#Chime Starch (oc)

[the-onyx-dragon]

Mom says its my turn on the writing

should i be explaining more of the rebirth concept, yes- will i be writing this first anyway, also yes

The path to the grave was a familiar one to seraph, although calling it a path and grave were overstatements. The path was just logs and branches loosely highlighting the way to the grave, barely see able even if you knew where to look. The grave was much the same, a giant log that they and Carlos had manged to hollow out and that Mortimer had helped move into place, Jack had manged to find some old pictures of Alex to place inside it.

Seraph would sit down next to the grave with a sign. "uh- hey Alex- . . . .fuck this feels dumb" They'd take a breath before continuing, "uh- Chime suggested i talk to you- well your grave- about this so here i am" They shifted, turning to face the grave.

"So, Chime said to talk about the whole rebirth thing and what i decided to do considering-" Seraph loosely gestured to the grave. "this.. . . I'm not you, there's been a lot to prove I'm not you, but i look like you, i guess i sound like you to an extent, i have your soul for voids sake-" They'd take a breath, standing up and putting a hand on top of the grave. "i don't know- i guess what i'm saying is- good job somehow being a better parent than the two that made me."

"its dumb, with you being dead for years before i was even born, but those videos you made- some of them got left in the asylum and when i watched them. You manged to teach me more than what my parents did. . .. . i should probably start heading back before it gets dark."

Seraph turned to leave before looking back at the grave, awkwardly waving. "I'll come back to talk more later, see you later. . .Ren"

[ladyveronikawrites]

IF PAIN IS BEAUTY, I'M A PRETTY BITCH

(Noah Sebastian x OC) 18+

Kinktober in the Concrete Jungle - Prompts: Female Domination, bondage, imapct play, humiliation

Part of the Will We Both Be Satisfied verse

CW: Power exchange, D/s, sissification, feminization, cross dressing, honorifics, roleplay, new name, suck off dildo, spanking, impact play - paddle,  orgasm denial, strap, verbal humiliation, chastity, cock cage, squirting

Word Count: 3,323 Crossposted: AO3 // Wattpad

title comes from 'Code Mistake' by Corpse featuring Bring Me the Horizon

Click. Clack.

The heels of her modest height clear stilettos pierce the lavish marble floor of the hotel lobby. Vivian pulls out her phone from her leather tote bag as she approaches the elevator. When the metal doors slide open, she struts in, chin held high as the bodies part for her. Vivian should feel intimidated standing arm-to-arm with folks much taller than her, but she doesn’t. She may look small but she’s a spitfire. A smirk curls her lips when her phone chimes. 

Room 532.

A beast of a man waits for her behind that door. No one moves when she exits the elevator and a couple making out in the hall, stop and stare when she walks by. Vivian demands all eyes on her at all times. The sheer black floral lace corset is the only delicate thing about her. The garment is tied tight making her pert tits almost spill from the cups, her black shoulder-length hair grazes her collar bones which accentuate the sweetheart neckline of the bustier. Paired with her favorite high-waisted trousers that hug her hips and define her waist, it’s absolutely obscene. Her large sunglasses attempt to obscure her identity but it’s pretty obvious why she’s there at this time of the night and she doesn’t give a single flying fuck. When she approaches his door, he opens it before she has a chance to raise her scarlet-manicured hand to knock. Vivian struts into the room not even acknowledging the tree of a man, muscles bulging and drenched in sweat just like she asked. His head is bowed, and his knees shake when he shuts and locks the door. 

“Scared someone’s going to find out your dirty little secret and call the police?” she taunts, as she dumps the contents of her bag on the table by the bed. Noah shifts on his heels but doesn’t speak a word. Good boy.

“Speak.”

“Y-yes, mistr- I mean, Miss V,” he blurts out, nerves shaking his voice. 

“Good thing, I don’t intend for anyone to find out.” Vivian stalks over to Noah shoving a bright pink bag of toiletries onto his chest. 

“Go clean your gross gym bro sweat off.” She makes a face in disgust before opening the bathroom door. “I can’t wait to meet my pretty girl soon when you are done. Does she have a name yet?” Vivian chimes, her voice softening in excitement. A soft blush creeps over Noah’s cheeks accentuating his freckles, but he can’t meet her eyes. 

“Look at me when I ask you a question,” Vivian commands, placing her manicured hands on her hips, expectantly. 

“Y-yes Miss V, h-her name is Norah.” She can sense Noah’s hesitation, yet his gaze remains on hers. 

“What a beautiful name,” Vivian smiles approvingly. “When you wash yourself think of her, imagine her slender hands washing your body and the sweet smell of her hair and skin. Remember darling, she is you.” 

“Yes, Miss V, of course.” A bashful smile spreads across his face when her words sink in. What Noah has been longing for is becoming a reality. 

Noah practically skips into the bathroom with the bright pink bag clutched tight to his bare chest. Vivian hears the whoosh of the shower tap being turned on and busies herself with removing the expensive garment from the bag and steaming out all the wrinkles with the portable steamer she brought.  She wants this to be perfect.  

Soon enough she hears the water being shut off and Noah stepping out of the shower. 

Vivian knocks on the door, “Norah, may I come in?” 

“Y-yes.” His voice cracks as she opens the door. Before her, Noah has wrapped the starch-white hotel towel around his waist. His skin is flush and damp, highlighting every defined muscle in his arms and chest. Mentally shaking herself, she steers her derailing thoughts back to the task at hand, just before noticing Noah’s purple-painted toenails. 

