#(now she's vacuuming. in the middle of the work day.)

[cultivating-wildflowers]

a summary of how my day is going

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 1

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: 18+ Chapter Summary: To save money for law school, you accept a job at Maid Discretely; a high end, anonymous cleaning service. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in, more than just your curiosity peaks.  CW: Author chooses not to use warnings in this chapter in order to avoid spoilers. While I never want to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. AN: Oh boy, here we go! I'm in a straight PANIC getting ready to post this. I hope it meets all your expectations, I was not at all expecting that reaction to the teaser post. Love you all and thank you for all your support. Please share or comment, I have a praise kink LOL. Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for future chapters. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk and @burntheedges for being my little cheerleaders over this, ily!! Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

You stare down at the very intimidating legal document you have clasped in your clammy hands. There are so many big legal sounding words that seem to be mocking you with their importance. Somehow there are clauses that have sub clauses that are then further broken down into sub-subclauses. It feels heavy to be handed this on a Monday morning. Truthfully, this doesn’t seem like something a soon-to-be twenty-one year old woman who literally just graduated college, albeit a semester early, should be allowed to sign without parents and a lawyer present. 

This is just supposed to be a simple job working part time as a maid for your best friend's family’s cleaning company. A job where she promised easy money and part time hours that you set for yourself. The perfect opportunity for you to be able to save money AND set aside lots of study time for your upcoming LSAT rewrite. You passed it a few months ago and applied to a bunch of law schools, but you aren’t going to waste these next few months waiting around. You know how competitive law schools can be, so you’re preparing to be better just in case you don’t get in.

Your eyes scan words that your brain can’t seem to comprehend. The internal panic starts to bubble in your chest, someone who has law aspirations should know what these words mean.

This is just supposed to be easy. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Washing floors. Simple things. 

But now, as you sit in this shiny, fancy downtown office building looking at your full legal name typed beside a bunch of ‘initial here’ and ‘sign here’ lines on a nondisclosure agreement you’re starting to feel like this is anything but simple. 

“Our clientele is VERY exclusive,” your childhood best friend Jamie says. She looks very professional and grown up sitting behind her glass desk. Her long, toned legs are crossed, the slit along the side of her crisp, white pencil skirt showing off her tanned upper thigh. She’s paired her white skirt with a baby pink silky blouse that's perfectly tucked into the high waist of the skirt. Her long, dark silky hair is twisted into a jeweled claw clip. Even though you’re the same age she has an air of sophistication and grace, even with winged eyeliner, a matte pink lip, and a slender rose gold septum ring that sits tight to her little button nose. She almost screams old Hollywood in the middle of Austin, Texas. 

She continues, “You won’t know the names of the clients and they will never be home. If they do come home, leave immediately, and try your best not to be seen or heard. Then you can fill out in the company app what you did and didn’t manage to get done.” 

You put the paper down on her perfect desk so she can’t see your hands shaking. How can you work at that desk all day and not get a single fingerprint or smudge on it? There’s a very good chance that I am not cut out for this. This is fancy. And expensive. I’m neither of those things. 

“What am I gonna be walking in on at these houses, Jamie?” You ask, swallowing the fiberglass that’s suddenly prickling at your throat. 

Jamie shakes her head and laughs, saying your name through her melodic giggles. “Most likely nothing. We’ve never had an encounter or run in with a client. They pick times for cleaners to come when they aren’t home.” She leans back in her high backed chair and continues, “But the clients are big deals. Politicians. Judges. Athletes. The odd celebrity. They don’t want anyone in their home that will snoop or snap pictures. Hence the NDA.” 

“Well, why didn’t you start with that!” You laugh. “Jesus, I thought I’d be walking into like a virginal sacrifice or some shit!” 

“Well, there was that one time…” Your face drops and she immediately starts laughing again. “I’m kidding. Relax. Look, you’ll probably get three homes a week, each house will take six to eight hours. The hourly pay is twenty dollars plus whatever tip they’ll leave you in these black envelopes.” 

She puts a perfectly polished finger on a stack of black envelopes with a red ‘Maid Discretely’ logo on it and continues, “In my experience, the tips are around five hundred, completely tax free. This is a good gig! You’ll be in law school becoming smarter than all of us in no time. Fuck, you’ll be writing insane contracts like those before we know it.” 

She stands, one hand resting on the desk while the other slides the paper towards you with a closed pen. She drops the writing apparatus on top of it, the metal casing of the pen clanging loudly on her glass desk. You let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically clicking the pen before signing the NDA. Jamie claps her hands excitedly then snatches the contract away before you can rip it up and says, “Let’s get your uniform and supplies!”

She hands you a few fitted white polo style t-shirts, black dress pants, white Keds (that she scolds are for inside the houses only), a caddy full of high end cleaning supplies, a top of the line Dyson vacuum and everything else you’ll need.

She ends your meeting with instructions on how the company's scheduling and tracking app works. "Essentially, you set the days and times you’re available and it will populate for you. You’ll have addresses, dates and times, as well as tasks to be done, all nicely laid out for you. If a client likes you, they can request you for additional shifts, but for continuity purposes you should get the same couple houses that you’ll rotate through throughout the month."

You nod along, mostly surprised to hear the girl who did a keg stand just a few days ago sound so professional, using words like 'continuity purposes'.

The next day you have your first official shift. Tuesday from nine to three and you’re scheduled at a mansion in a neighborhood you’ve never heard of and you most definitely wouldn’t fit in to. Jamie is already waiting there for you when you pull up. She explained yesterday that she’d help you with the first one and then you are on your own after that. Well, not completely alone. Your iPhone is loaded full of smutty audio books, murder podcasts, and law books to listen to as you clean. 

Jamie was right, you think to yourself as you scroll to the latest romance novel you’ve downloaded and grab your AirPods, this is a good gig.

The house is absolutely massive, and you highly doubt you’ll be done in six hours. You gather all your stuff and head up to the house. Jamie shows you where the company supplied key box is and how to open it from the app. As you grab the key Jamie excitedly says, “This used to be my client. He always leaves a huge tip!”

You unlock the large front glass door and enter into a white marble foyer. The windows on the first floor are easily ten feet tall and allow in so much natural light. Gold and obsidian swirls in the marble reflect along the walls, dancing in the sunlight. To the left of the front door is a large open kitchen that might be bigger than your entire apartment. The marble of the expansive countertop is the same colour as the foyer. All the cabinetry is matte black with brushed gold handles. The kitchen opens into a lavish living room, a massive fireplace and TV sits on the far back left wall, encompassed by a very cozy looking white sectional. 

To the right of the front door, starting furthest away from where you stand in awe, is a door to a huge half bathroom, followed by a long table with a bowl for keys and mail, and then the door that leads to the garage. About fifty feet in front of you is a grand staircase that branches out to the left and right. Beyond the staircase you can see into the backyard. This is by far the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As both you and Jamie slip into your keds she says, “Upstairs to the left are a few bedrooms and the office. I usually started there and then went to the right side where he has a huge entertainment area. Then I would clean down here since he doesn’t cook very often and it’s usually just a quick wipe down.”

Just as you start to panic over how you’re supposed to remember all this she nudges you and adds, “But that’s all in the app for you, most of the clients are very particular so they’ll lay out exactly what order you should be cleaning in, as well as any other extra things they need done.” 

She helps you carry all your stuff upstairs and then watches you work. Sure enough, the app says to start in the office so you do just that. Careful not to disturb the few piles of paperwork you dust the desk and shelves and then wipe down the windows and computer screen. You vacuum the hardwood and plush rug last and after Jamie gives you an approving nod, you move onto the next room.

You continue like that, going from room to room, your friend, and now boss, occasionally giving feedback or leaving to answer a phone call or respond to an email. The job is easy enough; repeating the same steps in each room over and over again. It’s the exact type of work you exceed at. You enjoy having clear sets of instructions and expectations, and a prioritized list where you can start at the top and work down. You’ve always excelled at following meticulous directions in school. Your life maybe not so much. When it comes to dating or your parents you aren’t one to do what you’re told.

When one o’clock rolls around you just have one bathroom upstairs and the already pristine downstairs to tend to, but Jamie coaxes you into taking your break, which is another thing you’re bad at. You were raised not to take breaks, taking a break or doing nothing means you're lazy. You should be working all the time, and pushing yourself to accomplish things. As a child you’d push and push yourself to be the best, honor roll ceremonies were the only time your dad would show up. He’d smile and brag about you to whoever was around.

“It’s important that you take all your supplies to your car with you when you eat your lunch. Never eat in their homes and never park on their driveways.” You nod and hoist all your stuff to the front step. “Make sure you lock up like you’re leaving too.” 

“How am I doing so far?” You ask as you lock the door, your stomach growling loudly as if it needs to prove to her how hard you’re working. You hadn’t realized how much of an appetite you’d gain just from cleaning. The few stale crackers and small can of tuna you managed to find in your cupboard this morning doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough. 

“Really well! I actually think I might leave you to finish up. Don’t forget to take whatever he left for you out of the black envelope on the kitchen counter.” She doesn’t look up at you, her fingers tapping out an email on her shiny iphone screen. She doesn’t have her phone in a case and you can only imagine the level of self confidence you have to have to carry around an expensive item unprotected like that.

“Is it weird that there’s no pictures or anything of the family that lives here?” You say curiously as you both walk towards your parked vehicles. 

“No,” she says flatly. “I think it’s just one person here and that’s pretty normal for the houses you’ll be cleaning. Lots of them are rarely home or only home to sleep.” 

You gawk at the massive house from across the street as you throw all your supplies in the back of your used and rusted SUV. One person lives here. Alone. How is this possible? He’s clearly doing well for himself. Either he’s really lonely or a complete asshole. 

After you eat, you head back inside to finish up cleaning. The entire house looks like a show home. Not a single thing out of place. The kitchen seems staged, void of life aside from a tiny droplet of coffee on the countertop beside the Italian coffee maker, and a tiny brown stegosaurus toy that sits on top of it. Two minutes before the end of your shift you do a final sweep to make sure you haven’t left anything behind and then slip open the black envelope. Inside you find seven one hundred dollars and a note that just says ‘TY - JM’.

As you log your day in the company app you can’t believe you just made seven hundred freaking dollars to clean up after a man who makes no messes. You excitedly check your upcoming schedule and it looks like you’ll be back here in two more weeks. You could potentially be getting fourteen hundred dollars a month from this elusive “JM”. A man with no pictures or personal touches in his shiny white, black and gold mansion.

It’s been almost two weeks since your first clean at JM’s house. Your other clients were good tippers, usually between four to five hundred, but you’ve been looking forward to going back. You know you’re not supposed to know who the clients are, but you couldn’t help but google JM to try to figure out who he is and how he has so much money. In hindsight, you guess all your clients have money, but something about him has alerted your curiosity. He seems like smoke, or a ghost, in his own home. Your other clients had some sort of semblance of life in their houses. A dent in the pillow. An open newspaper on the kitchen table. A coffee cup dropped in the sink before they headed off to whatever fancy job they have to afford such a massive house. A toilet seat left up or a smudge of toothpaste on the mirror. 

But not JM. 

No, the only thing JM left was a tiny droplet of coffee. Coffee that was probably imported straight from Italy. You’re almost ashamed of the amount of times you’ve wondered about that stegosaurus toy. It seems so out of place in his house of clean lines and sterility. 

You’re just settling in to enjoy a Sunday night of sushi, rosé and Bridgerton with your roommate when your phone bings, a little red notification bubble popping up on the Maid Discretely app. You have an added shift request for JM tomorrow. Instead of one six hour shift on Tuesday you now have two six hour shifts. You accept the request and scroll through the tasks. He’s requested you to wipe the baseboards and lightswitches on the main floor, a deep scrub of every bathroom, as well as doing the inside of the fridge, stove and microwave. There are also instructions for washing the sheets in the main bedroom, and spraying down the patio furniture around the pool.

Only a millionaire in Texas would ask for his pool furniture to be cleaned in February. 

Shortly after you accept the shift you get a text from Jamie:

Saw you accepted the shift. The client asked for the normal clean on the first day, please. Extras the next day. Thanks.

The following morning you head to the large, bright mansion. Parking across the street and hauling all your stuff in. It feels a bit weird to be here on a Monday and you have a feeling you’ll be reminding yourself all day that it is indeed Monday and not Tuesday.

You get all your stuff together, change into your indoor company issued keds and head up the stairs. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise glitters off the white marble tiles, glints of gold and sparkling black reflecting off of it. You take a second to look down from the landing as you pop in your airpods. It really is a beautiful home, and it’s too bad that whoever lives here is either lonely or an asshole, but for a split second you let yourself pretend that you and JM just finished making love and he’s now in the kitchen making you an espresso or a latte with that insanely fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. You shake your head at yourself. You didn’t find anything when googling, which isn’t surprising since two letters aren’t much to go on, but this house seems to draw you in, like it’s calling to you. It’s strange, it’s almost like you have a crush on this house and you couldn’t help but make a whole persona for whoever lives here. Even with its clean lines and lack of life, something about it settles in your gut, it feels like home. 

You scroll your podcast app trying to pick what episode you want to listen to and head down the hall, you can’t seem to decide so you pocket your phone without starting anything and reach for the matte black handle of the office door. You’re expecting to see JM’s tidy office with a few stacks of paperwork in one corner, but the sight you find before you has all the blood rush from your head and your stomach dropping right out of your body. Your jaw drops and you freeze in utter shock and fear.  

Instead of the usual stacks of paper, there’s an icy blond haired woman tied to the desk. She’s completely naked and on her back with her legs spread wide. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the desk with a scratchy looking rope, her wrists wrapped in matching rope and resting above her head. Her nipples are almost purple underneath the clothespin attached to them. You freeze, just the lewd wet noises of her pussy being worked furiously by the mysterious, fully clothed JM. His deep, commanding, gravel filled voice reverberates through the office. “Little fuckin' slut. Gonna split you in two.”

The woman lets out an unashamed cry of pleasure. Your entire body seems to go numb as your caddy falls from your hand, crashing loudly against the hardwood flooring. His head whips to the side, the icy blonde woman letting out a scream and trying to cover herself up. Your hands cover your mouth and even though you can’t feel your legs you spin and run for the stairs.

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait,” JM calls after you.

One of your AirPods falls from your ear as you run, you’re tempted to stop and grab it but you need to get out of here. Jamie’s voice echoes through your skull, ‘try your hardest not to be seen or heard’. 

He catches up to you as you reach the front entryway, his strong hand pushing the door closed. You can feel the heat of his body against your back. You’re shaking - both from being terrified and embarrassed. You have so many thoughts running through your mind. This will get you fired, or worse, you could have just possibly lost the company a client. Fuck. You aren’t supposed to know who lives here and you certainly aren’t supposed to see them doing that. 

“Please wait,” he says softly behind you and the heat of his broad body sends a chill down your spine.

The blood is rushing through your ears as your heart pounds in your throat. You don’t like confrontation and even with the softness in his voice, you’re sure he’s about to scream at you. You feel sick, and when you replay the words he said to the woman upstairs, and the sound of her moan that made you drop your caddy you start to feel dizzy and nervous.

Your hand falls from the handle of the front door and the brick wall of a man behind you steps back. You spin slowly to face him but keep your eyes on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, linking your fingers in front of you and focusing all your attention on the cuticle of your right thumb.

“No, please. This is my fault.” You trail your eyes from the floor to him. He's in perfectly pressed black dress pants paired with a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his forearms and he’s holding his hands up in front of himself as if to show you he isn’t armed or as a way to say 'you’re safe here'. 

You flick your eyes up to his face and he’s looking at you softly, the morning sunrise lighting up his tanned face and salt and pepper hair. JM is probably twice your age, but he is incredibly handsome. 

“I am so sorry. I must’a got my days mixed up when I booked you.” He says, a soft southern accent sneaking out. 

“I’m going to get fired,” you respond shakily.

“No,” he says stepping forward, you subsequently take a step back, pressing your body against the glass front door. Something about this man makes you nervous, but not in the same way women are trained to be nervous of strange men that are almost twice their size. “No. This is my fault. Please, let me explain. I jus’ gotta - well, can I go deal with…” his head cocks towards the stairs, “And then let me explain. Please?” 

You look at him, his handsome face all soft and apologetic. His dark brown and amber eyes dance around your face and without realizing you're even doing it, you nod your head. 

“Thank you,” he drops his hands at his side, visibly relaxing at your decision not to run. “Sit at the island for me. I’ll be back.” 

He watches you as you pad over to the island. The tall bar chair squeaks on the tile floor as you pull it out. He peels his eyes from you and heads upstairs. When you sit you have to stop from moaning out, the pressure of your body weight there sends a wave of rolling pleasure through you.

What the fuck? 

It’s a dull, throbbing ache followed by a small gush of thick wetness. Did you mistake a feeling of arousal for dizziness and nervousness upstairs? Were you turned on by what you just witnessed? 

Certainly not. There’s no way! He was, well, he wasn’t being nice to that woman. 

Soon you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the foyer, his body blocks her from your view as they talk at the front door. They speak in hushed voices, all you’re able to make out is her saying thank you followed by the sound of a soft kiss and then she’s gone. 

She thanked him? It seems like he should be thanking her. 

He wanders into the kitchen and your throat goes impossibly dry. As if he can read your every need, he grabs a glass from the cabinet, puts it under the water dispenser on his fridge door and then slides the glass across the large island to you. You have to lift off the chair to reach it, whispering a thank you before taking a sip. 

JM leans against the countertop beside the fridge and watches you take a long drink. You put the glass down with a quiet clink and then fold your hands in your lap. His eye contact is intense, not in a creepy way, it’s almost like he’s assessing you. You find it hard to look at him so you avert your gaze to the glass. 

He clears his throat gently before he starts. “I jus’ want to say how sorry I am. You didn’t consent to seein’ any of that and I can’t imagine how awful that was for you.” His voice is so calm and soft. 

You flick your eyes up to him, “No, this is my fault. I am not suppose-“

JM shakes his head and holds up one hand, signaling you to stop. “No. This was me. I got my days mixed up. Meant to book ya for next week. This ain’t on you. This was my mistake. If it’s ok for me to ask, what’s your name?” 

You mumble your name into your glass and down the rest of your water. You figure you’re probably fired either way so who cares if he knows who you are. His face ticks up slightly, almost like he’s proud of you for drinking, and says your name back to you. 

“I ain’t gonna say anythin’ to your boss and I understand if you want to leave for the day. I’ll pay ya either way. I also understand if you say somethin’ to them and I can’t be a client anymore. It was unacceptable for me to be doin’ that when you’re supposed to be here. There ain’t any other way to word it. I was inappropriate and wrong.” He steps forward and holds his hand out so you slide the glass across to him. 

He refills it and puts it back for you to grab. “No,” you say, your voice cracking. After clearing your throat you continue, “No, I appreciate your apology but I’m not going to say anything.” 

He watches you again as you drain the glass, the same look of pride flashes across his eyes, “I’ll - umm - I’ll be in my office. You can uh,” he runs a hand through his scruff, “You just do whatever you need. I’ll stay outta your way.” 

He disappears before you can say anything else. You head up the stairs after a few minutes to find your cleaning caddy sitting in the hall with everything placed neatly where it belongs. His office door is closed and you can hear the deep rumble of his voice while he’s on a call. You grab your things, head into the master bedroom and begin cleaning. 

A few hours later while you’re sitting in your car eating lunch, the garage door opens and JM goes whipping past you in the sexiest blacked out sports car you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even look over you as he speeds by. Your heart sinks, it's unexplainable but being in that house with him there, even after what you witnessed, felt more comfortable than being alone. JM must have some sort of magic touch, how you went from nervous and embarrassed to calm and comforted with just the look on his face and few words is beyond you.

After wiping down the kitchen you are all done for the day. You grab the black and red envelope off the kitchen counter and open it, peering in nervously. There’s a piece of matte black paper on top. You slide it out gently, the paper feels expensive between your fingers. As you unfold it you reveal a shiny black JMK logo at the top. In neat gold lettering is his writing.

‘Please know how sorry I am. Your consent is more important than anything. I broke that. Just hope I didn't break your trust. -Joel Miller.’

At the bottom of the envelope are ten crisp one hundred dollar bills. 

Next Chapter

[sinstear]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ SUBURBAN BLUES ❞

ㅤㅤㅤㅤpairing. milf!abby x mechanic!reader

SUBURBAN BLUES, Abby Anderson, the southern peach of the neighbourhood, the sweetest to ever be in the bluebonnet state has built a family to be proud of. With a blue collar wife, Ellie, and her baby cub Remi to take care of her life should feel complete, whole. Yet on the cusp of a failed marriage, she’s lonely, struggling to do everything this household requires. She seeks solace in someone else and that friend just happens to be you. ⛧ warnings. not really any smut in this part, but still 18+, tooth-rotting fluff, a lil sprinkle of our dear old angst, flirting, mostly from reader, they are a heavy flirt oops! but abby secretly loves it, tehe wc. 5.3k masterlist.

There’s nothing like summer heat in the middle of August. In California, it could be more than brutal, the cruel heat waves penetration from the tall windows making Abby nearly sweat underneath the warm sun. As far as it was, it could surely make an impact. After nearly half the night, not to mention a few hours this morning, she finally got Remi to sleep. Even if she felt light-headed, her sweet baby’s screams turned into murderous knives each time they came hurling towards her head.

Ellie didn’t really seem to like getting up, only if she was asked. Abby got tired of asking so she would get up in the hour of rooster, cooing her six month baby back to sleep. Godbid anyone disturb her sleep. Ellie was the working one in the family, she was owed her rest, according to her.

As time went on, it was difficult on every level not to feel a certain kind of resentment. It rested on Abby’s tongue, a weapon to use as she wished. When she feels particularly exhausted, she reminds Ellie of why she’s so goddamn tired. Taking care of a child, much less a baby, is a full time job. Most days, she feels as if she’s doing it all alone. Without the help of her wife, the one who is supposed to be there, they choose to do this together but she can’t help but feel as if she’s all alone in this. 

It all boils over on a Sunday afternoon, heat rises as long with overflowing emotions, suppressed until Abby has finally had enough.

Ellie with her hand on her hips as pinches at her forehead, repeatedly rubbing over the skin. It’s a necessary fight to be had, she knows it even if she’d rather ignore it, Abby has reached her limit. With crimson cheeks, and an irate frown, she’s calm as ever but she talks so lowly, the only thing keeping her from screaming off the top of her lungs is her sleeping daughter upstairs. 

“You don’t help, Ellie. You’ve completely checked out. See? Even when I’m talking to you, you’re not here!” Abby snaps her fingers in Ellie’s face to regain her attention. “I might as well be expressing my concerns to a wall.”

