your arm, almost hot to the touch against your chilled skin. How could he possibly run so warm? You wanted to melt into nothing more than a little ball curled up in the palm of his hand, dozing in the pleasant warmth it provided. Meanwhile his eyebrows had flown up his forehead, blinking incredulously at you.

"You're freezing! Why didn't you say anything?"

"I dunno! I didn't wanna bother you? Besides, I didn't notice until I woke up, anyway!"

He frowned at you, unconsciously jutting out his lower lip in an adorable pout that made your heart stammer in your chest. He made a lot of faces like this, smug little smiles after a trick shot or delighted beaming grins over dinner, even those soft, bittersweet little expressions he'd shoot your way when he thought you weren't looking; faces that made you want to just throw caution to the wind and lean in and kiss him until you both ran hot and breathless.

But you couldn't. Vash liked to joke about how fearless you were, unafraid of tailing after the Humanoid Typhoon through each town and city he blew through, but you weren't that brave. Not enough to risk the possible rejection of the person you cherished most in the world, even if he was under the impression he was doing it for your benefit. No, you were nowhere near that brave. Not yet.

"Maybe you'll just have to share with me then, if you want to keep warm!~"

"Can I?"

You both stiffened, neither of you expecting your response to actually come out of your mouth. Vash was clearly trying to tease you, you could see that now by the wide eyes and startled red fluster on his cheeks, but you'd been so deep in your own thoughts you hadn't even registered it properly until the words were already out of your mouth. You clammed up quickly, the back of your neck feeling hot and prickly as you cupped your hands over it and turned jerkily away from him.

"Ah! Sorry, I didn't- I wasn't really thinking I was just- You know I should have known you were just joking, so… so let's just go back to sleep. Sorry. This is weird… sorry."

You'd definitely said sorry way too many times. And he'd definitely noticed. But maybe he'd actually cut you some slack for once and not point out how effectively you'd just humiliated yourself in front of him. Or maybe you could just roll yourself up in your sleeping bag like a pill bug and in the morning you'd forget this entire exchange even happened.

"...Do you really want to?" He mumbled, warm fingertips resting on your upper arm again and sending a shiver down the length of your spine. He didn't pull away even when you flinched at the contact, voice staying hesitant, small, almost like he was trying to soothe a skittish animal. "I don't want you to freeze or anything. I really don't mind."

"It's not weird?" You'd almost mustered up the courage to ask 'I didn't make things weird?' but you chickened out at the last moment catching a glimpse of Vash's soft expression when peering at him from the corner of your eye.

"No, it's totally fine! I run kind of hot anyway. I can be your heated blanket." Seating himself all the way upright, Vash opened his arms to you, and it took everything you had not to dive into them the second the gesture was offered.

Trying not to look as eager as you were, you slipped carefully out of your own sleeping bag, shuddering as you were buffeted by the evening air. It was a bit of an awkward clamber, one you tried desperately not to think too hard about as you burrowed your way in right next to Vash. He was a big guy, and the sleeping bag was barely big enough for him to begin with, so once you got yourself situated you found that you were basically snug up against him from your ankles all the way up to your neck. And oh, was it everything you'd imagined to be and more. You were curled up into his right side; he'd tucked you up in such a way that your head was resting right on his shoulder with his arm slung around you, keeping you close. The thin fabric of your pajamas did nothing to quell the heat that rolled off of Vash's body and seeped into your own. It was a familiar, achingly safe kind of warmth, like falling asleep in an afternoon sunbeam coming through the window and landing across a soft mattress. It felt right. It felt like home.

"Comfy?" His voice was so soft a murmur you could barely make it out, and you nodded for fear of any words being let out giving away your true feelings on the situation. How were you ever supposed to sleep on your own again, knowing that this bliss was just within arms reach? "That's good. Hey, try looking up now?"

You blinked up at the night sky, an endless expanse of stars and moons stretched over your heads. His free arm rose again, fingertip tracing an abstract, polygonal form against the starry backdrop.

"Rivus Minor, the Little River. You can follow it across the sky, just like this. Follow my hand, okay?"

