#and i only see him thrice a year for a week each time

[ienvieu]

the irony that is me loving my parents and still them being the two people i am the least honest to and feel the least safe with my secrets

[lxkeee]

Reader being Adam's third wife and Lucifer trying to rizz her up but she was giving him a hard time trying to rizz her

THE DEVIL HAS HIS OWN CHARMS

Notes: I know Lucifer is oozing with rizz but I liked to believe that he'll do that one meme where he just kneels and begs and keeps on saying "please, please, please" just kidding.

Reader is a heaven born angel, one of the oldest. Same age as Lucifer.

When she met Adam, Adam wasn't as bad as the current him. Adam before was nicer and it led [y/n] to fall in love with him.

As many years passed by, Adam became a little shit.

That lead to their divorce.

She was done with him, tired of him.

You know that saying when a girl is done with her s/o they are literally done? Yeah, she was flat out done with him.

Thankfully, they didn't have any kids.

Adam was pissed at this and decided to annoy her.

She was pissed at him and cussing him out, telling him that he's a sore loser for not being able to keep any of his three wives.

And since heaven had an obvious favoritism on him, that led to [y/n] well... Falling out of grace.

After falling, she actually hid away from the king of hell himself.

She hid away from the demons by being in her animal form, she chose to take the form of a crow to blend in with the environment of hell.

That is until she heard about the hotel.

She didn't plan on redeeming herself, no, no.

She didn't want to go back up.

But she planned on helping Charlie Morningstar.

When she joined, they were surprised to see a fallen angel at their door.

Vaggie didn't trust her at first but eventually did.

[y/n] mostly hid in the hotel and barely left the building.

Since they only had Angel Dust as their first guest, she decided to help around and improve the hotel.

When Lucifer decided to visit for the first time the hotel that his daughter is working on. None of the sinners caught his eyes until he was toured around the hotel by his daughter, his daughter's girlfriend Maggie, and the damn radio demon. As they were walking through the hallway, someone appeared on the corner and talked to Charlie for something.

His jaw dropped, a little.

The woman was gorgeous.

For a brief moment he wondered if she was an angel that came from heaven to release him from his sins.

Scratch that, she's making him sin even more.

Charlie introduces her to him and him to her.

Lucifer found out her name is [y/n] and he made sure to remember that. He also found out that the woman was helping his daughter.

He's so madly in love. It's ridiculous, he just met her for his sake!

[y/n] didn't stay long as she quickly left. Which saddened him a little.

A new reason to visit the hotel more.

For the next few weeks, Lucifer visits—twice to thrice a week.

During his time at the hotel he would try to make small talk with the woman that caught his interest.

Trying to get to know her but the woman is so closed off.

He tried to be smooth with his words but she only looked at him up and down with an unamused expression.

His pride is shattered, ironic as he is the symbol of pride.

He ranted about it to Charlie and in which the girl told him that he might be developing a crush.

Jaw dropped. In disbelief.

He denies it but ended up thinking about it the whole night.

He ended up removing his wedding ring as he thought he should actually move on now.

And he actually finally agrees that he is actually coming down with a crush.

On you.

So next time he visits he discreetly flirts with you.

Always ending up with you not being interested.

He's just trying so hard okay? It felt so forced.

Anyways, Lucifer received an advice from Charlie that he should be his authentic self.

And that's where he stopped forcing to make himself sexy or flirty.

And be his usual dorky self.

Which caught you off guard but not dismissing it, in fact you preferred this over how he acted a few days ago.

You and Lucifer slowly gotten to know each other.

The way his jaw dropped when you revealed you're a fallen angel and am ex-wife of Adam.

“Wait! You're a fallen angel and also divorced too? Well, so am I!”

You just laughed at how adorable he is.

Though, Lucifer did ask what happened and you just told him about Adam and how Adam is a little shit and you're basically over him.

You two bonded over your hate for heaven.

And eventually two months later you got together and let's say, Lucifer is certainly a better lover than that piece of shit Adam.

Let's just say Lucifer made you feel the pleasure you haven't properly experienced.

Lucifer did make sure to show it off to Adam's face when he fought the man.

[epiphainie]

I see and love all your tearjerker proposal ideas, but we don’t talk enough about the absolute hilarity that would ensue with an Evan Buckley Proposal™️. Like I’m imagining him being soooo excited about it in the most Buck way possible. He has this ten page speech about how much he loves Tommy and how they’re soulmates and the universe pulled a sick one by putting them on each other’s paths and he’s planning to tell Tommy all that before he pops the question and he’s preparing this big romantic night for it with the most romantic flowers and the most romantic music and the most romantic ring at the most romantic place in all of Los Angeles and he’s roped in everyone at the station to help him, threatened Chim with cold-blooded murder if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut, made Eddie reassure him about every step of his plans not twice but thrice, talked to Bobby with blushing cheeks and fidgeting hands till Bobby gave him his absolute blessing. Hen, Maddie, Athena, they’re all in on it. He’s Ready to do it The Right Way.

Then at like 2pm on a lazy Tuesday afternoon his poor brain that has been overworking on this for weeks gets overloaded and crashes. And suddenly he Needs To Ask Tommy Right Now. Like, just like that the entire plan is overridden, and he doesn’t even process what he’s doing before he sends Eddie a text that just says, “I think I will do it now” and ditches his phone and marches to the garage where Tommy has been working on his truck all day.

The next thing we know Eddie is opening his door to a Buck who has his arms wrapped around himself and his big blue eyes are filled with tears. He looks like a puppy kicked a thousand ways and before Eddie can even open his mouth he cries out, “He said no,” and drops face first on Eddie’s couch. Eddie is like ???? but also “Well, I can’t deal with this shit on my own,” so he calls Hen and Chimney and ten minutes later Buck is sitting on the couch being interrogated by his best friends.

They’re all obviously confused.

Hen, disbelieving, asks, “He said no?”

Buck makes the most pathetic pitiful sound known to the human kind and nods.

Chimney, not really helpful, murmurs, “Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” to himself because he knows how much Tommy loves Buck and would say yes to marrying him months, hell, years ago.

Hen, trying to make sense of it all asks, “What did he exactly say?” because Chim is right, it doesn’t make a lick of sense.

Buck, still looking like a wet cat, goes, “He said it wasn’t the right thing for us.” His voice hitches and he moans, “He said it wasn’t s-smart.”

Hen and Chim shoot a look at each other. Eddie at this point is getting angry because what the fuck? Which is exactly what he says and Hen, the only one trying to be actually somewhat helpful, shakes her head like, “No, Eddie,” and then to Buck with what she hopes is a reassuring voice says, “Maybe he just doesn’t believe in the institution of marriage?”

Buck looks even more miserable at that and buries his face in his hands as he bemoans “Noooo,” and shakes his head like he’s grieving. “We t-talked about it before. At the beginning of our relationship, we both agreed we’d do that if it felt like the right time.” He slumps back on the couch like his life has just ended. “I t-thought it was the right time.”

Eddie, totally pissed off now because how are you gonna be with a guy for years, move in together, buy a house together, be committed to each other fully, and then say no to his marriage proposal, goes, “Oh fuck him. Do you want me to beat some sense into him?” Because damn, this is his best friend who looks absolutely crushed and Eddie will kick Tommy’s ass, fuck the fact that he’s really good at Muay Thai, he hasn’t seen Eddie’s wrath before.

Hen, still the sound of logic and seeing how Buck gets sadder each passing moment, stops him again. “We’re not beating anyone up.” Then says, “Buck, I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. Tommy loves you.” Because yeah he does in the most sickening teen boy with a puppy crush way, so none of this makes sense and Hen’s brain is whirring but she’s not sure what’s happening yet. “And you love Tommy.”

Buck, hands covering his face again moans into his palms, “I do.” Then his hands drop, and his face shot with panic and fear he goes, “Wait?! Does this mean we broke up?”

A pissed-off, disbelieving noise leaves Eddie; Chim shoots another look towards Hen’s way; Hen just gives an awkward unsure smile. “No. No.” She tries to reassure him. “Of course not.”

“I mean,” Chim says with a shrug. “I don’t see how a relationship comes back from that, you know?”

This gets Buck start crying again.

“You’re. Not. Being. Helpful. Chim.” Hen mutters.

Eddie jumps up, “Oh, I’m beating him up for you.”

Buck’s wails get louder.

It all devolves from there with Buck going between hollering and sniffling and Eddie dead-set on confronting Tommy and Hen trying to do damage control with “We’re just gonna talk to him,” and Chim continuing to be absolutely unhelpful with his comments about how Tommy is great, and so cool, and perfect, and he’d make a great brother-in-law, and this doesn’t make any sense.

So, the four of them somehow find themselves marching towards the Buckley-Kinard house with Eddie at the helm and Buck looking like a pathetic mess between them. They’ve barely entered the front yard when Tommy bursts out the front door with his phone in his hand and he goes, “Where have you been?! I’ve been calling you for hou—”

“I trusted you, man!” Eddie shouts, voice echoing through the street.

Tommy stops in his tracks. He takes in the sight of his friends who are all shooting him deadly (and confused) glares. Then he looks at his boyfriend and finds him avoiding his eyes, keeping his gaze at his feet like all the happiness has been sucked out of his entire universe. Brows furrowing in confusion, Tommy takes a step towards him. “Evan.” He tilts his chin up and sucks in a breath when he sees the tear tracks on Buck’s face. His own face crumbles, now in concern. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Eddie lets out a mirthless laugh. “Pretending you don’t know, huh?”

Tommy looks at him, at Chim, at Hen. “Don’t know what?”

“Oh, you’re a bigger asshole than I thought, Kinard.” Eddie spits in his face, his head shaking. “Acting like nothing’s wrong after saying no to a guy’s proposal so cruelly.”

Tommy freezes. His gaze snaps to Buck with a confused, “What?” but Buck is avoiding his eyes again. “What proposal?” Tommy asks. “Evan didn’t propose to me.”

At this point all tired and beaten Buck sighs, “It’s okay, Tommy.”

“No. No—” Tommy shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”

Buck shrugs. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”

“Evan.”

Sighing again, Buck finally looks up. “Look, I get it. We can talk about it later.” He chews at his lip. “Right?” Because he’s still not sure if they’re broken up or not and god he really wishes they’re not because marriage is a dumb institution rooted in patriarchy to maintain and reinforce traditional gender roles and they didn’t even let two men marry till a decade ago, so it’s not like they need anyone’s acknowledgement and all he needs is Tommy, but also he had the absolute perfect ring picked out and he doesn’t know if he can get a refund on it, and calling Tommy his husband would be so fucking nice, and maybe he has been dreaming about that for the past however many years.

At this point, he’s tearing up again, so Tommy cups his face and brushes away some of the tears, before saying with the biggest gentlest eyes, “We can talk about anything you want. But… Baby, what proposal?”

Buck sniffles. “Earlier. W-when I asked you in the garage.”

Tommy frowns harder because that doesn’t make any sense. “You didn’t ask me to marry you, Evan.”

“Yes, I did, Tommy,” Buck huffs.

“No, you asked me if I wanted to take a vacation.”

“I think I know what I asked.”

“You said you wanted to go on a trip!”

“That’s not what I said!”

“Okay, you didn’t say trip! You said, you said something like if I wanted to take a new journey with you! Embark on adventure or something. You said you wanted a travel companion for a voyage!”

“Lifelong voyage.” Buck murmurs, lips pursing and arms crossing together. “For our grand adventure together.”

No one says anything for a minute as Buck avoids their eyes and scuffs his feet in the dirt.

At last, as the person with any semblance of intelligence Hen says, “Buck. Did you use any word related to marriage? Like “husband” or “marry” or even “matrimony”?” Her eyebrows rises. “Anything that’s not a metaphor?”

Buck, face red up to the hairline now, just shrugs. “I had a-a speech, okay? I was n-nervous and it was long so I had to paraphrase.”

Finally, Hen sighs, not unkindly.

Chim chuckles, kinda unkindly.

Eddie looks almost as embarrassed as Buck and murmurs, “Sorry, man,” to Tommy as the realization hits it was just his best friend being a huge dumbass and Tommy actually didn’t do anything to deserve a beating.

Tommy, his entire focus on his boyfriend and not paying them any attention, pulls Buck’s arms down and lifts his face up again. He gives him a smile. “I said no because I thought you were asking to go on a trip, Evan,” he says softly. “And that we’ve just got a mortgage together and can’t afford one.” He shakes his head. “I was covered in grease, Pearl Jam was playing in the background, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Still looking abashed but at least not snotty anymore, Buck says, “N-no. No. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, Tommy,” he says with a shrug.

Tommy smiles again. “It’s okay, baby.” For a moment, he rubs his boyfriend’s arms up and down, then says, “Sooo…”

Buck, realizing the faint pink on his boyfriend’s face, looks at him with the roundest eyes. “You mean…?”

“Well…” Tommy shrugs. “Are you gonna ask me for real or what?”

The sun dawns on Buck’s face. His eyes go bright with fresh but happier tears. “Yea-yeah.” He nods frantically. “Tommy. W-will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Tommy says. Buck pounces on him with a kiss that gets a surprised moan from him as Hen, Chimney, and Eddie start clapping and Buck cries again and so does Tommy and later that night, Buck gives him the perfect ring he had picked out and come Saturday they actually go to the greatest restaurant in LA and Tommy listens as Buck explains every step of his original proposal and all the metaphors he’s curated carefully for his speech.

The end.

[yall-batman-fanfic]

Moving In | Batman/Bruce Wayne x Magician!Reader [Fluff]

Synopsis: Vivian and Bruce have been missing things in their homes. Having enough of the back and forth, and Bruce asking him about his tie or watch or socks, Dick tells them both to put on their grown-up pants and move in together. But moving in isn't that easy, especially for those who have been in the relationship for only a year and some change, especially when splitting the bills.

“Alfred, have you seen my blue tie?” Bruce asked as he settled on his seat at the table wearing his business suit minus the tie. 

Vivian and Dick were already getting a headstart with breakfast and were busy doing their own thing – Dick with a last minute essay and Vivian with the newspaper. Alfred walked in the room with two ties in hand, one red and the other black and said, “Last I recall you have more ties than the department store in the mall, Master Bruce, but it seems you have lost the rest and what remains are two. Take your pick.”

This wasn't the first time it happened, Bruce not finding pieces of his clothes and watches. For the past few weeks he’s been missing things in his drawers and couldn't remember where he put them. Which was uncharacteristic of him to do so. 

Vivian finally folded the newspaper and looked at Alfred and then at Bruce to see why he didn't just pick either when she saw the blue suit he wore. And she thought women had a short supply of blouses and skirts for their everyday work.

“I think I know where that suit's tie is,” Vivian said.

“Do you want to elaborate?” Bruce raised a brow at her.

“I did some cleaning at my place the other day and I swear I saw some mens’ ties in my condo. I think you left a couple of them at my place when you stayed over.”

Bruce sighed. “I doubt they're pressed.”

“I haven't visited my place this week, Bruce. Don't expect my neighbor to be that nice to do my laundry.”

“I'll pick you up from Gotham University so I can get them from your place.”

Dick snorted. “Yeah, like that will happen. Please, the most likely possibility that would happen is you staying the night over at Viv's and leaving another set of clothes there.”

When Bruce was about to retort, Alfred piped in and said, “Master Dick does have a point, Sir. I'm afraid that you are in your last pair of socks…”

“That's not right — I come home before my patrols –”

“Yeah, but for last week, you went straight to my place and changed there to your night-shift uniform, and then headed home,” Vivian pointed out.

“I think I'll need a bag for later,” Bruce muttered.

“By the way, have any of you seen my maroon blazer? I couldn't find it anywhere. I've been circulating with just brown, plaid, black, and beige.”

“And I thought Bruce has more blazers than an average person does,” Dick said to her.

“Kiddo, I don't have three sets of each of those colors. Bruce has, like, five sets for each color. So, if I lose one of those, I'll be repeating the same thing in the week. Catherine already noticed that I was wearing my tweed jacket thrice this week.”

“If I may, I believe I found that maroon blazer in the laundry last week. I've had it cleaned and pressed, along with our other clothings, and placed it in your personal closet, Professor Pryor,” Alfred told them.

“I have a closet here?” Vivian asked, quite surprised.

“Yes. You tend to leave quite a lot of personal items in the manor. I wasn't sure if it would be fitting to place it with Master Bruce's personal shelves, so I opted to place it on your own. In hopes of you noticing their absence, I was willing to pack them up for you, Professor.”

Vivian, Bruce, and Dick looked at the butler with a bewildered look. Everyone was silent until Dick said, “Why not just give them to her the next day?”

“Considering Professor Pryor's frequent stays in the Manor, I thought she was well aware of her clothings’ presence as I also prepared them for her morning.”

This time it was Vivian who spoke, “Thank you, Alfred. That is very appreciated, but I think I would — ” she turned to Bruce “-- I think I'll be heading back here later to get my things. I'll bring a bag with me to get all of them.”

Dick scoffed. “In other words, you’ll be back here to leave another set of clothes which you'll forget until you realize you ran out in your closet.”

“Thank you, Dick. For the encouragement that I will get my place in order again.”

Rolling his eyes, Dick got up from his seat, finished with his meal, and went to pack his things. “There is a way for you to stop missing your socks or ties or jackets.”

“And what is it?” Bruce questioned him but was not really interested in the answer as he was more focused on his breakfast.

Dick looked at the two with a deadpan look on his face and said, “Do you really need me to spell it out for you both? Move-in together! Jeez!”

“Uhh…” Vivian and Bruce turned to each other, quite unsure with what to say. While the former had a hesitant and more concerned look on her face, Bruce suddenly had an epiphany. Dick does have a point. Vivian has been staying longer in the Manor now with her being part of Batman's behind the scenes operations by helping Alfred in the Batcave, research, sometimes a consultant whenever the Riddler or King Tut would be their current adversary.  

“It's not really that easy,” Vivian was the first to speak. “I mean, we've only been dating for a…” she did some counting. “A year?”

“Three, Vivian,” Bruce told her.

“Oh, we have been that long now?” Vivian drank her coffee to hide her embarrassment. “I wasn't aware… time sure does fly.”