“What scent did you choose?” she circles him, grazing her manicured fingertips over his glistening damp torso. His body flexes in the wake of her touch. She knows the scent he chose to wash himself with. She has every scent of her inventory memorized. The sense of smell is powerful, a primal yearning that etches itself into the brain for an eternity. Mixed with your own pheromones- your scent is unique to each individual. Noah chose something comforting and familiar. 

“Vanilla and bergamot, Miss V.” His cheeks heat with the confession.

“Very good. How does it make you feel?” Miss Vivian walks over to the bed, grazing her fingertips over the garment bag with anticipation. 

“I-I..” Noah’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “I feel good-”

Vivian turns, crossing her arms over her chest, and cocks a full brow; a warning for him to continue.

“Powerful…” Noah continues, “Yet beautiful.” She beams with pride at his declaration and when she glances up at him, he smiles right back. 

“Would you feel more comfortable dressing in the bathroom or the room?” Vivian slowly unzips the garment bag, periodically glancing up to see Noah’s reaction. She watches as Noah’s mouth parts and eyes widen. She is also pretty sure she saw his eyes start to shimmer as she pulled the exquisite black mini dress from the bag. 

She hands over the velvet hanger, and he stares in awe. " It’s beautiful,” he whispers, " even better than I could imagine.” 

Vivian moves to hang up the now empty garment bag in the closet. She smiles to herself again, basking in Noah's newfound excitement. 

When she turns back, she gasps softly at the sight before her. Pooled around Noah’s ankles are his grey sweatpants and boxers. He hadn’t bothered to step out of them, too entranced by the soft fabric. Her heart leaps at the sight of the matte black chastity cage uncasing his cock, a gift from their first meeting over a month ago. 

It’s beautiful really, watching the tall, toned, and tattooed man grazing his large hand over the dress. 

“Can I help you put it on?” Vivian asks.

Noah starts to shake his ‘yes’ and then stops himself, “Yes, Miss V, please help me put it on.” Noah’s voice pitches higher with excitement. 

“Of course, dear.” She grabs a pair of lace panties from her bag. “Put on these while I ready your dress and gather your heels.” Noah swiftly discards his sweats and pulls on the lace panties that fit him perfectly. 

He shouldn’t be surprised that Vivian could size him correctly as she took extensive measurements during their first consultation. The self-proclaimed perfectionist does not overlook her care and attention to detail.  

Noah steps into the dress and sucks in a shaky breath. Vivian comes behind him to zip up the dress, admiring the ink that shows from the open back of the dress. 

“Turn around,” Vivian instructs her voice firm, despite the tenderness she feels in this delicate moment. He obeys quickly, almost stumbling over his long limbs. 

“Sit down on the edge of the bed.” Noah’s brows furrow slightly as the dress presses against his thick thighs when he sits down. It’s a little uncomfortable, forcing his legs to press together. 

Vivian can’t help but glance at his thighs, where the dress hitched higher, as she makes her way back to Noah with a pair of strappy heels in her hand. 

“Now I’m not one to kneel,” she starts, lowering herself to the ground in front of Noah. “But for a pretty thing like you, I would.” Vivian slides the heel onto his tattoo foot and fastens it around his delicate ankle and when she looks up, she finds the prettiest shade of warm pink flushing Noah’s cheeks. “I see you painted your toes, does anyone else know?” she asks fastening the other heel. 

“No, Miss V,” Noah’s voice starts to waver. “No one knows.” 

“What if we showed someone? What do you think about that? Just a picture…hmm?” Don't get carried away Viv, you know blackmail is a soft limit and you can understand why.

Her hands pause at his ankles, waiting with bated breath for his response.

“I’m not ready… I’m sorry.” Vivian can see a trace of fear in his brown eyes. 

“That’s ok darling,” she says softly, rising slowly to stand, she tilts his chin up to meet her gaze. “It’ll be something special for us then.” Noah smiles back at her and her heart flutters. He’s so soft and beautiful. She takes a step back and admires her work. 

Noah sits up straighter on the edge of the bed and crosses his legs at his ankles. The heels fit his feet perfectly and his tattoos are on full display. His leg muscles tense as her gaze wanders higher. Nervously, Noah starts to pick at his cuticles. Her small hand stills the anxious habit. Vivian glances a little too long at his large hands under hers, her small wrist against the length of his fingers. 

“Norah, look at me sweet girl,” Miss Vivian coos, caressing his jaw with her free hand. A pink blush warms the freckles scattered on his cheeks. He sighs deeply when his eyes meet hers, leaning into her touch. “Good girl, another deep breath for me.” He takes another shaky breath, the new nickname setting loose a thousand butterflies in his tummy. “That’s it,” Vivian smiles. “Shall we continue?” 

“Yes, Miss V,” Noah’s voice is stronger now, confident. 

“Stand up, l want you to see how pretty you look in your dress and heels.” Fingers entwined; Vivian leads Noah to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. He stumbles a few times, reaching out to her for extra support. She swallows down the laughter threatened to spill from her throat as the baby gazelle straightens his wobbly legs and smooths down the dress. 

“You are doing so well,” she beams. “Just a few more steps.” Vivian offers her arm to him for support, but he refuses – strutting the rest of the way into the frame. Noah oozes confidence, bright eyes, and a dazzling smile when he looks himself over in the mirror. The dress does wonders for his shapely body, cinching at the waist yet hugging the thickest part of his toned thighs. 

“Spin slowly for me, Norah,” she instructs. Vivian watches as Noah hesitates for a breath before turning cautiously in the heels. Her jaw drops when her eyes scan over Noah’s back, “Stop,” she blurts out, yet Noah complies threading his fingers together comfortably at the small of his lower back and bowing his head slightly, he slips into submission. 