"Yeah." You whispered, for you didn't think you had the strength nor the courage to speak any louder. You'd follow his hand as it traced the stars. You'd follow him to the driest, most desperate towns, the true wastelands. You'd follow him through hell and back out again, to the most barren edges of No Man's Land and back, a thousand times over. Even if he tried to leave you behind, for your protection he'd say, for your safety, you wouldn't be able to help but follow. You'd follow him through blood and gun-smoke and tears and keep following beyond. As long as Vash was there, you couldn't help but be there too.

"Okay. I'll follow you."

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun x reader #vash the stampede #vash #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #pink chat #my writing

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sgiandubh · 3 months

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This fandom's obsession with knowing where Sam is at all times is borderline obsessional. That includes both sides. I understand you were waiting until you were sure he wasn’t there anymore and that Marple has no such scruples. Why does where he stays need to be publicized? I know why the anti's do it, they want to be able to claim "first" and also scour the internet for their next victim to attach to him. Shippers also do it, and both sides have claimed it's because he wants us to know/he knows we do it. Neither of those reasons are based on reality, I can’t recall him ever saying, yes, I show my background because I want to be stalked. It's unbelievably weird.

Dear Unbelievably Weird Anon,

After answering your polar opposite, this is almost funny, Anon.

Or, as the Frenchmen say (hell yes, just try and stop me!): cela ne manque pas de sel.

This fandom's obsession with knowing where S is at all times is one of its Original Sins. I was not here, but still could read (years and years after the facts) posts that survived the successive waves of slammed doors in this fandom, dozens and dozens of Anons: he is online, she is online, they are online right now and posting, they are staying there, they are doing this and that.

At first, it was fun. It read like a detective novella. It still is and I see no legal or moral cons into identifying a location he or she clearly released on their socials. If these people do not want fans to know where they are, at a given moment, then we wouldn't be privy to it. Also, tens of thousands of clicks on (random pick) a post featuring the A-Rosa Hotel's premises is (I will say it on and on and on until it's fixed) a digital asset that can and is monetized.

I fail to see how this would be stalking, at face value.

What I am not ok with and probably never will be, is the stalking of people with endless questions and snarky comments. And the fanfic writing that often surrounds these sightings:

'Was he alone?" 'With whom?' 'How did she look?' 'Was she tall?' "Blonde?' 'Brunette?' 'Were they kissing?' 'Holding hands?'

We know where the core of those questions is, Anon:

WAS HE WITH HER?

Oh, the entitlement. Oh, the stupidity. Oh, the shame (or complete lack thereof). Oh, the naivete.

It is wrong. It is cheap. It is unbelievably childish.

The rest is shitshow, smoke and mirrors.

You can't stop this. I can't stop this. What I can and I did, is setting my own red lines. You don't have to do the same. But you might find it helpful.

If I remember correctly, this glorious phrase was written a while ago by @audramh:

"Meanwhile, in a bed near Glasgow..." :

Irrespective of this or that.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

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flowerfan2 · 11 months

Text

“Let’s take a road trip” sounded like fun – and there have definitely been fun aspects to this road trip. Sunshine beaming through the car windows, Robin and Nancy and sometimes even Steve singing along with Eddie to whatever’s playing on the radio, Steve dozing off leaning against Eddie’s shoulder in the back seat when Nancy takes a turn driving.

But they took a wrong turn somewhere near Pittsburgh – not that there are really any great turns near Pittsburgh – and Robin is adamant that they keep going until they find the cheap-ass motel she booked for them, even though they are hours behind schedule at this point.

Steve’s driving, as he usually is. They’ve listened to the same miserable ABBA tape three times in a row (if Eddie has to hear Super Trouper one more time he’s going to mutiny) because no one can agree on what to put on instead, and at this point, even Robin has stopped trying to jolly them all out of their bad moods.

Eddie has been staring out the window, spacing off mostly, when he glances at the clock on the dash. It’s after seven p.m., and they are way overdue for a meal break. He suggests that they stop at the next exit, and Nancy snaps at him that they can’t afford to waste the daylight. Robin jumps in to propose a compromise, which would work better if they weren’t all so damn tired of being stuck in this car together.

“It’s too late anyway,” Steve mumbles, too low for the girls in the back seat to hear him over their argument.

“Nah, plenty of places will still be open,” Eddie says, thinking that he’d kill for a convenience store hot dog right now.