“We don’t really celebrate our anniversaries so I don’t really – really? Three years? That’s just… wow.”

Dick snickered. “Three years and you’re still going back and forth like a bunch of teenagers? Really?”

“Aren't you, like, thirteen? How would you know about relationships?” Vivian raised a brow at him.

“Fourteen. And I'm pretty sure that I'm the only one who's actually had a normal relationship. More normal than this household's current standards with villains, cats, demons, dark wizards, and a long list of models,” Dick teased them both but mostly Bruce as he saw the glare from his guardian.

“Shouldn't you be at school by now?” Bruce told him.

“I'm going!” Dick took his bag and lunch and went to the door with Alfred to take him to school. 

Once they heard the door close, Bruce sighed and turned to Vivian who found her coffee more interesting at the moment. “As much as I hate to say it but,” Bruce began waiting for her to turn to him and listen. “Dick has a point.”

“Moving in, Bruce? That's a huge step.”

“Vivian, we're practically living together by now with our current arrangement. And I think we're both adults to consider moving in together.”

Vivian placed down her coffee and sat facing him. “I guess if moving in is the case it's me who is going to uproot everything and come to the manor. Right?”

Bruce took her hand and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “I don't think your landlord would appreciate having the Batcave there… but if you're not ready, I understand. Or we could find somewhere in Gotham –”

“Bruce, it was a joke. Of course, I’m open to moving in here with you. It's just that…”

“What?”

“I don't think I can keep up with the utilities or the maintenance or the groceries of this place. I've seen the cupboards and the refrigerator, and mine is like just half or a quarter of those things in your kitchen. I mean, my kitchen is like the size of Alfred's pantry.”

“You don't need to worry about all those things. I'll take care of those.”

“What? No. I can't just live here for free!” 

“Why not? Aren't we both –”

Vivian got up from her seat. “It's different. You letting me stay here is like me letting you stay at my place. I don't let you pay for things there just as you don't let me pay for things here. If I move in, it's just all you – and I can't take that. It'll be — it just won't feel right. You know?”

Bruce sighed. Pryor-Royce pride, he thought, remembering her family who came to visit from Liverpool. Specifically the conversation he had with her sister, Olivia Pryor-Royce who was now training in the army. 

“Why don't we discuss this after our day? We can sit down and talk about it and make an arrangement that will fit us both,” said Bruce.

“Yeah, that's a good idea,” Vivian sighed. “Besides, I need to go now. Shit, Alfred already left, I’ll call a cab.”

Another hurdle. The commute. Vivian would be spending a lot of money with a cab just to get to Gotham University from Wayne Manor.

“I'll drive you there.”

“It's off your route, Bruce.”

“We're not living together yet. For today, let me drive you without your conscience getting in the way.”

“Funny, really funny, Wayne.”

~*~

It was lunch and Vivian was eating with her colleagues in the cafeteria when she suddenly asked her married colleagues at the table with her, “When did you decide it was time to move in?”

Everyone paused in their meals and turned to her with a bewildered look. In that silence it was only Catherine, who was a few years older than her in age and tenure, and is married with kids, asked, “Why the question, Vivian?”

Vivian turned to them and noticed the confusion, “I think it’s pretty obvious why I’m asking, Catherine… Fine, just this morning, Bruce and I are having trouble with the inventory of our things. Some of his things are at my place and some of my things are with him. It was driving us crazy for the past few days, and Dick suggested that we just move in together so we avoid these kinds of things. Now we’re considering it.”

“Hold on,” Greg spoke. He was the eldest at their table with a balding head and thick glasses. “All this time you’re both not living together?”

“Yes. Yes, Greg, we haven’t been living together. What makes you think that we were in the first place – hold on, do all of you think we’ve been living together?”

“Yeah,” Justin said, “Billionaire-Bruce-Wayne takes you here and picks you up almost everyday now, and if not him then this butler. He even has a designated parking space, Via.”

“I see…” Looking back at it now, Vivian realized she hasn’t taken the bus in a while now. Hell, she doesn’t even know if there was a new schedule or there was something new in the train station too. She rarely sees Herb the Bus Driver or Herb the Creep who is stationed at 34th Street with his cart of worldly possession. She also hasn’t been wearing sneakers to work too, she goes straight to her heels or boots, her bag has also become heavier than usual with the work she brings home or with the lunches that Alfred packs for her. Along with the extra thermos of coffee that he would make willingly. 

And her hair. When was the last time she had to put it in a bun before fixing it in the university bathroom only so it wouldn’t get sooth or frizzy with the humidity and pollution, along with fixing her makeup in the university too.

When did she start not doing those things? She wondered, and she asked her colleagues that question. Their answers were:

“About a year ago?” Catherine asked.

“Two years, give or take,” said Greg.

“When did you both get back together?” Justine was counting with his fingers.

“So… Two years and some change,” Vivian sighed. “So, when is the right time to move in?”

“Honey, you should have moved in a long time ago,” Catherine rolled her eyes at the obvious. “If I were you, the moment Bruce Wayne asked me out, I’d be the good and perfect girl and be packing my things the moment he invited me over.”

Uh…

“Justine, how about you?” Vivian asked him, which gained a wince from their other colleagues for him.

“Why me?” Justin asked.

“We’re the same age and you’ve been in a couple of long-term relationships. When is the right time to move in?”

“I don’t really… the last girlfriend I had that we did move in together. We were two years in the relationship – but, we were in uni then and we decided to rent an apartment than take a dorm that’s fucking expensive in GU.”

“Noted,” Vivian sighed. 

“But if you’re not ready, you really shouldn’t push it. I mean, if you’re going to move in with him, you gotta be sure that he’s the one, right – ow!” Justin turned to Catherin who stepped on his foot with her heel. “I assume that you’ll be moving in with him since I doubt rich-boy-Bruce-Wayne won’t be uprooting from his ancestral home? I mean, I doubt Wayne would survive a condo without a butler.”

This time it was Vivian who gave him the look. He’s always been vocal of his dislike towards Bruce for two things: his wealth and the fact Bruce – in her colleagues and students’ words — stole every chance he had with Vivian. She decided to ignore all of that and maintain a good working relationship with him but there are times when he crosses the line and she puts him in his place. 

The first time he spoke out of line when she and Bruce got back together, Vivian said to him: “Justin, you had every chance to ask me out for the past years I started working here. My desk is literally just one arm away from yours in the faculty office, but you didn’t. Because you were too afraid to – because you were playing safe. Hell, I even asked you out a couple of times but you brushed it off as a friendly night-out. I even gave you hints that you can kiss me!

“You’re just angry that Bruce had the guts to do what you couldn’t all those times I was free. And no, it’s not about the fancy dinners or the out of the city trips, because I also take him to food truck dates or those open mic places and he doesn’t mind! I appreciate your concern about him hurting me but it’s not your job to tell me what I should do. You’re my friend and I will consider your opinions but that’s it. And I want us to stay friends considering we’ll be working in the university for a long time. So, please, not another word about Bruce or my relationship with him. Okay?”

After that night Justin didn’t talk to her for months until they were tasked to oversee a student event and he was forced to. 

“But you are going to move in with him in Wayne Manor, right?” Greg asked.

“Yeah, I am,” Vivian shrugged.

“Do you want to?” Justin asked, this time sincerely concerned for her.

Vivian thought long and hard but all she said was, “Bruce said he was willing to move in with me in a smaller place but it’s not just him – there’s Alfred and Dick to consider too. Who am I to just take them from their home, right?”

~*~

Bruce arrived at Gotham University and parked at his usual spot, but before he could lock his car Vivian was already walking towards him with her things. He greeted her halfway with a kiss and took her bag from her hold. It was heavier than usual, she was probably going to do some work at home or do work while she sits behind the Batcomputer tonight. 

“So, should we get takeout before we head to your place and get my things? Dick begged to get some burgers and fries for dinner,” said Bruce.

“Let’s head to my place first to get our things and then drive-thru.”

Vivian opened the door of the car but before she could get in Bruce asked her, “What do you mean get our things? I thought the idea was not to leave more stuff in the manor.”

Vivian shrugged. “My closet in the manor has most of my clothes now anyway, and we both know where this discussion is heading, right?”

“You want to move into the Manor?” Bruce smiled.

Vivian rolled her eyes when she saw his smile and got in the car so they could talk more. Bruce got in the car, started the engine with his car key, and waited for her response. 

“Yes, Bruce, I wanna move into the Manor – but tonight, I think my first and second drawer would be possible. I can set a weekend to pack my things so I can bring them there — and it just gives us more time to discuss how we’re going to put my things there. I mean, do I get my own room or are we sharing yours?”

Bruce laughed and held her hand, slipping his fingers between hers. “We can go into details later. First, are you sure you want to move into the Manor? You think three-years isn’t too early?”

“Do you plan on kicking me out soon or do you see this not working out?”

“No! God, no. And you?”

Vivian reached out to him with her free hand, brushing the hair at the back of his head, and leaned in to kiss his lips. “No. God, no,” she mimicked his words. “I think it’s time we put on our grown-up pants and take the next step – like Dick said.”

“So, we’re really doing this now… okay, let’s get some of your things and we can settle them in the closet that Alfred made for you in the manor – for now – and then we go get Dick’s burgers. Then we talk about how we’re going to do this.”

“Down to the very detail, Wayne. I mean, we need to discuss splitting bills, right?” Bruce shrugged, but his grin never faltered. 

“Yes. Exactly.”

“And what you’re going to do with your condo.”

“I’ll put it out for rent.”

“So, you got that covered, huh?”

“I have some people who are interested and would want to move in as soon as possible.”

“Then I guess we better get the movers this weekend… and Viv, you’re not getting your own room. We’ll have that closet of yours moved to our room where you’ll be sleeping in our bed. But I feel like you’d prefer your own study?”

“I get my own study?” Vivian laughed.

“Of course.”

“I’m sure you saw that my study is actually my living room or my dining table or my kitchen counter, right? And I only get a space in the faculty office.”

“You’ll get your own study with a ceiling to floor bookshelf.”

Vivian kissed him again. “I can’t wait to head home now so we can talk more about this study that we’ll be locking the doors to get away from Dick and Alfred.”

~*~

That night, Batman and Robin went home a bit earlier than usual patrols, and when they came back Bruce had Dick head to bed while he went to see Vivian in their bedroom and invited her to the kitchen where he had taken out for them both. A midnight snack while they discuss their arrangements.

It was around three in the morning now, they were halfway through their fries. Luckily Vivian’s first class was in the afternoon and Bruce didn’t have a meeting until three later. All this time they were discussing their arrangements and how they’ll be splitting the bills, when nothing seems to get to them, Alfred, who heard the ruckus in the kitchen, got out of bed to see what was going on.

Which was how the poor man ended up between the two adults fueled by coffee and fast food, mediating their discussion on bills and contributions. It took a while but in the end they finally managed to come to an agreement.

Yawning, Alfred laid out on the final paper the terms the couple had agreed on. “So, on this final decision that Master Bruce and Professor Pryor have settled,” he yawned again, glancing at the window he realized that the sun was coming up and he’ll need to start breakfast soon. “For this move-in to take place. All utilities, groceries, and maintenance of the Manor will be taken care of by Master Bruce – as per usual. But starting next semester, Professor Pryor will be paying for Master Dick’s schooling, which includes tuition, miscellaneous, projects, allowances, and school trips until he goes to college, and if Master Dick decides to go to college –”

“He is,” the couple said.

“At least you’re both in agreement on that,” Alfred muttered. “I wonder what Master Dick has to say about it… to continue, any personal expenses will be pay by each to their own. Personal assets will also remain to each of their own. Now, the discussion about Professor Pryor’s mode of transportation. To make things simple, the Professor will be acquiring a car – brand new, as per Master Bruce’s insistence, and an economy-sedan, as per Professor Pryor’s preference. The down payment will be made by Master Bruce but for the remaining monthly payments it will be for Professor Vivian to carry. But any future maintenance that is caused by criminal elements in the streets, Master Bruce will pay for the repairs or purchase a new car – a car in which will be Professor Pryor’s choosing. Is that all?”

“Yeah, I think that’s about it,” Vivian hid her yawn. “You good with this, Wayne?” she turned to Bruce who was also hiding a yawn.

“I’m good with this. Today we’re going to find you a car.”

“No, today, you both will be going to bed and then going to work in the afternoon. And after that you both will go home, rest, have a good meal and a good night’s sleep. Is that clear?” Alfred said in a commanding tone.

Seeing that they have no room for objections, the two adults nodded and said, “Yes, Alfred.”

“Good, now sign here and be off to bed. I shall inform Master Dick about your absence for breakfast and take him to school.”

Vivian and Bruce quickly signed their agreements and had their copies with them. They were kicked out of the kitchen by Alfred before they could get another cup of coffee and locked in their bedroom door and called out, “Goodnight!”

They didn’t go to sleep immediately that hour. How could they when after planning and the arguments, they needed a good release. But they did fall asleep once they finished and in the most uncomfortable position too, which led to a stiff neck and a sore shoulder.

~*~

It was either an BMW or a Mercedes-Benz. Vivian opted for a Toyota Vios or a Honda City but Bruce took her to those fancy car showrooms where he’s got a lot of connections. At first he showed her Toyota’s cars there, which she told him, “the fact Dick is happy to be here means this isn’t for me,” and pointed to the fourteen-year-old grinning ear-to-ear at a Toyota GR86 and was about to agree to go on a test ride until Vivian told the showroom people, “He’s fourteen years old.”

“I can drive,” Dick told her. He can and he can drive the Batmobile.

“You’re fourteen,” Vivian repeated, which was enough to say anymore. 

Dick sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets and followed her to the other side of the room. “I can drive.”

“Remember: a normal family. Dick, and normal families don’t have fourteen-year-olds driving a freaking tank chasing criminals,” Vivian whispered to him. 

After leaving Toyota’s sports car showroom, they went to the next place which was Mercedes-Benz. This time the place they went had an economy-sedan but the brand itself was too much for her taste. Then there was the BMW, which she will admit was way more her preference with its subtlety, which was important in Gotham so no one would think of car-jacking the vehicle. 

Getting the possible cars she could choose from, the group of three went to the cafe not far from the showrooms for lunch. Dick was excited for the pizza he ordered and couldn’t wait for it so he decided to start with the appetizers served, all the while Bruce and Vivian were going through the brochures and the quotations along with payment schemes – which Vivian requested for – all the while sharing the appetized from Vivian’s place as Dick asked Bruce if he was going to eat his portion.

“I like the BMW,” Vivian said, using the correct way of pronouncing the brand. 

“So do I,” Bruce said.

“Great, first thing we agreed on. And these payment terms look good for me – doable too..”

“Why not this?” He pointed to the higher down payment. “It could lessen the load on the monthlies and the insurance.”

“What was the agreed percentage on our agreement for the down payment for the car?” 

Before Bruce could answer, Dick said, “You didn’t settle for one. You just agreed that Bruce would pay for the down payment.”

Bruce smiled smugly at that. “Thank you, Dick.”

“Anything for this to end, it’s getting on my nerves and it’s getting on Alfred’s nerves. By the way, Viv, I saw that game you have in your box, can I play with that?”

“Help me out here and you can have it,” Vivian told him.

“Bribing a kid. A very nice example you’re setting here, Viv,” Bruce teased. “We’ll put in a bigger down payment, and I promise that I won’t meddle in your monthly expenses unless you ask.”

“Bruce, I know you’re not meddling. It’s just something that I can’t live with myself if — I can’t swallow –” Dick snorted which had Vivian kicking him under the table “-- the fact that everything is a hand me down.”

Bruce sighed. “I know, I just want to help you as much as I can.”

“And you have done so much for me. But I’m a big girl now, I gotta do these things on my own,” smiling, Vivian placed a kiss on his cheek. “But thank you for insisting on paying for the down payment. And… looking at it now, I think your choice for the payment scheme is more doable and gives me legroom – but don’t rub it on my face, jeez. Gloating doesn’t suit you, Wayne.”

Bruce chuckled and pressed a kiss on her temple. “I’m just glad we finally agreed on something and we can get this done and have you fully settled in at the Manor.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to throw a party for me.”

“I’m not, but I think the public is waiting for one.”

“No!”

The pizza finally came and Dick started to dig in before Bruce and Vivian’s dishes were even set on the table. And before the waiter left, Dick called for them and said, “Scotch neat, and make it a double. And drinking ginger ale for them. And for me, a chocolate milkshake. We’re celebrating, they finally finished this whole moving-in thing.”

~*~

Boxes were brought down, leaving only her duffle bag of clothes which Vivian had on her shoulder, and some books she couldn’t add to the boxes. Taking one last look around the place, she swept through each room one last time and noticed something that wasn’t there when she moved into the place. The protection spell she marked on the doors and windows, she had forgotten about those.

“All set, the movers are now taking the last of your things to the Manor, are you good?” Bruce went back inside to see her. “Vivian?”

“Yeah, I am,” Vivian wiped her hand across the mark. One moment it was there, the next it was a clean wall. The same goes to all the marks she placed in the condo. “All set, as if a witch didn’t live here at all.”

Taking the duffle bag from her, Bruce held her hand and said, “Do you feel like we’re rushing things?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts – I just wiped that thing off,” she joked.

“I’m not, but how do you feel about all this?”

“It took us two weeks for me to actually get all my things out of this place – but for the couch and the bed and the fridge, wow my tenants are lucky to have a fully furnished place…” Vivian counted the appliances she’ll be leaving, and to get her back on track, Bruce pulled her to him and kissed her nape. 

“Viv,” he murmured against her skin. “Are you sure?”

“I am. One-hundred-percent,” Vivian held his arms that embraced her. “Since moving from Liverpool, this is the first major step that I made that didn’t scare the shit out of me.”

“A good thing or a bad thing?”

“A good thing. Let’s go, Dick’s asked us to get drive-thru for lunch.”

“He’s taking advantage of this move to eat more junk food than he should be.”