The roses on his hips are red and he has had more coloring added to his tattoo. Noah shifts on his feet, tearing Vivian from her daze. “Keep going,” she clears her throat, trying to keep her cool. “How do you feel?”

“I feel amazing, Miss Vivian,” his voice pitches higher as a blush heats his cheeks. “The dress is so soft, and it makes me feel incredible. I… I didn’t know I could look this good,” he confesses, his cheeks burning crimson, yet his gaze remains transfixed on himself in the mirror.

“Can you be a good girl for me and get on your knees?” Noah drops to his knees, instantly. He still somehow towers over Vivian when she comes to his side.  “That’s it, it’s where you belong.” Her voice turns cold, her long fingers gripping his chin to force his gaze upward. “Open your mouth,” she commands. 

Noah complies eagerly even sticking out his tongue for her, his big brown eyes starting to dilate. Vivian nudges the silicone dildo closer. “You’re a little cockslut aren’t you?” she huffs a laugh, sliding the toy closer. Saliva drips from his tongue to the floor with every shake of his head. 

“Please Miss V,” Noah whimpers. 

“Begging for my cock already? Such a pathetic needy sissy,” she pats his cheek then lets the dildo rest on his tongue. He whines when she yanks it from his mouth suctioning the toy to the mirror. “Watch yourself suck this cock and don’t stop until I tell you.” Noah approaches the toy warily and, in the mirror, Vivian positions herself to tower over the kneeling man. “Begin,” she commands, setting her jaw and resting her hands on her hips. Noah starts to lick and suck at the cock. Impatient, Vivian crosses her arms and starts tapping her foot. The click-clack of her heels makes Noah’s gaze shoot up.

“Do you want me to come over there and show you how it’s done?” She raises a threatening brow to him in the mirror. He quickly hollows his cheeks and sucks down the toy. Pathetic. Vivian stalks over to the man on the floor and cards her fingers into his short brown hair, gripping the root. “Pathetic,” she sneers, forcing him to take more until he gags. She stops immediately, loosening her hold on his head but not letting go completely. “Suck.” And he does, with a fervor she’s never seen before. Saliva dribbles from his mouth and he fists the rest he can’t swallow down. 

“That’s my good girl,” she coos, stepping back to take in the sight before her. Noah starts to moan, and his long lashes flutter and his rhythm starts to falter. He groans softly, and that’s when she notices the damp spot on the fabric. Vivian grips Noah by the hair once again and pulls him off the dildo. “Get up,” she bites out. 

Noah stands with shaky legs, eyes cast to the ground. “What did you do?” Vivian asks her voice firm but not mean.

“I… I came without permission,” he whispers. 

“Say it again.”

“I came without permission, mistress,” his voice wavers but his eyes finally meet hers, sad and pleading. 

“You came without permission,” she echoes. “Bend over the bed. Now.” Vivian points at the bed, eyes still fixed on him. Noah shuffles and stumbles to the bed, trying to keep his composure. He sucks in a breath when she hikes up the dress around his hips exposing his lace panties. 

He flinches when Vivian rubs the leather paddle over his ass, “Count out loud or I start over.” 

“Y-yes Miss V,” his voice starts to shake again. “I understand.”

“Bad” slap! Noah’s body lurches forward slightly. “One!” he grunts.

“Girls” slap! “Two!” his pathetic whimper cracks his voice. Vivian glances down to see his legs starting to shake.

“Get” smack! She strikes Noah’s other ass cheek with the same intensity. “Three!” 

“Punished!” smack! “Four!” Noah hiccup sobs when Vivian rubs the puddle over this reddening ass. “I can’t wait to see if there is a lace imprint on your beautiful ass. Why don’t we see, hm? She taunts, turning from the quivering man on the bed to put away the paddle. She rummages around the bag for her harness and tosses it onto the bed right in front of him.

Without warning, she steps behind Noah and rips the panties down to his ankles where she quickly unfastens the heels from his ankles. “Stand up,” she commands, void of emotion. Noah hastily kicks off the heels and panties. He doesn't rise tall and confident, now his head hangs low and his shoulders hunch. She balls up the soiled panties and throws them on the bed before picking up the harness. “You know I could have given you the most intense orgasm of your life for your special day,” Vivian says as she slips on the harness around Noah’s hips, resting just above his cock cage. “But you had to go and ruin it.” She huffs in disappointment, gripping his wrist to turn him around. “Open up.” Noah reluctantly opens his mouth wide, and Vivian shoves the panties in. “I could have used that pretty mouth of yours for so much more.” Noah’s cheeks redden even more, and his eyes turn misty. “Awh, is the pretty girl going to cry? Good.” 

Vivian turns and stalks over to the mirror yanking the dildo off the reflective surface. Making her way to her bag for a blindfold she pays no mind to the man in the room. After attaching the dildo to the harness, Vivian slaps on her favorite cuffs around Noah’s surprisingly delicate wrists. Noah’s chest starts to heave, his breathing quickens- but he doesn’t use their gestural safeword, and doesn’t flip her off either. 

“Are you ok, sweet Noah?” her question true and full of concern as she wipes the tears from his cheeks. He nods with a muffled “uh huh” and gives her a thumbs up and she can’t help but laugh a little. She takes a deep breath to center herself and notices Noah doing the same. 

Vivian doesn’t stop herself from resting her hands on his chest as he takes in another deep breath, intently listening to the way he breathes and, on the exhale-

She pushes him back onto the bed, his eyes go wide yet a small chuckle tumbles from his gagged mouth. Leaning over Noah, she slides the blindfold over his eyes, “You don’t get to see me come undone.” She smirks, giving his cheek a slap. 

