#carpet cleaning after water damage

[whitehallcarpetcleaners]

Prevent Mold Growth

Whitehall Carpet Cleaners helps prevent mold growth with thorough carpet cleaning services!

[rat6ix]

Proxy.

Ticci toby x proxy!reader

Wc: 1.8k

— 🐀

Summary: Toby finds out your secret and now you have to make sure he doesn’t run his mouth to his friends.

Warnings: smut (wow, so surprising), sub toby, reader is mean, Toby lowkey scared of reader, Tobys also a proxy, reader doesn’t want anyone in the slender mansion to know who they are under their mask, reader doesn’t live in the slender mansion, knife stuff, reader and Toby went to the same school ,full fic version of my last ticci toby post sorta not really but in the ways that count.

Recently you’ve been seeing someone in the woods by your house. You already knew who it was, an old friend from school. That was the only other person you’d ever heard of called “ticci toby”, It did the take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. You always made sure you knew when he was going to be there, learning his schedule the first few days he started showing up, after all you had your own work to do. Right now you were sitting on your couch, beetlejuice playing in the background as you stared back at Toby from the living room window, a disinterested look on your face. 12am sharp was when he headed back to what you could only guess to be the slender mansion.

You had been there a few times but not long enough for anybody but Ej and slenderman himself to see you. You and Ej were acquaintances, the only one you liked well enough to actually greet whenever you stopped by. He was quiet and didn’t ask questions, the last thing you needed was a nosy fuck in your business. Sometimes you’d bring him the kidneys of your last job if he was lucky, that wasnt very often; they were usually damaged from your attacks anyways. As soon as you were sure he was far enough away from your house you made your way to your room, throwing on a pair of jeans —flared at the bottom so you didnt need to worry about how your boots would fit.

you kept your faded band t-shirt on and threw your old bloodstained jacket from Highschool on. Reaching under your bed you found the box you were oh so familiar with, opening it to find your mask, it was cracked at the bottom and missing a piece over your right eye. You wasted no time putting it on and making your way to where you needed to be, hoping you wouldn’t bump into Toby or anyone else on the way. Slendermans command fresh in your mind as you locked the door behind you, putting your keys under the porcelain plant pot behind of your house so you wouldn’t lose them.

By the time you finished the job and made your way back to your house it was around 3am and you were out of breath and covered in blood, it was caked under your fingernails and no doubt stuck in your hair covering your already blood caked jacket. Your mask was quickly discarded on the coffee table and you stripped yourself of your clothing on your way to your bathroom, making a mental note to clean up before you went to bed. Making sure no more blood came off of you was your number one priority, not wanting to deal with any stains on your bedroom carpet or bed sheets.

Soon enough you were done and dressed making your way back to where you’d left your clothes and mask, putting your jeans in the washer as well as your shirt. You didnt bother with your jacket, knowing it would just get dirty again you threw it on a hanger in your closet. You returned the mask to the box under your bed before deciding to get the beetlejuice vhs tape from your living room tv so you could fall asleep to it. Making sure you grabbed a glass of water on your way back you took your pills and tucked yourself in, making sure you put the now half empty glass of water on your nightstand just in case.

The next day you were expecting Toby’s stalking to continue but a knock on the door snapped your gaze away from his usual window. You stood up, throwing your blanket off your lap and pausing saw (2004) on your tv. You opened the door, not as surprised when you realized it was toby, missing his usual goggles and muzzle as well as his jacket. Only a black turtle neck covered him, you guessed it didn’t matter what he wore he couldn’t feel the cold anyways.

“What brings you here Toby?” You asked, moving out of the door way to let him in.

“Oh i was just in the- the area and i wanted to see if you wanted to han- to hang out.” His words were cut off by the occasional tic causing him to have to restart a couple words.

You nodded with disinterest before making your way back to your spot on the couch waving for him to follow you. He was picking at his fingers the same way he used to in Highschool, seems like people don’t really change. He used to get blood all over his desk at least once a week you just hoped he didnt do the same with your couch. You pressed play on the remote, Amanda’s cry’s filling the room as she escaped from the reverse bear trap. You got about 20 more minutes into the movie before Toby spoke up.

“Do you have a bath— bathroom?” He questioned, looking over to your focused face.

You gestured down the hall not looking away from the tv, you could tell he nodded before making his way down the hall and He really was going to go to the bathroom but your bedroom door was open and he couldn’t help himself. It had been more than 10 minutes before you realized he was still gone, your face scrunching up in confusion as you paused the tv and got up. You footsteps were quiet, you’d memorized every creaky floorboard in your house for thoes nights with the splitting headaches where even a pin drop sounded like a jackhammer. When you made your way into your room you noticed Toby was hunched over something, a box, your box.