“He’s a kid, Bruce, what do you expect?” Vivian closed and locked the door of her condo as they left. She’ll be handing over the keys to the tenant that booked the place for the next six months. “This is what makes us a good team. You bring class and ass kicking to his life, and I bring normal teenager stuff and McDonald’s. It’s a good combination to raise a kid.”

“I guess you’re right,” Bruce entered the elevator. “I’ll miss this elevator, though.”

“Yeah, and I bet Creepy Norman would miss the shows we give him everytime we couldn’t wait too,” Vivian waved at the elevator camera. “Bye Norman, see you whenever I drop by to see the place!”

Exiting the building, the couple got in the silver BMW, threw the bag to the back, and Vivian got in the driver’s seat and drove away from the building and down the road heading to Wayne Manor, but first, she’ll get Dick his burger and fries.

[deadlyashesart]

Alastor's dissapearance (Part 4)

Whoa, writer's block is finally gone?! No way!! Anyway, I'm sorry it's such a short chapter after such a long wait. This isn't the last chapter! I have a few more ideas I'd like to write that follow this timeline. It may be a little OOC, but I find it a little difficult to write vulnerable Alastor... Hope you enjoy anyhow, and stick around for more!! Thank you all for the support! <3

Part 3

-----

She didn’t dare cry, because how could she? She wouldn’t let her emotions over a guy she hadn’t seen in seven years affect her ability to work or protect her subjects. She wouldn’t allow herself to feel, at the very least until she figured out a way to minimize the impact of the exorcism that was coming in only a few months. She was a very busy woman, after all.

A week passed since, but It didn’t take long for it to reach Rosie’s ears that he had stepped foot back into Cannibal Town.

Alastor walked casually, a hand rested behind his back while the other held his cane. He could feel the stares of judgment from the cannibals burning into his skull. Usually, he wouldn’t give less of a damn, but the guilt that had been rotting him from the inside out was growing with each cold glance.

Eventually, he reached Rosie’s Emporium. It was fairly early in the morning, and the building was still closed. He knocked thrice, hoping a certain white-haired cannibal overlord would open the door.

His silent prayers to himself had been answered and his smile became a little more genuine as Rosie came to the door. She didn’t look thrilled to see him. She held back an annoyed groan and instead opted for a tired sigh. “What are you doing here, Alastor?”

“I believe I owe you an apology,” he answered, his voice annoyed her.

Rosie had to admit that Alastor looked different. More vulnerable, in a weird way, despite still having his usual smile plastered on his face. “Please leave. I don’t have time for this. Besides, don’t you have that little hotel to tend to?” Rosie attempted to close the door, but Alastor wedged his cane between the gap and made it impossible to.

“I fear our long-awaited reunion didn’t go to either of our expectations. I do not want our friendship to falter over a silly miscommunication, so please allow us to try again.”

“You disappeared for seven years and couldn’t even send me a letter regarding your return. That isn’t just a silly miscommunication, you’re just being an inconsiderate asshole.” Rosie’s tone wasn’t angry or sad anymore. Instead, it was stern, numb of any other emotion. This was her way of protecting herself.

Alastor’s ears flattened against his head. He didn’t want to act desperate. He had an image to maintain after all, and he was still standing in public. But he needed Rosie to hear him out or he’d never forgive himself. “I brought you something… As a show of good nature. I’m not here to start a fight or hurt you like I did before.”

Appearing in his hand from a cloud of dark smoke was a small bouquet, roses to be exact. He wasn’t a very creative gift-giver.

Rosie stared at him for a moment, taking the bouquet. She gave a deep sigh and opened the door fully. “Very well.”

“Thank you.” Alastor quickly took the moment to enter the emporium before Rosie changed her mind.

-----

They entered the staff room and sat down on the couch beside each other. Alastor’s eye twitched ever so slightly as he saw Rosie’s new radio sitting on the coffee table. To him, it was an abomination. How dare someone add a TV screen to a radio? But he couldn’t bring it up now, or he’d lose his chance to mend things with Rosie.

“Say what you have to say now, Alastor,” Rosie began, picking up a cup of coffee she had left so she could answer the door.

Alastor paused. He had a lot he wanted to say. He wanted to give her an explanation on why he left, but even the thought made the invisible chains on his neck squeeze tighter.

“I’m… Sorry, Rosie. I truly am,” he finally managed to say. “I allowed my pride” —that really stung to say out loud— ��get to my head and distract me from what actually mattered.”

Rosie listened intently, taking a sip of her coffee. She almost choked on it when Alastor suddenly took one of her hands in both of his.

“You are one of the most important people in my hellish existance. One of my only true friends. Back at the meeting, I did feel remorse. Trust me, I did. But I was unaware how badly my disappearance had affected you, and I responded incorrectly.”

He let go of her hands and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He hated this feeling of vulnerability, he wasn’t used to it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t send you a letter… It’s inexcusable, but it truly did slip my mind. I promise you, from now on, I will keep in touch. Maybe we can go back to having our bi-weekly walks? What do you say?”

Rosie blinked, feeling conflicted. This was a side of him she’d never seen before. She was still upset, of course, an apology won’t fix the years of hurt he caused, but it was a start.

A small smile appeared on her face and she opened her arms, inviting him for a hug. He looked at her, his permanent smile finally reaching his eyes with genuine joy. He hugged her, and she hugged tighter.

“So… Is this forgiveness, my dear?”

“It’s definitely a start…”

“Thank you.”

They broke the hug, and Alastor’s eyes drifted towards the radio on the table. “Now, if I may ask, why did you purchase such an abomination?”

“Alastor.”

"Apologies."

[mrs-monaghan]

We know JK is so bothered about a friend peeling perila leaf for his partner. He can't trust his partner even with that simple thing, so should we even talk about intimate choreography, living with producers, going for weeks long foreign trips ? You are saying a man who can't stand a simple perilla leaf peeling is cool with the above things?

No. He wasn't

He wasn't okay with any of that anon. Like, not even a little bit. I think we have witnessed satellite Jeon for so long that we have forgotten what it actually means. JK always wanting to be next to Jimin, Jimin having a calming effect on JK, JK gravitating towards Jimin when sad, satellite Jeon means Jimin is JK's person. It means Jimin is more than just his boyfriend, he is his safe space. JK needs him. He doesn't just want him, he doesn't just love Jimin, he needs him.

Jikook live together, yeah? And this is after all members used to live in one house for years. So they've done nothing but be around eo for over 10 years. AND YET what happens when any content is released?

We have them backstage walking from point A to B together

We have them sitting and standing next to eo all the time

We have JK displacing members to be next to Jimin

We have JK following Jimin

We have them leaving premises together

We have them cheating to be on the same team

We have them staying up all night drinking alone together

We have them practising group choreos together

We have them hanging out at each other's rehearsals.

And all this happens after they left the same house and will go back to sleep in the same bed at the end of the day once they're done filming. When I call them interdependent... I mean they are interdependent.

Jimin is JK's safe space I'm pretty sure this has been established by how hard satellite Jeon works sometimes.

Tweet

He failed. But he tried. Poor baby. 😪

What's my point you ask? My point is, JK has only known being with Jimin almost all the time. When they're good, of course. When they haven't fought and are giving eo space, JK only knows how to have Jimin with him at all times. And this has been the case for years. Then solo era comes along and Jimin moves out for a while, and even though I'm sure he made time for JK, it just wasn't enough.

JK went from waking up to Jimin, seeing him everyday, to seeing him what, thrice a week? Once a week? Who knows? Either way, his Jimin time had been cut considerably short and satellite Jeon was not handling it very well. Add that to the fact that they are supposed to lay low, can't be seen out together in public hanging out like they used to before.. and it was maybe a bit too much for JK.

So no anon, JK was not cool with any of the above things that you listed. We all saw it for ourselves. Coming live without permission and being unapologetic about it. First sign of defying the company. Coming live all the time coz he was bored and needed company. The drinking on every live even though he wasn't allowed to. Deleting insta and making the company lose money coz of it while most prolly not giving a shit. And then white day happened.

😔

This couple holiday that JK has spent with Jimin every single year and once again his boyfriend is not just busy but out of the freaking country! So what happens? Mans breaks down. He's at his limit here, anon.

I only wanna talk to Jikookers rn coz they're the only ones that truly understand how seriously Jikook take this couple shit. Be it matching rings on the same finger, or matching clothes on couple holidays, or matching clothes more often than with other members. And it happens even now, btw.

From JK ending up with Dior merch

To Jikookers spoting that one red CK underwear that clearly didn't belong to JK

And it couldn't be more clear they shop together. This one is neither here nor there but I'm throwing it in here anyway coz why not? 😂😂😂

(They've always had very similar taste)

Then we have spending birthdays together, couple holidays, etc. They've done this forever. So for Jimin to be away on the last white day before they have to enlist and be away from eo for 2 years, I can imagine it kinda hit JK hard and may have been one of the things that got him emotional that day.

So no anon, JK was definitely not cool with any of the above things that you listed.

And we know this, because as soon as Jimin's promotions ended, not only did JK go MIA, but when he popped back up, mofo was fucking glowing

He looked absolutely incredible. There was shine in his eyes and in his smile. It was so good to see him that way. And that has continued to be the case in the lives that he did after that. Sad JK was gone. JK that needed to drink when he came live, was gone.

So now i ask; Was this visible change that happened once Jimin was no longer as busy a coincidence?

[gudvina]

How about a fic where Hayffie gets into a really big fight, one of the worst they’ve had and refuse to speak to each other, so they use Katniss and Peeta to communicate

What winter brings.

Ship: Effie Trinket/Haymitch Abernathy

Fandom: Hunger Games

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, happy ending!!!!

you can also read this on AO3! <3

Fall was slowly fading into winter and District Twelve, still in the rebuilding phase, was showing its signs. It wasn’t yet time for snow, but it would be soon. The windows looked frosted, and the land was slowly baring itself of anything that wasn’t weeds. As Peeta tried to dust a cabinet, he thought Haymitch’s house was also going through its kind of winter.

It had been almost a month since Effie had left. She’d been living in Twelve for a year and a half before then and had brought new life to a house whose only decorations were bottles of booze and old furniture. Everything seemed to be going well. That is, until the fight.

Fights weren’t unusual for the two, quite the opposite. They bickered and disagreed over just about anything, sometimes doing it on purpose to irritate the other. It was a dance, one he suspected they’d danced for a long time.

It was a surprise when, one fateful morning, they woke up to find Effie had left. Haymitch didn’t explain much, just that they had a fight and Effie had left for good.

“Don’t wait for her, she’s back where she belongs” he’d said drunkenly, his voice laced with anger.

When Effie called to check on them and give them her new number, she hadn’t said much either, preferring to stray away from the subject. Her voice had reverted to that cheerful artificial tone that she used when she wasn’t alright, but Peeta couldn’t do much from Twelve.

The nature of the big fight wasn’t the only mystery, because Effie wasn’t in the Capitol, unlike Haymitch seemed to think, and she didn’t seem inclined to tell them her whereabouts.

And maybe it was a good idea, given how badly Haymitch had taken her departure. The tough guy act could only do so long when he relapsed into the worst aspects of his alcoholism, and often Peeta and Katniss had to pretend not to see him cry himself to sleep on the couch; he refused the bed, he said he smelled of Capitol.

She called twice a week, sometimes thrice, to check on them. Haymitch had often asked if he could talk to her, but the one time Peeta had suggested it she had refused, so the man had to do with listening to her on voiceover.

That’s when he should have known it was a bad idea.

It started with an innocent inquiry from her about his health, or a few questions Haymitch tasked him and Katniss with to know where she was. It seemed sweet at first, amusing even, but when Haymitch asked them to call her or went to their house at the hour she called the situation became their problem too.

Not that they minded the invasion, after all, it only happened in a selected timeframe and lasted as long as the calls did. No, the issue was having to play messengers for two grown adults with a serious lack of communication skills. It was a tricky situation that didn’t seem to find a solution.

Peeta was just about to get started with the chairs when he heard the door open. Katniss had left that morning for the woods, taking advantage of the last days she could forage and hunt without a heavy coat of snow and ice tempering with her activity.

He stood up and walked to the main hall, but his happiness was a little squashed by the sight of Haymitch with her. He looked at Katniss who was holding a few carcasses, and saw her roll her eyes.

“Oh, hi Haymitch?”

“Hello, boy, I… y’know, I fixed that leaking faucet and repainted that old wardrobe so…”

“He wanted us to call Effie, so we’d tell her” Katniss cut him off, taking off her gloves and walking towards the phone stand. She dialled the number, putting the phone on speaker and waiting for her to answer.

“Why don’t you try and call her to tell her yourself?” Peeta asked, even though he was aware of what the answer would be.

“I don’t have her number”.

Good ole excuse.

Despite the unusual time, Effie answered almost right away. Her sweet voice rang on the phone as she greeted Katniss, and Haymitch, beckoned by the sound, quickly sat as close to the stand as he could.

“Hi Effie, I’m sorry for the early hour but I’ve just come back from hunting, and Peeta is busy cleaning, so I thought I’d give you a call!”.

“Oh, dear, don’t worry, I so miss talking to you! How’s everything going? Did they manage to restore the shop?”

“No, they’re still stuck to the foundations”.

“Oh, I so hope they get to rebuild it, I remember it was one of the few shops that truly stood out before the war”. As Effie spoke, Haymitch made a hand movement to Katniss, which made her roll her eyes even more than before. He still wanted to know where she was, and he clung to any hint he could gather from the calls.

“How’s it going where you are?” Katniss asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

“Oh, it’s awfully rainy in here, but it’s good, otherwise”.

Not much.

“Do you have to walk a lot?”

“Oh, yes, it’s customary to walk, even though it’s quite a big place. People don’t seem to travel as much”.

“Hm… well, I hope it won’t rain, then. Here it’s quite cold, and if it’s like that there as well getting caught under the rain is no fun”.

That got Effie into a rant about raincoats, and how they don’t do much when the place is already humid.; her bones felt the effects and her hair was always frizzy. She talked and talked but, apart from these tiny details about the climate, she did not indicate where she was staying in the slightest. She was good. Years of being an escort must have taught her well how to be vague.

The conversation soon turned to other questions about the District, but Haymitch was itching for Katniss to tell her about the leaking faucet and the wardrobe. It made him smile to see him wait patiently, and in silence, for Katniss to slip that in.

“Imagine, even Haymitch is preparing for winter. He fixed the leaking faucet and repainted that ugly wardrobe”.

“Good for him, dear. I am glad he has finally done it, I had to beg him! Maybe I was the problem” Effie answered, barely able to contain the hurt in her high-pitched voice, and he saw Haymitch’s shoulders slump. Whatever that fight had been about, it clearly was his fault. After a moment she began speaking again.

“Please, could you please remind him to check the study’s windows? I fear this winter might be colder and they are not insulated enough”.

“I will, though you could remind him yourself”.

It was a cruel suggestion, and Peeta glared at Katniss. Despite Haymitch’s clear guilt, she wasn’t convinced it was entirely his fault. She accused him often of taking part in a conflict that had nothing to do with them, but since she vouched for Haymitch he didn’t see why he couldn’t do the same with Effie.

“I would, but since he didn’t listen the other times, I don’t know why this time it’d be different” the escort act was dropped, but it returned just as it had vanished “Darling girl, I am so sorry, but I need to be somewhere now. I miss you all, please give Peeta a big hug for me. Don’t forget to pester Haymitch about those windows, please”.

“I won’t, have fun Effie”.

���Thank you, you too! Bye-bye!”

The call ended, leaving only silence in their living room. Haymitch had perked up when she repeated his name, but it would be a lie if the call didn’t leave a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth. This is why he was the one leading the conversations, Peeta thought.

“She said it’s humid, that it’s a big place” Katniss offered “It could be District 7”.

“You think Johanna took her in?” Haymitch sighed, knowing that if that was the case it was already a lost cause. Unless Effie willingly came back on her own, Johanna would never let him close. Not even with the best intentions.

“Could be” Katniss shrugged and then looked at him as if to ask what he thought.

“Good luck with getting Effie back, if she got her. Especially if she listened to this sham of a call”. He hated having to reproach them, but it wasn’t a lie.

“I will go and fix the windows” Haymitch got up with a sigh and left, clearly dejected. It wasn’t easy to see him like that. He could see he missed her, that her departure had left a big hole in his life. While they’d never admitted the nature of their relationship, Peeta knew better than that. He’d always known there was more than the eye met.

Katniss sighed, sitting on the armchair in front of him.

“Please, spare me, I didn’t mean to hurt her”. She was defensive, aware of the mistake she’d made, and Peeta sighed. It was true, he knew it wasn’t her intention, but that didn’t change things.

“I know you didn’t, but still… we have to understand what happened, ending the conversation like this is not going to help”.

“You also told him to call her”.

“Yes, but I don’t think he’s the one who needs coddling right now”. Silence fell again between them until Katniss spoke again.

“Let’s try and call Johanna”.

“Even if Effie’s with her she’s just going to deny it, Katniss”.

“There must be something we can do…” Effie’s departure had also taken a toll on them. While Katniss always put a front of irritation at her constant fussing, she was missing her as much as he was. District Twelve wasn’t very joyous these days, but she’d managed to make everything better. Her absence was felt.

“We’ll think of something” he whispered, deep in thought.

***

Haymitch’s situation wasn’t getting any better. When Effie was there, he’d reduced his alcohol intake without even noticing. Now, not even the finest liquor could drown the sorrow he felt at her loss. When he got really drunk they’d find him at the old hovercraft station, or they’d catch him staring at the bedroom he had abandoned since she’d left.

It was time to do something about it. Katniss couldn’t call Johanna without risking a serious fight, and Peeta had no intention of having to mediate two conflicts at once, so the task befell on him. He called, waiting for an answer.

“Who’s this?”

“Hi, Johanna, it’s Peeta”.

“Well, well, I was wondering when you were gonna call. It’s taken y’all an eternity”.

“So she’s there with you?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

“Of course she is, where the fuck do you think she’d go? To Annie’s? She doesn’t want to burden anyone, least of all a single mother who has enough on her plate already”.

He nodded in understanding. Only he understood, or at least had an idea, of the relationship that bound Effie with Johanna. It was a relationship born during their imprisonment, but it had also grown past that, finding a place in the free world they lived in now.