Vivian takes inventory of the scene before her, Noah on his back with his legs dangling over the bed, eyes covered, mouth gagged, and wrists bound. His breathing has steadied, and his cock remains soft in its cage. If she’s being honest, she is very impressed with how Noah is handling the scene. Without another thought, she disrobes her lower half before padding over to the table once again to her bag for lubricant. 

After coating the silicone cock in a water-based lube, Vivian straddles Noah’s hips careful not to touch any part of him. His punishment is to be deprived, touch included. 

Vivian takes her time, letting her walls adjust to the thick fake cock. Unabashed, she lets out a wanton groan deep from her throat when she takes it to the hilt before bouncing up and down pressure building in her core. Noah’s muffled whimpers fuel her desire as she rides the cock. 

“This could be you coming undone,” Vivian moans, sinking down on the silicone dildo strapped around Noah’s hips. She’s close to the edge and reluctantly stops herself. “But you broke the rules!” She accents each word rocking back onto the dildo and sliding her hand between her thighs. Her breath hitches when she circles her clit with her fingers. Throwing back her head in ecstasy, her rhythm falters when the flood gates of pleasure release and she squirts all over Noah.  

“Fuck,” she groans low in her throat When she pulls herself Off the silicone dildo. Just then her phone starts buzzing, alarm ringing, “Ha, just in time,” Vivian sneers as she cleans herself with a hotel towel. She redresses and unbinds Noah's wrists and pulls the soiled panties now soaked in saliva from his mouth and removes the blindfold. His cheeks are red and his lips raw, yet his eyes light up when he sees her. 

“Nicholas wanted me to tell you, Happy Birthday,” she whispers in his ear. His cheeks flame deep crimson, and his mouth gaps open at the revelation. “Hurry up and get dressed, I’m sure he has something else planned for your birthday.” Vivian helps Noah up from the bed and then busies herself with cleaning up as he dresses. 

“Thank you, Miss Vivian,” Noah says softly. 

“Happy birthday,” she winks at him and then stops at the door to add, “Remember good girls who follow the rules get to come. See you next month Noah.” 

Shutting the door behind her she reflects on the first phone call she received from Noah and how nervous and full of shame he was. Now - months later- she is wrapped up between him and his boyfriend as a mentor of sorts as they traverse through their own kinky dynamic.

👑Royal Readers👑

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@omensbrainrot @99png @awkwardalex @theanarchymuse95 @lobolocaamo

[shiro-ai-writes]

Prompt: Finding a baby in your doorstep on a winter morning (Rebirth scenario test)

A spin off with my OCs so that test out scenes for my other more important stories... I call it a prompt but it’s actually all of the research that I had collected in a fun little side story :D

For this one, I have my first ever OC, Aestia Goldlink

Some additional information (that I had marked for my own benefit, but I thought would be fun to add):

Location: a mansion/estate

Scenario: home alone(ish), she's 27+, her place since she's well to do, finds baby when putting out milk bottles

All that said, enjoy.

She squirmed when the pin prick of light peeking through her blackout curtains reached her eyes. She turned, curling into herself and snuggling into the fluffiness that was her rich cotton sheets before sighing in relief. She chased after the sleep that had threatened to escape her but quickly gave up after what felt like half an hour of half-hearted unconsciousness.

She sat up, eyes still closed, stretching her arms far back with her body contorting into quite the tight arc. With a tiny grunt accompanied by an inelegant series of pops and cracks and a sigh, the woman blinked blearily as she slipped off the bed, yawning as she went.

Only to freeze the moment her bare feet touched the wooden panels that was her floor.

In an action that was almost too quick compared to her stiffened state, she jumped onto the thin rug she had by her bed, any last remnants of sleep batted away into space in her haste. Her toes and feet curled into themselves. So cold! She thought, and she scanned the ground for her slippers.

It took a while—partly because she refused to take even a step out of the square that wasn't the winter-chilled floor—but she finally located her slippers, camouflaged brown puffy ends sticking out from under her disheveled duvet. Idly, she debated putting on a pair of woollen socks but decided to leave the thought for after she freshened up.

So she went about as usual and if she soaked her feet in some hot water in the bathtub, no one can fault her.

Settling down on her dresser, she continued her routine of creams and powder. After swipe of lipstick in a decidedly neutral tone of red, she fished out a pair of long socks from the drawers beside her as well as the accompanying calf garters.

She pulled them on and clasped the last garter right when the grandfather clock down the hall chimed nine, telling her that this morning's milk would be here in another quarter or so. Just enough time for her to change and gather up the bottles she had washed the night before.

First her blouse, thick and soft, lightly starched to perfection. Then her skirt, thicker than she would usually have opted for but at her preferred length with no one able to judge her conservative tastes because of how cold it was. She forgot how soft it was—she hadn't had many opportunities to wear it—as expected of merino wool, softest as wools go. It was really warm too. The more she felt at it the more she was fascinated by it. I really should wear this more, she thinks, humming. This grey really goes well with this particular shade of cream. Wonder if it will look as good with my other blouses.

"Oh! Almost forgot." She muttered and rushed to fix herself and grabbed her dressing gown.

She near-dashed—because dashing is uncivilized—down to the kitchens and picked up the basket filled full with five little glasses packed neatly, thanking past her to have had the presence of mind to have done so last night.

From there, she began to stroll to the front gate, where hopefully she didn't have to wait or make the David, hardworking man he is, wait too long in this dreadful weather. She was halfway there when a small breeze blew by and she began pondering if she should have taken a little longer to grab one of her larger coats. Right now all she had against the frigid air was a warm skirt and a thin dressing gown. Not really ideal for facing the weather that decided to instantly become freezing when just yesterday it had been warm enough for short sleeves.