“Not what I meant,” Steve says. Eddie studies him for a long moment, increasingly upset by the sight. Steve’s face is strangely pale. His hands are tense on the steering wheel, and his jaw is locked. There are beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

He leans a little closer, speaks softly under his breath. “Steve, you okay? Want me to take over?”

“It’s better if I stay still,” Steve says, and Eddie doesn’t like the sound of that at all.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Steve just purses his lips and keeps his eyes on the road.

Eddie turns down the volume on the tape player, shooting a stern glance at Robin when she objects. “I think it’s quiet time,” he says, keeping his voice level. Miraculously, with a minimum of protest and several meaningful glances back and forth, Robin and Nancy both seem to get it.

After a few minutes, Robin clears her throat. “Let’s get off at the next exit. According to the sign there should be food there, and a hotel too.”

Steve responds by putting on the turn signal, and soon enough they’ve pulled into the parking lot of a sad looking diner. Steve still hasn’t said a word, but the silence when he turns the engine off speaks volumes.

“Want us to go in and get you something?” Nancy asks quietly. “A burger, or…?”

“Maybe see if they have something bland?” Eddie says, glancing at Steve for a reaction. “Grilled cheese, maybe, or soup?”

Steve is still facing forward, his hands gripping tight, but now his eyes are pressed shut.

“Sure, yeah, we’ll figure something out.” The girls get out of the car, and Eddie does too, coming around to the driver’s side. He opens the door and crouches down next to Steve.

“Migraine?” he asks, knowing the answer.

“Yeah. Bad one.”

“Didn’t help that we skipped dinner, huh.”

“Nope.” Steve’s voice is strained. “I’m so stupid, I should have said something.”

“We should have stopped,” Eddie says softly. “It’s not always your responsibility.” He’s not going to argue with Steve now, but god damn it, why didn’t one of them think of this before? “Come on, let’s get you out of there.”

He supports Steve as best he can as he slides out of the driver’s seat and helps him into the back. He leaves the door open, hoping the slight breeze and cooling night air will make Steve feel better – or at least if he has to puke, it’ll be easier to get out of the car.

“Come ‘ere,” Steve says, tugging Eddie into the car with him. Steve rearranges himself with his head in Eddie’s lap, and breathes harshly through his mouth a few times as he settles.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie whispers, and Steve presses his face into Eddie’s stomach.

“Not your fault.”

Eddie rests his hand gently on Steve’s head, threading his fingers carefully through his hair. “Is this better or worse?”

“It’s good.”

After Steve has relaxed a little bit, Eddie presses his thumb carefully against Steve’s temple. Steve grimaces, but breathes out “don’t stop” when Eddie pauses, so he keeps going.

Eventually Robin and Nancy return, take-out boxes in a plastic bag. Steve makes an unhappy noise when they ask him if he wants dinner, and so they just stick it in the trunk. Nancy gets in the driver’s seat and they pull back out into the night, headed for a motel Robin called from the diner.

Later, Steve curled up against Eddie in one bed and Nancy and Robin in the other, Eddie promises himself he’s going to do better. Steve’s going to have migraines and who knows what other kinds of pain for the rest of his life, because of what he did to protect them all. Now Eddie’s going to figure out how to protect him back.

****

Read my collection of Steddie ficlets on A03 here.

#Steddie #Steddie fic #Steddie ficlet #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #Stranger Things #Stranger Things fic

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bell-arina271 · 5 months

Text

Living Spaces for Artists: Interest Survey

Hello tumblr, my name is Arina, and I have considered for several years now creating a living space in the US for artists and creatives alike just starting out on their respective journeys. My idea was to purchase a large house and rent out rooms for incredibly cheap, so that the struggling artist would have a means to live on their own while they focus on their career. In my search for a starter house for myself, I stumbled across two properties that would help me realize this dream even sooner than I realized. However, as with all things, nothing is perfect, and there are a few caveats. The first is that both properties are in the northern United States, which means hot summers and harsh and cold winters. The second is that one is located far from metropolitan areas, and are mostly surrounded by small towns. It would not be impossible to find a regular job in these areas, but may require a commute.

Both properties are in need of renovations. There are several rooms that are structurally sound, which I would be willing to rent out in the case of emergency, but for the most part the buildings would not be available until at least mid-next year.