“What the fuck are you doing.” You tried to keep yourself from raising your voice, fists clenched at your sides.

He gasped and dropped the box, turning around trying to come up with something but only gibberish coming out. You started to cross the distance between the both of you, toby scrambling to get his goggles and muzzle out of his pockets. Your face dropped once you realized what was in his hand before a humorous expression crossed your face for a split second.

“What? You thought i didn’t know?” You almost laughed at the stupid expression on his face.

“It doesn’t take a fucking genius ‘ticci toby’.” You finally closed the distance grabbing him by the front of his turtleneck and pulling him up off the ground before pushing him backward onto your bed

His eyes widened as he fell back, looking up at you with slight fear now that he knew what you did,what you were capable of. You’d been a proxy longer than him, you had disappeared a year before him but he thought you might’ve just switched schools. He’d only heard whispers about your work around the mansion, Nobody knew who you were except slenderman and Ej but Ej refused to tell him anything and he only “talked” to slenderman when it came to jobs. To say he was surprised to learn who you really were was an understatement, his hands twitching as you crawled onto of him.

“So heres whats gonna happen, im gonna fuck your brains out and you’re not gonna tell any of your little proxy friends who I am, right?” You smiled —albeit unsettlingly—, your hands sliding under his sweater.

He nodded profusely, his hands moving up so you could successfully take his turtleneck off before sitting up. your hands moved down to unbutton his jeans, the metal digging into your finger. You felt his hands tug at the bottom of your shirt, asking for permission to take it off; you only nodded as confirmation before moving your own arms up. You backed off of him for a moment to pull your pants and underwear down, Toby must’ve gotten the idea as his pants and underwear around his ankles by the time you returned your attention to him and reclaimed your spot on his lap.

A small smirk finding itself on your face as you stroked his cock, a whine leaving his mouth every time you reached the tip. You decide to torture him a bit, focusing on solely the tip just to tease. His thighs tensed under you and his whines got louder, obviously affected by your teasing. After a bit more teasing you decided you were too impatient, taking no time to move further up his lap to slide his cock into you. His neck twitched as well as his hands as you rode his cock a strangled noise pushing its way out of his throat. His hands found their place on your hips, Toby not realizing how hard he was squeezing you worried he was going to leave marks.

“Are you sure..I can’t at least tell—“ he tried to ask but before he could finish you’d gotten the pocket knife from under your pillow and held it to his neck.

“Toby, if you tell anyone i swear i will find you and slit your throat in front of everyone at the slender mansion.” You growled, pushing the knife close to his neck.

He swallowed and nodded babbling out useless words of understanding, neck getting nicked by the knife slightly ad he moved, a bead of blood gathering on the wound. You put the knife on your bedside table, still unsheathed just incase you might need it again. Leaning down you put your mouth to his neck, sucking the blood off his neck as he moaned. You continued fucking him, his noises of desperation and encouragement bringing a sadistic smile to your face as you thought of kicking him out and making him walk back to the mansion with a boner.

It didn’t take long for him to get close to finishing, the knife stunt from earlier clearly excited him. His moans got higher in pitch as he got closer, his nails dug into you with a new found sense of purpose. You could feel him forcing your hips up and down every time you slid yourself on his cock, you couldn’t help but dig your own nails into him —not that he minded. You could tell he was going to cum soon, if the high pitched moans werent a good enough sign his erratic twitching was. His fingers twitched against your skin making him loosen his grip on your hips only to tighten them back up as he came, bucking his hips into you. You let out a groan as you came, riding out your high before sliding off him and laying down to his left.

“Am i allowed to stay—stay here or should i leave.” Toby whispered from beside you, looking in your direction.

“I don’t care what you do.” You answered honestly, getting up to make your way to the shower, missing Tobys smile as he got up to join you.

—

Belongs to rat6ix

[ur-mousey]

Cross My Heart and Hope to Die~

-Yan!Andrew Graves x F!Reader x Yan!Ashley Graves-

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Part 2, 3(coming soon) chapter one The Addition

summary Your parents didn’t give two shits where you were. But they made sure to leave you somewhere with someone. And, you found yourself in the care of Mrs. Graves -she was no better.

Upon arrival Ashley despised you and Andrew kept his distance for your sake.

warning parental neglect/familial abuse.

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Friends never came easy to you. But, older brothers proved harder to navigate. They say that blood runs thicker than water but everything ran clear between you and Jared. He despised you. He'd hightailed it on his skateboard, pocketing the cash meant to feed you, the minute your parents left him in charge. It happened all the time.