At least it isn't snowing yet, she sighed.

Upon seeing the the cloud of her breath frosted over, she pulled the gown tighter over her shoulders. She sped up, wincing a little as dry leaves crunched under her boot. Internally, she notes down to tell the gardener after to sweep after she returns. Normally, it would be the butler's job to clear the leaves but John was on holiday, a well deserved one and to visit family overseas, so she'll delegate it to the gardener for the time being. The man hasn't much else to do otherwise with all the plants all shed and ready for winter. Goodness gracious, even the ones in the greenhouse were prepping for the chill... Such thoughts and others of a similar vein kept her occupied that she might have gotten herself a face full of metal bars.

Might have.

If it wasn't for what she saw that stopped her.

Sitting there, right on edge of her gate, was wicker basket. She stepped closer, brows rising slowly on her forehead and head tilting unwittingly.

It wasn't a basket.

But a cradle.

And a baby.

Her hands flew to her face, glass bottles jostling as the basket in the crook of her elbow swung. Warm fingers met cold cheeks and she scrambled to unlock the gate. How long has this poor child been left here? The cold metal bit at her palms when she pulled the gate back but she ignored it in favour of grasping at handle of the cradle.

The chill of the wood handle burned her more than the gate bars did. And the cold air burned her throat as she took in a sharp breath, eyes wide and unseeing. The child, its lips, they were so blue. Its face so pale, it was as if it had no blood. Cold. The child must be so cold. She tore off her dressing gown, tucking the thin bit of additional warmth into the basket. Then she realised something.

There was no cloud.

A strong gust of wind blew.

The child, it...

Her hand stuttered as she reached towards under the baby's nose. Deep inside, she didn't want to for fear that she would be met with the worst possible outcome. Her lips pulled itself thinner and thinner the longer she couldn't feel anything on her chill-reddened digits. She was praying to whatever God there was out there that it was just her fingers and not any other dreadfulness. Finally, a tiny tickle of sensation graced her index, one she would have definitely missed had there been even the smallest of winds. She let out a breath she didn't know she held and pressed her fingers down to the small gap between the loose blanket and the child's neck, checking for a pulse.

When she was suitably satisfied by small and weak but consistent thumps, she scooped up the basket and powered back to the mansion for fear of jostling the wain.

Though her gate was left wide open and the basket of bottles laid messily on the ground, that was the last thing she could be concerned with in this moment. David, he's a good man, he can be trusted to exchange the bottles left out. She would just have to take another trip out to collect them later, is all.

When she burst through the nearest door, she was met with a loud yelp followed by the clatter of something fumbling its way down to the ground. She resisted the urge to look towards the noise, instead focused on making her way to the kitchen where she knows has a fire roaring in its hearth, as it does everyday.

"Milady-" the maid started but stopped short.

"Not now." she called out curtly and marched on.

Legging through the door as much as is allowed, she turned sharply trying her best to not shake the basket.

It took a while, even if she was running with all her might, to get to the kitchens, having had to cross several hallways  before she reached. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hasty to get inside the house. But there was a definite change in temperature when she entered so she deemed it fruitful since the child need not stay in the cold for any longer—few minutes or not. She couldn't bear the thought of circling around to the back door of the kitchens she came out of.

Anywho, there it was, the hearth! She quickly put the cradle by it. And slumped down to the ground, huffing and puffing. Only to then realise that she was being stared at by her chefs and a footman.

"M-milady! What is-" the footman began when a second voice cut in.

"Milady Goldlink! What in the world has possessed you! You ran like the devil himself was after you." The maid sputtered worriedly.

"Sorry Pristine," the Lady said sheepishly, still slightly out of breath. She looked over her at maid, whom was living up to her namesake with not a single hair out of place after what? Running from the front end of the building to the back. She wasn't even out of breath. Why, if it weren't for the faint sheen of sweat decorating her forehead, Lady Goldlink would have thought she had just come in from the storage room next door.

Then again, she could argue that she ran more and harder, and it completely was not because she was utterly out of shape.

With a final intake of warm air that felt like honey being smoothed over her cold burned lungs, she continued.

"Could I get some hot water and towels?"

At the quizzical look on her staff's faces she dragged the basket onto her knee as she took a seat onto a stool one of the chefs drug out for her.

"That's... Milady that's... Is it?" the footman stammered, brows knotted together, seemingly having caught on to what her package was.

"Yes, it is."

She flipped open the flap of the basket.

There was chorus of gasps followed by silence.

Then a flurry of motion to get the things she requested and more.

Amongst the chaos, she found that the baby basket had been relieved from her grasp and a warm cup of tea replaced the spot between her hands. She watched as all the servants present halted all they were doing then to bustle about tending to the near frozen child.

She watched quietly as the footman twirled about the kitchen tending to various things at once and chewed on her lip. She couldn't quite put a name to his face for some reason. Maybe he's a new hire? But at the sight of the young man lifting the baby tenderly out of its icy prison made her decide to pursue the thought later.

The child was wrapped in a makeshift cot of cloths and the head chef was pressing wet towels to the baby's face. And oh, was it such a tiny thing, face growing utterly red and painful looking. In the background, she heard the footman coordinate the maids to prepare a place for the wain as well as to send for a doctor. For a new face, he was so well adjusted to lead, she wondered if she give the man a raise or a recommendation for a butler’s position when the time comes. The young man’s ability would be wasted as a footman… And, any excuse for her to pile more work on John was always a plus in her books.