For both properties, I would rent the rooms out at $200/month, and yes that would include utilities. You would be allowed up to two people per room, and two pets per room. Property descriptions below the cut.

The first property is located in Wisconsin, near the Great Lakes and the Canadian border. From the looks of it, this was a caretaker home for the elderly, and as such has handicap access and multiple entrances. My idea was to rent out the top floor to residents, and then airbnb the bottom floor rooms. From what I’ve been told this area is high in tourism for outdoor activities and the like, so I may even be able to make an arrangement to have a few people have free room and board in exchange for maintaining the rooms, or cooking or cleaning up after guests. (This is a rough work in progress idea.)

As you can see, most rooms still need renovations, but several rooms can be considered move-in ready.

Has a large functional kitchen, and walk-in cooler, which would allow multiple people to use it at once, or hypothetically, sustain a semi-hotel set up.

Several bathrooms are functional and in working order, but would need to be shared. There is one bathroom for every two rooms, and I would need to decide whether to convert a couple bedrooms into bathrooms to accommodate everyone, but at the moment, consider these like dorms where you have to share bathrooms.

And that’s it for the first property! Onto the next one:

This next property is located in Chariton Iowa, about an hour south of Des Moines. Finding a job here wouldn’t be too difficult, though it would require a bit of a commute.

As far as I can tell the whole building is in need of renovations, so this wouldn’t be move-in ready until next year. I would also need to convert a couple rooms into bathrooms, because having 4 bathrooms between 15 rooms isn’t feasible for many people.

And that just about sums it up! This post is for me to see if anyone else is even interested in my idea, but if no one bites, then I will likely buy these properties to convert them into a bed and breakfast/motel type situation.

Or, if people buy these properties before me, I’ll find a smaller property to start small with my idea.

So, that being said:

If you’d like to be updated on the progress of whichever project/endeavor I end up taking, go ahead and follow this blog.

And if you can, please reblog this, or tell anyone you think might need this, so I can see if there are any interested parties. Thank you <3

#affordable house #artists on tumblr #real estate #artist #art

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halcyondayshospitality · 2 years

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8-rae-rae-8 · 7 days

Text

CW Abuse, queerphobia, neglect, religion, attempts of cleansing via religious practices, minor Agere

Johnny was pushed to leave his house as an older teen. Each straw snapped in half as his parents picked at his brain. Seventeen with nowhere to go. A fresh mohawk on his head, eyeliner traced around his bright blue eyes. All he had were the clothes on his back, he didn't have time to get anything else. Not between his mother's shouting and his father being home soon. All he could do was get out his window with a protein bar, wallet, and a half empty bottle of water.

Where was he supposed to go looking like this? With no one close enough to run to, no family that dared to bring him in. They would tell his mother or the cops anyway.

He had enough money in a bank account he could withdraw from, a bus ticket to get past the boarder couldn't be too expensive. If he could just get there and find somewhere cheap to stay, where no one would look for him, he'd make it eventually. Make it where, he didn’t know.

A job was out of the question for now, no proof of residency. The ticket over the boarder was already expensive enough, a hotel was out of the question.

“You’re not the son I raised.”

“God, I fear the adult you’ll grow into.”

The way his mother spoke to herself, bled herself dry pleading to a god that would never reach his hand from the heavens and ‘save her from her son’s madness’.

The way she screamed as he locked his door and opened his window.

“You’re dead set on ruining everything and everyone!!”

She had hissed. She pleaded for him to straighten out, be normal. But no, he dressed in patches, spikes raised on his shoulders, a rainbow painted on his back pocket. Faded and dulled over the years of his parents painting over it with black paint to simply ruin it. Ruin his identity, ruin his image.

“Save the son I disciplined and praised.. For the one who disobeyed me.”

His mother sat on her knees, hands folded in prayer. In pleas. His father joined every so often, muttering prayers at her side. Sycned words, as if they knew what the other would say.

“There’d be time to rectify him.”

Time to fix him.

Time to break him apart and mend him in their image.

That’s how he knew he needed to go. His last straw snapped in half. He needed far away. Across the boarder, safe somewhere else. Somewhere the cops wouldn’t be looking. Somewhere he could slip in.