And when nightfall comes, you dreaded Mommy leaving for work when Father slumped over the suede armchair. He reeked of beer, that in his stupor he wouldn't awaken to Jared's sly hands slipping cigarettes from his pockets. Then came his fun of burning buds on your inner arms. When your mom caught glimpses of the marking, she would sit to herself cursing your father's name in vain.

You never corrected mommy and she never said a word to daddy.

One day, Jared left you with a bowl of animal crackers. You scoured the fridge for a juice box after the door slammed and the lock slid in place. But, groceries ran slim, and spoiled milk sat nestled behind a few cans of Corona. You stood on your tippy toes, peaking over the shelves, and nothing resembled juice.

With your tiny fingers stretched out, you try to obtain the carton of milk. You knocked cans down which rolled over the edge, bursting upon impact. You flinched. Tears burst as you fell on your knees. A puddle kissed your tights and clung to your skirts. You kicked the fridge and smashed the bottle under your fist.

Before Jared could see the damages of a four-year-old, hours after your little accident, and before he could clean up to save face, your daddy returned home.

Daddy's rage broke whatever: Jared's skateboards, Mommy's pearls gifted from her mother, and he tore your beer-reeked clothes off.

You were never left alone again.

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"Say hello to your new friends," Mommy used your hand to wave at the two older kids. "The girl is Ashley. She's in the fourth grade and she's eight. Then there's her older brother Andrew. They wanna play with you. Right?"

The little girl scowled but nodded. Mrs. Graves smacked the back of an uninterested Andrew. "Feel free to drop her off whenever. Andrew is such a responsible boy. He's practically raising Ashley."

Your mom giggled. "I wish my son was more like that. He's a mess. I don't know what to do with him. He takes after his father. This one... she's my little mini-me."

Mommy poked your nose with hers. You heard Mrs. Graves quip, "If that's true, she'll be quite the doll."

"She is! You can even dress her up as one too." Mommy's eyes lit at the mention of fashion. You sulked further into the fur lining of her jacket as she tried to parade you around. She pinched your butt as you scufted your Mary Janes on the dirty carpeting. "Don't be shy now. Go on and introduce yourself."

You put your thumb in your mouth and batted tears from your eyes. "Mommy, can't I go with you?"

"Dear..." She brushed her fingers through your hair. She adjusted the burgundy beret until the plaid bow attached framed your face, "It's a busy night, love. Mommy's sorry."

"Daddy-"

"Isn't. home."

"Fine! What about Jared? I'll be home with him," You whined.

"And he'll leave you again. I don't want you alone. Mommy thinks Mrs. Graves and her kids will take good care of you. Don't you trust me?"

You nodded. And with mommy's efforts, you introduced yourself. You were almost seven in a lion's den. But, you'd survived hyenas' quarrels before. What's the worse two siblings can do.

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Mrs. Graves excused herself to the bedroom, claiming fatigue. She muttered under her breath, "Your father should be home soon. He's bringing home takeout. Leave me alone till then."

Andrew whistled in response. The door shut and silence infiltrated the space. You sniffled - once, twice, even a third time.

Ashley erupted, "What are we supposed to do with that!? She's being a huge crybaby! I can't take it, Andy!!" She clung onto her brother and hissed at your watering eyes. Your cheeks redden at the attention.

"Leave me alone," You whimpered. "I'm not crying."

The siblings stared at you. Andrew twiddled with his sister's barrette-filled hair. Ashley wore green overalls a tad too large on her that they looked more like Andrew's size. Both siblings had the complexion of vanilla bean ice cream and their hair was as dark as licorice.

"You so are!" Ashley whined. "Why are you dumped on us? This is so unfair Andy."

Andrew tried comforting his younger sister, "Leave her alone, Leyley. It's only for tonight. Let's just watch a movie or something."

"Why are you defending her? I'm your sister, not her. You do this all of the time!"

"Do what exactly? I'm not defending her. I don't want to hear either of you whine." Andrew stood from his seat on the couch. "How about we get snacks? I'll pop some popcorn."

You tilted your head, watching as the girl sprung to his back, the boy reluctant, relented to giving her a piggyback ride. Your brother would never dare. "I'll act dead. I won't exist," You whispered. You hopped in place, hicking your backpack higher on your shoulders. A little louder you spoke, "You and Andy ca-"

"Don't call him that! He's my Andy. And don't you dare call me Leyley. It's not for a common hussy."