“Haymitch thought initially she was in the Capitol, with her family”.

“What family?! Effie has no family but us” Johanna snapped.

“He knows, but he was angr-“.

“That bastard was angry? Really? Of course, he was, angry Effie wasn’t stupid enough to be his kept woman all his life! Did he even tell you what happened?” he could hear Johanna getting worked up. It wouldn’t take much for her to spit it out.

“No, that was exactly why I called”.

“One day she woke up from her fairytale bullshit and asked him what they were, because y’know, they were living together and shit, but he just didn’t answer. She’s not stupid, so she pressed him a little about it. Turns out he answered that they were what they were, and then added that they should have never been anything in the first place. Come on, try to justify him!”.

“What?”.

“When Effie showed up at my door she was in tears, and she’s been inconsolable ever since. I’m so fucking tired of listening to her sobbing for an ugly old man, imagine having to explain to a one-night-stand why a woman who’s not your mother but acts like your mother cries all night in that weird Capitol way. I’ll tell you, it’s not fun”.

And he could imagine it. The whole situation was a mess, and now he realized why Effie didn’t tell them anything. She didn’t want him to have to feel obligated in front of them to do right by her, so her decision to leave appeared to be the best choice. If she just removed herself from the equation she wouldn’t be a problem. Wouldn’t be a burden.

“He’s been miserable since she left, Johanna”.

“Yes, because he can’t get laid anymore”.

“No, Jo, he truly isn’t alright without her. I think this is more of a case of him being a terrible communicator. I wouldn’t tell you he loves her if I didn’t think it, but I do, because I can see it. He needs her, and you can’t tell me she’s alright without him”. He heard only silence on the other line, and for a moment he feared she had hung up, but then she spoke.

“I trust you when it comes to her, certainly more than I do Katniss. What is your plan?”

“Well… we could get them on the phone without them knowing it’s each other calling”.

“I’m not having her call him, Peeta. He doesn’t deserve it”.

“No, no, I will call and then tell him it’s Plutarch, you will just need to answer and tell her it’s me. If it doesn’t work…”

“It’s gonna need to work, or else I swear to go I’ll come to gut him myself”.

He chuckled at her words, but a part of him feared she wasn’t joking too much. He truly hoped it would work.

***

Another brush stroke, and finally Johanna’s wooden doll would be over. She’d carved it herself, and Effie knew it was more for her sake than her own, but it was a good pastime and it stopped her from crying all day. She’d already coloured a dog, a star and a fish. Johanna made fun of the amount of glitter she used, but when she was done with them even she had to recognize they were pretty.

It was a nice evening in Seven. The Victor’s Village was often fogged, covered by an expanse of trees, but that day it seemed a little sunny and the cold didn’t bite too hard yet. She took advantage of the slightly warmer weather to open the window, and air out the room she’d been occupying.

She was incredibly grateful for her help, but it didn’t make the situation any less humiliating. She was a grown woman, staying in a 23 years old’s house, after being rejected by the man she loved. She’d honestly thought this time things would be different, that maybe they’d finally become something. It was a mistake. She was stupid, and she couldn’t bear imposing on him any longer.

“Effie, come down, Peeta is on the phone” Johanna’s yelling interrupted her thoughts, and she was glad. It was incredibly rude to yell from one room to the other, but she’d lost hope with the girl, so she just walked downstairs towards the phone.

“Come on, it’s not like he has the whole day, don’t be your usual Capitol bitch self” Johanna playfully shoved the phone in her hands and fled the room before she could reprimand her. She rolled her eyes and answered the phone.

“Hello Peeta, dear. How are you?”

“It’s me”.

That voice. She would have recognized it anywhere. It tugged at her very heart and pulled pieces of her away, leaving her bleeding.

“I fixed the windows, you were right. They weren’t insulated”.

“Good for you” she answered, her eyes prickling with tears. She felt like a child, pouting on the phone.

“No, I mean… Fuck, Effie, I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about”.

“Oh, you know. You know and I… I want to talk, sweetheart”.

His voice was raw, and she could sense he’d been forced to not drink for that call. How was he spending his days?

“Haven’t you said enough?”

“No, I’ve only said stupid things, princess. Let my pride take over, not thinking about the consequences, and I’ve pushed you away. I… Life without you is fucking bleak, Effie. Not even the booze helps”.

Hot tears streamed down her face, and she fought the urge to just give in to his pleas. She wanted to hold him, kiss him, make sure he was alright, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being to him nothing more than a woman he shared a bed with. Before the war it was alright, she wouldn’t dare to hope, but now it was over. She wasn’t asking to marry, she just wanted their relationship to be acknowledged. His words cut her deeply.

“I am sorry, you will get used to it”.

“No, don’t say that. Listen, I understand if you’re over with me. I wanted to ask you a chance, but if you’re done I get it. Lord knows why you’ve kept by my side after everything I did to you. I just… you deserve a good life, Effie. I’m sorry. I will leave you alone, I promise, but… can you listen to me a little? I will not get used to it. I will regret every day of my life not giving you what you need. Not telling you what I truly feel for you, not showing you like any other man would if he had a chance with you. I will miss you until I’m no longer here, and it will fucking break me” his voice was strained, and she sensed he was trying not to cry “Just… I hope you get what you want. I hope you get the husband you deserve, a man who can make you happy. I hope you get the children, the dog, the house with the garden and everything I can’t give to you. I never deserved you, Effie. I never will”.

She didn’t know what to answer, her heart was now completely broken so she just hung up, bursting into tears. Is that what he truly thought? That she wanted a house with a garden, children, and a dog? That she wanted anything other than him?

Johanna burst into the room.

“What the fuck happened? Peeta said he was going to tell you everything!”

“He thinks I want a husband, that I want children… but I already have you all, why would I need that? I don’t want any of that, I never wanted any of that. I just wanted him”. The last part was said weakly, between sobs, and she felt her body shake due to how much she was crying.

Johanna looked at her like she was crazy, but then exploded in a hearty laugh. It wasn’t very nice, but it stopped her tears a little.

“God, woman, you dream this big!” she pinched her thumb and index close, leaving a small space between them.

“Hey!”

“Listen, I don’t know what he told you, but Peeta said he truly cares and has spent the last month talking to you through him and Katniss, hoping that fixing his house will get you back home. As much as I’d like to keep you here to scare all the people I fuck, I can see you’re miserable and even Annie has been pestering me about trying to convince you to go back”.

“Oh, no, this should have never gotten to Annie”.

“She’s quite worried. Now, if this gets to Enobaria she might just end up with her fangs on Haymitch’s neck, and I really don’t want to think you’d want anyone to die of alcohol poisoning. You have two options; you can either stay here and be miserable forever painting pieces of wood I’m getting tired of carving, or you will go back and finally get back that old man you like so much. It’s your choice, I don’t care either way”.

Effie knew what she meant, with the last part. Johanna would have never kicked her out and was not opposed to having her there. If her mood had improved being there, she would have even objected to her leaving, but the truth was that, without him, she also wasn’t alright.

She didn’t sleep well without his warmth, his arms around her and his beard tickling her neck. She missed bickering with him, telling him to shave, pretending to be shocked by how inappropriate he was sometimes. But most of all she missed him. Him and everything that made him who he was.

“Will you help me pack?” she batted her eyelashes at her, even though she knew she looked like a mess. Her cheeks were still wet and her eyes were probably puffed due to the incessant crying.

“Nah, I don’t even want to touch that glitter shit you put on my work”.

“It’s very pretty, come on!”.

“Whatever, I’m still not helping” she laughed and Effie felt her heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

***

It was night, and Haymitch sat in his armchair nursing a drink. The house was silent like it had been for a month now, and he thought that maybe it served him right. It was only normal, everything was going too well, he just had to fuck it up, didn’t he?

Losing Effie hadn’t been in his plans, especially after the war. After everything they went through, they finally had a chance at the real thing, and it was great. Being able to wake up with her not just once a year but every day, was amazing.

But then she had asked him what they were, and for some reason, it threw him off. He knew he wasn’t the ideal option for her, not even close to a good one. And the pressure of having to define something so precious to him, coupled with the feeling of his inadequacy, caused him to revert to his defensive ways.

When he saw the flash of hurt in her face, he knew he’d just messed up. She went to sleep in the guestroom, taking a bit of her clothes with her. He’d imagined she would move there for a while, and then he’d have time to explain himself, make it better. The next morning, he woke up and knocked on her door, hoping to find her awake. He didn’t find her at all. She’d left.

After his Games, the loss of everything he’d cared about, the losses of the Quarter Quell and the war, he didn’t think anything could ever hurt him as much again. He hadn’t considered losing Effie. After her rescue, he’d promised himself he’d never let her out of his sight again, but she’d taken the choice away from him and just left. Fled in the middle of the night.

And she was right. He’d handled her natural questions horribly and had even told her they should have never even started their relationship. Which wasn’t false, per se. If he hadn’t been for him she would have gotten married to a Capitol man, maybe would have felt the joy of becoming a mother, and maybe now she’d be happy.

He’d lost her, and now there was nothing else that could be done.

He raised his arm to get a sip of his drink, but the sound of the bell rang through the house. He’d told the kids he didn’t want to be bothered, that he needed to be alone, but maybe they were too worried. It didn’t matter, it was irritating anyway.

He got up and walked up to the room. Whoever was behind it kept ringing the bell, and he rolled his eyes. Who the hell was it?

“I get it, I get it, who is-“ he’d opened the door just a little, and his jaw dropped when he saw who it was. Her eyes were teary, her hair was covered by a green scarf and she was wearing a brown trench coat that looked heavy on her shoulder. District Seven’s specialty.

“Effie?” his voice almost broke.

“Am I still welcome?”

Tearing up he just held her close, not caring about the cold or the fact that the first flakes of snow were already falling from the starless sky. She held him just as tightly, burying her face on his shoulder. It was such a simple embrace, but he thanked whatever entity had sent her back to him.

“I am so sorry” he let out, his breath ragged by the emotions he was withholding.

“No, I am. I reacted without thinking, only focusing on my feelings”. Her voice, her smell… she was perfect.

“You had every right to, you deserve so much better than some-“

“Don’t. I don’t want better, I don’t want anything… I want you. I don’t need children, we already have our children, and as for the house with the garden; I love it here, I love the stupid geese that follow you around. But I’d love anywhere, as long as it’s with you”.

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve it, but his chest was exploding, joy spread through him, and he kissed her senselessly, holding her closer. What did he do to deserve her? He would never know.

“I’ll take anything you’re willing to give me, sweetheart. I… I love you, just… give me a chance. Please?” Her lips were on his again, a chaste, sweet kiss.

“Let’s get inside, my love. I need to see the wardrobe for myself” she flashed him a grin.

“I painted only the outside” he mumbled under his breath, smirking.

“Oh, no you did not! I told you to paint the inside” she said, her voice finally filling the hallway. He closed the door behind him and held her close from behind.

“Well, I forgot!”

“Haymitch!”

He laughed and claimed her lips again, loosening her scarf to free her hair. He thought that if this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

***

Peeta woke up the next morning, finding Katniss clinging to him. He kissed her forehead and extricated himself from her embrace to get up and look out the window. He found that it had snowed, and he was surprised to find his house still warm.

Some movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, so he looked towards Haymitch’s house. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he smiled when he saw Effie and Haymitch sit on their porch, sharing a cup of warm tea. They spoke and laughed together as if their fight had ever happened, cuddled close to each other.

Winter had finally begun.

[gojossugarcandy]

IDK Just Got An Idea.

If you wanna write a story on this you can. Just send it to me! (Though I feel like no one would write it 😭😭😭)

Terrorist attack-loses her family-mother doesn't pay attention to her trauma-her brother bullies her to make her 'immune' to college ragging-due to this gets aggression and has a twisted mind-forms a contract with a terrorist group to kill her brother-brother dies-police suspects the terrorist group-gets scared of getting caught and kills every person in the terrorist group-burns the contract-police suspects her as she was there during the 'brother' and 'terrorist' deaths-gets kept in a cell for being the number one suspect-the male lead is introduced as one of the detectives-his brother who was forced to join and was trying to leave the terrorist group is also killed-the detective hates her and tries to prove she is the one behind all the killings-some some love happens and they fall in love-ML is in a war of feeling either love her or get her in jail, moral values clash in him-due to lack of proof she gets released-traps her in his house and forced her to marry her to get her bound to him so that he can keep her near him until she is found as the culprit-one day gets home drunk-abuses her-then has slow and sensual sex with her which soon turns into rough and hard sex-this happens thrice in the same week-girl gets pregnant-tries to hide it and always hides from him when he gets home drunk-somehow gives birth-ML manipulates her into staying with him for supporting the baby with his money-both fall in love-baby grows into 3 yrs old- goes out with his granny-people who hate the detective kidnap her and abuse her for 3 weeks-detective tries find her but couldn't-gets a video call-sees her ruined-the bad guys abuse her and then burn her down alive-ML screams and soon finds the bad guys location from phone tracking-by the times he goes there only ashes are scattered her and there and a letter is there- it says 'an eye for an eye, my friends' next to another paper is there with a different handwriting and a more messy one-it says ' '-ML collects the ashed and buries it in a burial ground-is a mess-ML goes there-finds out it is their secret base and finds out a 20 year old guy who was forced to join has written the letter-kills each and every bad guy ruthlessly-covered in blood-tries to die-cries a lot due to her death and blames himself for being incompetent- about to stab himself-hears a helicopter- hears his child's voice- gets pulled back to reality-hugs his child-gets hospitalized due to wounds-2weeks later gets back home-earns many rewards-leaves his detective job-joins a office working job-raises the kid-dies normally-in heaven reunites with her.

ML - Male Lead FL - Female Lead

[wooglebear]

Three girls not for tetocu23, for once. Instead, they're for a separate AU I'm planning on making into a fic! An AU where Melvinborg accidentally wipes his past self from existence!

These three ladies are sisters whose relationship is highly strained.

-Georgina is the younger sister of three.

-As expected for a ten year old girl, she's innocent, calm and collected, sweet, but a bit ditzy and shy. Because of her ditziness, she's completely unaware if she is being rude or insensitive.

-She and she sisters turned up literally the day after Melvin Sneedly and Melvinborg took over the school, so Georgina and Chelsea did not get a real chance to see who each Melvin really is. So the two sisters call Melvinborg "Melvin".

-She has ADHD.

-Middle girl sister, 12 years old.

-Is very smart, almost to the point of being considered a child prodigy.

- She and Chelsea don’t talk and have never really interacted much outside of arguments.

-Yuri is often seen standing outside the windows of the hospital, or sometimes in them, waiting for people to die.

-It is needless to say that Yuri has an atrocious sleep schedule because of it.

-As a result, she's near constantly failing her assignments.

-This leaves her grades in the yellow zone. She's always scored a B or C thanks to going to hospitals at ungodly hours.

-As a result, Krupp has Yuri help Mr. Ree clean the school for a few weeks. She knows him as a result

-Let's just say Yuri was furious when she found out that the Splotch had taken over Mr. Ree's body. Her BFF doesn't need to be tortured from some creepy robe!

-Side note: any resemblance to dt17 kids is completely unintentional and only realized after the fact

-Three years older than Yuri

-Basically a jerk in every way shape and form.

-Often forces ppl to do stuff for her behind closed doors but around others she puts on a nice facade.

-She totally swears she isn't abusive

-Is very mean, controlling and overbearing of others

-Will often play the victim card

-Loves funerals

-Is a bit of a sadist, as is Yuri. Their sibling dynamic is basically this

-Any resemblance to Danganronpa characters is unintentional

-If I had a nickel for every time I created an art teacher CU OC for an AU, I'd have three nickels. Which isn't a lot, but funny that it happened thrice, right?

-Is a bit of an artist, hence the paint splatters

-Is a bit into doctor stuff

- Her family is a bit dysfunctional, because everyone’s scared of Yuri and Chelsea the psychopaths, Georgina is a bit of an introvert, and Sierra’s a bit weird (but with how weird the other staff is, she doesn’t seem as weird in comparison)

-since Georgina's fairly passive, Yuri is the big decision-maker of the siblings.

-also, Chelsea and Yuri are very protective of Georgina. She’s their younger sister and they love her so much.

- unrelated but when Melvinborg meets Sierra, our cyborg wants to make sure that a timeline where Melvin comes back becomes the main timeline- or what he sees as a Better Timeline than this nightmare camp- and he tries to set up the parameters for its existence but it goes sideways in some way, and he abandons the idea

[hoebaring]

It's Been a Long, Long Time | Min Yoongi

summary: Established!relationship. Yoongi is disappointed in himself for not being able to spend quality time with his wife. After a tiring day at work for the both of them, he decides to cook dinner for her and the night ends with romance and wine. (suggestion: listening to the song when it's mentioned in the story would give you the full effect XD)

genre: romance, fluff, oneshot, butterfiles everywhere.

Cross posted on Wattpad

Written by Author L

Word count :- 2.2k Words

Masterlist

Yoongi’s POV

“What does her smile remind you of?”

“Oh, her smile is the best. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Like the smell of freshly baked cookies. Like walking into the world’s best coffee shop. Or like watching purple petunia flowers in a pot near a window spring to life.”

“What does his smile remind you of?”

“Uhh…Yoongi’s smile reminds me of the ocean waves crashing on the shore, on a serene, silent night. Or of the passing cumulus clouds in a clear blue sky. Or…the sweet chirping of mockingbirds on a tranquil morning. To me, it brings calm and peace.”

Y/N says as she unconsciously smiles at thought of my smile. The camera cuts to me and the man behind the camera asks another question.

“What is one thing you love about Y/N?”

“Her unpredictability.”

“What is one thing you love about Yoongi?”

“Ah…” Y/N says in deep thought.

“His certainty.” She smiles.

“What is one thing she does that you hate?”

I thought deeply and carefully for a minute.

"There's nothing I hate about whatever she does, except for when she yells 'Yoongi marry me' out of nowhere in public deliberately to annoy me."

“What is one thing he does that you hate?”

“He doesn't look after himself properly. Often dwells in work too much forgetting the world around him." She says while zoning out and looking elsewhere.