“I’m listening.” Ellie argues. 

“Yeah, just about as well as you listen to Remi’s cries at night.” 

Abby knows it’s backhanded, she wants it to hurt but at this point part of her wonders if you’re even listening to her. She doesn’t even bring up the fact they haven’t had sex since she gave birth. Not a bone in her body wishes to vocalize her need for affection, to be touched, loved — cared for. 

Ellie opens her mouth for a countless number of excuses to tumble out but Abby knows her too well. She won’t have it, not for another moment. 

“Just do better, Ellie.” 

The remainder of the afternoon, Abby spends it with Remi. Feeding, burping before putting her down. Mindlessly, she focuses on tasks requiring no further though. Deep cleaning the fridge, finishing the laundry, and she vacuuming the living room when she finally breaks down. 

She wants nothing more than to smash their wedding picture to bits. Five years ago, she would have said it was the happiest day of her life, but now the day she had Remi was. Even if having her daughter reshaped her marriage for the worse, the only kind of magic she finds is those baby blue eyes staring back at her. 

She still has the love of her life even if it’s shifted from her wife to her daughter.

All Abby has time for is Remi, she can’t cater to a relationship where she’s the only one fighting for it. Ellie is content with hiding in the shadows of their issues, spending her time away from Abby in any way she can. This time Ellie goes for a run around the neighborhood, when she runs into you. 

It isn’t the first time, the two of you tend to go jogging at the same time. Ellie joins for a bit, but you’re usually passing her. It’s a bit of a bruise to her ego. Your endurance is better than hers, but you make fun of it, it’s really that big of a deal. It’s a nice stress reliever and it’s a stroke to your ego. 

Bending over the hood of your car, just in your black shorts clinging to your sweaty body and your sports bra slightly wet, Ellie approaches sitting next on the stool next to your massive tool box. They’ve spoken a few times, nothing more than surface level conversations. Small talks that numbs your brain, good enough to get rid of the silence but not enough for a friendship to blossom. 

“So,” Ellie pauses, “How much do you know about cars?” 

Ellie wants to slap herself in the face for being so painfully awkward, she might as well have stumbled over her words, that would have been less embarrassing. You stand up to your full height. Ellie would say it’s intimidating, just a little, especially when it always looks like you’re going to punch a bitch out if they say one wrong thing to you. 

You’re really the pariah of the neighborhood. Most of the time, you don’t come to cookouts assembled by the neighbors, you keep to yourself, the only time you’re ever seen by anyone is on the weekends, working on whatever car you’re flipping next. Jesse, the man who lives on the other side of Ellie, knows you work at a shop, but that’s the only detail anyone has seemed to pull out of you. 

“You know I’m a mechanic, right?” You gesture to the massive tool box, one that probably cost more than Ellie’s monthly salary. You shut the hood of the GT-R, clearly you weren’t going to get some silence but you didn’t mind, your back could use the break. Taking the towel out of your pocket, wiping the grease and grime off your hands and forearms, wiping the excess sweat off your head forehead.

“Well obviously.” Ellie says. 

As if you didn’t just have a drill in your hand moments ago. 

“What do you need?” You keep it short and sweet, especially the way Ellie is looking you up and down. As if you’re something to be devoured, you shrug it off, grabbing the tools you’d be using and dispensing them into the drawers. 

“It’s this collectible car, we have a 67’ camaro but it doesn’t run. We have a new motor for it and a new timing belt but I can’t replace it. I fucked it up the last time so my wife is adamant about me not touching it again.” 

You offer her a light chuckle, of course she fucking did. Idiots thinking they can do it after watching one video and then get stuck somewhere in the middle, fucking up the vehicle even more. At least Ellie wasn’t pretending like she knew what she was doing. Still, you didn’t know if you could get past the way she’s looking at you, a desperate need curved into her eyes. One you sure as hell would not be giving to her. You weren’t going to be caught in some fucking mess. 

More than anything, you enjoy your quiet life. Day in and day out, there’s solace in a steady life, no surprises. It’s the way you like it. Going to work, coming home and going for your evening run, working on cars until you're met with the midnight sky until the day repeats itself. It’s predictable, easy — comforting even. 

“It’s going to cost you, m’not free.” 

“Of course, whatever you want.” 

Curtly, you nod as if you’re asking if she needs anything else but Ellie sits there looking at you like a deer in headlight, emerald eyes so lost in yours but you’re just looking at her with a scrunched face and furrowed eyebrows. You’re positive you would find drool on your garage floor if you met her where she sat. You want to chuckle when she flexes her arms as if you’re supposed to be impressed by it. 

Ellie opens her mouth as if she wants to say something else, but you cut her off. Grabbing a business card, with your work cell on it and handing it to her. “Text me when you want me to come over and take a look. Just give me a little heads up so I can move around my schedule.” 

“Yeah, of course.” You chuckle as she stands up losing her footing as she stands

up. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around then. Maybe for our next run?” 

Our? 

“Sure, Ellie. Have a nice night.” You keep it short and sweet, scared she might try something else if the interaction lasts any longer. Closing your garage door, finally in silence away from the prying eyes of Ellie. Her poor fucking wife, you thought. Such a sleazeball for making starry eyes at someone you’re not married to. Regardless, you’ll keep your head down, you don’t want to get tangled into someone else’s mess. 

Treating yourself to a hot shower, you let the steam nearly suffocate. The water pressure hits your back perfectly, helping with some of the tension you carry from your shoulders. Today’s work finally catches up to your body, shutting your eyes as you let the water wash away the sweat and dirt, the muddy gray water pooling at your feet. It’s the most relaxing part of your day and you don’t take it for granted. Some days it’s the one activity you look forward to the most, as depressing as it sounds. It isn’t long until you’re falling asleep in your clean, cold sheets, soothing your body to a full night’s rest. 

—

You were running late. Sure, they live next door, and you wouldn’t have far to go, but shit you were late. You had promised you’d be there to fix the car at 10, and as you stumbled through the living room, trying to get yourself ready and boots on your feet, you noticed it was a little after 10:30 on the click above the stove, almost taunting you that you had overslept. Which wasn’t like you. You were always on time, maybe just a couple minutes early. 

Shrugging on your jacket the minute you step outside into the crisp air, you shoved one of your breakfast protein bars in your mouth, your toolbox tucked under your arm, and your hand quickly slammed the door behind you. Winching at the loud sound that echoes through your eyes. If you keep slamming things, you’re going to have to end up fixing the door every goddamn night.

You could tell Ellie and her wife, who you still have yet to meet, have lived here  for a while just based on how neat and tidy their garden was. The flowers still looked fresh, watered regularly, and overall the colors were beautiful. You’ve not been here a long time, but long enough to know that you barely see Ellies car in the drive, the spot usually empty whenever you go outside. Did she have someone to keep it that pretty? Her wife, maybe? Shrugging away your thoughts, you took a few long strides up the pathway, up the 3 steps and stumbled over one of the plant pots when you weren’t looking where you were going. Knocking the ceramic off the step completely and breaking just beside you with a loud crash.

“Shit, fuck!” You groaned, kneeling down to pick up the broken pieces carefully, nipping yourself in the process of trying to clean up the mess. “Jesus Christ.” You frowned, looking around, suddenly more nervous than you were for being late. “Fuck.”

You were so into trying to clean up the mess your dumbass had made that you weren’t fully focused on a certain blonde looking through the window on the door, watching you clumsily throw the small piles of soil into the other flower pots, still wanting everything to look as pretty as it did when you walked up their pathway. “Are you okay?” Came a gentle voice. A voice that caught you so off guard that you almost fell down the steps this time.

“Oh fuck, hi!” You stammered, standing to your full height when the door opened and a small giggle had caught your attention. “Shit, I swear I didn’t break it on purpose, I wasn’t looking where I was going and somehow walked right into it. M’sorry.” You apologized profusely, your breath getting caught in your throat when your eyes found baby blue ones staring back at you. 

Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, down her back, a soft smile tugging at her plump lips, one of the thin dress straps fell down her shoulder, and you didn’t know where to look all of a sudden. Her pretty face? Her freckled shoulder? Her legs? Shit, focus dumbass. “I spoke to your wife, well I assume she’s your wife, told me about a car that you needed fixing so uhm, here I am”

Really? Why are you nervous right now? She hasn’t even said anything.

“Or if you’re busy I can come back later—”

“You’re bleeding.” She cuts you off, eyebrows furrowed and it’s then when you realize she’s not even looking at you. More so looking down. Your hand was bleeding. How didn’t you notice or feel it?

“Sorry?”

“Did you cut yourself on the pot? Come in, I can fix it for you and you can tell me what Ellie told you.” You don’t miss the huff she lets out when she simply wraps her hand around your arm, and tugs you into her home. Hiding the blush on her face at the firmness of your muscles beneath her hand.

The coldness from outside was gone just as fast when you found yourself standing in the hallway, the warmth from the living room fire instantly stopped the small shake of your body as you watched her halt in her steps, turn around and quirk an eyebrow up at you. “Are you coming?” Her sweet voice spoke, soft and smooth like honey.

Fuck. Maybe.

“Yeah, yeah, m’coming” 

Your legs pick up, feet moving towards her while she slips into the kitchen, the fruit scented perfume filling your nose the more you walk, the more you follow her like a love sick puppy. Really, what the fuck are you doing? She’s married. “Is the cut deep?”

“It’ll be fine, seriously, you don’t need to fix me.” You chuckled under your breath. “It happens all the time, always breaking something and getting injured.” 

“So you're a clumsy person?” Her next question comes, looking at you with a soft smile. A smile you’ve never seen before. Especially not by someone so beautiful, so sweet. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m clumsy, sometimes I see things and I just get,” you paused, a smirk curving up on your lips when you find her looking at you, waiting for you to finish. “Distracted by pretty things.”

Her cheeks flush, something you don’t miss as she beckons you to sit on the stool beside the small island in the middle of her kitchen. “M’sure that’s it.” She giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“It is.”

“What did Ellie tell you?”

You turned your head and if it wasn’t for the fact you were sitting down already, your knees would have buckled beneath you and sent you flying to the floor when you found her bending down, reaching for what you could only assume was a first aid kit, and making soft grunts trying to reach it. “Jesus.” You mumbled, biting your fist.

“Did you say something?”

“Just that I like the flowers in your garden. S’pretty.”  You coughed, squirming around on the stool and trying to contain the thoughts swimming around in your head. Swallowing when she stands up and looks over at you. First aid kit in hand.

“Oh, thank you,” She smiled shyly, placing the small green box on the counter. “I love my garden, it helps me with stress. Minus getting my clothes dirty, I hate that part.”

I don’t. I’d love to see you in dirty clothes. 

“So you tend your garden?”

“If I left it to Ellie, they would all be dead.” The smile she gives you doesn’t meet her eyes. It wasn’t like the previous smiles she’s given you. It seems more emotionless. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Not used to talking to someone about hobbies I love doing,” Her fingers felt soft against your skin when she lifted your injured hand, your rough skin against her softer skin had shivers running down your spine.

“Your wife doesn’t talk about them?”

“Doesn’t really talk about much apart from work, but s’okay. I’m Abby by the way.” 

Once you introduced yourself, you shook her hand with your only good one and smiled at her. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Abby. If it helps, i would gladly love to hear about your other hobbies.”  

Abby’s breath hitched in her throat, was it because you wanted to know about her and all the things she loved, or was it because you were touching her? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t mind it. You were kind and gentle, something she hasn’t felt in a while. “I warn you, they can be boring.”

“Impossible. I will listen no matter what.” 

Abby was careful with your wounded hand, cleaning the cut with one of her antiseptic wipe gently, dabbing away the drying blood, as well as the fresh with a neatness you hadn’t see before. Just like her flowers, she took care of you like you were fragile, always mumbling what she was going to do next, warning you the antibiotic might sting a little. Stunned at how you didn’t even flinch, and then she was asking herself things. Were you used to getting injured? Had this happened before that you barely reacted to anything like this before? Abby had many questions, but then again, so did you. Of course.

“Have you guys been married long? Wait can I even ask that?” 

“You can, if you want a truthful answer,” Abby replied with a soft laugh that had your heart racing. “We’ve been married long enough to have a daughter, if that’s what you want to know. She takes care of her, in her own way, i guess.”

“We don’t have to talk about your wife, if you don’t want to. We can talk about more of your hobbies if you’d like. Or even talk about your daughter, i bet she looks just like you, hm?”

“Didn’t Ellie tell you about the car? I wouldn’t want to bore you with things about my life.”

“What about you is borin’, sweetheart?” God fucking damn it. 

The way you were looking at her made her feel seen. Of course, Ellie’s had looked at her before, but she’s never looked at her the way you are. Like you really wanted to know her, wanted to know her likes and dislikes. Looking at her like she was everything. You were looking at her like she was the only woman in the world, something her own wife doesn’t do. And she loved it. “I’m a mother who stays at home—”

“Who tends to her own garden, looks after and takes care of her daughter, fixes an injured person who was stupid enough to broke her really petty plant pot that i still need to clean up. Wouldn’t call you borin’, love, i would say that you just live life differently and none of that is borin’. I think it’s pretty beautiful, it seems like your wife is the borin’ person in this situation, but what do i know? Maybe the fact she makes you tend your own garden while you’re already takin’ care of your child. Not my business though, just an observation, if you will.” You shrugged, licking your lips and smirking at her. 

“She does care, in her own way.” Abby found herself defending her wife, a wife who barely see’s her. Why? Abby still loved her, or maybe she thought she did, she wasn’t so sure what she felt half the time. Ellie’s never there for the important parts. She misses the different yet small milestones her daughter makes and that makes Abby’s blood boil. If she can’t be there for her wife, she sure as hell can be there for her daughter.

“Never said she didn’t, Sweet. I’m just sayin’, if you were my wife, gave birth to our daughter, i would not let you lift a finger.” You found yourself admitting, eyeing her up a little more than you should be doing. Ellie, her wife, asked you to fix her fucking car, so why are you flirting with her wife? “I mean, those dirty clothes you mentioned, you’re telling me she doesn’t even wash them for you?”

“She has a job.”

“She also has a family.”

Wrapping the bandage around your hand, Abby pouted at your sudden wince and cleared her throat. “There, done.” The Blonde murmured, the tears welling up in the corner of her eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you, and before you could even do anything, Abby’s wiping them away and smiling again. “The car is in the garage—”

“M’sorry if i made you upset,” You sighed, reaching your hand up and wiping away the droplets that fell down her cheek. “That wasn’t my intention, you just, you’re doing everything, you know? S’not fair on you is all i’m sayin’.”

“I appreciate you worrying, but m’okay.”

“Well, I live across the street, so if you need someone to talk to, just come over” You smiled, the thud of your boots hit the floor as you push yourself to your feet and tugged at your jacket sleeves. “Right, your car.” 

Ignoring the fire in her stomach, Abby just nodded, moved toward where the keys were hanging up and grabbed the one for her car, completely oblivious to the way your eyes were raking her up and down, licking your lips and turning around just so you could keep yourself calm. “Okay, I think it’s this one— are you alright?” She giggled upon noticing you weren’t facing her anymore.

“Yeah, just hot in here, no?” You huffed softly under your breath. “Might be in for a heatwave this week.”

More like you’re in heat. 

“Well, if it gets too hot in there, i’ll bring you something to drink, if you want.”

Your eyebrow quirked up as you turned slightly, looking at her with that stupid fuckin smirk. Oh, what a pretty housewife she is, you thought. “Thanks, Sweetheart.” The petname rolled off your tongue so smoothly and in a way that had Abby’s stomach fluttering.

“Y—You’re welcome.” Well fuck.

Just as you grabbed the keys from Abby’s soft hands, the sound of loud crying rang through the baby monitor and had the blonde frowning but quickly smiling at you again. That smile was going to get you into trouble. You were fucked. “Shit, sorry, I need to go and feed her. If there’s anything you need for the car, it—”

“Don’t worry, Love. I got everything i need.”

This time, you didn’t miss the dark crimson blush Abby was sporting as she rushed out of the kitchen to attend to her daughter.

—

After the next few weeks, you’ve considered Abby to be a good friend. You didn’t mind listening to her problems, you very much enjoyed being there for her when no one else seemed to notice how much she struggled. Having a newborn and an absent wife was no easy feat, especially when you feel like you’re doing it alone. 

The amount of times you’d been able to be there for her were piling up, one after the other, bringing you closer to her. It’s the only reason you felt the need to wish her a good evening before you exit for the night. All the grease and oil on your body, the aching in your lower spine bending over the hood, you need rest — badly. 

Coming through the garage, her car started acting up and giving her trouble so she hastily called you, again — you couldn’t find her in the living perched on the couch, where she’d usually be with her daughter but you couldn’t find Abby there. You climb up the stairs, going into the nursery when you see her cradled in Abby’s strong arms, but she uses every ounce of a gentle hand when her daughter’s in her care. 

With her eyes shut, she couldn’t have been possibly aware of how exposed she should feel. The dress she’d been wearing pulled down to her waist, her upper torso exposed, but all you could focus on was her breasts. Full, breathtaking breasts, her baby girl suckling on the milk funneling into the infant’s mouth. You try to move, look away, save yourself but you can’t. As if your feet are nailed to the hardwood, you’re unable to move an inch, only in awe of the women in front of you. 

The beautiful blonde taking away every last breath you have. 

You’re thinking about how much you wish to touch them, feeling the soft skin in your palm, how sensitive they would be, thumb grazing her lactating nipple. Would she whimper, whine, or even let a moan fall from her lips? The squeeze in your thighs is involuntary, the rapid beat of your clit as you drool over the sight of her breasts. They are so full, begging to be sucked and teased. Before you can help it, you’re drifting to unspeakable thoughts, the image of your mouth sucking on her nipples, another white substance falling on your tongue. Allowing your taste buds to revel in it as you swallow every drop. 

There’s an even more unimaginable thought coming to mind, one you’re not sure you can allow yourself to indulge in, if you do, there might be no point of return. Then you’re reminded of the sparkling rock on her left finger, the one that glimmers in the moonlight. Even if her wife isn’t around, you shouldn’t abuse that? Right? 

Abby begins to stir, blue eyes opening slowly as blonde eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Silently she questions the limits of a taboo dream and finite reality, her eyes adjusting to the bright light seeping from the hallway. 

Then there’s a creak, as soft as it should sound, the silence makes it echo. Abby comes to full alert, but then she just sees you. Yet, you feel like a deer in the headlights, caught red handed gawking at your employer’s wife. Vulnerable and exposed, and you’re acting like a teenager who's seeing tits for the first time. Severely, you’re in awe at the kind smile she offers as she cradles Remi to her chest. The sweet youngling, finding safety in the comfort of her mother’s arms. Too strong for her own good, after the little bits you’ve picked up from her over the past few weeks, all you can do is look upon her with intense admiration.

Abby motions for you to move closer, but you’re still nailed to the ground, too anxious to move any closer when she’s so exposed. You’re not sure if you can keep eye contact with her when your sight craves to drift south. 

Jesus, get your shit together. Fucking freak. 

Slowly, you get closer to her but thankfully she saves you, asking for the baby pink bib placed on top of the dresser. There’s also a blanket, but Abby doesn’t ask for it, leaving you even more puzzled. Does she not care to be covered? Perhaps, she feels comfortable? You try not to tumble down the dangerous black hole, wiping it from your mind entirely. 

“You think I would have remembered to grab it but she’s sleeping and I don’t want to wake her.” Abby coos at her daughter, lightly smoothing over her blonde hairline, almost invisible to the eye. 

“Yeah—” You speak quietly, not wanting to wake Remi. “Here.” 

Abby offers small thanks, with a gentle hand she wipes the milk from her face, making sure she’s clean of it as she continues to rock her to a peaceful slumber. “I wanna apologize,” You croaked out after a few minutes of comfortable silence, not wanting to startle either of them, as your eyes found a small canvas on the wall.

“Apologize?” Abby repeated, looking up from her daughter, a tired smile on her face, to find you no longer looking at her, more like admiring the paintings in the room over everything else. “For?”

“Interrupting something that’s very special between a mother and their child. It’s getting late, so i was just coming to find you to tell you i should be heading home, but i couldn’t find you, so” You were still nervous, rightfully so, but Abby didn’t seem to mind. She thought it was cute.

“My wife,” Abby paused, softly chuckling on how to explain it without seeming like she was overreacting. “She doesn’t, well, she never really has an interest in me doing this? I guess she just doesn’t like it, which is fine, but it’s okay that you’re here. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable that you’re standing there, so you can stop acting like it’s making me uncomfortable, please” She laughed. A beautiful sound you always want to hear from her. 

“She doesn’t stay with you?” Your reply was short, almost a scoff. “That seems a little shi— stupid.” You catch yourself quickly with a nervou laugh as you remember her child was quite literally still in her arms, in the same area as you and asleep. “I think it’s beautiful, if that helps. She’s missing out on a lot, you know?”

Abby doesn’t know how to repsond for a while. Part of you thinks you’ve overstepped on your words, insulted her wife in a way you didn’t mean to. But she just smiles at you again, and shakes her head. Those blue eyes piercing into yours which has you holding your breath at how pretty she looks. “It helps. A lot, actually. Thank you”

“You’re uh, welcome.” You nervously laughed and rubbed the back of your head. You didn’t know why she made you so nervous, but you were also not complaining about it too much. If anything, you loved it. Maybe that was because you were a freak. A freak who was thinking about touching her tits not even an hour ago. “I should really get going though, is there anything else i can help you with before i go?” You smiled.

Are you flirting right now? Shut the fuck up, she’s married.

“No, it’s okay,” Abby whispers, not wanting to wake her daughter up, who was soundly asleep in her arms. “You’ve done enough to help me, with the car and everything. I could make you something to eat when you’re here again? An extra thank you for helping me” She suggested, her lips curving up into a smile which has you forgetting how to breathe for a few seconds. 

“I would like that, Mrs Anderson”

“You can call me Abby, you know?”

Her question, such an innocent one on her end, had you smirking deviously, like the freak you were and looking at her like she was your prey and you were ready to pounce on her at any given moment. “Mommy sounds better rolling off my tongue. Well … to me at least” You gave her a subtle wink before walking out of the room. 

[hollowed-theory-hall]

So, Wizarding Robes

I saw this post by @iamnmbr3 and @kittenjammer talking about wizarding fashion and I wanted to talk about this for a while, so I'm going to give my own two cents on it based on fashion history. I love history in general, but fashion history and historical architecture are two I’m incredibly passionate about. So, here we go (post with a lot of pictures ahead):

When I read the books and they mentioned unisex “robes” which function like dresses in a way (as you don’t have to be wearing trousers beneath them:

James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.