Somewhere along the line, between sips of her sweeter than usual tea, a blanket had been draped over her shoulders and Pristine leaned over her, saying, “We need to get you all warmed up now, drink up Milady, we have plenty more."

Other than that, she assumed the standing orders the Lady of the house had, which were to sit and look pretty as John liked to nag. And oh, would he be giving her a good lecture if he were here, no doubt for leaving the house in unsuitable attire, without an escort or doing menial tasks on her own instead of being waited on.

She simply didn't see the point of having servants for such frivolous reasons. It's not like she couldn't dress herself well enough and she needed a reason to stretch her legs in the mornings. It wasn't that hard to collect by herself some milk—oh right the milk! She had completely forgotten.

It should be by the gate which was wide open since she left it as is in her haste. Seeing that everyone's attention was on the child, she put down the cup and sneakily turned to get off the tiny stool only to come face to face with Pristine squatting beside her, eyes rapt on the chaos. A basket full of milk resting on the ground

Right. Of cour—

"Green room's ready!" A clean voice called over and the baby was swiftly cradled in the arms of one of the maids and hustled off by the footman. All the maids present, of which there weren't many, followed after swiftly. In an instant, the din was replaced by the deafening ring of silence.

Lady Goldlink made to stand up and Pristine—quick as ever—hooked an arm under hers to help. She looked towards the cooks and began,

“Mrs Ramirez, Cora, Bella. I’ve interrupted your breakfast preparations for your help. I thank you sincerely for you readily assistance a-”

A short cacophony of ‘of course’s and ‘always’s as well as a pat on the shoulder from the cook had her grinning brightly. And the dry ‘being all upright and proper doesn’t suit you at all lassie’ that followed sent her giggling hopelessly and dropping her sad attempt at lady-ing.

“Well, I’m glad to be able to enjoy your continued service, my chefs.”

Nodding at their bows, she made her way out of the kitchen.

She started towards the green room but a certain handmaid of hers still had an iron grip on her elbow.

"Now milady," she started, "you don't have anything on your schedule today, but I suggest you get started on some paperwork. John tasked me to make sure you're done on time."

"John... He…" She sputtered.

"Now now, I'm sure it be quick work.”

“Unbelievable!"

And she was dragged, ahem, assistedly brought—with completely no resistance—to her office.

She sighed when she saw the stack in her tray and then again at the sight of a bigger stack beside it.

Damn you John.

[3one3]

The Sequel - 815

Two More Sleeps

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“We want pancakes,” Christina announced on behalf of herself and her son, who occupied her lap at Sunday brunch with Marco’s family, and Stefanie. He refused to sit in the highchair provided for him, or with his dad. He was only interested in sitting on Mommy. Unusually for her, she was fine with that. She didn’t force him to sit where he belonged, or even admonish him for being uncooperative. They scoured the menu together but they were always going to have pancakes. André mentioned pancakes while trying to sell them on the idea of going to brunch, and from that moment on they were set on the pancakes.

“The blueberry ones are to die for,” Zoe claimed. “They do a blueberry and cream cheese spread on top. Sooooo good.” She and Marco took Noah to the New York, New York restaurant for brunch every Sunday when the player was free. It was in a hotel, and both the eatery and the accommodations were billed as “American style”. Christina expected American diner fare. The menu was a bit more sophisticated than that, with trendier, cosmopolitan brunch offerings, and a typical buffet. No American brunch menu could be complete without pancakes though.

“Just pancakes?” André asked, skeptical. Sunday was his last day with her for a month. He didn’t totally want to share her with their friends, but he was still working on his campaign to make her feel at home in her new city and to show her that she could have a social life there outside the barn.

“And a latte, and hashbrowns, and bacon.”

“That’s more like it,” he smiled.

“If my trainer is eating fried starch and bacon, I’m eating it too,” Stefanie chimed in. She closed her menu and set it down on the table. “Buffet for me.”

“Chris, what is a Chesapeake crabcake and do I like it?” The non-injured of the two football players trying to hide from the general public at the corner table intended to embark upon the buffet as well, but was still curious about the a la carte menu.

“It’s like a blob of crab meat, breadcrumbs, and celery held together with egg, mayonnaise, and mustard, and yeah, you’d probably like it. I don’t know where they get Chesapeake Bay crabs from in Germany though,” the always-injured rider explained hesitantly. “Chesapeake Bay is in Maryland.”

“It comes in an eggs Benedict. Should I try?”

“Not if you want my mouth anywhere near yours for the rest of the day.”

“Never mind.”

“Ouch, man,” Marco cringed. “The sting of that whip.”

“He’s not whipped,” his partner argued. “He’s respectful, and smart. If someone wants kisses then he shouldn’t have seafood breath.”

“Thank you,” Christina said with a smile of satisfaction. The potential proximity of her mouth to André’s mattered that day, because Saturday was the day the affection dam finally broke. Holger came over to give her lessons on Rio and Socks, she rode all of the others, and watched him teach Stefanie and Kyle on two horses a piece too. It was a long day at the barn. André was released for international duty immediately following BVB’s win at home on Friday night, so he was off the whole day. He spent some of it watching all the jumping and flatwork outside from the pretty gazebo attached to the jump storage shed between the grass “ring” and the dirt one, with Lukas. The littlest Schü had early dinner while his Papa prepped ingredients to make pan seared filets mignon, a sheet pan of roasted vegetables, and whipped russet and sweet potato “swirl” with garlic and sea salt. Christina was grateful to gimp directly from the front door to a plate of well-cooked, hearty and clean food, which she ate every bite of. And for once that didn’t lead to feeling overfull, because the chef finally learned that her stomach was significantly smaller than his and refrained from overwhelming her plate and tempting her to eat too much just because it was there. As such, the rider suggested a relaxing soak in the Jacuzzi in the round room at the opposite end of the house, without fear of sinking in it like a stone. Neither of them had tried it out yet. It was round and built into the white marble floor, and bigger than the square one they put on their patio in London. Neither of them could figure out why the previous owners of the house put expensive marble in the “spa room” and in the foyer but nowhere else- nowhere more significant. They seemed like the two parts of the house in which the occupants would spend the least amount of time.