His first night is spent mapping out the city. Mud stained boots washed by puddles and rain, revealing their old rose design on the side. The yellow stitching stained brown long ago. Walking till his heels bled and his lungs no longer filled with air. The best place to sleep was some shitty motel that was suspiciously cheap. Thirty pounds a night.

Good enough for him.

With the amount of money from his card now transferred to cash, he broke the debit card up and threw it out before he got his place in the motel. Some dull town near Newcastle. Good enough for a sleep now he knew the area. He walked long enough to know that no one was coming for him.

They never did. Not friends, not family. Not even the people that could make a good buck off him, like employers.

In the cold of the motel, he was alone. He shed his drenched clothes to dry on a towel rack. There were no bandages to clean up his heels, just scratchy towels. But home didn’t offer that comfort either. That forsaken house was freezing, colder than any unfamiliar place could be.

Johnny couldn’t recall the many things that made it that way. It had just been so cold for the longest time. He could point out feelings and sensations, but never a full event, like his mind forced him not to remember what all happened. Just in the last week, he could remember the way his skin crawled as his pastor touched his shoulder and pulled him in for a chat. Never was he allowed to stay home, not since he started showing signs of being ‘impure’.

Impurity. That’s why he screams to be seen. As more than a mess, as much than an infection for people to hide their children from. Impurity, rectification… A disease to be healed.

At thirteen, he was first called a devil’s spawn. An evil creation. A faggot over something so simple as art. A piece to study anatomy leading to him losing all access to the outside. His parents even faked his sick days to pull him to church daily until he was deemed cleansed.

His mother’s scolding stuck in his head, no more than words and a tone that conveyed his apparent betrayal.

“You can throw your life away, just not at my expense.”

Over art. Like he was throwing everything away over pencil and paper. His parents surely saw it like that. Constant reminders that he was being watched by an unseen god and angels felt so completely stupid to him, but had him checking corners and his closet every night like habit.

Even still, he checked the motel’s closets and bathrooms. Like he swore he needed, or they would find and watch him. Even so far away from their church.

The sheets scratched at his skin. Maybe he should have thought about his comfort, but that wasn’t exactly something he was sure he could even get. Comfort, far from anything even semi-familiar. So, so very far from everything he knew. In a new town, with bloodied heels and a broken mind. Pieces chipped off every second, he was sure.

What else could be that hazy feeling behind his eyes?

What else could be forcing him to get comfortable, dispite the horrendous sheets?

His eyes shot around the room. Door locked, bathroom light on, closet shut. Then his eyes closed, nearly as if forced by exhaustion and something creeping around in his head. So very alone, but something trying to warm him. It was gentle, like the hum of a lullaby.

Johnny tugged the fabric of his tanktop into his mouth, suckling at the fabric. Each movement helped him relax into the cheap bed, his body heat warming the blankets with ease. He ran hot dispite the chill of the air around him.

He could get himself far enough, he could run till he couldn’t move. But he dreamed of someone coming to save him. Someone like him, someone who would love him unconditionally. Someone turned to two, then three and four. People who would love him with every ounce of their beings.

#john soap mactavish #cod mw2 #cod #cod mwii #call of duty #cod agere #abuse #queerphobia #homophobia #religious abuse

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imaginedreamwrite · 11 months

Note

Please continue that CEO Ari and waitress reader! She's gonna head straight to the wedding right?

Escorted from the hellhole to a Rolls Royce, you were guarded until the vehicle stopped at the Boston Harbour Hotel. The moment the vehicle rolled to a stop, the door had been opened and the security surrounding the vehicle had increased from 3 to 7. There was no shortage of men flanking you, no shortage of finely cut suits cutting you off from the outside world and every attempt to flee.

They dictated where you would move by keeping you locked in the middle of their escort service. Your cheap shoes had long been digging into the soles of your feet but even that had been numbed by fear. You had no idea what was going on, why you were being dragged from your job to this overpriced hotel and further to a bridal suite that should not be yours.

You were confused by it all. Confused and afraid by the invitation you had been given, and the news anchor who spoke about Ari Levinson’s bride, which had been mistakingly listed as you.

“Everything is ready,” the doors opened and a consigliere scurried from the interior of the building, nervously raking her hands down the front of her uniform, “for Mr. Levinson’s fiancée-”

“Move.” The man in front of this escort bubble had given an order, a single word that had the woman stepping back to let them through.