(OotP, 647)

And described as being very colorful and billowing, often accompanied by a pointed wizard hat, it was clear to me JKR was trying to invoke the image of the classic fantasy wizard robe:

Especially when it comes to Dumbledore.

The thing is, this style is based on a real historical period and historical styles of the medieval period in Europe.

Medieval Europian Robes

When I'm thinking about the "classic fantasy wizard look" the first historical period that comes to my mind is the 15th century and I'll illustrate why.

Spesificly, the 14th and 15th centuries houppelande. It was a long over garment that looked kinda like a dress with wide, flaring sleeves available for both men and women in various shapes, cuts, and even patterns. Here are examples of some houppelandes:

(As you can also see, early 15th-century fashion comes built-in with silly hats! Just like wizards)

In the 15th century you also have a wide array of cuts of cloaks (and even more silly hats!):

Along with surcoats, that contrary to their name, weren't just for knights to signify on their armor the house they serve:

These 15th-century garments are exactly like wizard fashion is described in the books: billowing robes, colorful and eye-catching, and accompanied by silly hats.

The thing is, all these garments are from the high medieval period and as wizards broke away from muggles only when the Statute of Secrecy was enacted, I'd expect their fashion to follow the muggle trend up to that point and then start diverging. Even the most pure-blooded wizarding families of the modern day, like the Malfoys, integrated with muggle circles up until the Statue of Secrecy, something that would've forced them to dress like the muggles at the time to blend in better.

As the Status of Secrecy was first enacted in 1692, it's time to talk about:

Late 17th Century Fashion

Now, while the high middle ages in Europe had everyone wearing essentially wizard robes and silly hats on the regular, the Statue of Secrecy was enacted much later. Fashion in the 17th century was drastically different from the earlier one mentioned above.

In the late 17th century, this is the kind of dress I'd expect from women in England:

And this is what I'd expect from men:

Which is very different from what is described but would've been the historical basis the wizards would work from.

So what do I think wizarding fashion is actually like?

Well, since the books are in the 1990s and wizards don't really live in a vacuum we know some later influences in fashion did make it in. So, I think wizarding fashion is an odd mix of 15th-century and late 17th-century fashions updated to the time period the wizard grew up in, hence distinct fashion changes between generations like we see in the muggle world.

We see these distinct generational fashion changes with characters like Agusta Longbottom who wears a Vulture hat. These sorts of hats with real birds on them were a thing historically. They were quite fashionable in the late Victorian era, which is when Agusta would've been a child if she's around Dumbledore's age:

Fudge is described as wearing a Bowler Hat, a kind of hat that started catching on in the late 19th century but was still a staple in menswear into the early 20th century, hence indicating Fudge's age.

Ron's yule ball dress robes are described as old-fashioned, again indicating fashions in the wizarding world change at a similar rate to the muggle one. Note that since the 17th century, fashion has been changing quite rapidly and by the 18th century fast fashion where you need to buy new garments each "season" has already started becoming a thing. With all that, I think wizard fashion indeed changes just as rapidly as the muggle one.

Now, that's great, and all, but, what would that odd mish-mash fashion even look like?

Well, I made a few very quick sketches as concept examples for what casual wizarding fashion in the UK might look like if we're working off historical references:

(not my best pieces, it's just to get the concept across)

Note that Wizengamot robes and other formal professional wear would probably be older in style and closer to 17th-century fashions.

[minminbunny]

Stalker X Stalker AU - Posessive Coworker! Yang Jeongin/Naive Gender Neutral! Reader

*smut part - AFAB/AMAB

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

"Innie!" you giggled, wrapping your arms around him. Jeongin gave you a nonchalant pat on the back, even though his heart was racing within his chest. You beamed, "Guess what? I made candy over the weekend, would you like some?" you asked, biting your bottom lip. Jeongin nodded, "Sure," he said, internally waiting until you got to him when he saw you give out candy bags to the others. 

"Yay, here!" you said, giving him a full bag than the tiny packets you were giving out. Jeongin didn't realise the difference when he took it, the packaging was the same, sure it was a bit full but the others must have gotten the same. You gave him a big squeeze, "I'll head back to work. See you later," you beamed, skipping away from him with a contagious smile. 

Jeongin sighed, holding his chest, "Fuck, what am I going to do with them," he grumbled, hiding his face within his cubicle. You swayed your feet, drawing pretty hearts around his picture. You looked to your cubicle neighbor, "Hey, do you think Innie will ever like me?" you asked, hoping for support. "Well, he's the type to hate everyone. You might need to try a different approach," they said, ruffling your hair. 

You sulked, nodding your head, "You're right I'll think of something," you said, drawing out a little plan. Jeongin felt his eyes twitch when the coworker ruffled your hair, the pen broke in his hand as he tried not to lash out. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, 'One day, I'll secure a damn collar around your neck' he thought, imagining his name etched on your pendent before he walked away. 

You gulped, standing in front of a old tarot shop, "Hello?" you asked, walking in. An old lady sat with her crystal ball, "Hello, deary. I heard you're looking for a love potion," she said, rubbing the crystal ball. You gasped, "How did you know?" you asked, naive enough to believe in such fabbles. 

The old lady chuckled, "I see and know all, darling. Now, this is the potion you seek. You must be the first one he sees after drinking it. Don't use more than half, or else he might turn into a feral beast," she warned, knowing the viagra content in the vial is quite high. You nodded your head, "No more than half, understood," you said, waiting for the price. 

The old lady smirked, "A vial like this is priceless, I'll charge you a discounted price," she said, giving you the number. You sulked when it was half your paycheck but for Jeongin you'd do anything, "Thank you," you said, leaving the shop. Jeongin stood behind the old lady, "Quite the scam you've built here," he said, twirling his knife. The old lady froze, "Wouldn't you like you future read, young man?" she asked, trying to avoid her fate.

Jeongin pursed his lips, "No, I can't let people like you take advantage of my little doll," he said, holding the knife across the old lady's throat. "Wait, wouldn't you like to know what they purchased?" she asked, hoping that would stall him. Jeongin tilted his head, "I could care less. They can buy whatever they want. I'm a gentleman to their purchase privacy," he said, slitting the old lady's throat before she could defend herself. 

Jeongin took your money and reported the crime anonymously to the police, he burned his clothes and vacuumed the floor. He then burned the contents of the vacuum and fled the scene. Jeongin sighed and slid your paycheck into your mailbox, "Seriously, a leash is needed," he grumbled, glaring at your room window.

You wore your prettiest outfit, and held your basket of cookies. After making all the normal cookies, you began to bake Jeongin's batch, you did as told pouring half when you suddenly flinched at a loud crackle of thunder. "Shit," you whispered, seeing the empty vial in your hand. You looked outside and saw no rain, "Stupid thunder," you whined, staring at the pink glittery liquid in the middle of your dry ingredients. 

You sighed before smirking, "I wouldn't mind seeing Innie as a feral beast. Maybe he'd turn into a werewolf and a have a big girthy cock," you giggled, stirring the ingredients together. You bit your bottom lip, hiding the special stash within your pocket while you looked for him. Jeongin sat by his cubicle, hoping that the money he placed in your mailbox didn't get stolen. 

You beamed when you saw him, "Innie, Innie. I made cookies, want some?" you asked, handing him his special batch. Jeongin gave you a subtle smile, and opened the bag, "Thank you," he said, taking a bite. The cookies were soft with a crunchy edge. Jeongin tasted a hint of chemicals but brushed it aside, thinking it's probably the glitter you used, "It's really good," he praised, biting into another cookie. 

You smiled, your eyes turned into crescents from smiling so hard, "Thank you, Innie," you said, waiting for the potion to kick in. You gulped, needing to be the first one that Jeongin sees. Jeongin furrowed his eyebrows, feeling his control slipping, "What?" he whispered, looking into your eyes for answers. "Is the love potion working?" you asked, seeing Jeongin hold his chest. 

Jeongin panted, feeling his cock throb under his slack, "Love potion?" he asked, groaning from the sheer sensitivity his body was in. You gulped, looking at him with a guilt and scared expression. Jeongin clenched his jaw, "Don't look at me like that; like you're afraid of me," he growled, gripping your wrist. You sniffled, tears ruining your mascara, "Are you mad?" you asked, hiccuping under his feral gaze. 

Jeongin buried his face into your tummy, "Everyone else left for lunch right?" he asked, his voice deep and husky. You nodded your head, guilt filling you up, "Today's the one hour break," you sniffled,  lips wobbling at the thought of upsetting Jeongin. "Good, good. One hour should be enough," he groaned, lifting you up.

NSFW BELOW CUT

AFAB

"Too fast!" You sobbed, clawing the desk for any form of leverage. Jeongin groaned, pounding your little cunt with a brutal pace. His hands bruising your precious skin as he fucked you in the meeting room. Your body laid pliant, taking as much as his rough thrusts as possible. He already came twice and he was still hot and throbbing within your cunt. "Hah, hah, hhgh," you hiccuped, covering your mouth to muffle your moans. 

Jeongin clenched his jaw and held your throat, "Let me hear you cry, darling. I wanted to take it slow with you but just had to be So. Fucking. Naive," he growled, thrusting harder with every word he grits. You sobbed under his thrusts, you cunt spasming from the constant pleasure buzzing through your body. Jeongin pushed his hair back and rolled his hips, "Look at you, doll. So messy, so dirty with cum," he chuckled, eyeing your makeup stained face and semen stained outfit. 

You sniffled, clenching around his cock, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whimpered, wiping your tears. Jeongin kissed your palm, "You just couldn't help yourself, doll. You're so easy to influence," he grunted, thrusting his hips. You stared at him through your tears brimmed eyes, "Just wanted Innie to love me," you sobbed, heart squeezing at the confession. 

Jeongin held you close, his hips keeping their relentless pace, "Darling, I loved you from the beginning. Never once have I not love you," he rasped, nipping your ear. You sniffled, "Really?" you asked, pushing back with his thrusts. Jeongin chuckled, nosing your cheek, "Really, really," he said, kissing you softly. Your mind melted, his kisses contradicting his desperate thrusts. 

You arched your back, chest pressing against his as you creamed around his shaft. Jeongin hissed at the searing warmth coating his cock and came deep within your body. You gave him a few soft pecks, "Hehe," you giggled, nuzzling his shoulder. Jeongin raised an eyebrow, "What are you giggling for?" he asked, kissing your forehead. You hugged him close, "I'm just happy you're mine," you whispered, catching your breath. Jeongin chuckled, "Me too, doll. Now let's clean up as fast as we can before they come back from break, hm?" he said, kissing your nose.

AMAB

"Too fast!" You sobbed, clawing the desk for any form of leverage. Jeongin groaned, pounding your little rim with a brutal pace. His hands bruising your precious skin as he fucked you in the meeting room. Your body laid pliant, taking as much as his rough thrusts as possible. He already came twice and he was still hot and throbbing within your hole. "Hah, hah, hhgh," you hiccuped, covering your mouth to muffle your moans. 

Jeongin clenched his jaw and held your throat, "Let me hear you cry, darling. I wanted to take it slow with you but just had to be So. Fucking. Naive," he growled, thrusting harder with every word he grits. You sobbed under his thrusts, you hole spasming from the constant pleasure buzzing through your body. Jeongin pushed his hair back and rolled his hips, "Look at you, doll. So messy, so dirty with cum," he chuckled, eyeing your makeup stained face and semen stained outfit. 

You sniffled, clenching around his cock, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whimpered, wiping your tears. Jeongin kissed your palm, "You just couldn't help yourself, doll. You're so easy to influence," he grunted, thrusting his hips. You stared at him through your tears brimmed eyes, "Just wanted Innie to love me," you sobbed, heart squeezing at the confession. 

Jeongin held you close, his hips keeping their relentless pace, "Darling, I loved you from the beginning. Never once have I not love you," he rasped, nipping your ear. You sniffled, "Really?" you asked, pushing back with his thrusts. Jeongin chuckled, nosing your cheek, "Really, really," he said, kissing you softly. Your mind melted, his kisses contradicting his desperate thrusts. 

You arched your back, chest pressing against his as you creamed between your torsos’. Jeongin hissed at the searing grip engulfing his cock and came deep within your body. You gave him a few soft pecks, "Hehe," you giggled, nuzzling his shoulder. Jeongin raised an eyebrow, "What are you giggling for?" he asked, kissing your forehead. You hugged him close, "I'm just happy you're mine," you whispered, catching your breath. Jeongin chuckled, "Me too, doll. Now let's clean up as fast as we can before they come back from break, hm?" he said, kissing your nose.

[wishing-on-a-staranise]

Kiss it away, honey.

(s.h. x reader)

from the river to the sea. (get in your daily clicks, read about it, donate if you can.)

summary: you have a perfect and loving boyfriend, and everything should be great but something is just not right.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: use of y/n, no pronouns used (gn!reader), use of pet names (honey, etc), codependency, dark themes, a new flavor of jealousy, horror (spookies and scawies), gore, murder

a/n: yall remember when i was yapping about clones and all that? yeah. I went a lil feral while writing this lmao✌️🤪

another banger by @procrastinationprincesses and I on tumblr dot com. Thank her for listening to me babble on and just helping me sift through the different routes this could go and also being what is basically my proofreader

i might write a part two of this. do not ask me when.

masterlist

You haven’t changed out of your work clothes yet, staring at the phone on the wall. 

It was silent now but it had rung, blaring, louder than you'd ever heard it before. Five times it had rung.

5 calls– 5 missed calls. Unknown number. No voicemail.

You hadn't picked up. You had just stared, you weren’t sure why– the ringing scared you. you weren't sure why but every fiber in your being had coloured you stuck– immovable even if you wanted to do otherwise.

Now it had stopped, empty as vacuum, dead quiet left in the wake of those shrill rings.

And just when you were about to let out a sigh of relief, just when you thought you could finally get to changing out of your work clothes, it started ringing again, your temples hurt from its shrill notes. 

Your nostrils flared, you will not cower, no, you huff of frustration before stomping towards the phone. Its red plastic is just as bright as it had been when you had first gotten it with Steve.

It's probably just a prank call. It's a prank call. A stupid kid doing a stupid prank call. Why the hell is your heartbeat so loud? 

You pick up the receiver, gripping it tight, ready to give the prank caller a piece of your mind.

Hello? Hey you stupid shithole, find something better to do with your stupid, pathetic life, why dont ya’? Good fucking night.

“He– hello?”, your voice comes out nowhere near as fierce as you had wanted it to be.

The line is silent for a second or two. But then you hear a gasp and then some rustling, crackle. You strain your ears, the sounds seemingly impossible to decipher, “hello, who– who is this?”

You think you hear muffled crying, after a few seconds they finally speak up, “y/n”, their voice is of a woman's. “y/n–” is all they choke out before breaking out into a sob. She says your name as if she hasn't said it in a long while, as if she can't believe she’s saying it. And you don’t know why but you feel your eyes sting. You press the receiver closer to your ears, the plastic creaks under your grip. you think you recognise her. The realisation hits you that you do. She sounds familiar.

“y/n, my baby where–” you hear a click, followed by beep beep beep beep, indicating that the call has been disconnected. This time you blink, a tear finally trickles down your cheek. You stare at the receiver, the beeping barely audible. You take in a deep breath, and dial the number again, waiting for the ring or the woman’s voice.

The ring never comes, her voice never comes. Invalid number.

You stare at it. If you were to look any harder, you think the plastic would melt. Too many thoughts were running through your head. And why the hell are you crying?

You hear the jingle of keys followed by the sound of the door opening. You tear your burning gaze away from the phone to the clock. 7:08 p.m. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah!” he answers back immediately, you hear the door shut, the keys in his hand jingle again followed by the clink of them landing in the ceramic ashtray-turned-bowl next to the door where you keep your keys. 

Any other day you would have walked to him, and even if he’d be in the middle of taking his shoes off he’d stop, give you a loving smile, hold his arms up, ready to engulf you into a hug. Any other day, you would have wrapped your arms around his torso, kissed his shoulder before burying your nose into his neck. 

He is the only one who could ever fix you, everyday you come from work, bags under your eyes, tired to your bones and everyday he comes and puts you all back together as if it was the easiest thing to do, as if he was made for it. And you want to go to him so bad. Any other day, you would have. But today doesn't seem like any other day. 

“Hey honey”, he finally comes around the corner and he gives you that smile you love being on the receiving end of, all lazy and adorning, “haven't changed out yet?” 

You look back down at yourself, and you see that you had still been stuck, body still facing the wall where the phone hung. you indeed haven't changed out yet. You barely shake your head before his brows scrunch up, “You okay? Your eyes look all red”

You blink before shaking your head, “Uh, yeah, yeah. I’ll go ch–”

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

What you were saying is left abandoned, your head snaps towards where the phone is. 

“I’ll get it. You go change,” Steve tells you, not noticing your immediate panic. As he ambles to the phone, you slowly shuffle away– moving towards the bathroom, making sure to listen in on the conversation. “Hello?” you hear him speak into the receiver, he pauses for a second and so do you in your tracks, “..oh hey, Henderson'', you breathe out in relief at hearing the familiar name, “Yeah, yep, doing good. How’s the new place treatin’ ya?”

The audibility of his words lessens as you continue on your way to the bathroom. In the small, tiled room, your own breathing echoes, it engulfs you. you immediately regret not just changing in your room because you can't hear Steve’s voice anymore. But you have already locked the door. You weren’t sure why you did– maybe it was your uneasiness and apprehension but normally you never lock the door because your ever clingy Steve loves joining you in, majority of the time there is nothing sexual about it. Most of the time he just stands there by the door, that same adorning smile on his lips.

When you step out of your jeans, it rings in your brain, again and again. The piercing ringing of the phone, the woman’s voice. You know that voice. You know that voice. You know that woman, you are certain. It is like its on the tip of your tongue, like it is obscured behind a frosted glass, like an itch you can’t scratch. 

A knock on the bathroom door breaks you out of your thoughts, “uh honey?” the voice comes muffled through the wood, “Are you done? Need to take a piss.”

“Yeah, just–” you quickly hop into your shorts, balling up your dirty clothes and tossy them into the laundry basket before unlocking the door. 

And he is there, that smile blooms across his face, “there you are”, and then his lips are on yours, his wide palm comes to hold your face, thumb rubbing softly at your cheeks— he’s a tactile being, your boyfriend, loves holding your face, loves holding you, touching you anywhere. 

When his fingers burrow into your hair behind your ear, you somehow manage to breathe out between the deepening kisses, “Thought you had to take a piss”

“Don't bring up pissing when I’m kissing you”

“Oh, but its okay when you wanna hold my hand while pooping?” He once told you he’d hold your hand while pooping if you’d let him– he had been absolutely drunk, maybe high off weed– inebriated, really and didn't remember saying it the next day. you love to tease him about it. he groans at the mention.

“I was high”, he whines, embarrassed,  “I told you I didn't mean it.”

“Drunk words… sober thoughts, honey.”

“You said it was endearing”

“It is endearing but still a weird thing to say”, you laugh all toothy and cute.

“Whatever, I gotta piss”, he mumbles trying his best to hide his smile before moving you by your shoulders to swap places with you so it’s him who is in the bathroom. He shuts the door, the sound of the lock clicking never reaches your ears.

You’re left alone with your thoughts again, and your smile fades away– you’re anxious, you know that much. You’re not so sure of what exactly. You plop down on the edge of the bed, leg bouncing restlessly, finger tracing over the pattern of the sheets. The pillows and comforter are set up perfectly for the night– every morning Steve sets the bed while you shower knowing you always get frustrated with the task. 

Your back sinks into the mattress, you breathe out, deep and slow, eyes closing on their own accord. You almost fall asleep for a second, but the bathroom door clicks open. A few seconds later, the bed dips beside you, the fabric rustles, “tired?” the question is followed by a groan. When you peak a look, you find him stretching out his arms beside you.

“Absolutely”, you answer.

“Yeah, me too,” he sighs out.

“We still have to make food.”

He lets a frustrated groan tumble from his lips, “can't we just have mac and cheese today?”

…

The night goes by in a breeze, not a lot of talking. 

The love is still there though, in the way that Steve holds the corner of the open cabinet door to make sure your head doesn't hit it, in the way he lets you sit on the countertop while waiting for the water to boil over, in the way you stare at him when you think he isn't looking, in the way you pull his hand over your lap and massage the tight muscles of his palm while he stirs the pot with his other hand. 

You put on his favourite show when he plates the food, he makes sure to put some chives on your plate to make it look a little more pretty for you. You watch the show in silence, eating under the flickering light of the tv. You let it play in the background while you wash the dishes, it is Steve who watches you this time, his head resting against the cabinets behind him. and he thinks he could watch you all day. Something about doing the most mundane things with you makes him feel all warm and lovely. He is sure that past anything grand and dramatic, its the everyday things that show love. He hopes in every world, he gets to hold you and love you. He thinks he'll give it all up just to be with you, just to watch you wash dishes, just to have you sit beside him while he cooks.

When the dishes are done, he makes sure the doors are locked, you turn off the lights and the TV. Before you know it you’re in bed, and before you know it, you’re already falling asleep. 

…

At first you weren’t sure why you were awake. Then you hear shuffling behind you, and you barely even roll over when there is a warm hand on your hip, “honey,” he whispers– voice all scratchy and low that makes you melt, you hum for a response, “I’m sorry honey, wake up please”, his tone is slightly rushed, you’re a bit more awake at that. 

Barely did you sit up when he engulfs you in a tight hug. You hold him back without a thought or hesitation. Your hand rubs his back, his arms tighten around you, nose nudging into your neck, his skin warm. your fingers find their place in his messy head of hair like they always do, you card through the strands. He pulls you closer, and then you're in his lap. He holds you like a boy holds his favourite toy– like he doesn't plan on letting go.

“Want some water?” After some time you ask softly. You feel him nod into the junction of your neck.

He loosens his hold on you enough for you to climb out of his lap. Not saying a word, he follows you to the kitchen, and he stays close when you pour him a glass. He is mid-gulp when you ask, “nightmare?”

He nods once, the rogue strands on his forehead bouncing with the movement, and downs the water before saying a soft ‘yeah’.You take the glass from his hands and place it in the sink, and lead him back to bed. 

You brush aside his disheveled hair. You tuck yourself into his side, an arm around him, “wanna talk about it?” you ask softly, fringernails scratching his faint stubble.