Maybe remebering the times I may have unintentionally forgotten her. My heart feels incredibly heavy as regret fills my mind.

"Actually no, I hate how he leaves his socks lying around the house. It's an uphill battle to make him pick his socks up.”

I laugh out loud. She’s so abrupt sometimes.

“You guys trust each other, right? So how much do you trust Y/N?”

“My trust for Y/N is as big as the sun.”

“Romantic, I see.” Says the guy behind the camera.

The camera moves to Y/N.

“Oh, my trust for Yoongi is greater than the Universe.”

“Both of you said space related things!”

“No way, wait, let me guess. He said something about the sun, didn’t he? You're supposed to say the universe genius!”

I smile at her accuracy. She knew me too well.

I’m so glad I decided to re-watch our one-episode documentary style interview that we shot a year ago. We shot it right after we made our relationship and marriage public. Y/N was hesitant and nervous at first, but she ended up enjoying it the most.

“…uh, yes after the- wait, is this allowed? She's not supposed to be here!”

The camera shifts to a trespasser who had secretly managed to sneak into my interview room and hide behind the staff.

“Aha! You found me. It’s alright, go on, you won't even know I'm here.” Y/N explains her intrusion.

Pd-nim gives Y/N a thumbs and requests me to continue. The camera moves back to me and as I speak, I get distracted way too many times. The camera shifts to Y/N making funny faces and goofing around. I’m pretty sure she thought this would be edited out. The shoot was actually so much more relaxed with her. And oh God, I miss her. My comeback is in less than a week and I’ve been preparing for it since the past two months. I practically live in my studio now. I go back home maybe thrice a week and rarely spend time with Y/N. I leave before she wakes up and get back home after she’s asleep.

Y/N on the other hand, has been nothing but supportive. She used to stop by the studio with some food to make sure I’m eating well. She hung out in the practice room and listened to bits and pieces of my music. The privilege only a few have the access to.

According to some clichés, you should be expecting a grumpy, attention deprived and annoyed wife waiting for you at home, prepared to start an exhaustive argument. But to my relief, a bright and warm smile greets me as soon as I swing open the door to our apartment. An oversized Celine t-shirt with large sleeves drooping down her shoulders hung over Y/N’s petite figure. (Oversized- because it was clearly stolen from my closet.) I notice her messy low bun with a few loose curls hanging over the frame of her face and the faint freckles that spread across her cheeks. She was on the couch when she pointed to her laptop on the coffee table before bringing her index finger to her puckered lips and mouthing a small “shush”.

The presentation on the laptop screen and the voices of multiple people indicated that Y/N was in a meeting. She pats the empty space on the couch asking me to sit beside her while I remove my socks and remember to carefully place them inside my shoes. I didn’t want to upset her anymore.

Once I'm seated, Y/N snuggles close to me and leans back on my chest while facing her laptop. I wrap my arms around her and rest my head on her shoulder.

“How was your day?” She whispers.

“It was great. Tiring but productive. I missed you.” I reply as I kiss her cheek.

Y/N turns around and faces me.

“Oh! Has something happened?”

“Why would something happen?”

“Well, I'm only asking.” she shrugs with a playful smile on her face.

 “I don't need a reason to miss my wife.” I say before peppering several kisses on her face.

The living room is filled with Y/N’s giggles and my heart swells with joy at the sight of her cute-ass nose scrunch and smile. I was so right when I said it made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

How could I ever stay away from her?

“How was your day?” I ask her as she turns around again and lays her head on my shoulder.

“It was alright, I attended a million meetings today. As you said, tiring but productive.” She replies while playing with my hand that rested on her shoulder.

She compares her right hand with mine and lets out a soft gasp.

“My hands are so tiny!”

“They’re adorable.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m your wife.”

“No, they’re actually super cute.” I say as I intertwine our fingers.

“What did you have for lunch?” I ask.

She thought for a brief moment.

“Uhh…well, does an apple and Oreos count as lunch?”

“What? You skipped lunch?” I frown.

“No, of course not! Why would I?”

“I… had an apple. Highly nutritious.” She elaborates with absolute confidence.

“Y/N!” I exclaim, completely baffled.

“Uh oh, I should really focus on what's going on in the meeting Yoongi.” She leans toward the coffee table and stares at the laptop.

“The meeting ended Y/N.”

“Oh.”

This is exactly what I was worried about. Ever since her company got acquired by another high-profile business, she has become so busy with meetings, projects, and deadlines. And yes, she makes time for me. But not for herself. What bothers me even more is the fact that I haven’t made time for her too. Gosh, I’ve been a terrible husband lately.

“What about dinner?”

“What about it?

“Did you have dinner?”

“Uhh I think another meeting is starting now.”

“Y/N, come on you’re not a child!”

“No, I know! I'm sorry I forgot” She makes a puppy face and apologizes.

God, how am I supposed to stay mad now?

I sigh and shake my head. I stand up from the couch and roll up my sleeves.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna make dinner.”

“For who?”

“For you.”

She stares at me with a smug smile.

“Oooh ultimate husband material.”

I laugh and walk towards the kitchen.

Y/N’s POV

I watch him as he opens the door to the fridge, grabs some vegetables, turns around to face the counter and starts cooking.

I am quite fussy when it comes to managing time and sorting out priorities. With the recent company acquisition, I haven’t had much time dealing with my normal life. Sounds odd, but weirdly, I don’t hate it. Oftentimes I get bored when I’m alone at home, so work keeps me busy. And when I lose track of time and sense, I have Yoongi. He is one of the best things that has happened to me. He truly is husband material. No kidding.

I turn back to my laptop screen and decide to continue my tiresome monotony. The meeting was to discuss legal issues and I was about to die out of boredom. Soon, I grow impatient and look at Yoongi, who was cooking diligently with complete peace of mind. Yoongi cooks really well, not gonna lie. However, I consider myself a better cook. We’ve often had silly debates and quarrels as to who cooks better. One such time, during a silly banter, we randomly started listing out all the things we cooked well.

“Oh! My Kimchi Stew is the best in the world.”

“Your mom absolutely loved my Tangsuyuk. She even asked for the recipe.”

“Ahh nothing can beat the way I make Dakgalbi.”

“My Milmyeon is truly exceptional, everyone in Busan knows that.”

And we went on and on and on. My ego and desperation to win the argument sky rocketed so bad that I ended up boasting non stop about my cooking skills without giving Yoongi a chance to speak. It was like I was rapping. Oh, the irony!

Having enough of my rant he proceeded to do the most unexpected thing ever. He abruptly grabbed my waist, pulled me close and kissed me to shut me up.

“Alright Clare Smyth. We get the point.” He whispered after pulling away.

That brings a smile to my face. He was quite the romantic. Might not seem like one at first glance but definitely and pleasantly surprising at times.

After a while, a comforting and vaguely familiar smell wafts through the house. Highly curious about what he was cooking and completely disinterested in the meeting, I get up and make my way towards the kitchen.

I tap on Yoongi’s right shoulder twice and quickly move to his left before he turns around. He looks behind and turns back to face me realising I was messing around. I wink at him playfully before walking up to an empty counter and sitting on top of it.

“What are you cooking?”

“Japchae.”

“Oh, babe you’re the best.” I say in a grateful tone.

“That I am.” He winks.

We didn't speak much. I just watched him cook in silence. The silence was only interrupted by the occasional sound of the knife hitting the chopping board or by the faint voices of various people in the meeting.

I decide to play some music and as I scroll through Spotify, the perfect song catches my eye.

It’s Been a Long, Long Time by Harry James.

I get off the counter, open a shelf, grab two wine glasses and a bottle of Corton Grancey.

When Yoongi put the noodles to boil and covered the pot with a glass lid, he realised that was the last thing to be cooked. He turns around and walks up to me.  

“Allow me.” He pours some wine into our glasses.

“Dinner shall be served in a few minutes ma’am.” He says with a smile.

“Hmm, I must say, the service is rather lazy.” I say in a pretentious superior tone before taking a sip.

“…but I’ll pardon it for now, because the chef looks quite handsome.”

[start listening to It's Been a Long, Long Time]

We instantly break into laughter. Ah I missed this. Him. Quite a lot in fact. We are like a puzzle with missing pieces. Yet, it is a complete picture. A heart-warming one. A love like ours didn't have to be about the missing parts. Rather it’s about the beauty of the existing ones coming together to form a new picture every single day. It’s about the willingness to create a whole new perspective from a small loving gesture in an everyday life. About realizing that any and every moment with the other can be precious no matter how long the puzzle pieces have stayed on the same board. To acknowledge that puzzles can be tiring & boring but when solved alongside a beloved, it’s actually not that bad.

Yoongi and I were always on the same page. Maybe not the same line. But either of us always catches up. And at the end, I know we’ll finish the book together. We love each other too much. Besides, I could never get tired of that gummy smile of his.

The atmosphere changes as we gaze at each other. It has actually been a long, long time since I got a chance to look at him. His hair had grown longer. The soft golden lights gleamed on his face making him look ethereal. Almost instinctively, I place my arms around his neck as he grabs my waist and pulls me close. We start swaying to the song and slow dance under the dim golden light.

‘Never thought that you would be’

‘Standing here so close to me’

‘There’s so much I feel that I should say’

‘But words can wait until some other day’

“The noodles might burn” He says.

“That can wait until some other day too” He smirks before placing his hands on my jaw and his lips on mine. Butterflies go wild in my stomach as he deepens the kiss and pulls me closer than ever.

Just like a scene from a romantic 70’s movie or like the end of a Disney movie, the song in the background continues to play as Yoongi pulls away from the kiss and leans his forehead on mine.

‘Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again’

‘It’s Been a Long, Long Time.’

[pysoch]

Hi guys I am going through sometjing RN so I thought I'd use my break at work to type out medic angst with my personal hcs woaowoaowa

Huge tw for the everything basicallt

Also tw for first person lol

=================

I am old. Each year I age and grow and change and I am old. There isn't any comfort in that, but it's hard to find any nowadays. I don't take to things like I did as a boy. Even with the new resources I have, I am old. Cutting down the skin of a man and splitting open whatever's inside him had started to leave me empty and bored. I've defied death, created machines to heal others of fatal wounds in an instant, invented immortality even if for a small duration, and it has given me nothing but a yearning for-

For..

Nothing.

For nothing.

I've accomplished it all. Done every feat doctors and medical professionals have beaten their lives for, and yet I have no celebration. I sit in my sterile office, on my uncomfortable chair, and stare at this form on my desk lengthening my employment. Even my coworkers give me no more than living entities to accompany my melancholy. And all I do as I stay here is get older. There's nothing left for me. God, I wish there was.

My thoughts wandered far, far from my accomplishments. No matter how I anchor them. It drifts. My eyes wander, too. They rest on the silver tray I have a lengths way from my desk. I kick the corner of it, full of floor-level marks in an odd streak. They resemble tally marks, six in total, all etched in dried fluid. It'd been too long, too many weeks for me to recall what for. On the surface is various tools I've used through my wretched career. Still probably clean from when I last polished them. Not probably; definitely. It's all I can do. Before my body and mind communicate it's already put me out, and back in the chair. The only thing that changes is the silver tool now in my palm. Scalpel. Yet my thumb pressed on it slightly too hard; tense arthritis is my one ail. A trickle of blood brings warmth to my hand and the silver handle, now coated in red. It's a hive, and the swarm of vermin that follows is natural.

It's not as if I haven't seen my own blood before. I usually wipe it, cleanse it, more often than not leave it to dry. The difference now is what comfort is brings me. I've played God so long that being reminded of my mortality has nearly set adrenaline through me too fast. My lungs pause their usual track before continuing the laborious activity. A small droplet sinks between the meticulously crafted oak paper below me and stain a word I was writing. An ugly thing blotting up my paper and driving me to pull back and out a paste to cover the mistake and keep writing. My body doesn't budge. I've forgotten I can bleed. I've forgotten I am not immortal. I press into the edge again.

Another slit. Yet more falls down my thumb. Instead of a stinging sensation of air hitting the receptors in my skin, I feel an overwhelming sense of joy. My body pumps itself out of the seat and to the desk itself while I stand hunched over. My untarnished thumb retracts the cuff of my sleeve and brings to light the pale flesh I hide under layers of professionalism. I can see blue and purple lines so faintly through them, pushing on their cages every time my fingers curl. I could hear them. They were suffocating while I watched and put all my focus into the dull throb they released in pain of claustrophobic masses. Hundreds of them; veins. Desperately wanting to be shown the world and I wielded the exit. It didn't take but a moment for me to unlock it, twisting in the key until the prongs fell into place, turning, and yanking it back out again. It jammed. I repeated the process thrice on the different locks of my mortal vessel until finally I withdrew. Their screams were of joy, and I was immediately rewarded with a blissful pleasure that hardly allowed me sense to stand.

Of course, my limb was coated with the slick and foul liquid that had drowned my unwilling captors. It slid out of the exits and down into clusters that dropped on the desk and scrawled away in feverish escape. The paper was nearly coated, now. Ink replaced for crimson and sometimes clotted so close it appeared black. I could only bite down on the inside of my cheek as I beheld my damage. Three- no, four- large gashes that no longer had blue visible. Yet still, the pulsating plead for release filled me deeper than lust for an untampered body devoid of scars. I attempted to put my freeing tool more and more within me, seeing white gifts spot my vision as my eyes tilted back to behold the ceiling fluorescents like angels. The euphoria was halted almost instantly as I realized I was unable to go further into the lock. Through squinting I could make out a thick white layer below the red, and under that an even sea of solid mass my scalpel couldn't sear through. My own bone. It shone gorgeously in the room. A gem hidden away in a tower that took perseverance and understanding to climb. It shone brilliantly. I nearly welcomed it as a friend before noticing it was merely a fragment. Loneliness is the death of man, I'd be no better than a tyrant if I forced him alone.

So further I worked to peel back the layers on my arm that read white. Eventually, I had accumulated so much shredded flesh on the desk it appeared like a normal surgery. Cutting back bit by bit rendered my arm suddenly useless. Hardly could I raise it above my waist anymore. And so it was; residing like a sleeping prince and pouring out waterfalls of life each passing second. Guilt consumed me at the sight of that lonesome bone, even if revealed. It's two-hundred brothers still begged unveiled beauty. Not a time to let rest take over. Instead, it was back to slashing and inserting, twisting and squelching up my side. The fabric of one of my favorite button-up shirts was no doubt long gone to these fruitful messes. There was a issue when it came to my sides. Through years of core strength in lifting men, gear, and other objects around there was a large barrier of muscle. It'd take toiling I had no patience for. The ribs could wait. It was truly my spine aching release. Not aided with a mirror nor flexibility, it was certainly wise for me to begin where it was most prominent and accessible. I tilted my head down in a mockery of prayer and found my way easily until the back of my neck had vertebrae poking through the mesh. A matter of seconds passed before the thin layers were able to reveal the bumps and grooves. It brought unbridled sensations down to me. I clung to that high, ripping away all I could and following the skin's path until a hasty move made my limbs render weak and useless. I felt everything spin and heard the resounding crack of my skull on the office floor. I never came to, as I hadn't passed out. Instead I was almost paralyzed in this state. I heard a faint drip and couldn't locate the source with my eyes. It took another two minutes for me to realize I was dying. A path of fatty tissue had falsely lead me to slitting out the front of my throat, causing my breathing laboured through blood and instead of my mouth, instead travelling out the crack. I was horrified and appalled at myself. My planning was so hasty, so unwise, that I led myself to death before getting to experience more of my precious body and its ability to be mauled by my own motivation. I'd remember next time the neck stays last. Everything was suddenly getting all too quiet for me. I raised my finger, dipping it in my excess fluids and deeply swiping it on the bottom wall of my desk. A tally of seven times by now that I've ended up dead at my own hands. Such is the way of suicide. After being robbed of death, it becomes a mercy. Most methods are unconventional, sloppy, and boring. Bullets don't give you time, hangings don't give you pleasure, and overdose hardly lets you feel at all. By the time I walk out of the doors to respawn, I'll have forgotten. I'll forget the love and darling sensation that is agony and killing yourself to revel in the beauty. It was far too late for me to write it down for reference; I undoubtedly had less than ten seconds left. The first time I died, I felt a cradle of my mother hold my head tenderly and comfort me. God took her away the third time I didn't learn my lesson that this game I play with myself was a mockery of his gift of temporary joys of Earth. Damn that bastard for being right. I'd prove his creation wrong once more the next time around.

As for right now, my lungs have stopped. My heart quit beating twelve seconds ago. My hearing is the last to fade in the gorey scene, but my own gasping and dripping wound excrements are a lullaby I hold dearer than most.

[snowdrrops]

A STALKING SHADOW

feat. : haino/cytham wc: 1k summary: cyno is being followed. haitham helps him catch the culprit. they fall in love while doing so.

read it on ao3 here ! this would be a multi chapter fic :)

1: once, twice, thrice.

Cyno notices how it only ever happens when he's alone.

The very first time it had happened was when he heard the rustling of footsteps against the desert sand after he'd just slaughtered a camp of eremites, leaving not even a single one alive. 

He scanned his surroundings quickly with his polearm at the ready to attack any incoming opponents. There weren't any structures to hide his attackers from view, so this would be a lot easier for Cyno to deal with. Or so he thought.

Cyno waited and waited, but nothing ever came. His ears couldn't have deceived him, could they? He had honed his senses to perfection during his years of training to become the General Mahamatra. It was impossible for him to make a mistake.

Everything was in clear view, but there were no opponents in sight.

In the end, he decides to leave after an hour of waiting for nothing.

Deep down, he knew that something- or someone was out there. But once is an accident, after all. Cyno doesn't think too much into it. 

Two weeks have passed. 

The second time, he had just left Tighnari’s place after a scrumptious dinner. Cyno left his jackal hat and weapon at home, and he donned his famous black cloak and a dagger that he hid in the inner pocket, just in case. 

He was thinking about the tasks that await him in the duration of the next week, when an owl hooted as it flew overhead.

Immediately, his body tensed and he paused in his tracks.