Regardless, the Jacuzzi was nice. The jets were just as powerful and the water temperature just as hot. The experience was just as therapeutic as soaking in the one at their old home. They opened one of the many doors to let some fresh air in, and used only the lights on the exterior of the house so that it was dark in the room but not pitch black. Even a bit of moonlight managed to find its way in via the many windows above in the two-story space with the little cone on top. The outside of the round room was indeed round, but the inside wasn’t entirely empty. A corner of the master bedroom stuck out into it, and provided a place for Zoe to install recessed lighting for nights when her clients weren’t looking for the outside-in experience. She put a pair of very plain loungers in there too, and some tropical looking greenery in different sized round, black planters. The attached bathroom included a walk in shower, and was meant to serve the gym across the hall as well as the real pool outside in the yard. It used to have its own old school all-wood sauna but Christina wanted it converted into a closet for pool towels since André had a state of the art steam room upstairs in the master bath.

More importantly than the features of the space, the company was good. Despite all the extra room compared to their previous Jacuzzi, the rider stayed close to her footballer. She was worn out and a bit mentally frazzled from the intensity of her day. With everything else going on, it had become easy to avoid fully realizing the significance of the event for which she was meant to be preparing. Getting down to business with Holger, having someone else’s eye on her, and his opinion, changed the amount of mental effort she put into her riding, and the importance she attached to every little thing. The enormity of the chance to defend her title hit her like a bus. It minimized the significance of all the other hurdles and dramas in her life. It stressed her out, but in a good way. She felt hunger that she never believed was coming, especially since Dirk was ruled out. All of that was tiring, and she sought her Happy Place™ to help wind down, relax, and let go of the day. And Christina was finally ready to look to André to help her do that. He finally earned that privilege back, and boy was he glad he did. His girl wouldn’t leave him alone for a single second in the hot, bubbly water. She wanted every bit of his attention, and there was an awful lot of smooching in his lap. Then there was smooching on the couch. Then smooching in bed, and a whole lot more than smooching.

There was nothing remarkable about sleeping together again for either of them, good or bad, and that was just fine. Regularity meant a return to normal, and confirmed that normal still existed. They wanted normal. Some tremendous emotional high would have just mixed more pressure into their relationship struggles, and confused Christina even more about how she felt, and given André false assurance. Obviously a big low would have disappointed them both equally. So being together again was good, and familiar, and enjoyable, and solidified that some careful work on both of their parts for the previous few days succeeded at least in principle in allowing them to be close and share the sort of connection that had gone missing. That connection verified that what made them want each other was still there, and still the same. For André there was also relief that he could remind his wife of their chemistry before she ran off for her mini holiday with Juan on Tuesday. He knew the Spaniard was trying to talk her into joining him in his home country over the weekend after that too, to celebrate Real Oviedo’s 90-something-year anniversary and special fan day. The matchday was going to be a big party for the club’s huge group of shareholder-supporters, of which Juan and many of his past teammates and friends were a part. He wanted Christina to go to his parents’ with him on Friday night, attend the match, and then fly direct to the US for the World Cup on Sunday morning. Her horses were leaving in the middle of the night on Friday, so he argued that there was no need for her to be home. That wasn’t really true. She had plenty of other horses to ride, and she didn’t want to leave Lukas even earlier than necessary, so it was up in the air. André wanted to do all he could to make her less likely to feel the need to go spend time with her so called new Happy Place™. The near return to the preferred Random Kiss Frequency on Sunday in the lead up to brunch was a sign for him that he was succeeding at that and that her affectionate side didn’t just come out on Saturday because she needed someone to help her de-stress, and he was keen to keep the kisses coming. Seafood breath was out.

“I’m more interested in the sausages and cheeses,” he shrugged.  

“And chocolate croissants?” Christina smiled.

“You say that like you think I’m dying to have one, when in reality you just hope that I am so that you can steal half of it but not feel guilty because you were “just having a bite”.”

She rolled her eyes in dismissal of the accusation and then asked Noah what he was having for breakfast or lunch. Zoe said her nearly three-year-old, as most do, loved the French toast with caramelized bananas and walnuts. Marco said there was so much sugar in the dish that Noah bypassed the typical sugar high and went right to a sugar overdose coma shortly after eating, leading to some chilled out Sunday afternoons on the sofa at their house. He characterized it as “all part of the plan”. Christina wished Lukas had that programming option. He never had sugar comas. He had sugar induced reigns of terror, which was why she was only going to order the blueberry pancakes for herself and just share some with him to go with his scrambled eggs and finger-friendly cold cuts. Once the specialty beverages and the non-buffet food had been ordered, and after said buffet had been picked over in turns to ensure someone was always at the table with the kids, the adults moved on to talking about Dortmund things, and things they could do as double-dates.