In the dim of the room, you see his adam's apple bob. Apparently, he does want to talk about it, because he nods– the movement barely noticeable but there. You put your head back on his chest and you wait patiently, trying your best not to fall back to slumber.

It takes him a while before he starts, “You were…”  his hand moves to hold yours, “you were sick–in the hospital, these wires and tubes attached to you. Y-You had been there for months. You were sick and you wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even look at me. And– and…. Then the– the damn heart monitor–”

“Honey–” 

His words are frantic and uneven, “I didnt– I didnt know what to do after. I didn’t–”

“Steve—” you hold his face to make him look at you, “I'm here.”

He licks his lips, then swallows, nodding. he pushes his face forward so your foreheads are touching. “I know", his nose is hot against yours, "it was still awful.”

You both lay that way for a while. Your thumb brushing against his red cheek, he sniffles a couple times. you hate seeing him this way, with his lashes clumped together, his beautiful eyes all red. The moisture glistening under his eyes doesn't let you fawn over his freckles like you'd normally wish to.

When his skin is a little less warm, and his heartbeat calmer beneath your fingertips, you kiss him. Your hand snakes up to hold his face. Fingers, softly rubbing over the spot behind his ear that makes him melt. You kiss him all slow and purposefully, so he knows that he has all the time in the world.

When you pull away, he murmurs, “Can we go back to sleep?” he pulls you closer, face burying into your neck, warm puffs of breath against your collarbones.

You land a quick kiss on his eyebrow before resting your chin above his head, “‘course”

...

You wake up to the alarm clock on Steve’s side of the bed. He turns off the thing before rolling around in your arms onto his back and then turning his head to face you. “Hi”, he smiles that way again and you do the same, sleepy as ever.

“Hi”, you say still half asleep– you ended up not getting a lot of sleep last night. Thankfully you had the day off today, so you plan on being unproductive and sleeping it away.

He stretches, a yawn escaping him, “Jesus, I so don't wanna go to work today”, your boyfriend laments.

You hum, “then don't go” you propose, eyes still closed, “We can both have a day off”

He turns his body so it faces you, leaning on his elbow. His hand moves to your waist before massaging the love handle there “hmm, tempting. I can't though”

“No fun”, you mumble groggily.

“Hey, don't fall asleep on me”, he brushes the hair that falls on your face with the back of his hand.

"But ‘m sleepy", you mumble into the pillow.

"Aw, don't worry, I will kiss it away, honey." He leans down, a smirk painted across his features. His soft lips land on your cheeks first, then one on your nose, they follow a trail that leads to your lips.

You hide your face in the pillow before your lips could meet though, “No, No kissing!” you giggle, holding up your palm to his face, effectively blocking his attacks, “no kissing before brushing your teeth!"

“You're no fun”, he rolls out of the twist of sheets. He stretches his arms, the muscles rippling beneath the skin– he's trying to entice you, seduce you. and if you weren't so damn sleepy, you would have climbed him up like a koala. He gets up to go to the bathroom. When he notices that you haven't moved, he pulls you by your ankle. You let out a surprised shriek that transforms into giggles when you feel his fingers creeping up your torso– tickling you. ”Here comes the tickle monster!” 

A fit of giggles erupts from your throat, "What are you–", your question gets interrupted by your own laughs.

"The tickle monster will not relent unless you wake up!"

“No! Okay, okay, I'm awake! Steve! I am awake!”

The two of you share the cramped space of the bathroom. It is small, but its the best you could afford. So when you brush your teeth together, you try to relish it when your elbows bump. And when you're done, he kisses you as if he waited ages. 

By now, you're a bit more awake so you decide to get his breakfast ready while he takes a shower. It's simple enough, waffles with banana and some coffee. When he comes back out, he kisses you again when he sees you at the stove, this time on the crown of your head.

When he is getting his keys to leave, he gives you another peck, “drive safe", you murmur against his lips..

“I will. You get some sleep, yeah?” you hum and nod in response. You both bid your goodbyes before he turns to leave.

You decide to eat the leftover waffles and clean up a little before returning to your bed. You make yourself a plate with the bananas neatly cut and placed beside the waffles. You drizzle maple syrup, and then start eating the sickly sweet breakfast, skipping the coffee. While you're pouring yourself a second helping of the maple syrup, the expiration date on the bottle catches your eye. expired more than a year ago. ew. 

Your face scrunches in disgust before immediately throwing it in the trash. And you wonder how the hell either of you hadn't gotten food poisoning yet. then it hits you, from what you remember you bought that bottle only a couple months ago. Did you buy an already expired one?

You open the fridge, the condiments and bottles staring at you. One by one, you check each and every one; ketchup, expired. Hot sauce, expired. Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, milk– expired, expired, expired. 

What the fuck?

You throw it all out and make a point to call Steve later to buy everything as he often calls to ask if you had to get something from the store. And that makes you wonder, when was the last time you actually told him he needed to get something?

You try not to think too much about it. Honestly, you don't know what to make of it, so you decide to go back to sleep.

…

You hear your name. Its faint. It echoes. Like a whisper in a church.

“y/n”, you know that voice. “I– I know you’re there, y/n”, the woman says, all shaky but sure. “y/n”, she repeats. Its that voice… again. 

Who are you?

“Its me, y/n! Its me!” she exclaims as if that would make you remember.

I don't ... understand.

“Baby, just tell me where you are– I'll find you.”

I’m home.

“Home? No– no baby, you’re not. You haven't been home—” her voice gets cut off. It becomes too loud. You feel as if the veins in your temple are going to explode. Its too loud to even tell what it is you’re hearing. Its a static like a radio or a TV, or maybe its wind, maybe its cars, maybe its screams. You think you hear sirens– you wonder if they’re the police or an ambulance. You hear your own breathing, your own heartbeat. Its deafening. And beneath it all, you hear….. Ringing.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring. 

Your eyes fling open and you see your ceiling, you smell the faded mixture of your perfume and Steve's cologne. You’re in your bed. You still hear the ringing. The phone.

You are up in a second. Rushing towards the origin of the sound. When you’re there, you dont wait a second, the plastic is already to your ear.

“Hell– hello?” it comes out all out of breath and broken.

“Honey, you’re– you okay?” its not the voice of that woman.

“...Steve?”

“Who else?”, he chuckles, “you okay?”

“Uh– yeah,”you clear your throat, “I was um– sleeping. I think I just had a dream..” your hand creeps up to the back of your neck, scratching there to try to alleviate a little bit of the ache.

“Oh, well okay sleepy. I just wanted to check if you need me to buy anything? Like, groceries or whatever on my way back.” you give him the entire list of everything you wanted him to get. You would've talked more if Steve hadn't been interrupted by a customer. Nevertheless, you said your 'I love you's and the call ended.

Your heart is still loud in your ears but the ache has dulled down for the most part.

that voice. that woman. 

Its me. 

I’ll find you. 

You haven't been home.

"Home..", you say out loud to yourself. Home.

...

Hours have passed. you think you’re losing your mind because you have turned the apartment upside down. you're surrounded by boxes, most of them filled with normal things, your tattered rollerskates, shoes, old clothes. Most of it was normal, except one.

One unlabeled box you found in the corner of your closet. You haven't touched that box in ages, not since your fallout with your family, lying out of sight and out of mind. It didn't have a lot, all packed in a hurry. things you'd had in your room. picture frames, some books, clothes, papers.

You pick up a frame. The picture was from when you were a twelve-year-old. Wearing what were your favourite clothes back then, your hair in a manner that made you feel a little sorry. You're so different now, yet somehow its still you. There's your older sister, her braces glimmering under the flash of the old camera– her smile wide. Your dad, who doesn't ever know how to pose in pictures. Your mom, she holds you and your sister by your shoulders, a soft smile on her lips, her makeup done perfectly. Another picture from your high school. Another of you with your sister and cousins. 

You pull out the books, the pages are slightly yellowed and they have an earthy smell to them that you love. Pages you don't remember reading, dog-eared and written in.

Then there's the papers– some doodles, some notes, a few maps, some scraps and then.... a file. the file that has your name written on it. And when you open it; medical papers. medical bills. They are a little more than a year old. This wasn't a small stay apparently. From what you can tell from the dates on the bills, it lasted months. You don't remember going to the hospital.

Okay, what the actual fuck?

You find yourself reading through all the details of the paper on the floor of your closet.

months. you had been there for months. Steve's dream.

The entire time, you read and re-read the papers. Why don't you remember any of this? Why does Steve not remember any of this? Maybe he does, he had that dream after all, right? Why are there no discharge papers?

Hours pass. It's maddening, how slow the time passes. Its absolutely maddening. What the fuck does it mean that you haven't been home? You are home. and who the fuck was that woman?

You look through the box again, its contents scattered around you by now. The photos. Your family. Your parents. You miss them. You haven't seen them in so long...

Some broken memories have come to you. You had left– run away. You don't remember why. Then you met Steve when you were stopping by in Hawkins for a few months. You fell in love so quickly. Then one day, you asked if he wanted to run away with you. He said yes and you both left Hawkins and came here.

You don't remember much after that.

Wait, where is hawkins? and why did you go there?

...

It is 7 p.m. and you are pretty sure you have lost your mind. Why isn't Steve home yet? You need Steve. He's the only one who could ever fix you. And now, you need him to fix you again. You need him to fix this, to make some sense of this.

You are sitting by the door, eyes fixated on the hands of the clock.

7:01, nothing. Your arms fidget.

7:02, nothing. Your leg bounces.

7:03, 7:04, 7:05, 7:06, 7:07; nothing, nothing, nothing.

Then, 7:08 p.m., rattle of keys and the sound of the door being closed. Steve. Steve is home. Steve.

You're up on your feet instantly, Steve comes in holding a bag of groceries in one hand and his keys in the other, “I was so worried about you!” you say all hysterical.

“Worried, why?" he says, almost chuckling, but his brows furrow before he looks down at his wristwatch, shaking his head,"I don't think I’m late.” He leans in to land a kiss on your lips, but before he could do so, you turn your head away, “whats– whats wrong?”

“Can I ask you something?” you wrap your arms around your torso to somehow collect your thoughts a little better. 

"Sure", he assures before moving to put the grocery bag on the beige kitchen counter. 

You follow behind him with hurried steps, "When did we buy groceries before this?"

He starts taking out the groceries, "um.. I don't–” he pauses, looking up as if trying to remember himself, “last month probably?" Confusion paints his face, "why?"

"All the stuff in our fridge had gone bad ages ago."

"What?"

“Have you talked to your friends recently? Where are they?” All your attempts to collect your thoughts are all for nought as questions come tumbling out of your lips and you don't even wait for Steve to give a response.

“Honey, why are you–”

“Okay, okay– what about that nightmare you had?”

“Nightmare?” he echoes, brows scrunching together as if he had no idea what you were talking about, “what nightmare?” he asks like he hadn't cried in your arms the previous night.

“Last night! You had a nightmare that I was in a hospital and– and then I was looking through our closet and I find these medical bills–

“Woah, honey. I didn’t have a nightmare. I think I'd remember something like that.. And– what bills?”

Your feet are moving before he even finishes his sentence, you grab the bundle of papers, you show him everything. And he just... stares at them. After some time, all that comes out of his mouth is a “what the fuck...” under his breath.

“I don't understand Steve, I don't remember, you don't remember. And there was this call yesterday–”

“Call? what– from who?”

“From– “ you pause, trying to remember, “ I– I dont…” from who? And then you feel everything you had recalled leaving you. Who called you? What was Steve's nightmare? 

“I don't remember!" you exclaim, frustrated, "why do– I'm so– I'm scared Steve. I’m–”

“Hey, it's okay. you have me honey, you have me”, he holds you by your shoulders, to provide you some semblance of comfort, "we'll figure something out.”

“Steve….”, you mumble, tears starting to collect on your lash line, “something's not right Steve…”

“Its okay..”

“No, no– I dont– I keep forgetting stuff. Why don't I remember anything?”

“Hey, honey—”

“And whatever I do remember; none of it makes sense– nothing makes sense!"

“Its okay–”

“Do not tell me to breathe–”, “breathe for me–” you warn him the exact same time he says it.

You have lost it. You have lost your mind. Eyes wide, you ask, “Why do I already know what you’re going to say? How is that– “

“Hey, hey look at me”, he holds your face in his warm palms, “Breathe for me”, he instructs, “please honey.”

“Steve”, you pull his hands away from your face not because you don't want him to hold you. You do, you want him to hold you forever, but dammit, you feel like you’re going crazy, “where did we meet?”

“Honey–”

“Where did we meet?”

“Family video! We met in Family Video! You just came in one day and asked if I could help you pick out a movie to lift your mood up”

“Where is family video? Like, what town? Wh– what state?”

“..Hawkins, Indiana”

“Steve.. There's no town named Hawkins in Indiana”

“Of course ther–”

“No– no. You can look in a map steve. There was a map in one of those boxes. No town named Hawkins. And then– those papers...” you gesture towards the papers in his hand. You stand there, impatiently so, as he scans over the papers once again. For a split second, you think you see a tinge of recognition in his eyes.

“What does it mean, Steve? Then your dream last night–”, he hands you the papers before turning towards the door.

“Steve, hey, steve!” He heads towards the apartment door. “Steve, come back here!” he doesn't stop, doesn't even spare a glance, his movement robotic. Your voice gets louder, more authoritative, angry “Steve! Come back here right the hell now.”

He doesn't stop, not for his keys, not to tie his shoes. Not for you. Tears cloud your vision and your words come out all desperate and weak, “Steve please! Please don't leave me..”

The door slams shut. Its loud, the silence after it. 

“No..” you whimper to yourself. Tears, finally streaming down your face.

He'll come back, you know he'll come back, sooner or later. He’ll come back to you. Steve wouldn't leave you. He couldn't.

You wait by the door. hours pass. You fall asleep waiting for him.

…

You wake up to the smell of something sweet in the air. When you open your eyes, you’re on the couch. But you don't have time to think about whether your neck will hurt for the rest of the day because Steve is there, standing over the stove– his back facing you. 

“Steve?” your voice comes out croaky.

“Y’wake baby?” he turns to take a glance at you. The furrow between his brows you saw the previous night gone. He smiles softly when you nod dumbly at the rhetorical question, “Well brush your teeth I’m making pancakes”

“Steve..” 

He notices that you don’t move, your gaze fixed on him. “Hey, what's wrong?” he leaves the batter he was working on on the counter before walking towards you, “You okay?”

“I’m sorry”

He kneels down infront of you, holding your hands in his– he smells like vanilla from up this close, “Sorry, for what?”

“Yesterday… I didn't mean to upset you. I just– I was–”

“What would I be upset for?”

“Last night.. I–”

“baby, I’m not upset”

“But you just left and..” you sniffle, “when did you come back?”

“I didn't leave. I was here the entire time”, he shook his head, confused.

“But– I… “

“I think you had a dream honey. Freshen up, kay? I’ll bring breakfast. I think we should rot in bed the entire day today. Get some sleep. How’s that sound, honey?”

You nod, he smiles as he pulls you in for a quick kiss, “Good thing we both have the day off– thank jesus for sundays”

…

7:08 p.m. that is what Steve's wristwatch reads and he is standing at your apartment door. Steve isn't sure why he is back. He isn't sure why he left. Maybe he needed some time. And spending nearly an entire day alone... he remembers things. things he wishes he could forget again.

Although Steve is unsure about a lot of things. one thing is for certain. He loves you. He loves you like he was made for it... and he was.

He was made for loving you and not loving you is not living. He's been there before, not having you to love, he remembers the torture of it. You still don't recall it yet and he doesn't want you to, but he does. He remembers it all. All the hurt, the loneliness, the grief, the silence.

The grief that was too much to bear. Silence was unbearable when it wasn't mixed with your heartbeat.

When he turns the door handle– the door isn't locked. He steps in slowly.

He can hear the TV playing, you're on the couch. there's someone else with you. Its him.

Steve watches as he sits between your thighs on the couch– his place, your fingers playing with his hair. He readjusts his head as if can’t quite find a comfortable spot, “You okay?” you ask as gently as you always do.

“Uh, yeah its just–” he sounds just like him, “I just have this nick in my neck”, he says rubbing the back of his neck.

“Here, let me…” you mumble sweetly as your expert fingers move to where he said it ached.

He sees you dig that spot a little with your thumb, “Ah, thanks honey” he almost melts, and it makes him groan the way that always drew a groan out of Steve.

Steve doesn't mind you made him, you probably didn't even know you did, you're powerful like that. But Steve feels something bubble inside him– maybe this is what jealousy feels like. Steve watches, watches as you touch him. He digs his nails into his palm, he feels the urge to touch where you are touching him. He wonders what he would feel when his thumb would run over that area.

His fingers rise on their own accord. Skin barely touching skin, almost hovering. And then he feels… a bump. He isn't sure how to describe it but he knows that that isn't supposed to be there. Not normally, anyway.

He watches as your expert fingers move up into his hair, he always loved when you did that to him. 

His own fingers move higher into his hair. He feels another– another protrusion, another bump.

Steve knows what those are, he knows not to press down on them. You have them too. You have them where he holds you when he kisses you. Its the reason you don't remember, its the reason he didn't remember. Just for a day, he didn't have you to hold him like the way you always do and now he remembers.

Steve watches as he leans down to kiss you. And all Steve sees is red. He doesn’t have control over him as he stomps over to where the two of you were. Your heads snap towards the sound. Confusion flashes through both your features.

“y/n”, Steve says. He watches as your eyes flick between himself and the other. Your eyes land on his. Of course you know he is the real Steve. You made him.

He holds a protective hand infront of you, “y/n”, he sounds like him, “y/n, get inside”, he nods towards your bedroom door. 

“Look, man I dont know who the fuck you are. But you need to leave”, Steve hates him, he sounds nothing like him. objectively that might not be true, but he isn't him.

“You don't know who I am? Fucking look at me"

“y/n get inside”, Steve doesn't like how he says your name, how he shouts it. It sounds nothing like him. 

Steve lets you go, he doesn’t want you to see this. 

You can't look away despite not being able to see much through the sliver of the slightly ajar bedroom door. It is only when he lands a punch on Steve, that you move away from the door– eyes closing on themselves.

You hear shouts. Then thuds, knuckles hitting jaws. Some more thuds and then a loud crack. Then nothing. Its becomes too quiet. 

You quietly step even further away from the door when you hear footsteps approaching, until you feel your back hit the wall. 

The hinges of the slightly ajar door creak. and he is there. Your Steve.

He has a split lip, bruises blooming on his cheekbones. Blood splattered on his jeans, on his hands, his arms. He lifts his arm to wipe his bleeding lip, more so smearing the blood in the process. Your eyes water, heartbeat too damn loud in your ears, eyes wide as a doe.

“It's Steve. your Steve”, he reassures you, holding your face by your chin. From up this close, the blood on him doesn't look quite like blood. Its too dark, too shiny, more viscous than it should be and it doesn't seem to clot. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

“But you already know that. dont you, honey?” Steve coos oh so gently as he thumbs over your cheeks to rid you of the tear stains. He feels sorry when the action instead makes the blood on his hands smear across your skin. He regrets it immediately, to have tainted you with it. He is sorry you have to see all this, to see him like this.

Steve knows he'll give it all up for you. If he ever had something to give, he would give it all up, just like you did.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

“It's for you, honey.”

He moves aside so you can go to the phone. It rings loud as it did earlier. You move past the kitchen, you don't see him– not entirely. He is on the floor, you see his hand around the corner of the kitchen counter, lifeless, a pool of that blood surrounding him. The corner of the kitchen counter drips with the liquid, forming a stark contrast against the light beige.

You move past the kitchen counter, eyes not daring to look at him or Steve, you don't turn around to see if Steve is there watching. You know he is.

You move to the bright red phone that is still ringing, blaring. You pick it and hold it up to your ear, “hello?”

“y– y/n? y/n its– it's me”, that woman says. And somehow, now, you know who she is. “it's me, do you–”

“Mom?” you say it before you even realise you did.

“Oh my goodness! Yes baby, it's– it's me!”

“I’m sorry mom, I had to.”

“y/n, what–”

“I have to go now.”

“y/n, no– no. Please don't hang up–” click.

“There you go honey", you feel Steve's warm hands on your shoulder, he rubs into the tense muscles there– surely staining your shirt with the liquid, "there you go."

You turn around and you see his eyes-- beautiful coffee coloured things, moles littered across his skin just the way you've memorized to heart. That smile, adorning and warm as ever. He holds you like he always does, thumb on your cheek, palm holding your face. 

He holds you like he was made for it. Your cheek fit perfectly in his palm as if you were made for him. You were made for each other.

You lean in closer and then your lips meet. It isn't hard and fast. Its slow and deep. Like you have all the time in the world, and you do.

When you pull apart and look at him, its just him. Your Steve.

You don't even remember what it was you had been worried about. All you see is Steve, all you feel is Steve. Your lover, your home, your family, your everything. It's all Steve.

You smile up at Steve and everything is right. The blood he had smeared on you was gone. The counter was clean. He was gone. Everything is right, once again.

"So", he starts, walking towards the stove, "what are we feelin' today? pancakes with blueberries, strawberries, or plain ol' choco-chip?"

"Is there an ‘all of the above’ option?"

"For you? always."

...

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Prologue

I'm not super happy with this prologue but I've done my best with it :'). Also I gave God He/They pronouns. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 1227

Warnings: Uhhhh idk unless you count God as one.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

Prologue // Chapter 1 >

Prologue

Before time began, there was her.

Cælitis (Definition): The divinities who dwell within the celestial planes. (Noun)

The Universe – The Beginning

Perhaps it was a coincidence, or a mistake, or there was something far greater beyond the confines of the ever-expanding walls of the universe. They had accepted solitary, thinking they were the only one, the first, when they awoke to a dark abyss, with the veins of creation pulsating at his fingertips. This was what God thought when they reached out for the first time, light bursting from within, shooting out and collecting into a colossal sphere. A star, he had named it, and he had much fun for who knows how long, floating through the endless vacuum, using these fiery balls of fire and gas to light his way. He would make them every colour he could think of, clumping some together to form the nebulas, or shooting some off into the middle of nowhere, just for the sake of it. Sometimes, he would press atoms so close together they would form rocks of all shapes and sizes, letting them wander and float around until they began clumping together into similar spherical shapes. He even swirled some clusters of stars and rocks around, watching as they turned into disks that would spin forever – galaxies, he decided to label them as. Before long, the universe was scattered with clusters of stars, planets, and whatever else they felt like creating, some so big their size was incomprehensible, others microscopic in comparison, and the rest varying in between.