It was hard to identify where the sound had come from, since it had overlapped with the hooting. Amidst the crickets and the wind blowing, he hears it again. 

The sharpening of a sword against a rock.

Cyno looks around a little frantically. He's practically defenseless with just a dagger, plus the fact that he had no idea where his opponent was. He felt a pair of eyes on him, watching him from the dark.

If the opponent attacked now, Cyno would be at the losing end. 

In a subtle and swift motion, he pulled his dagger out. 

“I know you're there, so do come out soon,” he said drily. 

A crack of a tree branch sounded from his left at the very same time he hears the grass shuffle from his right. 

There was more than one attacker, and Cyno was bound to get injured. He didn't see this attack coming at all.

“Cyno?” 

The voice relieved the tension Cyno held from a few moments ago. He turned around to meet Haitham's confused gaze, heart rate slowing down at the sight of someone familiar. 

Haitham's eyes latched onto the dagger in Cyno’s hands, and the dots in his head seem to connect.

“What happened?” he asked softly, closing some of the distance between them.

The attackers were probably listening in, so Cyno takes Haitham's hand and started tapping against Haitham's wrist. 

Recognition flickered on his face as well as a hint of a smirk, but that faded away when he saw the serious look in Cyno’s expression, mixed with a little bit of uncertainty.

Of all people, the General Mahamatra should be the one who was never unsure of anything.

Attackers hidden in the dark. They're in different positions. We wait for them to strike.

They stood there in the dark, holding each other’s gaze for way too long. Haitham hadn't seen this side of Cyno in his life. He doesn't think he would have the opportunity to ever again after that day.

Cyno felt like an idiot. Five hours they waited, and yet nothing. The sun has risen by the time they decide to leave.

He thought Haitham probably viewed him as a paranoid bastard then, for wasting his time and making him stand for hours on end. He knew how the man had zero tolerance for nonsense.

“Sorry, I don't know what happened back there,” Cyno said once they had walked a safe distance away and were certain that they weren't not being followed. 

Haitham doesn't give a response 

“It's reasonable if you're vexed,” Cyno added after some silence. 

“I believe you.” 

Cyno’s gaze darted up at Haitham, shocked and strangely relieved.

“This isn't the first time this has happened, is it?” Haitham asked, meeting his eye.

Cyno looked away in embarrassment.

“Will you be okay on your own?” is not the question Cyno had expected. He brushed it off as gratitude when he realised his heart skipped a beat. 

Nevertheless, he nodded and smiled softly at the other man. “I can handle this.”

When they reached the city, Haitham gave Cyno’s hand a soft squeeze before leaving. It's only then he realised they must've been holding hands for the whole journey to the city. 

Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, thrice is a pattern.

It's a little over a week after he has parted ways with Haitham. He stands at his front door, fishing the keys out of his pocket when he spots a bloodstain on the carpet.

As far as he knew, he was the only one who occupied that floor. And the stain wasn't there when he went to work in the morning. 

Scenarios dance through his mind. A robbery, perhaps. Cyno hopes that that was the case, because he doesn't want to deal with the possibility of something far more sinister. 

He isn't all that shocked when he opened his apartment door.

Windows shattered, papers all over the place and cabinets opened. 

And the unmistakable sound of… music?

Cyno's brow furrows and he makes his way to the living room first, where he finds his safe opened and empty. There aren't any dents on it, which only means that the perpetrator knew the safe password. 

A chill goes down his spine.

He's still examining the damage done when the music abruptly stops.

He freezes mid-movement as well, waiting for something to happen. 

…And it continues. 

Cyno stands up, careful not to make a sound. But before he can decide what to do next, he hears fast footsteps from behind him.

He gets ready to dodge and fight back, but one pair of footsteps turns into three. 

Confused, he takes a few quick steps forward while looking back at the attackers. 

Big mistake, because his head slams right into a metal pole.

Cyno blacks out.

[readjthompson]

While watching Tales From the Void a couple of months ago, I decided that it would be fun to write a story for r/nosleep.

So here it is (© me, now), free to read:

I Don’t Care if “The Mirthful Maidens” Sounds Like the Title of a 1920s-Era Softcore Porn Film; Those Bitches Are Horrifying

by Jeremy Thompson

When I was still in college, and drinking everything alcoholic anytime I could, I developed a bad case of the shakes. Reaching for an inebriant after even eight hours without one, my hand would quiver as if caught in its own private earthquake.

Post-graduation—pre-marriage, pre-fatherhood—I moved back in with my parents for a time while pretending to look for a decent job. I drained every liquor bottle in their cupboards within a week, then spent my every last cent on cheapo booze. When they realized what a lush I’d become, Mom and Dad locked me in their basement for two weeks with only bread and water to live on. I survived delirium tremens and acute boredom, and have been sober for nearly fifteen years since.

My college years are a blur to me now; it’s a miracle I even graduated. The friends I acquired and shed, the parties I attended, the women I bedded and later assumed I’d hardly pleasured, all seem painted fog now unraveling, some Ghost Me’s fading memories.

Thus, I’m somewhat surprised to see my hands shaking just as alarmingly as they did in the grips of my college alcoholism, as they hover over my MacBook’s keyboard, waiting for my brain to tell them what to type next.

Of course, I must start with Morty.

Morty Greenblatt was forced on me in my childhood as a sort of arranged friendship. His parents were good friends with mine, and lived just two blocks away, so carpools and get-togethers forced us to interact whether we wished to or not. We were in the same grade, and often shared the same classroom. Devoid of blood siblings, we became nearly brothers. We even started to look alike.

As elementary school segued to middle school, then high school, I watched Morty gain confidence with our peers. Jealous and awkward at parties, I tried to look elsewhere as he sucked face with girls I’d fantasized about. Everywhere we went, he amassed friends, while I faded into the background.

When I made plans for college, Morty announced that he’d be taking a year off, to travel around the world and get a better idea of his place in it. We bro-hugged goodbye and then fell out of touch. Alcoholism seized me and my social awkwardness withered.

Post-graduation, after I sobered up, I began freelance copywriting. Churning out SEO content as fast as I could, I earned enough to land my own apartment. Gina Stoneman worked at the Ralphs down the street. We began dating, then married, then our twin daughters, Kenna and Casey, were born. I became a marketing manager for Stolid Staffing Solutions and moved us into a nice, two-story home in suburbia.

While I was becoming a somewhat respectable citizen, attaining love and financial security, the only time I interacted with Morty was when we commented on each other’s social media posts with dumb emojis. So, imagine my surprise when he showed up on my doorstep one day without warning.

“I got your address from your parents,” he said, half-apologetically, after summoning me with a thrice-rung doorbell one Sunday evening. My wife was in the kitchen, washing dishes, and my daughters, twelve years old at the time, were likely in their rooms with their phones glued to their faces.

Morty moved as if to hug me, then shake my hand, but instead settled on a shoulder slap. “It’s been a long time, man,” he added, as I squinted at him as if he was a mirage.

“Uh, hey, uh, Morty,” I eventually said. If not for his occasional Instagram selfies, I’d have had no idea that this was the guy I’d grown up with. He’d bleached his hair, grown a goatee, and embraced tattoos and piercings to the utmost degree. He dressed as if he was at a Lakers game and reeked of marijuana. The shade of his eyes attested to its strength.

“Can I come in for a second? Let’s catch up, crack open a few brewskis. Oh, that’s right, you’re sober. I remember that essay you posted. Got any soda around? My mouth’s dry as hell.”

Well, what could I do but usher him into the living room? “Gina,” I called, “we’ve got a visitor! Would you fetch us a couple of Pepsis?”

Gina did as requested, introduced herself to Morty, then returned to her dishwashing. Exiting the room, she gave me a loaded look, which read, “What the hell’s this loser doing here?”

Strained conviviality had my old friend and me exchanging “Hey, remember when…” reminiscences. Punctuating our shared history, our laughter rang hollow. Then we segued to our current circumstances.

Morty had become a drywaller, I learned, though I’d surely already read that on social media, then forgotten it. He bounced between San Diego and Los Angeles to attend various concerts, and took his parents out to breakfast every other Saturday morning.

Honestly, twenty minutes into our convo, I was mentally praying for him to leave. Whatever had bound us together in our youth had long since dissolved, and I was bored beyond belief. Then Morty finally revealed what was on his mind.

“Hey, man,” he said, “it’s been cool catchin’ up with you and all, but I really came here for some advice. I mean, out of everyone I’ve known, you seem the best situated. Wife and kids, a good job, and look at that body. I bet you get your gym time in, don’t ya?”

“When I can.”

“Okay, okay. And you gave up drinkin’, too. Like, how can you stand to be around people? But that’s not what I’m gettin’ at. It’s these women I keep seein’, these Mirthful Maidens.”

“Mirthful Maidens? What’s that, some kind of folk music group?”

“Nah, man. Check this out.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and summoned an image to its screen. Holding it out for my inspection, he said, “My uncle Benjy used to collect vintage magazines. Sometimes, I’d look through ’em. This was one of his favorites.”

“WINK?” I asked, reading the magazine’s cover. Its pin-up art, credited to Peter Driben, depicted a grinning, black-haired beauty reclining in high heels, stockings, and undergarments. Just above her head were the words MERRY MIRTHFUL MAIDENS.

“Yeah, man, WINK.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Who gives a shit. Sorry, but listen, man, the mag itself doesn’t matter. I’m just sayin’ that these chicks I’m seein’ all look like the broad on its cover: long legs, slim waists, perky tits, toothy smiles, like ultra-sexpot Lois Lanes. They could be sisters or somethin’, or share the same plastic surgeon, maybe both. See what I’m gettin’ at?”

“Well, damn, congratulations. How many of them are there? Oh, to be single again.” The walls were thin in our house; instantly, I regretted my last sentence. Gina was in the kitchen, where the knives are. How could I have been so stupid?

“Nah, man,” said Morty. “This ain’t about pussy. Something’s…wrong with these women. I don’t think they’re human.”

Shaking my head, I replied, “Well, if they’re trying to get your attention, there must be something wrong with ’em.”

“Crack all the jokes you want, homie, but don’t do it around these chicks. I mean, you should hear how they laugh. It’s like they all swallowed harmonicas or somethin’, like they’ve got reeds in their throats. And, I swear to God, man, they’re always laughin’. Sometimes, when they’re in the corner of my vision, their mouths open too wide, like snakes.”

“Dude, you reek of weed, Morty,” I said. “Are you on harder drugs, too? Has anyone else seen these chicks? Have you tried photographing one?”

Ignoring those questions, Morty said, “I first saw ’em at a Crystal Stilts concert, in NYC, back in 2012. Right before the band played, I heard this strange noise behind me. Turning, I saw three of the sexiest women I’ve ever seen in person. They were all dressed in black leather, wearing black lipstick. All were staring at me, laughing their weird ass laughter. My skin really started to crawl, man. Then Crystal Stilts played one of the greatest post-punk sets I’ve ever seen, and I forgot about those bitches…until I saw four more of ’em a few months later.”

“In New York?”

“Nah, man. Cancun. A coupla buddies and me went there to swoop on some spring breakin’ bitches, get that prime pussy, ya know, that young pussy. We were watchin’ a wet t-shirt contest, starin’ at titties, salivatin’, when I saw four Mirthful Maidens standin’ off to the side, wearin’ old-fashioned, black bikinis, laughin’ at me. Man, I pointed ’em out to my homies Steve and Bill, and Bill walked over to ’em, tryin’ to fuck one. They just kept laughin’ and laughin’, and Bill came back and said, ‘They must be shroomin’ real hard.’ That night Bill fell off our hotel balcony, or maybe was pushed, I dunno. Ruined the rest of the trip, that’s for sure. Dude was dead as fuck.”

Of course, I felt obliged, at that moment, to say, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah, I bet you are, buddy. A real bleedin’ heart, that’s what you are. But where was I? Sorry, I haven’t been sleepin’ much lately. Give me a second. Okay, I’ll say this: I’ve never seen the same Mirthful Maiden twice. Over the years, I’ve seen, let me see, probably at least a couple hundred, all with that wavy black hair, all with those perfect bodies that would give any straight dude a half-chub if the chicks would ever shut their fuckin’ mouths. Always wearin’ black. They’re never with boyfriends, or any non-laughin’ friends. They’re never alone, and I’ve never seen more than nine of ’em at once. Everyone seems to ignore ’em, but I don’t know how they can. Those sounds they make, man, they’re…unhuman.”

Wow, this guy’s really gone off the deep end, I thought. “Listen, Morty,” I said. “I’ve been laughed at by women, too. I know how small it can make you feel, how cruel it makes them seem. But you’ve met some nice ladies over the years, too, haven’t you? Why don’t you focus on them?”

“Because I’m fuckin’ afraid, bro. It not just out in public that I’ve seen the Mirthful Maidens. One night, just a few weeks ago, I woke up and saw two in the corner of my bedroom. I grabbed my cellphone and ran outta there, and called the police. But, of course, the chicks vanished by the time the pigs showed up. There were some in my parents’ backyard the other day, too. My mom and dad had no clue who they were, but weren’t bothered by them. I shouted threats at the women, but they kept laughin’ and laughin’.”

“Wow,” I exhaled. “This is some kind of joke, right?” As if I couldn’t see the fervor in his eyes, or the sweat on his forehead.

“No joke, man. I see ’em everywhere I go now, in the U.S. and out of it. They’re always lookin’ at me, always laughin’ that weird ass laugh. I’ve been half-expectin’ a couple of ’em to walk downstairs as we’re talkin’.”

“Well, Morty,” I said, “I’ve never heard of such a thing before. I’ll tell you what, though. Next time you see these Mirthful Maidens, call me and we’ll confront them together. How’s that sound?”

Morty sighed. “Better than nothin’, I guess. You’ll hear from me soon enough.”

After giving him my phone number, I showed him to the door and watched his departure. He pulled a joint from his pocket, sucked fire into it, and sauntered over to his car. Carefully, he checked its interior for bogeywomen before driving off.

I felt someone touch my elbow, and nearly shat my pants. But it was only Gina, making that face she makes when she’s attempting to hide her anger.

“I heard every word you two said,” she practically hissed. “I don’t care if you guys were friends way back when, Morty Whatever-His-Last-Name-Is sounds like a dangerous crackhead and I don’t want him near our daughters or me ever again. You stay away from him, too. He’ll probably attack some poor woman someday, and you’ll be arrested as his accomplice if you’re not careful.”

After a moment of consideration, I thought, Sorry, Morty, then threw my arms around Gina and said, “Whatever you say, dear.”

I felt the tension flow from her, as her speech grew sardonic. “Jeez, I’m lucky that I didn’t laugh around that asshole. He’d have accused me of being a Martian.”

I considered her greying hair and her plump figure, which had never rebounded far back from its pregnancy weight all those years ago, and thought, Fat chance. Then, feeling guilty, as if Gina had read my mind, I offered to rub her feet.

Of course, Morty called me a few times after that, but I let him go straight to voicemail. He direct messaged me on social media, but I never wrote back. One time, he returned to my house, but my wife answered the door and told him I wasn’t home. When he asked when I’d return, she shouted, “Just get out of here, you psycho!”

A few weeks after that, San Clemente beachgoers realized that the man they’d assumed was only sleeping on his Corona Extra beach towel was turning purplish-blue, choking on his own vomit. Morty died there, on the sand, chock-full of heroin and fentanyl, on an otherwise idyllic day. It was all over social media, with old classmates of ours and folks I’d never met coming out of the woodwork to praise Morty’s many virtues and condemn opioid addiction. “My heart is open to anyone in crisis,” some wrote. “Don’t ever feel alone in your affliction.” I wondered how they’d have reacted to that Mirthful Maidens story.

Strangely enough, Gina demanded that I attend Morty’s funeral.

“But people might know that I said I’d help him, and didn’t,” I protested. “They’ll blame me for his overdose. I can’t stand being yelled at.”

“Oh, grow up, you big baby,” she countered. “It’s bad enough that you didn’t post anything on his Facebook wall. If people don’t see you there…well, word gets around, doesn’t it?” Naturally, she made no offer to accompany me.

So, the day came. Half-strangled by my new tie, feeling as if my toes were fusing together, so tight were my new dress shoes, I walked into a chapel. Sneering at the sandals worn by a few mourners, I made my way to the funeral guest book and wrote my name—clearly, lest anyone call me absent.

Feeling as if I was being pointed out by old classmates I’d rather not reconnect with, I claimed some pew space, stared lapward and twiddled my thumbs, waiting for the service to begin.

Then I became aware of a bizarre sort of sobbing. At least, I assumed it to be such until I noticed three beautiful women in the pew across the aisle. Dressed in identical, semi-formal, black dresses, they leaned forward to make heavy eye contact with me, never closing their mouths. And, indeed, their laughter sounded as if it was pouring out of harmonicas. The Mirthful Maidens, I thought, astounded. Still, no other mourner seemed troubled by them.

As one funeral officiant or another stepped behind the pulpit and began blah-blah-blahing, and the Mirthful Maidens continued belching their bizarre laughter, I wondered if I was being pranked. Had Morty paid those women to act that way, then committed suicide? Was he even dead in his open casket, or was he ready to spring up and shout, “Joke’s on you!” Was everyone but me in on it? What else could I do but flee?

And, of course, when I told my wife about it that night, after nearly an hour of cunnilingus that only one of us enjoyed, she snickered. “My, oh, my, is my big, strong, handsome man jumping at campfire stories? Does he need a kiss from his momma? Will that make it better?”

Gina kissed my forehead, then fell asleep.

Listen, whoever’s reading this, I know most people have never given any thought to the percentage of women who wear black. It’s a very flattering color choice—fashionable, elegant, mysterious, even slimming. The color fits nearly every occasion, every skin tone and body shape. So, there’s really no way to avoid it when going out in public.

Similarly, in a free society, people laugh when they please, even if what comes out of their mouths when they do so is somewhat discordant. Not all vocal cords are the same; some people laugh like Fran Drescher does. But, please believe me when I assure you that what flows from the throats of the Mirthful Maidens isn’t human.