Unfortunately, for every “Oh, we should go to blank soon and do blank,” there was the follow up “Yeah, maybe in the future, since we’re unavailable for the next month”. And Christina didn’t really want to go do things with Zoe anyway. She was a fine person to shop and have drinks with during football tournaments, and she was unquestionably good at her job, but working together on the house just showed the rider that the decorator was not Partner In Crime material. Part of the problem was her relationship with Marco, and that type of problem was something she was really familiar with. For much of her life she had friendships with guys that were complicated with the addition of girlfriends, and usually not in a good way. It was hard for her to get along with the girlfriends of her guy friends, especially if she met the guy before the girl. Christina wanted to hang out with Marco, not Zoe. She wanted to go out with André and Marco and their friends and experience those friendships the way she did before there was a Zoe- before she was expected to socialize with the other girls while the guys did their thing, before Marco had another person to pay attention to, and before there was a girlfriend for her to worry about offending with her interactions with the guys. She was sure she’d eventually have similar problems with Mario and Stefanie. Mario was spending some time with his family in Munich while doctors tried to figure out what to do for his heath problems, and it was already decided that he was out for the season.

“Full?” André asked her as a consequence of the long sigh she let out after putting her fork down. Everyone else at the table was talking about music artists whose tours would come through Düsseldorf in the near future. The ex-Chelsea man was already finished eating. It took his wife longer to eat her meal because she had to help Lukas eat his too.

“Not really. I’m just tired,” she admitted. “Out of nowhere.” She was apologetic because they had plans for the rest of the day. Each family had a Range Rover packed with toys and balls to play with at the park, and before they got to those they were supposed to check out the indoor plants at the park’s botanical garden. The sun was out, and it wasn’t so cold. Christina and her family were supposed to finally do something besides play and rest at home, and that was what she’d been asking for when she complained about being bored and suffering from a bit of cabin fever. Maybe I’m having the sugar coma thing, she thought, suddenly feeling fatigued and drained, and not just because she had to socialize with a bunch of people.

“You had a long day yesterday,” André commented with sympathy. That response alone was a sign of major progress. As little as a week earlier, he could have been expected to frown and snap sarcastically at her for claiming to be tired when he wanted to do things with her and their friends, as if he assumed she just didn’t want to be around him and was using it as an excuse. That sympathy and understanding he displayed instead was all the rider was looking for in her quest to figure out if they even “liked” each other anymore. She liked when a boy could look at her and know from her face and know from his familiarity with her daily goings-on that she was authentically worn out and trying her best not to succumb to her body and mind’s efforts to tell her to rest. That mattered to her. She didn’t want to be with anybody who couldn’t figure that out and then respond with compassion instead of taking it as some kind of personal slight.

“It shouldn’t have felt so long though. If I’m tired today it’s because all my other days have been too lazy. Yesterday should have been the standard amount of work and effort really.” Christina wrinkled her nose and absently rubbed Lukas’ head to her left, without even looking at him. He was taking small bites from a skinny sausage. The blueberry pancakes were a big hit with him too, but he was far more interested in the slightly older little boy sitting next to him. They shared their food and their action figures.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, pretty girl. Give some credit for knowing you needed to get your trainer in for a tune-up- for getting the kick up the backside that maybe you needed. That counts.”

“I guess,” she yawned. Should I get another coffee, she considered as she eyed the player’s tea. It might help me stay awake but it would probably also make me not feel very good. Or I could just do a Lulu Schü and tip over on Big Schü and immediately fall asleep. Her heavy eyelids were more worrisome to her than her regrets about her most recent preparation routine. There was disappointment there, in herself, but not on a dramatic level. There was a litany of excuses available to explain why her standards had perhaps lapsed.

“Do you want to go home after this?”

“Nooo, you have the whole day planned and everything. I’m a big girl. I can make it. I just need another latte.”

“My plan for the whole day is to chill with you and Mausi. We can do that at home. Do you want to get in one of your cashmere blankies on the couch and watch us play until we’re tired too and have to get in your blanky?” André kind of wanted her to say yes. He kind of wanted to spend the day with just them.

“We can’t bail.” His girl lowered her voice even more and nodded toward their friends, who had been inviting them for Sunday Funday every weekend in recent memory. Their continued refusal was bordering on rude. Christina also really wanted Lukas and Noah to be pals.

They kept to the plan. Stefanie went to the barn after everyone was finished eating, and the rest went to the botanical garden. The girls and the kids enjoyed that more than the guys. The tables were turned on them after, in the park. Two professional footballers were prepared to play keep away from their Mini Me sons with a half-size ball until the kids gave up in frustration and exhaustion. It was almost cruel to watch. The little ones didn’t have a prayer of ever getting the ball off their dads, and their dads were getting so competitive with each other that Zoe had to remind Marco he was hurt and supposed to be recovering. Zoe also got bored while they played. Conversation between the girls fizzled when they exhausted all available ways to express knowing lamentation about their partners torturing the little boys. Christina couldn’t really think of anything else to talk about, or to pretend to care about, and just watching the game quietly was fine with her. The other girl took out her iPad and got into “work stuff”. That was fine with Christina too. She took her phone out to talk to the boy who was missing from her Sunday Funday.

“2 more sleeps,” she wrote to him, knowing or at least hoping that her message would inspire the same kind of butterfly wing flap that happened to her when she got one like that. Just because things were getting better with André didn’t mean she didn’t still miss Juan. She still felt the same about him. She still craved the peace she experienced with him, and the contentedness. There were less significant things to miss too, like his smile, and his laugh, and the softness of his fingertips. His ex-girlfriend longed for the whole package. Being closer with André was only a distraction from the sensation of missing someone who helped make her feel whole, not a detraction. It was possible once again to want to go home and share a blanky with the German and to also want to study the water in the distance from the comfort of the Spaniard’s beach house bed.