When God had decided to rest their powers for a short while, he hadn’t expected to awake to the feeling that something was off when he observed his work. A small ripple, something he wouldn’t have picked up on if he knew they were the only being currently in existence. It passed through them, and he quickly shot towards the nebula that sat in the centre of his universal domain, their birthplace, so to speak. And what he came across was something very wrong. And he finally came to the realisation that he wasn’t alone.

It looked like a cloud at first. A dark mass that swirled and flared it tendrils around frantically as it contorted in and out of itself. He wouldn’t have been able to see it if it weren’t for the carnage it had left behind, it’s pitch black silhouette a stark contrast against the flickering specks of light behind it – the broken remains of his precious stars and planets.

Though he did not fear it. They knew that if this being had come into existence, it was here for a reason.

The Goddess was a being not many creatures knew about, and God wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want anyone to know he had an equal, someone, if aware of everything they could do, could rival him and his authority.

He was Creation, and she was Destruction. Not solely there to destroy everything, no. She was brought into existence to ensure there was change, to make sure God didn’t slow down, always keeping him on his metaphorical feet. He had welcomed change when they had first come across her, but not too much. See, he wanted things to progress, but on his terms, so when the flailing tendrils of the Goddess had parted to reveal a mass of black wings and hundreds of very curious eyes peering up at them, he immediately took them under his own wings, teaching them the timeline of the universe around them. Her naivety hadn’t flown past him, she had just come into existence after all, and at this realisation he was delighted.

Billions of years passed by under the tutelage of God, telling the Goddess that she was his creation, what was divine and what was sacrilege. She absorbed it all, enchanted by the ways of what she believed to be her ‘creator’.

At one point, Destruction was overseeing a supernova just outside the Andromeda galaxy when God had approached her, eager to show her something. Reluctant but curious, she agreed, allowing them take her to another celestial plane, gesturing his arms out wide and welcoming her to Heaven.

He introduced her to his creations, his hierarchy of the divine. From the Seraphims, all the way down to the angels. For a time the Goddess resided with them, telling them about her ways of existence, though it wasn’t always received positively. In fact, there was only one creation that was intrigued by her path of dismantlement, a chirpy seraphim named Lucifer, who would spend most of his free time following her around with wide eager eyes, asking questions a mile a minute. The Goddess would always answer truthfully, and soon enough God began to grow weary of the friendly exchange between the two.

It wasn’t long before he was dragging her back through the planes, until they came across a very colourful planet. Entering through the atmosphere, the two floated down until they arrived on top of wall that encased a very interesting sight.

For as far as the eye could see, there was desert, but within the confines of this wall was a lush paradise, filled to the brim with every possible plant. The Garden of Eden.

God revealed two creatures that he had brought into existence, their names Adam, and Lilith, and they were to create the human race. Though his idea didn’t last very long – Lucifer had trailed after the Goddess into Eden one day, going off on another one of his excitable tangents on whatever was flying through his head at the time, when he had come face to face with the cunning and evaluating eyes of Lilith.

Obviously most know what happened after that, and God had quickly created Eve, but when she and Adam both failed his expectations after Lucifer and Lilith tempted them with the apple from the tree, he soon made changes.

The Seraphim and his new wife were cast down into a new celestial plane called Hell, and God then turned to the Goddess, seething, accusing her – that she had planted those thoughts and questions into his creation’s mind. They wouldn’t hear any excuse, leaving her until near the end of Adam and Eve’s once immortal life on Earth.

When he approached her again, they said he had a new job for her, and she followed, hopeful for their friendship to be restored, though doubts began to creep into her mind when she saw what was before her.

Purgatory, he had revealed it to be, was where she would take mortal souls after their physical body expired and sort them between Heaven and Hell. Next was the Underworld, where, if a soul was displaced in either of the two afterlives, it would go there to remain for eternity, or if she decided to send it back to Earth to be reincarnated. It was her new domain, where she would reside when she wasn’t on Earth collecting new souls.

Distressed, the Goddess asked why she was to do this, but God said nothing, only explaining further on what her new purpose entailed, and she grew more and more distraught at the new path he had laid out in front of her. She was no longer to be regarded as Destruction, but instead would spend the rest of eternity to be called a new, more fitting name, one he thought described her purpose of being perfectly:

Death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[oh-stars]

I've Got You

Safe

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 538 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

--

Robin bursts through the door, face red and splotchy, hair askew with a few strands clinging to the tear tracks on her cheeks. She freezes in the doorway, big watery eyes locked on Steve and her hand on the door knob, knuckles white. Her bag falls to the floor, spilling its contents all over but Steve doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t need to say anything, doesn’t have to ask. Her eyes say it all. 

“Robin?” Eddie asks, poking his head around the wall to see what’s going on. 

She doesn’t address him, too busy psychically transferring her problems to Steve as she stares gun down. Her shaky breaths tell him all he needs to know, each one a new piece of the puzzle. 

Vickie broke up with her, hence the wobbly lip. 

She lost the internship at the museum, thanks to the lack of a name tag on her sweater that she always forgets to take off otherwise. And if he remembers correctly, her shift wouldn’t have ended for another hour, so she shouldn’t be here. A breakup wouldn’t stop Robin from powering through her job, no matter how devastating it was. That’s just not who she is. (That’s Steve’s role in the friendship, to let his feelings completely encompass him.) 

And she missed the bus, if the mud stuck to her Chucks and the wet, dirty laces that trail after them say anything. 

Oh his poor birdie. 

The second he opens his arms, she flings herself into them. The levee breaks after fighting for so long to keep the storm at bay. She cries into his shoulder as he pets her hair and sways back and forth in the middle of his living room, holding her as close as possible. 

  Eddie walks around them and shuts off the vacuum Steve was using moments ago. He tiptoes around to grab Robin’s discarded bag and close the door, catching Steve’s eye briefly. He’s clueless, but he doesn’t ask any questions. 

Steve gives him a thankful, small smile as he watches Eddie slip back into the kitchen to finish dinner. He’ll be setting a third plate and work on adding on a comforting side to the meal he’s cooking if Steve knows him. 

They sway together as Robin buries herself in his arms, clinging like her life depends on her safety raft that is Steve Harrington. Steve matches her strength, squeezing until she has to squirm away to breath properly. And then she’ll be back, needing that tight embrace more than anything.  

He doesn’t whisper that it’ll be okay. He doesn’t ask any questions or say any cliche platitudes. 

All Steve says is a soft, “I’ve got you.” 

And that’s all she needs. 

In a little while, she can vent and scream about the injustices of her bad luck today. She can explain in detail how everything went wrong when they’re curled up on Steve’s bed with a cheesy romcom, wearing their comfiest pajamas. There’s time to talk and analyze what went wrong, to plan Vickie’s demise that’ll never come. But all that can wait. 

For now, Steve will keep her safe so she can let out all the bad feelings building up in the day. For now, Steve’s got her.

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

[igglemouse]

Through blood, pain, and tears, here she is. Ten fingers and toes and two eyes and ears and completely adorable! Florencia Lola Alcocer Varela is her full name but to keep it short and simple she is Florencia Alcocer and I should add that she is just a little fussy right now but try to imagine being in her position? Everyone knows how hard labor is, how difficult it is to bring life into the world, but no one talks about how hard it is to be born! I guess because no one truly remembers it.

Oh, that's right, you're probably wondering what Pascal was up to? Well, he did miss most of her birth but he did come late into the night after she was born and he was excited to meet her! He, a little surprisingly I should add, started his morning with her too. Talking to her and playing with her and getting her to wriggle and coo. I really hope this is the start of a beautiful relationship and it is nice to see that he delayed his usual morning routine to spend time with her.

I'm glad he spent some time with her but it did not take long before he was on his treadmill again, as you might have expected already. Morning workouts are a ritual for him and I've learned nothing stops it. NOTHING. We could be in the middle of a nuclear and I firmly believe he'd still find some way to push his legs and lungs and keep active. I think it is a mental thing for him. Like, meditative even? Either way, some mornings I do pop in to bother him.

"She is amazing, isn't she?" I ask him as he pounds away on the machine, the pounding of his feet is my only response until he can gather his breath for an actual reply.

"Y-yea! Yeah! She is!" He pants out, not looking over at me, keeping focused.

"What do you think of the name? I know we didn't agree on one but-"

"I l-love it!" he says, keeping it short and sweet. This would have bothered me normally but he is currently running. I think he keeps the setting on ten or however high it can go.

"You know, if she takes one thing from you I hope it's how hard you work," and I mean that sincerely. The guy is a machine.

He sort of chortles at that, picking up the pace even more. "And she will only make me work harder..."

I like the sound of that but is that possible with him?

This whole mama thing is new to me so be patient! I'm sure I'll make mistakes but I feel like I'm on the right track. Her diet will be milk milk and more milk of course and I've decided to handle that naturally, for now at least. It feels like one of the first big decisions I have to make and its about her health. A well fed baby is one that will grow after all!

But it is also important that I get a lot of time to relax myself. If Flora is napping, as she is right now, then it is the perfect time for me to nap as well. I certainly need it. I'm tired, hurting, and yet for some reason happy? I feel like I've been tortured and yet I'm smiling about it. Flora being born has a lot to do with that but I could not have expected any of this when I moved here to Oasis Springs. I thought life for me would continue to be a struggle, continue to fight every day just to put a smile on my face but it's been the opposite. Yes, things with Pascal have not been perfect but chasing perfection is a fools errand.

While Flora will be my #1 priority moving forward I still don't want to be stagnant. The idea of having a simtube channel would provide me work on my own time and hopefully give me some financial independence. I don't want to be the domesticated wife getting an allowance after all.

So I move forward with that plan by calling Mr. Booker. Remember him? He runs a pretty big simtube channel and through what was at first a rocky relationship we have somehow become friends. He seems eager to share a few tips and tricks to getting started too!

But like I said, Flora is my everything now and I'll make sure her room is just perfect for her. I'm not sure how she slept through all of the vacuuming but I'll keep every speck of dust out of her room!

But mama is still going to keep to her goals too! I'll try and trim some of the baby weight I've gained off of me because it is simply healthy to do so and it gives me something else to do right now. I kind of feel like I have to with how hard Pascal works it is kind of motivating! I won't be as dedicated as he is, who can be? But, I'll do what I can with the time I have.

When I make it back home I check in on Flora and make sure she's fed, happy, and clean, and then realize I've almost forgotten to eat myself! Has that ever happened to you? Get so busy that you forget to eat or shower or something like that? Any ways, I try a new recipe for today, lemongrass chicken!

And it is amazing! Just the right amount of savory and sweet and definitely filling!

I am reminded though that I need to have a conversation with Pascal about a few things. Just life in general things. He's been working all day of course but as soon as he gets home, which will be late, but it is a conversation that needs to be had.

So when he comes home I am all over him although I can tell he looks exhausted and heads right for the bed. I can only imagine how much he pushes his body, playing a sport at a high level is no joke, but it is funny that I'm the one sweating and he's not. ANY WAYS, I do talk to him about my whole Simtube thing and now he's a lot more open to it. "I do think it's a really good idea after thinking about it some more," he says.

"Oh?" I'm surprised he thought about it at all.

"Yeah, it keeps you here with Flora, that's really all I want. I know we've been through this before but I don't want her mom being too busy for her."

I pause, stopping myself from the obvious rebuttal. He's the one too busy for, well, EVERYONE. Not me. I take a deep breath and calm myself. "Do you think I'd put work ahead of her?" I am just a little insulted here! "Pascal I-"

"Noo! I just...you know, I'm traditional. I want you to be here with her, I don't want her being raised by a nanny even if I could afford it you know?"

"Yeah..." that is reasonable but... "Maybe not a nanny I agree but maybe we can look into a maid service?"

"I actually want to talk to you about something." He tells me, which surprises me and scares me a little but the smile on his face tells me it is good news, hopefully.

"Y-yeah?"

"My contract has been extended," I have no idea what it means but it sounds like good news. "So, I'm staying here, we're staying here, in Oasis Springs, and not only that but I think we're going to need a bigger place which yes, will include a maid!"

"Oh!?!?" Now that is exciting. I can't wait to look for new houses, big houses? Huge houses?!?! "Where will we-"

"I already bought the place actually! It's not amazing but it is at least not as cramped as this place. This is more like a fancy bachelor pad soooo I thought it was time to move on from this."

"Oh..." well, I wish we would have made that decision together but... "I can't wait to see it!"

You know, all things considered. Things are going really well!

Frida Varela - Next Episode 9 'Pascal's Wager'

[bby-blu-swirll]

hairdressing | hawks x reader

little short where a long term customer recommends her stylist (you) to a coworker of hers <3

(HELP IDK WHERE THIS CAME FROM LOL)

soft rock filled the small space as you swept across the salon floor, making a small pile of your last client's blue hair. you smiled to nobody in particular, taking a deep breath. you really did love your job. it was an art to you, and every person who passed under your hands for a cut or dye felt like a small masterpiece.

you worked out of a small salon in downtown kyushu, on the cutest street corner across from a bakery. it had three stylist chairs in their respective stations, each decorated to their owners' liking. yours had small (f/c) prints along the wall, little butterflies scattered around, and your mirror was lined with some miscellaneous polaroids and string lights. at first they were just for the vibes, but you quickly noticed the majority of your clients finding a significant amount of joy in taking their instagram photos with it.

the other stations had been filled with personality of their own, belonging to your salon co-owners, two lovely people you became quick friends with in cosmetology school. however, one had clocked out for the day hours earlier and the other had no appointments, so the shop was yours to enjoy while you waited out the clock. of the three of you, you were the only one who didn't leave after the last client. you hardly made appointments before 10 am, so if you had some extra time before 6 pm, you would tidy the salon and see if you got any walk ins. if not, you closed at your 8 hour mark. every once in a while though, someone would wander in asking for a quick cut and you were always more than happy to comply.

so now was one of those evenings. your last client, coming in for a fresh trim, had walked out at 5:20. and here you were, just humming along with the music and bobbing your head.

a soft buzzing from the counter tore your attention away from the pile of blue hair you were sweeping and brought it to your phone, with an incoming call. you smiled softly at the icon, a picture of you and rumi from the last time you two had been able to go out together. at this point, it must have been months ago. she was always so busy with hero work now, which you completely understood, it just made you miss the days before she was number 5.

you had gone to the same middle school and stayed connected since. of course she went to a high school to get her hero license, (before you, too, since you met in her last year, and your first) but you wouldn't let that stop you from seeing her on weekends, or stop her from forcing you to help with the classes she didn't understand. in exchange, she let you practice on her hair to help your chances of getting into a better cosmetology school. hell, she even let you dye it once or twice. ever since, you were the only person who's cut her hair, ever.

you put the phone to your ear with a smile. "heyy, hunny bun! what's goin on?"

you heard her playfully scoff through the phone, as if you haven't been calling her that since you were 15.

"hey babes, just had a question for ya." her cheerful tone was unwavering as usual, you could practically hear her confident smile through the phone.

"mkay, shoot."

"are you with a client right now?"

you tucked your phone under your ear with your shoulder, picking up your broom and starting to sweep the pile towards the automatic vacuum in the corner. "mmm, no, my last one left just a few minutes ago, actually." you heard her say something you didn't quite catch, like she was talking to someone she was with. "why? what's up?"

"do you still take walk-ins until 6??" her tone was more eager now. you smiled a bit, wondering what for.

"yyeeaaahh?"

"oooo! okay perfect, then i have someone who desperately needs your help." you could hear annoyed and offended protests come from her line and you couldn't help but stifle a laugh. "oh shut up, you've let it grow too long and you know it! stop acting like a stubborn child." she chuckled slightly before turning her attention back to you. "think you've got time for a quick trim for my friend?"

with a small smile, you turned to the clock on the wall. "yeah, plenty actually. how far away are you guys? should i put up the closed sign in the window in case someone else comes in?"

"nah, don't worry about that. we just got off patrol like four blocks from you. should be five minutes, tops."

you stopped your sweeping and froze, just a bit. "patrol? you mean i'm doing one of your pro hero friends' hair?"

"well you've been doing mine since we were 13, i figured it wouldn't be a big deal." she sounded so casual, which was in character for her, yet still astonishing to you, considering the circumstances.

"i mean yeah, but i know how to do your iconic haircut because i've been doing it for, i don't know, almost 10 years?? not to brag, but i'm probably the only one who can do it just the way you like. but if you bring me some big shot hero and i screw up his 'do, then it's all my fault." you chuckled slightly.

"ahh, don't sweat it y/n. i know you'll do a great job. besides, it's not like i'm bringing you chris hemsworth or something, it's just someone i work with every once in a while. feel free to screw up his 'do as much as you like." her end of the call was suddenly filled with miscellaneous protests and insistent "NO, DON'T DO THAT-"'s, followed by her cackling furiously.

you couldn't help but laugh yourself. "alright, well i'm gonna finish cleaning up from my last appointment. i'll see you in a few, yeah?"

"alright see you then babes."

"buh-bye hunny bun." you hung up, smiling softly, a bit excited for whatever was coming your way.

when the golden bell above your door rang just a few minutes earlier, you were reorganizing your hair colors. as soon as you turned around, you smiled and threw yourself at rumi in a big hug, laughing as she scooped you up and spun you around. it's a habit she'd picked up way back when she first started heavy lifting.

she squealed as she squeezed you, finally setting you down. "agh, i feel like it's been so long since i've seen you!"

you chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of your neck. "yeah, it's almost like that's because it has."

your smile changed into a curious look as you remembered why she was here, looking behind her at the eye-catching scarlet pair of wings on her friend. realization dawned upon you as your eyes met his, golden and piercing, even through his tinted glasses. you huffed a laugh and smirked, cocking your head to the side. he held out a gloved hand for a shake before stopping.

"oh-" he chuckled and bit the middle finger, pulling out his hand and offering it again, flesh and bone this time, for a friendly shake. "hey, i'm-"

"hawks. i'm familiar." you smiled and laughed softly. "call me y/n."

"pleasure to meet you, y/n." the way your name rolled off his tongue made you hesitate for just a moment, biting the inside of your cheek in thought.

"likewise... hey rumi?"

"mhmm?"

"remember when you called me earlier?"

she smiled playfully. "yeah, i think so."

"yeah, and you said, 'iT's nOt LiKe i'M bRiNgiNg ChRiS hEmSwOrTh'?"

"mhm mhm i think i remember that."

"so.. wanna tell me what the number two hero is doing in my salon, oh my God?"

she laughed loudly and patted you on the back. "y/n don't worry, i promise you have nothing to stress about. now i'm gonna pop into the bakey across the street and see if i can get anything before they close, why don't you go ahead and get started?" without waiting for an answer, she was already back in your doorway. "screw him up, yeah?" she winked playfully before closing the door and making her way to the crosswalk outside.

a moment of silence passed as you watched her make her way across the street before hawks spoke up.

"sooo.... please don't screw me up, too badly."

you laughed as you prepped the rinse station for him. "oh no don't worry, you're in perfectly adequate hands."

he let out an amused hum. "i don't know, adequate has to be an understatement, if you're the one doing rumi's hair. she told me you were the one who did her hair and makeup for that magazine she was in a few months back, said you style her for every event too." he shrugged off his jacket and slipped off his glasses, dropping them in one of your lounge chairs.

his easy going tone and relaxed smile had already made you feel more at ease. "yeah... well i mean, i guess i just know her, what looks good and what she likes, you know? we go pretty far back." you chuckled, motioning for him to come take a seat.

"well whatever you end up doing to me, i'm sure it'll look great." his relaxed, almost cocky smirk rested on his face comfortably. though you thought you saw it falter for just a moment when you pressed a hand to his chest to guide him back, neck resting on the edge of the bowl, head leaning into the sink.

"well let's hope so..." you smiled softly as you lowered your voice just a bit. "let me know if the water's too hot..."

he hummed as the warm water poured over his scalp, visibly relaxing. as easy going as he always seemed, it must have been exhausting to always be on guard, looking for trouble. "mm... 's perfect."

you bit the inside of your cheek again, smiling still. he exhaled softly as you massaged the shampoo into his scalp, looking like he was sinking into the chair even more.

"hawks..?"

he opened one eye, looking up at you. "hm?"

"you okay?"

"oh, yeah... sorry," he chuckles faintly. "just, feels good... sorry if that's weird."

"oh! no, ha, not at all."

as you go along with the rest of the wash, conditioning and rinsing, you couldn't help but wonder if he ever got attention like this. as far as the media could tell, he didn't have many personal relationships, and he reacted so easily to your touch, it was like he hadn't relaxed, had personal attention like this in a while.

you moved him to the chair without many words. as you comb through his hair, you look up for just a moment and catch his eyes on yours in the mirror. you continued what you were doing, holding his gaze.

"...what?"

his smile returned with an amused exhale. "nothing, just watching you work."

you returned the expression before turning your attention back to his hair. "okay.. so rumi said you needed a trim, how much exactly am i lopping off?"

"ah, probably an inch, hardly more. it's been getting in my eyes when i'm fighting, which is like skating on thin ice, so..."

you nodded, picking up your sheers. "okay, i get you."

"i usually get it cut every few weeks to keep it manageable, but the guy who was doing that before quit on me."

you tilted your head curiously as you began trimming around his neck. "really? why's that?"

"ah, i ended up having to see him pretty often, guess he kinda got fed up." he laughed lightly.

"every few weeks is already pretty often, why would you need to see him more often than that?"

"i solve issues before they can happen. but i also assist other heroes pretty often, walking into battles that have already started. and sometimes my own situations can still get out of hand. if i get banged up, chances are so does my hair. it's been burnt, ripped out, shaved around head injuries, pretty much anything you can think of."

as he talked, you pulled strands of hair to snip. every once in a while, you would notice small-ish scars buried under his overlapping layers.

"yeah, i think i see what you mean..." you gently run your fingers over one of them, watching carefully as his eyebrows quirk up slightly.

"yeah... anyway, guess the old stylist got tired of fixing me, and ended up quitting a few weeks ago. of course, i'm basically the commission's 'golden boy'," you didn't even have to look up to know his eyes were rolling. "so i guess he was the best in the area. that's why they're looking for someone new now, and why i've been looking just a bit overgrown." he chuckled lightly.

his eyes followed as you picked out your sheers and comb, making your way in front of him. his classic smirk stayed on his face as you leaned in closer.

your voice was low as you bent over just slightly, raising his chair. "sorry, just need to do your front parts quickly..."

"no worries..."

"so... if your image is such an important part of the job, why'd they higherups trust you to someone like me?" you smiled faintly. his eyes fluttered closed as you began to trim the hair falling around them.