While there was no shortage of things that could have caught your eye, you were looking for some kind of escape route. You’d been looking for something, some break that would let you slip between them and find your way home. You wanted to run, you had to run, you had to flee and find your way out of this situation.

And yet you knew that if you’d dare try these 7 men would stop you.

“The bridal suite,” a bellhop stepped into the elevator with you, led by a silent order, and pressed the gold lines button for the penthouse suites, “is beautiful, you’ll love it.”

He was peaking to you as if you’d chosen this, as if this was your desire and your passion to marry the devil incarnate that claimed you were his. The bellhop couldn’t have helped you, not with the seven men where guarding you and not when the elevator had been steadily rising.

“Picturesque views and crystal chandeliers, gold flecked tiles-” you turned into your own head, you escaped the chatter while your heart pounded and your hands trembled.

2 floors away, and you thought maybe you could Will yourself to pass out. Maybe you could make your brain short circuit, and then they would have to take you to the hospital.

1 floor away and you thought about throwing yourself against one of the men and fighting with all you had in you. If there was possibility of your flight or fight instincts producing enough adrenaline for you to fight them all off, then it had to happen now.

“The future Mrs. Levinson, God you’re beautiful!” The doors opened, you had stepped off in a daze and it was only when a man had chirped at you with a blazer compliment that you’d snapped out of your head.

“Excuse me?” You bared the question and had nearly forgotten what you’d spoken when you looked at the wedding dress hanging off the drawing rack.

The ivory coloured dress was form fitting and had a semi-transparent corset with a heart cutout, decorated with lace with silver embroidery. The lines of the corset was visible and would fully embrace the curve of your breasts, waist and hips while exemplifying the shape of your body in a manner fitting a modern day princess. And the added sleeves had turned this dress from a shiny and flashing gown into something entirely elegant and breathtaking.

Even as confused and afraid as you were, you had to note the beauty of the dress.

“Beautiful isn’t it? You’re going to be anyone every wants to be.” The stylist, you assumed, had come to stand near you and spoke as if this was an every day affair.

As if women had been kidnapped and coerced into a marriage despite never meeting the groom in person.

“We’ve got a lot to do sweetie, so why don’t you go head to the shower and we’ll get set up.” The stylist had turned you by grabbing your shoulders and pushing you in the direction of the bathroom, steering you away.

“No wait, wait…” you found your voice and dug your heels into the carpet, stalling the process. “Wait-!”

The doors to the bedroom opened like something out of a movie, and you’d half expected a plume is smoke and hellfire to follow the man in question as he stepped out. Your eyes fell to him, naturally drawn to the sheer size of him as he, would clearly, tower over you. While it appeared that he dressed casually for him, what he was wearing was nothing short of immaculate and suave, despite your apprehension of the devil.

“I’ve been waiting for you, sweetheart. We should have a conversation before you get ready for our wedding.”

“Fuck you,” you spat your disgust at him, immediately flying into a fuelled rage as you stalked toward him and started swatting your hands in a flurries attack, “who the fuck do you think you are?!”

Your hands made contact once, and in that moment you hadn’t truly been made aware of the desire and heat present in his eyes.

Not until he had grabbed your wrists in one hand and turned you, pushing you back against the doorframe. He pinned you to the threshold of the door with his body, burning blue eyes staring deep into your soul.

“I’m your husband, Y/N. And you’re my wife.”

#soft!dark!mob!#soft!dark!mob!ari levinson #mob!ari levinson x reader #soft!dark!ari levinson

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fuck-customers · 10 months

Text

Names changed.

Buckle the fuck in.

I have been wanting to tell anyone about this series of events at work. The story doesn't start with me, an ex-coworker who was a Lead and was the one who checked in Julius the dog for a month-long stay. It is well known that his owner Mario is a bit of an Eccentric old Queen. He thinks he's a vampire and other shit. Whatever. He's checking his dog in and mentions he's going to Colombia to find a husband and do cocaine.

Okay go off, if I were retired and lonely I'd probably do something similar. I know he's lonely because every time he comes in he starts the same conversation about how all his family is dead and he's single.

Clearly, he's a bit out there, but if I was a retired old gay like him I'd have some fun too. Whatever. The owner calls our partnered trainer for a few sessions. A few weeks go by and for the third training session, he's not answering. Really weird for him, but we chalk it up to him avoiding roaming fees.