So maybe this is some kind of It Follows/Smile kind of curse—though, rather than being the only one who can see the whatever-the-hell-they-really-are, I’m just the only person who’s bothered by them. To everyone else, it’s perfectly normal to have gorgeous chicks dressed in black, laughing and laughing, anywhere and everywhere, all the time.

A couple of months after Morty’s funeral, I was at a steakhouse with my wife and daughters. It was my birthday, so I was allowed to gorge myself on a fourteen-ounce, Oscar-style ribeye and a basket of fries, plus a couple of Pepsis to wash them down with, as my tablemates nibbled at salads. Just as I was preparing to broach the notion of dessert, a familiar sound caught my attention.

There were four Mirthful Maidens, in black V-neck dresses, occupying a table to the right of us. Meeting my eyes, they laughed their strange laughter, with nothing on their tabletop other than their folded hands.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” asked Kenna. “Why are you starin’ at those women?”

“Do you know them, or somethin’?” asked Casey.

“The Mirthful Maidens,” I muttered. “They were stalking Morty, now they’re following me.”

“Okay, that’s enough soda for your father,” said Gina, waving our waiter over. “Let’s go home and give him his presents.” To me, she whispered, “Don’t you dare make a scene.”

On the drive home, I tried to redeem myself. “None of you thought those women were strange, huh? Just sitting there, laughing nonstop, eating and drinking nothing at a restaurant.”

“They must have just arrived,” said Gina. “Don’t blame them for bad service.”

“Our service was fine, though. And didn’t you hear their laughter? Humans don’t make sounds like that. It was like something out of a nightmare.”

“God, Daddy, you’re so cringe,” said Casey. “Women are allowed to have fun in public without a man around, ya know.”

“Yeah, this isn’t the eighteen hundreds,” chimed in Kenna. “You don’t have to be frightened just ’cause they’re havin’ fun.”

“That’s telling him, girls,” Gina commended. “Never let some Neanderthal try to put you in your place. Not even Daddy.”

“That’s not what I was…ah, you know what, forget it.” If ever a man, alone, has won an argument against three ladies, I’ve yet to hear of it.

Speaking of arguments, over the years, I’ve noticed that whenever a female I know takes issue with another female and wishes to badmouth her, I’m supposed to echo that disparagement: “What a bitch,” “Who does she think she is,” etc. But whensoever a woman gets on my bad side and I speak ill of her to another lady, the lady I’m talking to always takes the other woman’s side. “Consider her perspective,” they tell me. “Every woman has had umpteen horrible encounters with horny, psychotic walking boners. How was she supposed to know if you’re a good guy or a bad guy?”

Like, suddenly, I’m Mr. Misogynist, out to undo women’s suffrage and overturn Roe v. Wade, just because I took umbrage when a drunk chick grabbed my glasses off of my head and tried them on without asking, then dropped them when handing them back, then laughed at their cracked lenses. Do you know what I’m saying, fellas?

So, yeah, just like with Morty, the Mirthful Maidens have become a regular feature in my life, appearing with increased regularity. Never have I seen the same Maiden twice; never have they shut their damn mouths.

I’ve seen them at the gym, on the street, and staring from the windows of passing vehicles. I’ve seen them in the background of old sitcoms, ravaging laugh tracks. I’ve seen them on airplanes, seen them in my dreams. And, of course, I’ve heard them, too.

Eventually, I started photographing them with my iPhone, pretending to be texting people, snapping shot after shot of Maiden after Maiden. I figured that I’d expose them on social media, create a Facebook page where others bedeviled by them could contribute. Then Gina got ahold of my phone one night and beat the shit out of me until I deleted every shot.

“Pervert!” she screamed. “What, am I not good enough for you?! You have to go around taking upskirt shots?! You’ll end up on the sex offender registry!”

“Those weren’t upskirt shots,” was my sad defense. “You don’t think it’s strange that I’m seeing women dressed in black everywhere I go, and they’re always laughing like malfunctioning androids?”

“You’ve caught your friend Morty’s delusion,” she said, “but you’re a married man, not an incel. You don’t have to view women as a hostile force. Keep this up and we’ll have to put you on some kind of antipsychotic medication.”

Naturally, I spoke no more of the Mirthful Maidens to Gina…until I arrived home from grocery shopping one Saturday and found six of them in our living room.

There my wife was—wineglass in hand, eyes twinkling with imbibed cheer—delivering high school anecdotes as if hosting longtime friends. Around her, quite drinkless, were a half-dozen beauties in black blazer jackets and black slacks, belching their hideous laughter in bizarre synchrony.

Noticing me, Gina cooed, “Oh, hello, honey. We have company today. Put those groceries away, pour yourself a soda, and come join us.”

On the way to the kitchen, ignoring the Maidens’ gazes, I paused to kiss my wife on the cheek, then whispered into her ear, “What the hell’s going on?”

“Be nice,” she hissed back at me.

Okay, I’ll admit it. During my brief time in the kitchen, I thought about fleeing through the back door, and hopping fence after fence until I was at least three cities distant. My teeth were chattering. I was more goosebumps than man. My every small hair felt ready to launch from its follicle. But, for all that I knew, my wife was in danger. So, I slapped myself across the face a few times, did some deep breathing exercises, and returned to the most surreal, one-sided conversation that I’ve ever heard.

“Oh, you absolutely must try their scallops; they melt in your mouth,” said Gina, scarcely audible over the grotesque laughter. “They make this blackened swordfish with Cajun butter, too. Oh my God, it’s so good. That’s why we ladies get married, isn’t it? So that we can force our husbands to order food we want to try, then snatch bits of it off their plates without seeming gluttonous.”

Gina’s always been talkative when in the right company, but this time, she really outdid herself. With nary a lull, she segued from food to theater, then to reality television, then to traveling, then to the challenges of raising twin daughters.

When she tried to draw me into the conversation, I nodded and mumbled nonsense, unable to hear so much as a syllable of my own utterances. I doubt that Gina even noticed. Whatever validation she acquired from the Mirthful Maidens’ unending laughter had really galvanized her. If she didn’t have to stop for a potty break, she’d have gone until her voice gave out.

After my wife exited the room, I somehow found the courage to grab the nearest Mirthful Maiden by her shoulders. “What are you doing in my house?” I demanded. “Why have you been following me? Have you hypnotized my wife, somehow? I mean, what the fuck?”

Of course, the only answer that I received was more laughter. And so, my temper overcame me and I began to shake the woman. Her head violently rocked back and forth, and her mouth stretched all the wider.

“Who are you people?” I hissed. “What are you?”

Then most of her head, from the upper jaw up, spilled over her back like a Slinky, revealing a vast chasm within her, from which indigo light spilled. I couldn’t look away from it, even as I realized that the radiance was emanated by a substance that looked like moldy cream cheese, which shaped itself into a replication of poor, doomed Morty’s face and shrieked a shriek that couldn’t be heard over the laughter.

Time fell away from me then. When next I returned to my senses, I was reclining on the couch with Gina pressing a wet rag to my forehead. My daughters were looming over me, too, biting their lips.

Sitting up, I asked, “Are they gone?”

“Are who gone?” replied Gina.

“Those women you were talking to. Did you see them leave?”

“Women? What women? You must’ve been dreaming after you passed out. What happened there, anyway? Did you drink enough water today? Let’s get you on your feet and find you a doctor.”

It’s been years since that day. Still, the Mirthful Maidens await me all across my city and beyond it, all the time, always laughing, always staring, in sunshine and pouring rain. Sometimes I sneer at those bitches or raise my middle finger at them, but mostly I pretend as if I don’t see them, just like everyone else does.

My wife now goes to the gym with me, five days a week, bouncing from weights to cardio with ease, reclaiming her old hourglass figure. She’s dyeing her hair black, too, the same color it used to be. At least, I think she’s dyeing it. Friends and strangers elbow me and tell me how lucky I am to have landed her. I wonder if they’re right.

My daughters are shedding their baby fat now and acquiring the curves people covet. They no longer seem much interested in their phones, though.

Sometimes, when I’m dining with my three ladies, in my peripheral vision, one of their mouths seems to widen more than it ought to. Sometimes, when I crack a dumb dad joke, the three of them start laughing and laughing and it seems that they’ll never stop. And don’t get me started on all the black clothes they’ve been buying.

[king-anvl]

I used to be a very sad person. Everything i had felt was just sadness and emptiness. There would be times my soul lit, things to look forward to. But generally sad. I grew up thinking no one would ever love me, and that i needed to prove whoever taught me that wrong. It finally came to ahead when i met someone and it felt like a lightbulb turn on. I felt alive and i felt full. Not only did i feel those things about a person, but i felt those things about a place i had been to thrice before.

Things happened and i was young and stupid, i was scared and i felt alone. So i tried to leave and tried to stay in the place that felt right in my soul.

Things happened again. Getting calls about how my brother was suicidal without me, how i was the glue to the family that was already so broken, how i was needed and needed. How family always comes first. As the oldest sibling, as the constant glue and constant steady pilar of the family, i went back. I went back and my brother wasnt suicidal, he was angry. I went back and the family i had was irreparably broken. The money i had was now gone and still gone.

I was so happy, so content in my soul for just a few months. It was like Icarus flying, entranced for a brief moment.

I gave up everything to come back and take care of a family that didn’t appreciate me. That put their anger on me. I was the steady punching bag that everyone used instead of going at each other.

I lost my mind, i was so broken and so sad again but this time its because i lost my wings. The constant fighting, the lack of respect, the feeling of never being good enough to want in their lives just needed for their own purposes. I mentally broke down and checked out.

Over the years i have had some mental breakdowns where i live with so much resentment and regret eating me alive. Over the years, i realised that no one will ever care for me because they want to. My soul is tired, I havent been able to feel much these past several years.

That is until 7 weeks ago when my cousin is staying with us before he moves to the place my soul had called home. Because he too fell in love with someone and someplace around the same area as I.

He didnt go back to his family like i did. He is going to live the dream that i had tried to. And im fucking angry. He has people that love him and want to make sure he succeeds. He has people that care about him because they just want to. His fiance is here now too, and i see what could have been.

And they tell me that I have a chance to go back to visit them, to see them married, to be there again. They gave me unwanted hope. And im so fucking angry. If i go back there, what will happen? Will i feel home? I cant find out. It will break me again and this time, i wont come back.

[ficmachine]

That Time of Year

Glamrock Bonnie/Montgomery Gator x GN Reader

Warnings: Angst + comfort

Summary: Bonnie’s gone missing. You’re mourning the loss of your significant other, Monty’s mourning the loss of his best friend. Eventually the two of you find comfort in each other instead.

-

You were one of the first people to notice that Bonnie went missing, and the last one to give up on finding him. A few months down the line you eventually had to give up, but in the back of your mind you were still keeping an eye on whatever might've happened to your favourite bunny.

Within a week or so Monty took Bonnie's place, and even though all evidence pointed at him you couldn't bring yourself to believe it for even a second. While reckless and impulsive, even with his outbursts you know he'd do nothing to hurt his fellow animatronics – especially not Bonnie. You don't even believe he was there when.... Whatever happened happened.

To get your mind off things you became closer to the alligator, the both of you mourning the loss of someone who was very close to you. To you, Bonnie was a lover, a life long companion you've spent the last 4 years with. To Montgomery? He was a close friend, a mentor, and one of the only people who put up with him on a bad day.

Bon was the reason he got into playing bass in the first place so having to take the spot of someone who put so much care and effort into helping him learn despite his short fuse meant a lot. It meant too much – it overwhelmed him. He managed to settle in now, of course he has, but he still has massive boots to fill. It's hard.

You manage to get by though. On most days

Today's not one of them.

“Monty?” You croak out, gently knocking on the door thrice to announce yourself before swiping the card to enter.

Monty's room was... Surprisingly not as trashed as it usually was, probably because he wanted to make sure all your work didn't go to waste after you've replaced his furniture and fixed things up. As much as you appreciate it, it does make you worry. Especially around this time of year.

“Yeah, sha?” The tall gator looks up from where he's sitting on his brand new, barely scratched up couch, guitar in hand. He sees you walk in, nodding his head at you with a small grin.

You barely manage a wave.

“Oh.” His entire demeanour changes from slightly smug to worried when he sees your lips tug down into a deep frown, eyes falling to stare at the floor as you make your way to him. “C'mere...” He places his bass to the side just as you reach him, and you let the gator pull you into his lap. Instantly, he wraps his arms around your smaller form, chin resting on top of your head while you make yourself comfortable.

For what feels like hours the two of you sit there in silence; you trying your best to not let your tears spill, and Monty gently grumbling something comforting under his breath.

“... I miss him.” It takes you a bit, but when you speak up he's sure his heart will burst from just how heartbroken you sound - your voice barely above whisper yet still cracking midway though. If he could change places with your former lover, he'd do so in a heartbeat.

He sinks further into the couch, pulling you back with him to half-lay on top of him. The arms around you tighten for a second before he sighs deeply. “...Yeah, me too.”

Another silence falls between you as you think back to the last year. It's been a year now. It seems like you saw Bonnie just a week ago, yet it's been... So long. Every day dragged by so painfully slow even with the others by your side. It's just not the same without him.

You miss his jokes, his silly puns – even the ones that made you cringe back harder than anything else ever did. You miss how he walked up behind you to surprise you with a hug when you least expected him; how the two of you spent hours just talking to one another about everything and nothing; how soft and lovely dovely he became around you. You miss how he tapped his foot when nervous or impatient, too.

You miss all of him.

The hand on your back moved to rest under your chin, tilting your head up a little, and causing you to snap out of your thoughts for a moment. Looking up at the red eyes peering down at you sadly you attempted to give him a smile. Gently, he wipes the tears from your face by lifting your shirt up some before taking a good look at you.

Though, what you miss the most is the gentle nose kisses followed by a bunch of half-whispered 'I love you's during the particularly bad days.

It's hard.

“You did good today, doll.” He murmurs, thumb gently caressing your cheek as you lean into his hand. “He'd be proud of you.”

And that's all it takes for you to break down for real. No stray tears this time – he opened the flood doors and he's more than ready to be there for you as you let it all out.

Nodding your head once you bury your face into the crook of his neck with a loud sob, holding onto him with fear that one day you might lose him too. He pulls you closer to him, holding you tight – afraid of the exact same thing.

[donutloverxo]

Good little girl

*gif is not mine*

Note - Requested by @holacia2 and a part two to good little wife. And special thanks to @gotnofucks for all her help! I'm so overwhelmed with all the love that fic got I hope y'all like this little follow up as well❤❤

Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

Summary - Married life isn't always easy. Will you be able to solve your problems?

Warnings - 18+ only explicit sexual content, younger woman/older man, daddy kink, soft dark!Andy, SO MUCH MISOGYNY, housewife kink, innocence kink, (accusations of) cheating, arranged/forced marriage, spanking, possessive Andy.

Pairing - Mob!Andy Barber x reader

Word count - 4.9k

Masterlist is linked in the bio and the pinned post!

You handed your mother the brownies you had baked, she thanked you, telling you how it was so unnecessary, before Andy placed the wine you had gotten on the way over on the kitchen counter.

“Why don’t you go keep your father in law company, Andrew?” your mom told him. He only nodded before making way to his boss.

“So? How are things going with him?” she asked. “You are positively glowing honey! Do you have any good news yet?”

“Mom!” you gasped.

Over the past seven months you had only seen your mother a handful of times. You were still a bit upset with her for marrying you off to an older man you barely knew, a man who you thought despised you so much he refused to even touch you.

You knew she didn’t really have a say in it. Your father never really valued her opinion, there was no way she would’ve been able to stop it but she hadn’t even so much as tried.

“No, I don’t. And I won’t any time soon,” you huffed.

While being a mother was something you’d like to experience someday, you didn’t know if you were quite ready for it yet. Which was good because Andy didn’t want kids for the next few years either, he had taken you to a doctor to get you on birth control as soon as the holidays were over.

He stated that he wasn’t ready to share you just yet. That he wasn’t sure he wants his kids to be a part of the mob, which you didn’t want either.

“Oh, but you have to, cookie. I need a distraction. Being a mom is all I’ve ever known and ever since you left the house has been so empty.”

“Well, what about daddy?” you frowned. He had never really liked spending time with your siblings or your mother, but to leave her be on her own like that.

“He’s always with Charlotte,” she rolled her eyes. “I would’ve been fine with it, he’s always been like that, can’t expect him to change now, but he brought her here, now, to a family dinner.” She sighed in resignation.

You had heard a familiar high pitched annoying laugh upon coming home, but you thought that to be one of your brothers floozies.

Charlotte, or Cherry, used to be a good friend of yours in college. Before you brought her home for the holidays of your freshman year and she decided to shack up with your married father, who was almost thrice her age. You lost touch with her after that.

“I’m telling you, honey, a kid is a good way of securing your marriage and starting a family. You are young now... but you will grow old someday. Andrew’s a good man... but he is still a man at the end of the day.”

You scoffed at that, “I won’t have you talking that way about my husband! We are already a family, we’re in love each other and he’s nothing like dad.”

She gave you a teary smile, “Young love--is just so innocent and beautiful. You always see the best in people, cookie. I hope I’m wrong about this. Any man would be an idiot to not appreciate you.”

“Andy does appreciate me. And take good care of me, ma...” you trailed off.

He did take good care of you. After the night you consummated your marriage he brought you breakfast in bed. He hadn’t kept his hands off of you for the past few weeks, doting on you any chance he could get, telling you he loved you every chance he got.

But you wondered... did he love you?

The kind of love you’d only ever read about in classical novels. The kind of love you’d dreamt of having ever since you could remember, the kind you thought you once had with someone, but didn’t. You didn’t love Alex the way you love Andy. You were in love with the idea of Alex. You knew Andy now. You knew how kind, passionate and fierce he was, your love for him consumed every single part of you. Where you would literally die for him.

But did he love you for you. Or was he just lonely because it was Christmas. You had avoided taking the tree and the decorations down, begging him, even dropping to your knees and making love to him with your mouth, you didn’t know much but Cherry had taught you that you could get men to do anything for you just by kneeling before them.

While he was very obviously pleased with your passion, returning the favor tenfold, till your thighs burned from his bread and you were shouting for him to stop, he still took the decorations down. He said he wanted to start anew this year. He made a resolution to be the best husband he could.