"actually, that was mirko's idea. she speaks pretty highly of you, ya know. besides, she thought maybe, if you did a good job, she could convince the commission to hire you to take care of me." he winked playfully. though it was perfectly in line with his personality and was likely a regular habit for him, it still made your stomach drop for a moment. "if you're interested that is. she thought you might be. no pressure, of course."

you moved back behind him as you felt your cheeks heat up, putting down your tools before facing away. "uh huh..."

"wooow, i can see why she's got so much faith in you." his smile was obvious in his voice. when you turned back to face the mirror, you saw him admiring his reflection, hair still slightly damp and falling into his eyes. "i look sexy~"

you laughed and put your hands on his shoulders. "yeah yeah, i haven't even styled it yet."

he chuckled softly turning his head from side to side with a sly grin. "i'm not even sure you need to, sweetheart. you do know best, though."

it was hard to miss the flirty tone in his voice, and harder to ignore now that he was throwing in nicknames, but you were sure it was just his personality. he was a reputation charmer, after all. his ever-lingering smile made you grip your hairdryer just a bit tighter every time you caught his gaze on yours in the mirror.

as you were adjusting his fluffy hair, you noticed the texture was slightly lacking. "hey, your hair is kinda dry..."

he quirked up an eyebrow. "really? that's weird, i take great care of my hair."

"i mean it's not too strange, high winds will definitely do that." you looked around your shelf for a moment before picking up a few products. "i can fix it though."

he watched curiously as you pumped some leave-in conditioner into your palm, rubbing your hands together. as your fingers found their way into his hair, you first saw him relax before you felt him slightly lean into your touch. he sighed contently as you took your time massaging the product into his scalp, not wanting to interrupt how relaxed he looked.

"okay..." you spoke softly, voice low. "you're all done."

you smiled and unbuttoned the cape, watching as his smile grew. "honestly? bang up job, princess. i see why you get such glowing reviews."

you laughed lightly and shrugged. "thank you, but it's really not a big deal." you turned your attention to the shelf of product again. "oh, before i forget-" you picked up a small pink tub and handed it to him. "just use this in place of your conditioner and leave it for like 5 minutes, whenever you shower. should help with the dryness a ton."

he picked up his coat and took the container from you, his fingers lingering on top of yours for just a moment. "thanks... i owe you one." he winked again, and again you felt your stomach drop.

in a matter of perfect timing, rumi finally pushed open the door of your salon again, three little bags and a coffee in hand. "hey, sorry i took so long! i ended up getting something for both of you though!"

she handed you a small bag with your favorite pastry inside, still warm. you thanked her with a warm smile, turning to hawks, who looked less amused.

"poppy seed muffin?" he scoffed, his playful smirk returning. "you're hilarious."

"ahh, i know i am." rumi laughed lightly and threw her arm around you, still looking at hawks. "nice cut, by the way. told you she could restore your sight." the three of you shared a laugh as she took a swig of her coffee. "anyway, why don't you get out of here? i'll walk y/n home and catch you later, yeah?"

he nodded. "sounds good. hey, y/n, what do i owe you for the fresh cut?"

"oh, don't worry about it. it was just a trim and last month you totally saved my block from getting blown sky high, so we'll call it even." you smiled softly as he pulled out his phone.

"aww c'mon, at lease let me tip you."

you rolled your eyes playfully, deciding to not fight him. "i have a venmo qr code on my mirror if you really feel so inclined, but really, don't worry about it."

he sauntered over to your mirror and scanned it, tapping on his phone as he made his way to your door. "thanks again! i'll get your number from rumi so i can call you up next time i need your help." his flashed his pearly whites one last time as he closed the door behind him.

you turned back to rumi, who had begun to tell you all about everything that's happened since you last sat down together, when a knock sounded from your front window. you looked out to see hawks motioning to his phone and winking one last time before he finally took off.

you smiled and knit your brows in playful confusion until you felt your phone buzz. it was a venmo from hawks, with nothing but a small heart as the note. rumi almost spit out her coffee when she saw it, and your jaw was already on the floor.

this man had just tipped you $200.

***

as it turns out, the next time hawks would "need your help" was sooner rather than later. it was hardly 5 days later when you were walking from the coffee shop across the street to your own salon when your phone rang with an unknown number. you picked it up, expecting one of your clients maybe calling to reschedule or cancel. instead, you were met with the whistling of wind and a familiar smooth talking voice.

"heyyy y/n! it's hawks, i went ahead and got your number from rumi."

"oh-" you almost stopped in the middle of the crosswalk due to your surprise. "hey, what's up? did something come up?"

"nothing bad, no. are you at work yet?"

you smirked as you pulled out the keys from your pocket, trying to find the right one as you got to your door. "just arrived, actually. why?" no response. "hawks?"

as you slipped the key into the slot, you looked down at your phone and saw the call had disconnected. "okay.."

when a sudden rush of scarlet filled your vision, you yelped and almost dropped your coffee. hawks had practically fallen from the sky and landed right next to you, standing close, his cocky grin unwavering.

"oh my God, you scared the hell out of me!" you clutched your chest, laughing and waiting for your soul to come back to your body at the same time.

he chuckled and pulled something from under his coat. "sorry 'bout that sweetheart... would these make up for it?"

he held out a small bouquet of flowers in your favorite color.

"wh- what? why..."

"when you did my hair, i noticed the ones you had on your front counter were dying. i saw these on my way in this morning and they reminded me of you and your shop, thought they would look nice in the place." he smiled as you took them gingerly. "consider it a thank you!"

you opened the salon door with an exasperated smile, feeling it grow wider when he followed you in. "well they're beautiful and i appreciate them, but believe me, the VERY generous tip was more than enough."

you put the flowers in the now empty vase, adjusting them when he got close behind you. your eyes widened as his hand found your lower back, pressing slightly, his breath close to your neck.

"c'mon princess, just let me express my gratitude~"

you didn't realize you were holding your breath until he stepped back and you suddenly let it go. when you turned to face him again, his playful fun smile was back and he looked so casual, you almost wondered if you had imagined whatever the hell that just was.

"anyway, i've gotta be in soon, and i imagine you've gotta get your shop opened up, yeah?"

"ah...yeah.."

"then i'll catch you later. have a good one!" he left with a signature wink before taking off.

whatever that morning was, became a regular thing. every few days he would drop by for a visit for whatever reason- replacing your flowers, bringing you a pastry in the morning, offering to walk you home after work, even though you only lived a half a dozen blocks away.

and with every little reason to see you, came some "harmless" flirting that made your stomach do somersaults.

finally after almost three weeks he had actually come to you for the smallest clean up. while you lightly snipped his ends, he asked if you had considered the position of being his personal groomer. you told him you wanted to think about it more and he told you not to worry about it, but he did have a favor to ask.

in a few days time, he needed to be at an important event. just a hero dinner of sorts, it was meant to be all over the media though, so he needed to dress to impress. after seeing your work with rumi, the commission approved of you making hawks camera ready (upon his request, of course). it just standard hair and makeup, but it was an important job nonetheless.

against the better judgement you'd gained over the last few weeks of dealing with him, you agreed swiftly.

so here you were, outside his door with your cosmetology bag, ready to make up him and rumi.

rumi would take longer for both hair and makeup, so you decided to start with hawks. so she would be coming over later, which left just you. and him. alone. in his penthouse apartment. what could possibly go wrong.

aside front that he answered the door shirtless in sweatpants, nothing. so far.

he stood with one hand on the doorframe, the other on the door itself, towering over you with a sly grin. you had to force your eyes to stay on his face instead of wandering down to his incredibly cut core. you felt your stomach flood with butterflies as the softest flush covered your face, and he didn't take long to notice.

"you've got some good eye contact, sweetheart, i'll give you that."

his smile relaxed a bit as he stepped out of your way, opening the doorway of his apartment to you. you stepped in without mentioning any of whatever the hell just happened, biting the inside of your cheek with a soft smile.

you held up your bag, looking around. "where should i..?"

"ah," he began to move towards his living area, just a couple couches with a chair gathered around a coffee table. he plopped himself down on the soft rug of all places, in front of the table. "figured this might be a good place since, you know, you've got plenty of natural light to work with."

he was right, the entire wall across from his front door was basically made entirely of glass. it left a beautiful view of kyushu outside, with a terrace you imagined would be perfect to watch the sunrise from.

you smiled as you sat across from him, both of you cross-legged. "yeah, it's perfect actually..."

"perfect..." he mumbled to himself. his gaze lingered on you as you pulled out your makeup bag.

"so." you turned to him and scooted a bit closer, reaching a hand towards his face. "do you mind if i..." you hesitated, halting your hand just before your fingers grazed his skin.

he gulped and nodded, confident smirk faded as his pulse picked up. you lightly cradled his jaw and carefully turned his head from side to side.

"well you've got great skin... smooth, not oily, i doubt i'll have to do any base..." your voice was low as you spoke, talking more to yourself than him. he just hardly nodded as you inspected him closely. "i'll give you some highlight and contour though, just for the camera... your eyelashes are stunning..."

he cracked a small smile. "thanks.."

you returned the look and met his eyes. "you're welcome..."

time seemed to still between you for a moment. his eyes flicked to your lips for the shortest instant, you almost missed it. he inhaled deeply before clearing his throat and looking to the side. you sucked in a quick breath as you turned your attention back to your makeup bag, digging out a brush and a couple of small product bottles. you handed him a headband, still not looking at him.

"ah, so..." you took a deep breath before finally facing him. "here, i'll just go in with a thin base just in case. flash photography isn't the most flattering lighting,"

he chuckled softly, deep in his chest, and your heart skipped a beat.

the next few minutes went by with minimal conversation, mostly just you letting him know what you were doing now, and him nodding along or making small sounds of approval. silence otherwise filled the room as you tried to focus on your work, though his eyes constantly wandering over all of you made it slightly difficult.

when you finally made it to his classic eyeliner, you accidentally let your gaze wander to his lips. you pushed aside all your thoughts and impulses and channeled your inner makeup artist.

"hey hawks..."

he opened his eyes as you moved the eyeliner pen away. "hmm?"

"your lips are kinda pale, would it be okay if i put a little stain on them?"

"oh," he bit his lip and furrowed his brow. "yeah for sure, i'm probably a bit dehydrated." his smirk was back, resting on his lips comfortably.

"yeah.." you took another deep breath, trying to keep your face from getting too pink. "the lipstick i've got now should actually work fine, its somewhere in my purse..." you picked up your highlight stick and put your fingers under his chin to turn his head to the side. "i'll get it in a second..."

he hums softly in response. you carefully applied the highlights to all the right places, emphasizing his cheekbones and the tip of his already curved nose. you heard his breath falter, just slightly, when you cupped his face in your hand, using your thumb to blend it out on his cheek. to your surprise, he closed his eyes and leaning into your touch. it was your turn to have trouble breathing, even more so when he placed his hand over your own and looked at you with a piercing gaze. you stopped what you had been doing all together, frozen as he turned his head. he pressed a small kiss to your wrist, then another, his lips lingering for just a second longer this time.

at this point your heart was in your throat trying to process what was happening. when he turned his gaze back to you, everything stopped. his friendly smile was gone, replaced with a fierce look, demanding and intense. neither of you moved for a moment, just stared. your stomach jumped as his eyes moved to take a long look at your lips. the second his gaze met yours again, he pulled on your wrist, practically yanking you into his lap. his hands moved quickly, one pressing against your lower back (a touch you'd actually grown used to form him) and the other cradling the base of your neck.

you could feel his breath on your lips. all you had to do was tilt your chin and you would feel them against yours. his hand on your neck moved up into your hair, looking at you through half lidded eyes.

"can i kiss you?" he practically breathed out his words, softer than a whisper.

you took a deep inhale and closed your eyes. "yes."

you'd hardly gotten the word out before he pressed his lips against yours forcefully, hungrily. his kiss was demanding, like he had been waiting for the longest time to finally get this from you. you tangled your hands in his hair, smirking just a bit. it was soft.

he finally pulled away, keeping close to you. both your faces were flushed deeply, and yours only got worse when you remembered he wasn't wearing a top.

"y/n..." the way your name rolled off his tongue made you shiver. or maybe it was his hand on your back, creeping beneath your shirt.

"hawks-"

"kiego."

your eyes widened as he pressed his lips to your jaw, feathering kisses all the way down towards your neck.

"you... i want you call me kiego."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lil extra &lt;3

rumi showed up just after you had finally started on kiego's hair. as expected, her makeover ended up taking significantly longer, but the three of you didn't mind. by the time you finished curling her gorgeous (but VERY long) hair, it was time for them to go. they both looked spectacular in their dresswear, and you had to struggle to keep your composure helping kiego with his tie. his sly little grin never left his face as you messed with the fabric, trying to remember how, instead of thinking about his lips.

when you had packed up all your stuff and started to get ready to leave, kiego stopped you.

"its already dark out! why don't you just kick back and stay here for a while, yeah? i'll only be gone a few hours. make yourself at home." he had leaned close to your ear, his breath tickling your neck. "besides, we've gotta... talk more, when i get back~"

you agreed quickly, not wanting to seem suspicious in front of rumi. as much as you wanted to tell her, and knew you would soon, you needed to get a few things settled first.

so here you were, sitting in his apartment. even though he was insistent on you making yourself at home, the most you had really done was play some music, use one of his water glasses, and kick back on his couch.

you checked the time again. as far as you could tell, the event had ended just a bit ago. you had checked a few news outlets, seeing some clips already uploaded from the beginning of the evening. almost every one of hawks was him refusing to shut up about the new stylist who had gotten him looking so nice, and furthermore insisting whoever it was, was a secret (for now).

those were your favorites.

in the middle of a clip you were watching of rumi going over her latest fight, you heard keys in the door. you sat up on the couch and watched hawks walk in, a tired smile decorating his face. his jacket was thrown over his arm and his tie was undone, hanging around his neck loosely. the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up his forearms, exposing a few cord bracelets.

"hey, sweetheart." he kept his gaze on yours as he tossed his jacket to the side, along with his tie. he slowly sauntered towards the couch, unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt. "glad you stuck around~"

his tone was flirty, but tired, and it was so attractive.

he settled on the couch almost on top of you, one of his legs between yours as a hand on your chest guided you to lie back.

"hey kiego..." you blushed and smiled as one of his hands found your waist. "how was the dinner?"

he pressed his body against yours, sighing as he relaxed into you. "exhausting... let's talk about it tomorrow."

you chuckled and tangled your hand in his hair, playing with it and massaging his scalp. he pressed lazy kisses to your neck, making you blush harder.

"be my girlfriend... stay over tonight... stay forever..." he said between kisses.

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, melting into his gentle touch.

"okay.. <3"

DAMN BRO THAT ENDED UP BEING A LOT LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO BE- "little short" YEAH OKAY SHORTY,

5619 words, which is almost 13 full pages in google docs omg-

sorry and you're welcome <33

idk if any of my future writing will be this long but ig we'll see ! at least i can say i'm starting out strong lol

i haven't the foggiest where this idea came from and as of rn i have scarcely any others, so if anybody wants me to write something short or long or whatever to any specific idea my inbox is open for requests !!

sm love 💗💗

[jellofish-of-the-deep]

Y/N Dies of a Caffeine Overdose and Lycaon Finds Your Corpse in a Public Bathroom

Read on ao3 here:

It was a day like any other for the employees of Victoria Housekeeping. Rina was ordering her Bangboos (Bangboo? Bangbi?) to dust the bookshelf, Ellen was holding the vacuum cleaner in one hand while tapping at her phone in the other, and Corrin was busy being useless.

In the middle of the room stood Von Lycaon, proud and diligent president of the company, the pocket watch in his paw reflecting gilded sunlight onto snowy fur. In a smooth, practiced motion, he stowed the watch in his breast pocket, sighing.

“Corrin, although I admire your tenacity, your performance has been lacking this morning. I have noticed a twenty-two percent decline in incomprehensible sobbing from you today, and an almost seventy percent decrease in rampant property destruction. At this rate, you are never going to hit your quota.”

“Ah!” squeaked Corrin as she tripped over thin air, catching herself by stabbing her saw blade into their very rich client’s very expensive and irreplaceable rug. The rug spontaneously burst into flames. The pair looked at it for a second, before Corrin practically slammed her head into the ground. “I-I’m very sorry for not meeting your expectations, Mr. Lycaon!”

“It is quite alright Corrin, we each have our off days. However, may I inquire as to the reason for your lapse in focus? If there is any way in which I may assist you in upholding your ‘dojikko-moe’ character, as the kids these days call it, I shall be happy to lend you my aid.”

“Please… please don’t ever say that again, boss,” Ellen muttered emotionlessly, blood trickling from her ears.

“Well, you see, Mr. Lycaon… I-It’s [Y/N].”

Lycaon raised an eyebrow. “The Proxy?”

“Yes! I’m just so worried about them, Mr. Lycaon… Oh, they’re not in danger or anything! At least, I don’t think so…”

Lycaon did that thing that hot fictional men do where they put their index finger and thumb on their chin. “Would you care to elaborate, Corrin?”

“Oh, yes! Well, it started last week…”

One week ago

After two hours of crashing into every single person who walked by, Corrin finally managed to escape the train station and step into Sixth Street. It was one of her favorite places to visit, as it was never too loud and there were plenty of alleyways she could duck into to break down crying at a moment’s notice.

Unfortunately, Corrin did not have time for a nervous breakdown today, as she was here to run an important errand for Victoria Housekeeping: namely, to repair their Butler Bangboo that she mistook for an Ethereal yesterday before promptly brutalizing it with her fully charged EX Special Attack. Now, if she remembered correctly (a rare occurrence), she just had to turn this corner to get to the Turbo Remodeling Shop…

“FUCKING SHIT GOD DAMN IT I’M GOING TO END IT ALL!”

At the sudden string of expletives, Corrin yelped and dove headfirst into the nearest trash can, startling the cats that happened to be sleeping inside and leaving Corrin with a fresh set of claw marks on her face.

“W-What was that?” Corrin whimpered, peeking around the corner. The noise, she now recognized, was coming from the music shop, Bardic Needle.

“WHAT DO YOU M E A N, I’M OUT OF MASTER COPIES??? I HAD HUNDREDS OF THOSE LITTLE SHITS SAVED UP!!!”

A tired, robotic sigh echoed across the street. “Please, [Y/N], this is quite inelegant-”

“QUIET, ELFY, OR I’M DOWNLOADING YOUR AI INTO A B-RANK W-ENGINE!”

That was [Y/N]’s voice! But what exactly was upsetting them so much, Corrin wondered, as she trepidatiously slid open the door.

“H-Hello, Master Pro-”

“CORRIN SWEETIE PLEASE YOU HAVE TO HELP ME I’M LOSING MY MIND,” [Y/N] screeched, causing Corrin to flinch and knock over an antique record player.

The legendary Proxy was hunched over in the middle of the store surrounded by a comically large pile of nearly identical music disks, hair completely frazzled, eyes bloodshot, looking as though they had just snorted several lines of Ether powder. Elfy stood in the only uncluttered corner of the room, hands dragging down her face, muttering to herself about closing down the shop and taking a swan dive into the nearest Hollow because Corruption couldn’t possibly be worse than this. Corrin hadn’t realized that robots could have bags under their eyes.

Corrin cleared her throat. “You seem to be in a lot of trouble… M-May I ask what is bothering you, Master Proxy?”

[Y/N] visibly took a deep, shaky breath, and tried to lower their voice. “Well, you see… I’m trying to farm Fanged Metal Drive Disks for mommy sorry I mean mommy sorry I mean mommy sorry I mean Jane Doe, but these stupid things KEEP GIVING ME HP AND DEF SUBSTATS!!”

Corrin cowered in fear at the sudden volume, but [Y/N] continued to raise their voice to a howl. “AT THIS RATE I’M NEVER GOING TO REACH 420+ ANOMALY PROFICIENCY FOR MY TOP TIER S-RANK DUMMY THICC HOT RAT DOMMY MOMMY WAIFU! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!”

“Please, try to calm down, Master Proxy! I-I don’t exactly understand any of what you just said, but I’m sure it’s very complicated Proxy things that I’m not knowledgeable enough to understand… A-Anyways! Let’s try to think about how to approach this!”

Corrin frowned. “You mentioned earlier that you were ‘out of Master Copies’, whatever that means, but… Is there a way to get more of them? O-Or, maybe there’s another way to get…” she looked around at the hundreds of music disks piled on the floor, “…whatever it is that you need, without them?”

“I can’t get any more Hi-Fi Master Copies,” [Y/N] groaned, “I’ve already maxed out my Fortnite Battle Pass this season. And the only other way to get these is through Routine Cleanup, but I’ve already used my Battery Charge for today… Unless…”

[Y/N]’s eyes widened.

“OF COURSE! I just need to get more Battery Charge, and then I can suck the military’s dick for CDs as much as I want! And the best way to do that is…”

[Y/N] turned around, crouched down into a running start, and tore through the wall of Bardic Needle, leaving behind a [Y/N] shaped hole.

“CAFFEINE!!!” echoed their voice, leaving Corrin and Elfy to stare at the now-demolished music store.

“W-Well, I’m glad I could help?” Corrin called back, hesitantly.

Elfy very calmly turned around, sat down in her chair, and began a factory reset.

Present day

“So, then they went to the coffee shop, you said?” Lycaon asked, rubbing his temple.

“Yes, Mr. Lycaon! I spoke with the barista later. Apparently they had a heated argument, because he’s only supposed to serve customers one coffee per day, but he gave up after [Y/N] threatened to drink a k-cup mixed with ketchup and orange juice.”

“I… see…” Lycaon frowned, unsure as to how to process this.

“Was it with or without pulp?” Rina asked, scribbling in her cookbook. Her two Bangbongle flew out from the drawer they were cleaning.

“Ewwwww, orange juice with pulp fucking sucks!” Drusilla pitched in.

“Fucking sucks! Fucking sucks!” Anastella parroted.

“Rina, for the sake of our clients’… survival, I would urge you not to replicate the Proxy’s handiwork in a professional setting,” Lycaon coughed, as Rina’s Bangbussy giggled to each other.

“Do it when I’m around,” Ellen said, “I kinda wanna try it.”

“Ahem. Returning to the matter at hand,” Lycaon gave a pointed look to Rina and her Boob, “I do not understand much about the underlying issue myself, but I am concerned about how much stress it seems to be putting the Proxy through. Corrin, was this the last time you spoke with them?”

“Yes, Mr. Lycaon, I-I tried to message them several times this week but they didn’t respond, and when I went back to their video store there was only the Bangboo at the front desk… I’m really worried about them, Mr. Lycaon…”

Lycaon sighed. “It is no wonder you have been struggling as of late.” He retrieved his pocket watch and flipped it open. “Well, as proud representatives of Victoria Housekeeping, it would be quite unbefitting of us to leave a client in want of assistance, would it not?”