Our trainer finishes his allotted training since he didn't answer to add more. She calls multiple times for 3 days, and she wants the extra money. This is very important.

We get a call from one of Julius's emergency contacts since s in South America saying that Julius is going to be staying for another 3 weeks, and now his stay is two months. Mario has to pay us the current total to prevent abandonment, Joe's friend gets the money wired and the stay is extended, he's using Facebook Messenger as his communication method. So it takes a whole day to do this Totally get it when I got back to my home country. I do the same with Whatsapp. This is normal, this is fine! We extended the stay.

Three weeks pass and we get another call from the same agent, Julius is staying one more night, and Mario's flight got canceled. Annoying since the dog is nasty and a pest (affectionate) but we extend the stay.

He comes in to pick up his dog the next day straight from the airport (not that far it's maybe 20 minutes away). He starts chatting with the Manager, Assistant Manager, and me. He's talking about drinks food, and hotel price. He keeps making a point about the currency exchange rate. USD to COP. So cheap to him. The Assistant and I eye each other we're both Latino so this is annoying.

Then he starts ranking about how he hired security to escort him through all the major cities of the country, Medellin, Cali, and Bogota. All with heavily armored guards.

Our computers start fucking up so the invoice has to be inserted manually, my Manager does it. This is when he starts talking about how dangerous it was in Colombia, how that's why he hired guards ( he had pictures, lots of them, lots and lots). Now I'm uncomfortable. Colombia isn't as dangerous as he's making it out to be, normal people live normal lives and tourism is huge!

By then I'm praying to Jesus and his baby daddy too, as he admits to drunk driving and running over a dog. Then he starts calling the locals whores? How everyone was pimping out their kids and everyone and their mother were forced into sex work because of poverty. Everyone was greedy and envious. I'm trying not to leap over the counter and beat the shit outta this guy.

Then he starts talking about how the main purpose of his trip was to go find a husband. He was proposed to by 2 guys, he showed us the rings (ugly as the man wearing them) and emphasized again how "they were all so fucking greedy". How everyone wanted to talk and be near him because he was popular and had money.

I try to veer the conversation away from that but he goes back to the shit load of drugs and sex he had. My Assistant manager leaves around here.

Now for the pièce de résistance.

He starts detailing how he got KIDNAPPED by a "family" (I'll sell my left kidney if they actually were a real family)

He was fucking ransomed for 7K USD and proceeded to explain that he was kept subdued with sex. This explains his mystery absence and random ass extension AND how his friend was the only one who could be contacted. As well as the obscene amount of money paid in full to extend Julius's stay. This guy is fucking loaded and he was showing it off so much that someone noticed he's as stupid as they come and kidnapped him.

Sweet baby Jesus. But it gets worse.

He shows us proof. He sent his guards away because he wanted to have sex with a 20-something-year-old. By now he's showing off pictures of all the men he had sex with. Accidentally showed us nudes while showing off the cocktails he drank. And turns out! That the family had a father and son and he had sex with both of them. He implied a threesome. I suddenly wished I didn't know English.

I leave because I will laugh, and yell. I start asking my ancestors instead for guidance but instead they laugh as I am forced to back up front.

So I get to hear how he wants to move to Colombia. Apparently, he's moving there as soon as he sells his house here. Which….no words.

I go to the back again and work on cleaning rooms. Later when I go to the kitchen my manager is there and I make a comment about him. And here's the really fucked up bit, while he was explaining that he was both terrified and in love with his experience in Colombia my manager was like "Yeah I don't think I could go and have a time like yours" He looked her up and down, a willowy, average height blond blue-eyed white women in her 20s, and said "no way you be raped so bad" My hand went to my mouth I swore loud and she just shrugged.

This guy has a coke-fried brain, my god. Anyways, the dog just stayed with us again while he was in Colombia again, and luckily, we didn't have to deal with another checkout since he had his dog shipped over to Colombia via a company. Good luck to them both, and I hope the guy who marries him leeches him out of all his money and then some.

#submissions #fuck customers #embarrassing #tw: racism #tw: incest #tw: animal death #tw: kidnapping #tw: sex mention #tw: rape mention #tw: drugs

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