But you were going to protect your heart this time, hope for the best but still prepare for the worst.

Unfortunately, you had been seated next to Cherry. You found out that your father was living with her now and that while she had hoped he’d leave his wife for her there, but apparently there was no such luck.

“They never leave their wives do they,” she shook her head. “Oh I’m sorry! I shouldn’t be saying these things to you...”

“Its alright,” you shrugged. It would be hard to see your mother be unhappy but there was never any love between your parents. Your mother had learned to live without him and find happiness in other things, and other people, she was just a bit more sneaky about it.

“Well...” you hesitated “how do you keep a man?”

“What kind of question is that?” she giggled. “There are many ways to keep a man but you’ll have to be a bit more specific...”

You ended up changing the subject. The kind of questions you wanted to ask were not suitable for the dinner table, and you didn’t like the way Andy was staring daggers at the pair of you, almost displeased with the two of you chatting.

***

You smiled at him from the passenger seat when he put his hand on your knee, giving it a light squeeze. He had been quite the whole ride home so you decided to speak first.

“Can’t believe Cherry’s like my... step mom.” You laughed out loud at such a ridiculous notion.

“Step mom?” he furrowed his brows, turning his head to look at you.

“Oh I’m just joking,” you waved him off. “Dad would never leave my ma. He’ll move on to another one soon enough.”

He hummed, nodding, “Alright. I was just worried she was troubling you at dinner.”

“What would you have done if she was? Would you swop in like a knight in shining armor and save me from the big meanie?”

“You know I would,” he smiled.

You had asked for a piggy back ride from Andy from the garage to your home, he rolled his eyes and tried to say no but then gave in when you used your princess eyes on him.

He placed you on top of your bed, kissing the tip of your nose, he started unbuttoning his shirt to get ready for bed.

“Andy... um... Daddy?” you corrected yourself instantly.

He liked you addressing him as that whenever you both were alone, he had warned you that you would receive a punishment if you ever failed to comply.

You didn’t know what his punishment would be and you didn’t plan on finding out anytime soon. You’d withhold all affection from him if he ever dared take away the platinum card from you, or lower your allowance as your father had told him to at the dinner, ‘to tame you' supposedly.

But that wasn’t a very good plan... what if he just looked for love elsewhere.

“What is it, honey?” he asked.

“Um... do you think... you would ever take a mistress?” you gulped and prepared yourself for his answer.

“I wouldn’t...” you sighed in relief, “one woman is enough trouble.” he said flatly.

“Daddy!!” you whined, stomping your foot on the floor and folding your hands over your chest.

And he had the audacity to laugh. His laughter at your expense only fuelled your anger. “Do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?”

He finally stopped laughing, “Look at you being a big girl,” he tried to pinch your cheek but you swatted his hand away. “You don’t wanna be daddy’s little girl anymore?” he pouted.

“No... no I do!” you answered all too eager. “I’m sorry...”

“I’m sorry too, honey. I shouldn’t be making fun of you.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” you hugged his hard stomach, rubbing your cheek against his undershirt. “It’s mean, and you promised not to be mean to me.”

“I was just teasing,” he cooed, stroking your hair. And while you knew that and secretly enjoyed it even, you still wanted a serious answer out of him.

“I intend to keep my vows forever. There is just no way I could ever want anyone who’s not you.”

“Really?” you propped your chin on his abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Promise.”

***

“Um... I’m here to see Andy,” you told the lady sitting outside of, what you had been told was Andy’s office, you assumed her to be his secretary Erica.

You always packed a lunchbox for Andy, always remembering to leave a sweet note for him and he would always call you to thank you for it. You also made sure to have dinner ready before he got home on the nights he wasn’t taking you out on the town. It was just your duty as a good wife.

But Andy had been working way too much the past couple of weeks. Where he would be gone before you wake up and be back when you were already in bed. You knew his job was demanding, working for your father and being a partner in a law firm, the job was like a mistress, stealing your man away...

So you simply decided to make his favorite, food pack it up and come to him to eat it together.

“Mrs Barber! It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you,” she gave you a toothy smile, shaking your hand.

You would’ve been happy, elated that Andy talks so much about you at work. If you hadn’t smelled her perfume. So familiar... you couldn’t quite place it at first but then you remembered.

The night you had slaved away, hoping to profess your love to your husband, when he had rejected you and smelled of chanel.

“That’s a nice scent...” you wondered out loud.

“Oh thank you! I love it as well,” she said, taking in a whiff of the inside of her wrist. “It’s the new chanel one!”

“Hmm....”

You almost didn’t hear Andy calling for you. “What a nice surprise.” He kissed your cheek.

You set the food before him, thinking of telling him what was on your mind.

Was he really so cliché to have an affair with his secretary?

Could you really blame him though? Although you had been married for almost seven months, you were strangers living under the same roof for the majority of them. He wasn’t really cheating... but what if he was still doing it?

“Honey,” he shook you to get your attention. “What’s up with you today? I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

“You’re always working.” You complained.

“Well...” he grinned, grabbing at your thighs and pulling you on his lap, “I have to. If I had the choice I would never come into work, I would stay home forever, between your legs, right... here,” he snaked a hand up your leg and stroked the inside of your thigh. “You would like that wouldn’t you?”

You nodded, “I’ve been so lonely without you.”

He hummed, biting the shell of your ear before speaking into it, “I know, honey. I miss you too. But you do still remember the number one rule right?”

“Yes, daddy. Never touch myself without your permission.”

“And why is that?”

You whined, to embarrassed to say the words, “Because... it’s your... pussy.” You replied in a small shy voice.

“That’s right, sweetheart. It’s mine to do whatever I want with,” he cupped your mould, just to demonstrate what he meant but then frowned when he felt your soft curls and wet slick against his palm.

“You’re not wearing any panties, sweetheart.” He noted, surprised to your boldness.

“Um... I must’ve forgot.”

So maybe you had ulterior motives behind coming here. Your body was used to be doted on everyday now, and to not have his touch for so long was agonising. You had hoped to maybe bend down to pick up a napkin that fell ever so conveniently and flash him, it would work, he would be driven mad.

“Forgot huh?” You nodded in reply as he gathered your slick in his fingers, tracing your labia with them. “That’s too bad, If you had left them on purpose I would’ve cancelled my meeting and fucked you right here. But since it was just an innocent mistake I wouldn’t do that,” he retreated his hand, placing a soft kiss on your hair. “Thanks for lunch.”

***

You were determined to prove your worth to Andy. If he did have a mistress, whether it be his secretary or any other woman, he would forget all about her when he saw how you could do everything for him.

You had went all out today, baking a pie and a four course meal from scratch, lighting up candles, the pink babydoll that Andy had gifted you was under your dress.

He was as always exhausted when he got home, his face visibly lighting up upon seeing you, you took his hand in yours taking him to the couch and making him a glass of whiskey, you handed it to him before kneeling on the soft rug.

“You work so hard, daddy,” you murmured as your fingers worked on unzipping his pants.

He looked at you in confusion, shaking his head, “You don’t have to do that, honey,” cupping your cheek in his plan, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

“But I want to make you feel good,” you blinked at him.

He groaned, unable to say no when you looked so willing to please him, but at the same time he wanted to do more with you. To cuddle and watch a movie and talk, it felt as if he hadn’t in ages.

“Very well,” he nodded.

With the green signal from him, you licked your lips, tasting some of your minty gloss, taking his length out of the confines of his underwear, you took a minute to simply marvel at the sheer size and beauty of it.

You licked a stripe up the underside of it, suckling at the crown, you remembered that he liked that the best, at least from the way he twisted his hand in your hair, pulling at it till it caused a slight burn to your scalp.

You slurped his precum up before he pushed his hips up till his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him, didn’t take him long to come down your throat.

His neck and cheek covered in a crimson blush, his chest heaving as he threw his head back against the couch.

“You did good, honey...” he rasped. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He absolutely loved the dinner you had made for him. But when you subtly, because you were raised to be a good lady and wife, tried to coax him to make love to you before bed, he.... rejected you.

Sure, he was kind about it. He told you he was simply tired and would make it up to you. But it was still shocking how a man as insatiable as him would ever say no. You truly didn’t know what to make of it.

***

“Oh... I don’t know about this... it’s a bit too bold for me,” you bit your lip.

“Just try it on! You might end up liking it!” Cherry urged you, putting the bright red lipstick on you without waiting for an answer, “There is nothing more classic than a red lip. Or a red anything. Men go crazy for it.” She told you.

You simply hummed through closed lips as she put some finishing touches on it. “Doesn’t that look nice?” she asked, holding up a mirror before you.

You smiled, it did look different. Maybe different was what you needed. “It’s very pretty. It makes me feel... confident?” Which was strange. Because how could a simple lipstick make you feel confident?

“See! I told you. Confidence is the key to sexiness. Now, let’s talk lingerie.”

***

“Honey, I’ve been waiting for over fifteen minutes,” you heard Andy call out to you from the bedroom.

“Just a minute,” you said, perfecting your edges with a lip brush.

This was something you had never done before. You wore a lot of lingerie for Andy, but most of them were cute pastels or white nighties or babydolls. Nothing like what you were wearing right now...

A sheer black lacy body suit that clung to your body, leaving literally nothing to the imagination.

Top that off with your red lip... you looked like some kind of dominatrix. Cherry told you that most men secretly wish to be dominated. Although you highly doubted your daddy would want anything like that. Or would he?

“Alright, I’m coming out,” you announced, before shyly stepping out, your eyes trained on the floor as you twiddled with your fingers to maybe distract you from your nerves. “What do you think?”

He was speechless. His jaw almost dropping on the floor when he saw you like that. So far from his sweet girl. You were just as much beautiful and sexy, and while it wasn’t something he was used or prefer to he would welcome it if it was what you wanted.

He extended an arm to you, ready to tell you that you were sexy, that he wanted to spend hours worshipping every inch of your body, that he wanted his cock stained the shade of red you wore on your lips, that he was ready to make up for being away for weeks.

Until he saw... that.

He lowly growled your name, making your head snap up to look at him, “What did you do to your pussy?” Because from what he could see, through the sheer material, there was nothing where your pubic hair used to be.

“Uh... I uh... waxed it...” From the tone of his voice you could tell that he wasn’t too happy about it. “Do you not like it?”

“Like?” he scoffed, shaking his head. Taking a seat on the bedding, “C'mere, let me take a closer look.”

Hesitantly, you walked the few strides it took till you were standing before him.

He studied your mould, trying to take the fabric off so he could see it more properly and then tutting when he couldn’t even open the stupid thing.

“Wait, it um... opens here I think,” you interrupted his scrutiny, undoing the zipper that was on your side and taking the suit off of you.

He sighed in resignation when he saw what you had done, making you regret your ever spending so much money and going through all that pain.

He parted your lips apart, running his fingers along your vulva, acquainting himself with this new strange feel of you, “When did do this?” his blue eyes looked up at you.

“Just a couple of days ago. It’s just hair... it’ll grow back in like three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” he scoffed.

You could feel your eyes getting misty. You tried to go all out for him, to please him, be completely naked and vulnerable before him, only to have him get angry at you.

“You don’t like it,” you sniffled.

His furrowed brow softened when he saw you crying, pulling you down till you were straddling his lap, “The question isn’t whether I like it or not,” he explained, his thumb wiping your wet cheeks, “I could... maybe live with it. But I wouldn’t prefer it.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

“But for you to have done this,” he touched your newly waxed skin and almost winced at the smoothness, “You must’ve let someone else see you naked. See what belongs to me.”

“Bu - but they were all women...” you stammered, squirming in his lap as his fingers toyed with your clit.

“It doesn’t matter,” he tutted, pushing two fingers inside you, “Only I get to see you. This is MY pussy. Only I get to decide what to do with it. Do you understand?”

You nodded, holding onto his tshirt as he twisted his fingers inside you. “So-sorry, daddy.”

“No, honey, since you were bad you don’t get to call me daddy. For tonight you will address me as sir. And of course you’ll have to be punished.”

“Punished?” you pouted. “Can’t you just let me go since it was my first strike? I’ll be good from now on I promise!”

“No, you have to learn your lesson. Come on,” you yelped as he manhandled you so you were face down across his lap, “What is your safe word?”

“Unicorns” you giggled. You thought you were so witty for coming up with it. Since he for some reason was jealous of your unicorn stuffie.

He hummed, stroking the soft skin of your butt, “How does twenty sound?”

Your eyes went wide as you gasped, looking at him over your shoulder, “No!” you said.

He didn’t really plan on spanking you... did he? He liked swatting your ass here and there, and truth be told you liked it too. But you had never been spanked or even hit as a punishment.

“Well, if not this then maybe we can make you go a week without cumming.”

Your gasp was louder and even more incredulous this time. You could most definitely take twenty swats, but just the thought of not being able to finish, after knowing what an orgasm with Andy feels like, made you shiver.

“You will count each one, and then thank me for it. You are grateful I’m teaching you, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you nodded.

“Do you know how to count to twenty? Or would I have to teach you that too?” he asked ever so condescendingly as you huffed.

“Of course I do! I was just two semesters away from graduating college!” Never mind that you learned that in kindergarten.

“That’s good. Are you ready?” he asked, cracking his knuckles as he got in position.

With a nod from you he delivered the first slap to your right buttcheek, the sound of it reverberating in the room, his palm stinging slightly as he stroked the skin he had just punished, it was already warmer.

“One, sir. Thank you, sir,” you held onto a moan, it wasn’t half as bad as you thought it would be...

You jerked forward as he unceremoniously hit your other cheek, since you were unprepared for it, and he was much more brutal.

“Tw-two, sir,” you sniffled.

You considered throwing in the towel and saying your safe word by the time fifteen rolled around. Your behind was on fire, while you couldn’t see it, you just knew it was bruised. But you wanted to be good for Andy and it was wrong of you to do something that drastic without his permission.

“Sixteen...” you hiccupped. You could feel your slick running down your thighs but at this point... you just couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Do you want a break?” he asked, taking pity on you.

You nodded frantically, “Yes please! Can you... can you touch me? Down there?” Since the pain in your throbbing pussy was unbearable. If you didn’t receive any attention, you might actually burst.

“Down where? Here?” He had the audacity to play down, while you were suffering, and touch the back of your knee to patronise you.

“No!” you whined.

“Well then you’ll have to be a bit more specific, princess.”

“In my... between my legs... my pussy...”

“Are you sure you deserve it though?” he asked.

You thought about it for a moment, before coming to the conclusion that, “No I don’t. Not until I finish my punishment.”

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, his hand massaging your raw ass as your heart swelled in pride.

“Nineteen, sir,” your mind was hazy. It didn’t even feel as if you were in your reality anymore... it was as if you were floating, while you could still hear and feel him spanking you, for some reason it wasn’t as painful anymore.

“The last one, doll, hang in there,” he said before delivering the last swat.

You whimpered, “Twenty, thank you, sir,” willing your nose with the back of your hand.

Andy collected your weak form in his big string arms, rocking you back and forth in his lap as he kept whispering soft praises in your hair, “My sweet beautiful doll,” he pecked you on your lips.

“Sorry about your pants, daddy...” you said when you realised what a wet mess you had made on him.

He shushed you, “Don’t you worry about that right now. Do you want to take a bath?”

You pouted, your red lip jutting out, “No.”

He chuckled, kissing your forehead, “Do you want daddy to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you nodded.

“We have to be careful about your butt, baby,” he said as he gently placed you on the mattress.

Your head on your pillow, besides your two most trusted stuffies--your unicorn and teddy. Andy only allowed you two in the bed after complaining they made it hard for him to cuddle you. You demanded he buy you a shelf to display them or you would go back to your old room. Which of course made him comply instantly.

You made grabby hands at him, impatient to have him closer to you, but then were glad he took the time to take off his tshirt so you could ogle the wide expanse of his chest, the light scattering of fuzzy hair over it, his numerous tattoos along with one of your name, which marked him as yours forever.

He took a hardened nipple in his mouth while his hand tweaked the other, nudging your legs apart to make room for him, he placed his length at your entrance.

Slowly pushing into you, letting you get accustomed to the size of him. Although your pussy was always so welcoming to him, he knew you often struggled to take him.

You whimpered at him, tears rolling off of your face. “What’s wrong, honey? Does it hurt?”

“No... it’s just so good,” you sniffled.

“Okay, just hold on,” you held onto his shoulders as he slowly fucked in to you.

Your pussy clamping around his length, the soles of your feet digging into his ass, “Can I come, daddy?”

“Of course, baby. You earned it.” He groaned, his hips hammering against yours as you bit his neck, letting out a muffled scream.

You hummed against his neck when you felt his warm release fill you up, he pulled out of you, frowning when he looked at your naked and hairless pussy, dripping with his cum.

“From now on I’ll be picking out your clothes,” he stated, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms.

“Okay, daddy,” you hummed.

“And no more surprise bikini waxes.”

“Mmm...” If that’s what you had to do to get in trouble and be punished, then so be it. “We’ll see.”

***

Three days later

“Lotion time, doll,” Andy said, pausing the movie you were both watching to go get said lotion.

He had rubbed your lotion on your backside when he spanked you and decided that he wanted to be the one putting your body lotion on you from now on since he had too much fun doing it. He insisted on doing it twice everyday since it was still very cold.

You followed him to the bedroom, lying face down on the bed a he squeezed some on his palms, rubbing them together to warm them up.

You winced just a little, your skin still a bit sensitive, you even had to sit on a pillow the time.

“Will you be going back to work tomorrow?” you wanted to know.

He didn’t like the sadness in your voice, “Yes,” he sighed. He hated leaving you all by yourself.

“I’ll be all alone then.”

“Didn’t you want to go back to college?” He remembered you telling him that your parents forced you to drop out so that you would marry him.

“I do actually. Hate leaving things incomplete... maybe I can even go to a law school and become a lawyer like you!” you perked up.

“You’re not working for your father though, you’re too good for that world.”

“You’re too good for him too.” You said. “Maybe I can work with you.” And you and him could be like a power couple. It would be so exciting.

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