He smiled and reached down to pat Corrin’s head, who squeaked and leaned into his paw. “Don’t worry, Corrin, I’ll go check in on them, to make sure that our friend is doing okay.”

The mood was becoming too fluffy for a crack fic, so Corrin promptly tripped and broke a vase that was filled to the brim with live spiders.

~~~

After sending the Proxy a message and confirming that there was no response, the first place Lycaon investigated was the Random Play video store. He was greeted only by the cheerful ehn-nas of Bangboo 18, which was disappointing but expected.

He then tried Bardic Needle, which was permanently closed. Listening to the gossip on the street, he learned that the owner of the place had transferred her consciousness into a Bangboo and ran off into the night to find a new calling in life. To each their own, Lycaon supposed.

Finally, Lycaon walked into Coff Cafe, and was greeted by a robot slumped over on the bar.

“Ugh… I swear to god, [Y/N], if you keep coming in like this, your next coffee will have cockroach powder in- Oh wait, you’re not [Y/N]!”

Tin Master looked up at Lycaon and sagged noticeably in relief.

Lycaon raised an eyebrow. “Good morning to you, sir. As a matter of fact, I have come here for the purpose of inquiring about that very person. You’ve seen [Y/N]?”

Tin Master groaned. “Been taken hostage by them, more like.” The robot slammed his head down onto the bartop. “Yes, I’ve seen them. For the past week, they’ve been coming into my cafe every ten minutes to order a coffee. Twenty. Four. Hours. A day.”

The barista sighed. “I know that my cafe is open 24 hours, but even us robots need some downtime to recharge, you know? But every time I try to explain that to them, they just pull out a thermos of that horrid concoction…” He shuddered. “I’ve had to run on low power mode just to survive! Isn’t it awful?”

Lycaon blinked. “I… am very sorry to hear that, sir. Are they here right now?”

“Yeah, they went to use the bathroom. That was what, ten minutes ago, now?” Tin Master looked up at the clock and squinted blearily. He rubbed his eyes. “Huh, I could’ve sworn it hasn’t been that long.. I guess my internal clocks are malfunctioning from battery deprivation.”

Lycaon tried to quell the rising anxiety in his throat. “May I ask sir, how long ago did they enter the bathroom?”

“About two and a half hours ago.”

Lycaon’s eyes widened. “And they’re still in there?”

“I never saw them walk out, that’s for sure.”

Lycaon sprinted past the disoriented barista and slid to a stop in front of the single-stall bathroom. He hurriedly knocked on the door. “Master [Y/N], are you in there? Can you hear me?”

He placed his ear against the door. He faintly picked up on weak gurgling that his heightened Thiren senses were able to identify as that of the Proxy.

“Master Proxy! Forgive my intrusion, but I am opening this door to confirm your safety! Yell at me if you wish for me to stop!” Lycaon shouted as he broke open the lock with one swift kick (he made a mental note to reimburse Coff Cafe later). He pulled, and the door swung open.

The bathroom was a complete mess. The mirrors and tiles that were normally kept, according to Tin Master’s sanitary standards, “shinier than my ex-wife’s crocodile tears during the custody battle, like, she had artificial tear ducts installed into her frame and everything,” were spattered with speckles of fresh and vaguely coffee-scented vomit. In the middle of the carnage was [Y/N], slumped over and drowning in the toilet bowl.

“Proxy!” Lycaon yelled in alarm. His cybernetic leg pistons fired as he propelled himself towards [Y/N], grabbing them by the collar out of the toilet with one hand and steadying them with the other.

[Y/N] coughed and sputtered, dangling limply from Lycaon’s arms. Their skin had turned a deathly pallor, and Lycaon could see their cheekbones - when had the Proxy last eaten anything of substance? They opened their eyes. “Wha- Huh? Where am I-”

“[Y/N]! You are currently located in the lavatory of the Coff Cafe establishment on Sixth Street. What happened? Do you require me to call you an ambulance?”

The video store manager groaned. “Probably, yeah, I think I might’ve had too much caffeine- urp-” They gulped, then turned around and threw up violently in the toilet. “Uh, shit.”

There was now a bloody mess inside of the toilet. “That’s not good,” [Y/N] mumbled, blood dripping from their mouth. “Chat, I think I grinded too hard.”

They collapsed.

“Proxy!” Lycaon yelled, catching [Y/N]. He pulled them close to his chest, and took out his cellphone. “I am going to call an ambulance for you, Master, just stay with me!”

[Y/N] closed their eyes, sighing dreamily. “Oooohhh… I can’t believe I get to spend my last moments on earth cradled in the arms of a furry butler sexyman… My life’s mission has been fulfilled, now I can die in peace.”

Lycaon paused, and coughed into his hand. “You will have to pardon my coarse language, Master Proxy, but I must ask: What the actual fuck?”

[Y/N] took one final breath, and went limp in his arms.

“Proxy? Proxy?!” Lycaon shouted, checking for a pulse. Their heartbeat was as still as a rock.

“No… Proxy!!!”

~~~

The funeral was a sombre one in spite of [Y/N]’s efforts to “spice it up”, according to their will. At one point, an unnecessarily high-quality animatronic made to resemble [Y/N]’s rotten corpse violently burst from the ground, causing Nicole, Billy, and Corrin to faint. Corrin somehow managed to land on the casket and smashed it open, creating even more chaos as everybody scrambled to repair it. Anby was the only person who found it funny, which [Y/N] would’ve considered a win in their book.

Ben, the executor of the will, downed two bottles of aspirin. (As unwilling as he was to set up pranks for a day of mourning, the terms of the will were VERY clear and legally bulletproof. Ben wondered how much money [Y/N] spent on lawyers and elaborate props for this. He also wondered why they had to choose him, of all people.)

Rina floated over to where Lycaon was standing.

“You realize it’s not your fault, dear,” she said to him with a saddened expression, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Even her usually energetic Bag were silent today. “You did everything you could.”

“I know, Rina. It’s just…” Lycaon hung his head. “I have failed my clients in the past, over the course of my career. But never before have I had one lose their life while under my watch. Not just a client, a comrade …” He clenched his fist. “I should have been there sooner.”

“Not even you can be everywhere at once, Lycaon,” Rina reassured him. “At the very least, you made sure that they weren’t alone when they passed away. Speaking of which,” she tilted her head, “What were their last words?”

Lycaon thought about it for a second.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck.”

[0funsite0]

Only Teens - JJk pt.5

Warnings: pregnancy, difficulties in pregnancy, cruel mother, bed rest, slight pregnancy shower sex, brest play, lactation, lactation kink, pregnancy kink

Word count: 2.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's been almost a week since the incident. Y/n has been staying at home, doing online classes. Their baby seemed to be okay. The bleeding stopped and she didn't experience more pain in her abdomen... at least not from contractions.

Their baby girl was beginning to get stronger than they expected and it not once happened that Y/n felt some serious discomfort and pain from her kicks. Those were some uncomfortable moments, but at the end of the day Y/n looked back at these moments with joy and pride that her baby was so active.

She was taking a well-deserved nap when the loud noise of the door slamming open woke her.

- Fold these. - her mother said with a stern voice while throwing a batch of dry clothes onto her bed, hitting the pregnant girl's bump.

Good thing they are soft.

- And make sure you vacuum this floor today.

- Yes mother.

Chores are the last thing she needs after that scare last week. But her mother couldn't seem to understand and keeps adding to the tremendous weight on her shoulders.

She left the room slamming te door one last time behind her.

Reluctantly she got up from her place in bed and stretched stiff and aching limbs out.

This is going to take a while...

And she wasn't wrong. Folding clothes while having to bend over her protruding middle amd vacuuming with constant back pain seemed to take twice as long as it did before. She even had to stop once in a while to catch her breath.

And after an hour and a half she was all done. And there goes her nap. Well... Maybe she could try going back to bed for a bit before Jungkook got home from work. She wanted to greet him. She missed him. He started working not too long ago, and now they couldn't even meet during schooltime. It was torture for both of them.

No matter how hard she tried to fall asleep, fast movements from within her kept her conscious. She smiled lightly and rested a hand atop her stomach.

- Hi baby! - she whispered. - Let's have some rest okay? Before dadda comes home. - she thought for a second. - Or should I say appa?

She chuckled. In the end she chose to take out her phone from and caught her baby's stretches on camera for her boyfriend to watch later. Jungkook often complained playfully that he often missed her kicks since Y/n was the one who actually carried the baby skin to skin. Obviously he new this was the smallest sacrifice to make, carrying and growing a human being inside your body from scratch was a huge task. Not to mention Y/n's body has only just stopped building itself fully, now she had to power through this as well.

He was beyond grateful for all that.

Once done with the short clip she put her phone away and did manage to fall into a shallow sleep.

~

The exhausted boy didn't even stop in front of his family's home to change out of his work clothes. He could always shower at Y/n's and borrow one of Jin's hoodies if absolutely necessary.

That's what felt home. That's where family was.

The sight of his girlfriend's mother leaving their garage with her car reminded him that the before mentioned statements did have one exception.

Regardless he parked his car into their driveway and took out the shopping bags full of things he bought. He walked up to their door and barely lifted his free hand to knock the door opened.

- Jungkook! - Mr. Y/l/n greeted kindly. - Nice to see you. Come in.

- Thank you, dad! Nice to see you too.

- Thanks but none of that dad-thing, okay? - he chuckled along with the young boy.

- Okay sorry dad!

The kind man his the younger on the shoulder lightly simply as a playful gesture. They've been seeing each other so much recently it was only natural for their relationship to grow, along with his bond with Jin. They were a family now after all.

Mrs. Y/l/n was a topic for another day.

Mr. Y/l/n took one bag from the floor and brought it inside, gesturing for Jungkook to enter the house as well.

- Y/n's upstairs sleeping.

- Good, at least she'll be a bit more well rested after this long nap. - Jungkook smiled relived.

He remembered Y/n texting him short before his shift that she'll be having a little nap and she wished her well at work. It was almost a routine for them by now, but she never really managed to sleep more than an hour maximum. She was just too far into her pregnancy to be comfortable for longer than that. And he was perfectly aware of the fact.

- Uhh... Well she was kind of disturbed. - the older man informed uncomfortably. - She only just managed to get back to sleep about 20 minutes ago.

- Oh... Um I'll be upstairs with her.

- Alright, just try to let her rest a bit more. She's had a rough day.

- Of course!

- And you could try following her actions as well. You don't look well rested yourself. - he said with the previous gentleness returning to his features.

- Yes, sir. - with that he took both of the bags and walked upstairs.

He pushed the door open as quietly as he could with both hands occupied and also managed to close it with little to no noise. Setting the heavy bags down was another challenge but nothing is impossible to the golden boy. Well... Better say man now. A soon-to-be father.

A gentle smile spread across his face as he walked closer to the sleeping pregnant girl. She looked peaceful. Tired, but peaceful.

He sat next to her bed on the floor fearful of waking her by the dipping bed if he sat on it. Either way Y/n was a light sleeper and even the barely noticeable commotion, that went down in her room in the past moments, managed to have her stir awake rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

- Kook? - she asked before she'd opened her eyes.

- Sorry I woke you angel. - he said caressing her soft hair.

- I was barely asleep so it wasn't you.

At that moment they were both at ease. They were finally seeing each other after 24 hour, which wasn't the end of the world, but nowadays things were different.

They both felt this excruciating emptiness inside of them whenever they were apart. Maybe it was the fact that the girl was carrying their shared fruit inside her blossoming womb. It was as if there bodies were connected by that precious little girl and being apart for even just a day felt unnatural.

Of course others would say things like clinginess is always a symptom of pregnancy for women and men just felt more protective over their partners during this time, making them want to spend most of their time with them. But there would be nothing magical about that. ;)

- Missed you so much. - she whispered while reaching for him to be pulled into a hug.

- I missed you two more. - he took her into his arm and put the other around her tummy.

There was one moment when he lifted his lingering palm from her bump but that was all it took for him to miss a kick, the only sign being Y/n's audible gasp.

- Did you feel that? - she asked pulling away with happy eyes.

- A kick? - he asked a bit disappointed.

- Yeah. A pretty light one but I thought it could be felt from the outside too.

- I just missed that one moment. - he pouted.

- Come here.

She gestured him to lay behind her on the bed. Once he did she leaned into his strong chest, resting her back on ot. Her had occupied its usual place: the crook of his neck. Last step was taking hsi hands and putting them onto the bare skin of her stomach along with hers on top of his.

- Now feel.

Jungkook leaned forward slightly just enough to rest his chin softly on her shoulder so he could have a better view of what was going on down there. He didn't only want to feel but see with his own eyes as well.

Soon enough light movements signed that their little baby girl was wanting to let herself be known. A giggle erupted from the young couple as they watched in awe.

No matter the difficulties they were gonna power through them. Just like Jungkook promised once and he planned on keeping that promise forever. He wasn't going to let them down once more.

Jus then another giggle came from the girl on his chest when she noticed the bright white color of his work shirt he still had on.

- Are you in your uniform still? - she turned her head to him.

- Sorry. I just wanted to come here as soon as possible.

- Do you want to have a shower together?

His eyes widened. It was hard enough for him to control himself while holding her warm, changing, blossoming body every day. They haven't done anything since finding out about the baby. At least not together...

Maybe it was shame that kept them from bringing it up even in front of only each other, ot maybe it was Jungkook's fear of hurting her in any way. Of course that was until a week ago. Since the scare they had sex was completely off the table for the duration of the pregnancy and post partum recovery.

- I'll just take a quick one, you stay in bed. - he suggested hoping it will give him the chance to shower alone to avoid any funny business.

Well... He couldn't convince her.

And he couldn't keep control. Not after she subconsciously bit her plump bottom lips. Not after she rid herself of any clothes. Not after her full breasts were right at arms reach.

His big palms flew onto her breasts, which were now covered with warm water. It was nice, it eased some of the pain in them. But her boyfriend's hands were doing wonders for her tender blossoms. The way he kept massaging made them leak a slightly yellow colored liquid. A few drops rolled down her curves onto her big belly.

Jungkook, in fear of having the running water from the shower wash away his newfound gold, turned the water off and got on his knees. Now he was in eye level with the liquid treasure. He wasted no time opening hsi mouth and licking them off of his pregnant girlfriend's bump. Whatever was left on her warm skin he rubbed it in.

He was lost in absolute bliss.

- The best moisturizer against stretch marks. - he panted with a mischievous grin on his face. - Look at you! Gorgeous carrying my child, gracefully growing together with out girl. Producing golden milk for our baby-

-and husband. - he finished his sentence.

All the while Y/n's eyes were closed, listening to every praise that left his mouth. If she would've had underwear on they would've been ruined that's how wet she's gotten. But a particular word made those eyes pop open with the speed of lightning.

- J-Jungkook... - she moaned.

The boy wasn't ready to get up yet. He was hungry for what she was giving him. All to him. All because of him.

He closed the space between his mouth and her wet lips, which proved to be difficult with a big curvy barrier that his forehead bumped into. But this couldn't stop him from getting what he desired. Not after so many months of silence.

- Nghh.. ahh! - she tried to muffle her moans of absolute pleasure to no avail.

The boy quickly turned the water back on to hopefully drown their sounds from other ears, all the while not stopping what he was busy with.

- I'm... I'm cumming!

Jungkook didn't free his mouth, he simply just lifted his hand to run it along he sides as a sign of permission.

The amount of precious juice she gave him made his already standing length harden even more.

- Fuck, princess...

He was gonna have to take care of that later.

- Let me help you. - she panted after coming down from her high, catching a glimpse of his throbbing member.

She was preparing to het on her knees with the help of leaning onto the shower door handle, but muscular arms cought her under the armpits to lift her back up.

- No baby, today is all about you. - he reassured her all the while his body protested with raging hormones.

Y/n wanted to protest, but his hungrily soft lips shut her up with a passionate kiss.

It was no secret to either of them that after he lovingly dried her off, helped dressing her, waited for her to close her eyes while he tucked her in for another well-deserved nap, he'll be going back into that damned shower to finish his business thinking about those milk-filled blossoms and child-filled womb.

previous - next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/n: Holy ****... First time writing smut. Won't make a habit out of it probably, since I find it a bit boring XD but it's part of their relationship, so it had to be included at least once. Hope it wasn't too bad 😞

[pentrologram]

What Normal People Do

John 'Soap' Mactavish and Simon 'Ghost' Riley have routines. They have also each other, the truck, the dog, and their flat. That is until the dog practically manhandles you into their life. Changes ensue. please be warned this is very self indulgent and probably not in character at all. i have never played MM2, i haven't watched a single playthrough (unless countless tiktok edits count) and I only know what I do about their characters from a lot of tumblr posts and fics on ao3. speaking of- ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

I'll Run Away With You

Simon Riley is not known for being tender and soft-spoken- he wasn’t a lieutenant because he spoon-fed soldiers and tucked them in on cots in the middle of a war field. He earned his stay on Earth, earned his title, hell, earned the clothes on his back. God would have had his head if he hadn’t made sure the younger, more incompetent kind didn’t have to, too.

It was hard for him to find that balance between the harshness of his job and the still bad but significantly less thorny outside (or inside?) world. Sometimes, while on the field, old injuries from years past would randomly decide to rear their heads. Maybe it would be an old knife wound that felt like it was bruising all over again or his ears would ring like he was hearing gunshots in the middle of a Marks and Spencers.

He was a valuable soldier, he knew. There were bunches and gaggles of people who wanted his head mounted on a stick- too many to count, and properly address. He was only one man, though. It would make sense that after all those years, it would weigh on him.

When he was younger, newer to the military, he tried to be normal when he was off duty. What his mam would have wanted for him, had she not been a deadbeat and dead. Polo shirts that stretched around his wide frame tucked into jeans, taking care of the flat he rented somewhere in the countryside-city (it’s not really a suburb but he calls it that anyways because who cares?) and pretending to debate about vacuums and silverware. Because that’s what normal people do.

But as time went on, it got harder to separate work from his life, and he just… let it consume him. Now that same suburb-y flat is in a place more urban than sub, “prime real estate,” he overheard in a decent pub with a pint once in between missions. Rent’s gone up, that’s damn sure. He offhandedly considers buying the whole building sometimes- he’s got bloody enough money, more than enough from saving absentmindedly, as the money had nowhere notable to go- but he wouldn’t be present enough to be a landlord and that shite. The flat he tried to furnish when he was twenty-something is still furnished the same way, if not a little more touched up by Johnny and his never-ending energy, and sometimes, it feels like being in a dead person’s house. It’s lived in but in a state of perpetual disrepair, never feeling like an actual home (at least for him).

The fridge was rarely ever stocked with anything but condiments and beer during their military days- he and Johnny never really had the energy to cook, preferring to use their free time elsewhere- but the bed had a frame (better than what he can think of some of his friends, bleedin’ Johnny and bringing girls back to a mattress on the floor before he moved in with Simon) and a rug underneath it and even a potted plant on a side table that is 100% plastic. It catches the light nicely in the wee hours of the morning, though, so it’s worth dusting the thin, leathery material of the fake lily now and again.

The flat is more furnished now, now that they’re officially in retirement. Knick knacks found at thrift stores or random handouts from the festivals and fairs that they go to every season, just to feel a little human again. There are more plastic plants on the side table now and Simon even tentatively tried a spider plant six months ago. It’s still alive, flourishing even, and now Simon has a couple of gardening books. Sometimes, when neither of them can sleep, Simon reads them out loud while Johnny fiddles with some new craft. Johnny says out loud once that they should get a house, for Simon and his plants.

Johnny came home with him every time they got some leave time together. The two of them are one in the same, really, feral animals without an off switch. It makes it easy for a relationship to foster, their understanding of the other in such an intimate and vulnerable way. It lets them open up guarded and bruised hearts, letting the other shine a flashlight on them and deciding to love them anyway. It’s the same as the hopeless romantic shit that you see in movies but plays out a lot dirtier in real life- it’s all the love and passion and borderline insanity that comes with a real first love mixed with the obsession of two retired soldiers who had been in the game too long and longer still without anyone normal to add some perspective to their lives.

That’s how it’ll always be, Simon thinks to himself as he stares at Johnny, hulk of a man he is, curled around Simon like a docile little thing- he surely looks it, as he was dwarfed by the extra five inches and the fifty pounds Simon had on him. He’s asleep- man sleeps like the dead, anywhere and everywhere- mohawk unruly and sticking up every which way. Getting long, Simon thinks to himself as he runs a hand through it- slightly sweat slicked but soft from a shower that night. It’s the right on the cusp of summer, the AC working hard- in this old flat, it doesn’t work the best but gets the brunt of it done. Simon’s opened up a window, (hesitantly- but between him, Johnny, and the dog, it’s sweltering and he fears he might get heatstroke) the one closest to his reach, so that the mesh covering can ventilate the room. They’re three stories up, but neither he nor Johnny enjoy having windows open. Too many weaknesses. He takes advantage of the window, though, lighting up a cigarette with a Zippo Johnny got for him a year ago.

His life is full of opposites, he finds. Johnny tends to take up a room, but Simon moves silently, just like his callsign. Johnny sleeps like a log while Simon struggles with his insomnia (right now he hopes the cigarette will help quiet him enough for sleep).

It won’t, Simon thinks to himself as he watches the moon move through the window and sinks below where he can see and eventually, the sun makes its appearance known. He puts his cigarette out sometime between the sun bleeding to view and the first rays of dawn because time keeps on moving and then Johnny is shifting awake at 0800. Johnny blinks, eyes already bright, ready for the day. He’s always alert when he wakes up, force of habit, Simon supposes. He doesn’t sleep enough himself to be so put together when he wakes up.

Then their day goes as follows:

Johnny puts the telly and the kettle on while Simon makes them brekkie. After two cups of tea are made (one with enough creamer to strangle a cow and the other black and simple, the way God intended it, as Johnny’ll tell Simon) and toast and egg sandwiches like the ones from cafes that Johnny learned how to make on a whim are put together, they sit for a while, just enjoying their company. Johnny fiddles with something- today it’s the newspaper- and Simon reads a book, and every once and a while, there’ll be a fair advertised in the paper. The fairs have always been there, in the city, but the two of them never really had the time while in the military. Now, they have more time than they can think to do with it, and so Johnny dragging Simon to them is now a familiar routine.

“‘S strawberries thi’ year,” Johnny says out loud.

“Mm?” Simon hums, immediately knowing what Johnny is talking about.

“Shite, 't started tae days ago.” He puts the paper down and puts his hands on his knees, and Simon puts a bookmark in his book before getting up.

They work cohesively around each other while getting ready to go to the fair. Johnny searches through the walk-in closet for a shirt and Simon digs through their dresser for socks. Johnny fixes his mohawk while Simon hooks a surgical mask around his ears. Johnny laces his sneakers up and pulls Riley’s harness on and Simon pulls on a hoodie, and then the three of them are in Simon’s truck, chugging along to the Town Center, where there are tents and stalls and people with strawberry hats. They get strawberry cider, strawberry pound cake and strawberry-shaped pasta to take home and strawberry cider that the both of them conclude is just Sp

rite in a pink glass bottle. Simon has to talk Johnny down from buying a big, ugly strawberry hat for Riley and compensates with a ceramic strawberry planter. There are strawberry-printed picnic blankets spread underneath trees with strawberry lanterns connecting them, lighting up the public park as the sun dances in the sky. Simon watches idly while Riley bites at a chip Johnny offers her.

They have a moment of peace there, on the picnic blanket, before Riley loses her shit and starts pulling on her leash, her distress signal- usually for Simon, but obviously for someone else now, if the desperate way she’s struggling against her harness is anything to go by. Simon gets up begrudgingly, the metal plate in his knee protesting as he jogs to meet Riley’s speed as she practically sprints behind one of the stalls. There is you; half curled on yourself with your phone in your hands. Riley rips herself out of Simon’s hold and barrels into you, calculating her speed so she’s at a trot when she lays her weight across your lap. You blink, phone forgotten, and Simon watches, silent, as you flinch away. Riley’s nothing if not persistent though, and eventually her weight forces you to calm down. Huh. Simon thinks offhandedly. You still haven’t noticed him, big and hulking as he is, just focused on Riley’s comforting weight as you calm yourself, slow, stuttering breaths evening, phone forgotten. DPT, Simon thinks to himself. When you calm entirely, you spot Simon. Your eyes go wide and you immediately try to wiggle out from underneath Riley.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, your dog sort of- um, trapped me here, I didn’t mean to-“

“No.” Simon says, and his gruff tone matched with his physique is enough to quiet you. “She wanted to help you. ‘S fine.” He says.

“Um,” you say. “Okay. Are you sure?” Simon just grunts in response.

"Are you okay?” He asks, his voice softening just a little.

“Oh, um. Yeah.”

Simon doesn’t believe you.

He stares down at you for a long while, and your expression gradually grows more anxious.

“I just, um- I have an, um. A thing.” You say quietly.

“Are you okay?” He asks again, giving you a chance to tell the truth, to redeem yourself. “Riley doesn’t start DPT on total strangers for no reason.” This time, Simon’s insistent, giving you no wiggle room. He stares two holes through the back of your head. You look uneasy.

“No, I’m OK. Just… got a little upset.” You say, giving him a little smile. Simon stares longer than necessary. Just as he’s about to answer, Johnny comes in running.

“Si, ‘ave found a strawberry sex stall-!“ Johnny starts before his eyes land on you. Pleasantries are exchanged before you squeak out an excuse and you make a point in scurrying out before Johnny can even start his main charming event. Johnny pouts but watches you go.

“Bonnie, that one,” he murmurs, if a little mournfully. Simon only grunts in agreement.

Later that evening, the interaction is forgotten about. Passed off as just a weird event, perhaps an endearing story to tell about Riley- (sweet girl, always so concerned for others- took off running for a stranger once, she did)- and nothing more.

That night goes as follows:

Johnny and the dog watch telly until Simon is done with dinner. They eat together, their little family, Riley eating her generic shepherd’s meal through her slow feeder, chowing loudly while Simon and Johnny talk about everything and nothing at all. Then they all sit together on the sofa to watch a random movie. It’s time for bed after, which means brushing their teeth, showering, washing hair and getting the last of Riley’s jitters out. Then the three of them settle in bed- it’s barely past 1100 before Johnny’s out like a light.

This is where the routine of retired life varies:

Sometimes Simon will sleep. Sometimes he will stay up for a night, then two, then twelve. Sometimes he’ll take the medicines he is supposed to and others he will wake with night terrors. Sometimes he’ll wake up and feel so broken he’ll wake Johnny up so that can cuddle and fall asleep together and sometimes the dog will wake Simon before an especially bad nightmare.

Yes, his life really is full of contradictions, Simon thinks. Because knows he is in love with Johnny but somehow cannot get his mind off the brief meeting he had with you. He takes after his father in more ways than one, it appears. The heart of a cheater hidden in the skin of a new mind. He and Johnny have had thirds before- but Simon’s never felt so enraptured by one before. Not so quickly, not so strongly, not so potently. He finds himself craving to know more about you, to learn everything about you- the same way he felt about Johnny when they first met. The revelation makes him stay up and smoke and watch the moon bleed to the sun, with Johnny curled to his side and Riley in their bed.

Then their day goes as follows:

Johnny puts the telly and the kettle on while Simon makes them brekkie. After two cups of tea are made and omelettes are put together, they sit for a while, just enjoying their company. Johnny fiddles with something- today it’s a new paper craft- and Simon reads a book. Sometime during that, they'll part ways. Maybe the dog needs a walk or Johnny takes a piss- it's a little like a game of wills, looking for who will tap out of just sitting there first. Today, it's Johnny. He gets up to get his laptop before settling back on the couch with the TV buzzing lowly. Johnny job hunts. Simon reads. Johnny feeds the dog. Simon ponders their pension. At some point both of their minds wander to the same topic- you.

Then their night goes as follows:

Johnny and the dog watch telly until Simon is done cooking dinner. They eat together, their little family, Riley eating her generic kibble, chewing loudly while Simon and Johnny talk about everything and nothing at all. Then they all sit together on the sofa to watch a random movie. It’s time for bed after, which means brushing their teeth, showering, washing hair and walking Riley to tire him out. Then the three of them settle in bed- it’s not even past 1100 before Johnny’s asleep.

Then the routine of retired life varies:

This night, Simon lays on his back like a log before curling into Johnny's back. He sleeps that night.

next ->

[allwormdiet]

Agitation 3.7

Let's go rob a motherfucking bank!

I actually love this bit of detail. Like yeah, of course he needs to make more modifications to the costume than what's immediately obvious, making it that much cooler and spookier takes work! Costuming is massively important for that!

(Also more credence to Lisa's theory that it's all a little bit of a game)

She's not wrong, this is funny

I will maintain for the rest of my life that Taylor Hebert has a fucking amazing power and anyone who thinks it's weak or middling or undercooked can fucking fight me about it

(It's a little funny to imagine just puttering around the city and vacuuming up every bug she thinks would be useful)

More neat details about costuming and alter egos. The thing about Tattletale's mask hiding her freckles and changing her face shape is really fun.

Regent's turn, and it turns out he's pretty good at the whole pageantry thing. I wonder if getting to be a theater kid would've fixed him, y'know, as opposed to the life he's actually subjected to

Bitch's dogs are so nasty, it's great, I love them

Everyone puts so much effort into their costumes, not least of which is Taylor's spider silk and chitin ensemble, and then Bitch just does not give a fraction of a fuck. I know Taylor isn't there yet but I love her

Taylor I know you don't want to be a villain but with a performance like this you're really really good at it

What a fucking incredible first impression though, holy shit

This fucking maniac in black and gray sweeps into the bank with a gigantic swarm of insects and surrounded in near-physical darkness that's flooding the room, she lays out the rules for how to get out of this in one piece and makes it very clear what happens if you decide to not get out of this in one piece. It's her first day on the job and she hates this as much as you do.

Also hi Amy, see you again in a few chapters, you little meow meow

Girl, it's Brockton Bay, everyone here is either condemned to hell or already there. If you wanna push that even further, it's Earth Bet, your entire planet has already been sold to the Devil for a corn chip.

Current Thoughts

It's been a while since we've seen a big display of powers, literally since the end of the Lung fight, and we're coming back even harder than the first time because we've got a team effort right now and more than twice as many capes as last time in the ensuing battle

This is gonna fucking rule, Taylor I'm so sorry that your moral high ground is eroding but at least try to have fun

[a0wz]

The Butcher's Son Self-Assignment

TKM Spoilers, set directly after Neil found out about what happened to Andrew while he was at Easthaven Hospital for rehab.

Content Warning: torture, insinuation of assault, kidnapping, racism

Neil felt a fire rise in his chest. Of all the stupid thing's he's done, believing Riko would keep his word was the most egregious. In silence, Neil went back to his room but unable to respond when Matt asked if thing's were alright. Too much was going through the striker's mind as he found his phone on the charger. Neil's father spoke of making him an apprentice, it was his mother's love and borderline paranoia that kept him from turning into the monster they spend his entire life running away from. He disobeyed and betrayed all that she had sacrificed just to play Exy for a year. Now, he would continue to betray her in the worse way possible.

The text to Wymack was short and did little as a heads up.

You: I'll be back in 3 days.

The response was immediate;

Coach W: THE FUCK YOU WILL

But Neil's vision was merely a haze of what was around him. All Nathanial wanted to see was the inside of Dr. Proust's ribcage, warm and drenched in blood. Nathanial's finger twitched at the thought of such a sensation, plucking shards of bone from the wedges of a hammer. He almost couldn't hear Matt's phone ringing as he rushed out the door. A high laugh escaped between his gritted teeth, it was hysterical to him that he was running towards, and not away, from his first kill as the Butcher's son.

He disappeared form the fox tower to make his way across highways in the dead of night to reach Easthaven Hospital. It was as simple as waiting for the doctor to come in the next morning. The anger Nathanial felt against himself kept his nerves from subsiding. Nearly manic with energy the Butcher's son had a day to prepare, a day to execute, and a day to cover his track further.

Walmart had everything he needed for cheap, but he jogged around the entire city to different locations to split up his purchases. Nathanial knew to grab some clothes and shoes that didn't fit to make himself appear as a different, much larger body type. He knew hydrogen peroxide and sponges would get the blood stains out of most materials. He knew a generic air freshener and a wide brush to fake vacuum patterns along the carpet would make it look as though custodial came by through the night. He knew to get a disposable camera to keep track of where everything was in the office before the struggle.

It was easy enough to get Dr. Proust personal phone number, home address, and the name of his house maid. It was easy enough to find a dead bird in the park. It was easy enough to wait until the doctor came in the next morning so coworkers could watch as he willingly left work in the middle of the day due to a 'personal emergency'. It was easy enough to make the call pretending to be a police officer investigating that maid's suicide which left a positive pregnancy test and note addressed to him by name. It was easy enough to knock out the security camera in the parking lot by chucking a dead bird at it just before dawn. It was easy enough to have drained the oil from his car. It was easy enough to watch his engine blow out in the middle of the road and him getting out red-faced and stomping.

"Shit dude, hey I have a shop not too far form here I can get you to were you need to go in no time!" A hooded figure with his hands in his pockets shouted from across the street.

"I truly don't have the time for this crap, I'll just call a cab -uh, thanks for the offer though." Dr. Proust waved off the hooded figure and turned his back to dial something in his phone.

The hooded figure crossed the street and pointed just a block away, not lifting his head enough for Dr. Proust to see his face clearly, "I can have someone give you a ride if you let us rotate your tires on top of checking out the engine bust."

Dr. Proust rolled his eyes and sighed, "Fine, fine, but I better not see a scratch on my car when your done and no messing with the headlights I know one is out and I've never met an maraca shaking alien who could change them right." Dr. Proust didn't make it half the block before being pulled into a dark alleyway. A wash cloth damp with chloroform muzzled his shouts and before he could remember why he was out of his office in the first place, the world went to black.

Nathanial brought Dr. Proust to an abandoned shed a few miles out from a walking trail. The lanky heap was bound in cables and duck tape. The blaze-haired Fox prowled around his prey, watching as he groaned and twitched in confusion. Nathanial spent some time examining the doctor's hands. Wrinkled with age and sun-spotted, Nathanial doubted Andrew was his only victim. The Butcher's son would be doing many people a favor by getting rid of such a monstrous bug. Nathanial's teeth ground as he sneered, almost involuntarily, at the sight of it. All he went through thinking Andrew was safe, instead this creature violated the only person he's ever trusted since his mother's death. The hands, that's were he'll start, dissecting them like he was taught to dissect and destroy minds.

Dr. Proust woke to the feeling of skin peeling form the back of his hand. He writhed in pain, eyes rolling round the room without truly seeing. Nathanial had redone the binds to wrap around his forearms to keep him still while also exposing enough flesh to work with. Is glassier-colored eyes looked on with curiosity as he prodded and poked the now exposed veins and muscles surrounding small bones. Nathanial didn't mind the trembling or desperate muffles of what he assumed were bargaining pitches. He knew no amount of money could correct what he had done to Andrew and so many others. Not even blood could pay them back for their trauma. Despite this, Nathanial looked into the doctor's brown eyes and smiled. A smile Andrew couldn't help but wear to bury a deep anguish.

Within the day Dr. Proust was slowly dismembered alive.

After the initial rounds of argument between the Foxes, Nicky had the news broadcast on blast incase something came up about Neil while he was gone. Dan thought they should put out a missing person report but Kevin spoke up against it. Instead they watched the news, correctly guised whatever Neil was up to would be picked up on, with or without his name being mentioned. On day two, Dr. Proust was reported missing after leaving work at his own free will. His car was found abandoned width the engine blown out due to an empty oil tank. Unfortunately, a bird had smashed the camera that would have recorded any tampering with the doctor's vehicle.

When the Foxes brought the news to Wymack, he raised his hands and said, "I don't see how nay of this has to do with us unless there's a warrant involved." Uneasily, the Foxes waited another day for their striker to return. When he did, smiling as if nothing had ever happened, Andrew smacked him in the back of the head and did little to pretend he wasn't targeting Niels ancles during practice. Matt tried to tell Andrew to knock it off, but Neil chuckled and said it's Andrew's special way of saying thank you. The goalkeeper's glove was thick with padding and made a prominent, very visible middle finger.

[1141520851813892291920]

I was told I should come here to tell you about a recent experience I’ve had. Something about how you’re looking for scary stories or whatever. Sure, I’ll tell you, but it’s not like it’s going to help or anything. I don’t think anyone can help me, really.

It happened last night at time of writing, so Monday night. I work as a pool cleaner (pool technician is what they call it, can’t help but roll my eyes every time I have to say it) and with the summer months rolling in, work’s been busier than usual. Everyone wants their pool chlorinated and clean, everyone wants their pool tiling redone, everyone’s looking for a special rate, etc. So many uppity folks believing they’re more important and their water should be cleaned first instead of finding another way to stay cool. Bit annoying if you ask me, but it’s a job, and I couldn’t care less what these people blow their money on

Boss sent me out to some address out in the boonies and I assumed it’d be the same ordeal as always. I show up, vacuum out all the gunk, scrub up a bit, explain basic maintenance to the customer, yadayadayada. Even being out in the middle of nowhere, you don’t really assume anything. Outside of clearly these people are loaded if they live out of the way AND they’re calling about a pool cleaning. The drive there took about half the day because they were very insistent on someone coming out that same day, and I was content with the idea of an easy day for once.

I was wrong.

Everything seemed okay upon arrival. Quaint little house a couple miles out from the nearest town, beautiful property if I’m honest. The grounds surrounding the cottage seemed to be cluttered in a bunch of water fountains and irrigation systems for a small garden the owners were tending to. All of the water sources seemed to snake back in onto themselves, seemingly entangled and intertwined, it was all rather impressive. Whoever owned this land was probably more savvy than I was about the basics of plumbing. Made me wonder for a second why they’d needed a pool cleaner, but I had a job to focus on and not much time to think about it for longer than a passing moment.

When I knocked on the door of the residence, I was met with the most breathtaking view of a gorgeous woman who’d answered the door. A real looker, made me almost envy the person who got to be with her, I’d never been charming enough to end up with someone like that. I couldn’t tell you what she looked like now, or what she sounded like, or all of what she said, but I remember her eyes. I remember that while the rest of her seemed inviting and warm, those eyes remained cold and dark, almost analytical. Scanning for something that I couldn’t quite be sure of.

She’d told me that her husband had just left for work but that the pool was in the back. She handed me the check for services, and initially I was taken aback since normally payment comes after, but it was one less thing for me to worry about. She told me I could get started and that she’d be outside after she’d changed. Wasn’t really sure what that meant at the time, but I wasn’t going to decline seeing more of her, and with a nod I started to head to the back area of the cottage where the pool was.

By far it must have been the filthiest pool I’ve ever laid eyes on. Overgrown moss, all manner of disgusting, vile muck, as if the pool itself hadn’t been cared for in years. I swore I’d seen the carcass of a less than lucky squirrel at one point, but tried not to think about it all. Popped my headphones in and started the process of vacuuming the mess out of there, and I was thankful for the drone of noise that made it impossible to think for too long. It wasn’t until I felt a tap on my shoulder that I stopped, and what I saw when I turned around wasn’t what I expected.

The wife had joined me in the backyard in what had to be one of the skimpiest swimsuits in existence. Strings that screamed at the tension they were put under, and while I tried not to look, I couldn’t help myself. If she noticed, she didn’t seem to make any mention of it, but the next words out of her mouth could have made me keel over from excitement if that were possible.

“Would you help me with some sunscreen?”

We ended up heading over to a lawn chair she’d setup and I enjoyed the feeling of her warm flesh beneath mine as I rubbed the ointment into her skin. I don’t think I would have in retrospect, but in that moment it felt like that was the only thing that mattered in the world. I remember the way she looked at me with those eyes, and how I could see myself reflected in her gaze; I remember how sure of myself she made me seem, and how good it felt to escape my own self-doubts for once. How it wasn’t so bad to be a pool technician after all if it meant I’d get to experience the joy of beautiful women like this more. How I’d be able to tell my mother to kick rocks for thinking I’d never amount to anything.

At some point, she’d requested that I undo the straps tied on her back so she could get an even tan before she could get in the pool. My stomach lurched, but I agreed, and after undoing the straps, she instructed me to go finish up while she enjoyed the view. With a newfound surge of confidence, I set to work, scrubbing away all of the disgusting bits of dirt and grime in a jiffy. Even added some extra cleaning chemicals besides the chlorine so she wouldn’t have to trouble herself with worrying about not being able to take a dip in the pool. If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have been anywhere near as excited. Funny how your thoughts circle when you have time to reflect on things.

My job completed, I announced that the pool was once again open for swimming, and earned a delighted giggle in return. Something that sounded so ephemeral, as though it were not of this world, but I wished to hear it again and again. I’d started to pack up my tools and planned on enjoying the many daydreams I’d be thinking of on the way back of this scenario I’d found myself in when a sudden movement caught my eye. When I turned to look, I found her beckoning me to come closer, a smile playing on her lips while her gaze never left mine. If everything else had been a fantasy prior, her next spoken words were the cherry on top.

“Would you like to join me?”

I watched in amazement as she removed the fabric that barely covered anything and slowly walked back into the pool, her eyes fixed on me, that same come hither motion ever present. I didn’t even need time to think. Before I knew it, I was freed from my clothes and in the water beside her, and we locked into a brief moment of passion. It all felt surreal, as if it weren’t what was happening, but good. That’s when I felt the pull on my ankle. A pull that at first seemed like something I’d neglected to fish out of the pool before announcing that the waters were safe, but one that quickly became terrifying. I felt myself get pulled under, and despite how shallow the pool was, I couldn’t climb back to the surface.

I felt dozens of what felt like hands pulling me deeper and deeper down into the depths of a pool that was much too big for what I’d just cleaned. I swore I heard whispers telling me that things would be so much better if I gave in and joined them and how life could be so much more if I relished being worth something as part of their group. Sentences that still don’t make much sense to me now but they don’t become any less terrifying. I reemerged from the surface as my vision started to darken, and scrambled out of the pool back to dry land, heaving up water as I did. As I caught my breath, I heard a voice say something that made my blood run cold.

“Look. At. Me.”

When I turned back around, I found the source of the voice coming from the pool. I was met with the creeping gaze of someone who’d submerged themselves beneath the surface, only their eyes and the top of their head visible. Whoever was in the pool, it didn’t look like the woman who’d answered the door, and they began to rise from the waters that now appeared murky once again. It was a wretched, decrepit old woman, one who appeared to have become bloated and waterlogged as though they’d been submerged for far longer than the human body can handle.

I watched in horror as she began to cackle, her skin peeling away from her body as she attempted to exit the pool and head in my direction. I was frozen in place and watched as with every shift of the water, this pool began to change, and alter. Faces reflected in the ripples of the waves she was making, faces that I swore I recognized. Her eyes had locked onto me with what I swore was the same cold, dark gaze I’d felt earlier in the day. She was halfway between me and the pool when I was able to steel myself and begin running back to the car. The last words I heard echo from her still haunt me now.

“Get back into the water. Join us. Join your friends. We’re waiting for you.”

I don’t think I stopped the car again until I heard the second alarm go off warning me about low fuel. Quit my job after, I don’t need that kind of stress in my life, there are other things I can do in the meantime. Hopefully the next gig has buxom babes who aren’t completely mental. If not, I’ll be headed to the beach soon, and maybe I’ll get lucky there. Can’t say I’ll be looking to get into the water, though.

...well, I hate to say it but I am feeling physically better than I was prior to reading this statement. Though, I was perhaps remiss in...stalling on responding to this one for so long.

It stuck out to me due to the nature of the...reflection. It tastes similar to whatever has been trying to...consume? Capture? Reflect Tim.

It is a complicated situation, and one I do not yet understand completely. Reflections are...distortions of light, if viewed from a technical standpoint. But they are also imitations, unrealities of their own...there is no shortage of folklore about mirrors and reflections - do not get trapped between them, do not make eye contact with them, do not accept the invitation to step into the looking glass...

Which is to say...I am lost on this. I've come to accept that the powers of the world are...not exactly the same as the ones that I knew of Before, but are no less present. They seem to exist in their own right, though if Michael's door is anything to go by, they are still able to be influenced or at least...visited, by the familiar fears that I Know.

What do I know about the reflections so far... -They appear to feed off of...insecurity, and self doubt. -They can change their appearance (unsurprising) -They are ephemeral in nature, and do not have a fixed Place -They can communicate directly with their victims and targets. -They appear in opposition to predation and blood. I don't know if any of this will be helpful. Martin and Michael are insistent that I stay in the car while they take care of things with Tim. Oh yes, as if that is going to happen. I have more experience than both of them, at least now. That, and the poor pool boy's misfortune was a rather reinvigorating snack. I am feeling much better. Stay in the car, my arse.