Andrew's eyes, a brilliant kiwi color, flashed towards you. You shook like a leaf in autumn. Yet, you dressed solely with winter in mind. It's mid-March where the breeze kicked at one's legs. He wondered if, in summer, you'd be dressed in the finest floral outfits suited for Easter day.

"Finish your thought," Andrew encouraged.

"I don't want to watch a movie. I'll wait for Mommy by the window." You pointed. And he nodded, walking off with Ashely swinging her legs in the air.

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Daddy's gone. So is brother. Mommy's alone. She still has you. You aren't enough. You are a burden. That's what you think perched on the windowsill. Snow White sang at the water well. She must have thought the same as you. You peeked over at the screen where her Prince Charming caught Cupid's arrows with his chest fully bared.

And as destined, he'll kiss her awake.

Your tummy rumbled and you felt too stubborn to leave your vantage point. Mommy could whisk you away from the rude siblings, and you didn't want to miss the moment. You had taken out your violet cotton bunny plush, waving it side to side between your feet. His floppy ears rolled into his round button eyes. And his belly bore pink with bloat.

He must be full all the time.

Mr. Graves had greeted you with a box in hand of gooey cheese pizza and lemon-peppered wings, which he left on the counter. It's been 20 minutes since the family gathered at the table and you didn't move.

Nor did they ask you to come.

Footsteps pattered from carpet to tile. The TV paused as Ashley left to set her plate in the sink. Mrs. and Mr. Graves continued in hushed voices at the dining table while Andrew sat in front. He scratched at his oversized grey sweater and he used his index finger to poke at his food.

"When is her mom picking her up?" Ashley leaned over the table.

"That woman's a dancer. She'll be out all night. Andrew, you'll have to walk her to school and Nina's getting dropped off in the morning."

Andrew huffed, "Since when were you popular? I gotta get three girls to school now?"

Mrs. Graves hummed. "Sorry kid, that's how it'll be for a while. People are in tough times so they flock to the one not hurting the most. Bare with it."

"You could've said no." Andrew pouted.

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Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! Follow my ig = lil.thoughts.xo!

This will have multiple parts and smut. Be ready. Please leave suggestions in the comments! I will be taking ideas!

[eloquentlytired]

the survivor chapter 2

pairing: the winter soldier x fem winter soldier! reader

MDNI, NSFW WORK

word count: 1.7k

summary: you're left to die with no recollection of your past life and what has precisely happened to you. when the last spark of hope fades within you, he appears. in the end all you remember are four words; james,autumn,winter soldier and hydra.

chapter warnings: gentle soldier at the beginning, pampering, tension, intimidation, sudden switch up, toxic behavior, brief forced vomiting, trauma mentions, he's cruel in the end, he feeds you but at what cost, fingers in mouth

chapter one is here

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When you wake up, you're in a room that you do not recognize. There's a window by the right side of the bed you're sleeping on while the left side is just the empty space of the small room, barely occupied by a messy desk,the door and a dirty carpet. While the room itself might be a dirty mess, the bed isn't. You can smell a fresh lavender scent on the bedsheets and pillows; it's inviting and it helps with soothing your momentary worries until the jerk of a metal door startles you.

You sit up on the bed and turn your head towards the source of the sound. He stands there, silent and intimidating, with those blue eyes observing your form like a hawk. His mask makes you feel even more frightened. Your gaze immediately falls to that metal arm which shuts the door before setting something on the floor. A backpack. When he approaches you with heavy steps, you feel frightened. You were never supposed to feel as a soldier but they had failed in taking your emotions away from you, or rather you had failed them. The man towers over you and you try to crawl away from him, desperately tugging at the soft bedsheets. A soundless noise leaves your throat as his hands pull you back by your ankles and you realize that your throat is too dry and damaged to actually produce any sounds.

“Не двигаться.” Don't move, he tells you and you barely manage to translate it in your mind. Sure, you've been HYDRA’s experiment but only for a short time of utter failure.

Those hands of his move again and you force your eyes shut, bracing for pain. For anything bad. You just end up panicking when he uses the strength of his metallic arm to rip all of your clothing — from your shirt to your jeans and finally your undergarments. The condition of your malnourished and dehydrated body does not help you defend yourself, and you stare with horror as the masked man begins inspecting every inch of you. Firstly, his eyes observe every inch of skin that's exposed to him — and even parts your legs to stare between — something that causes a weird churn in your stomach. Then he flips you around and does the same inspection to the back of your body until he's confirmed whatever he needs. “Вам больно?” Are you in pain? You raise your head from the bed to stare at him, dumbfounded. After a moment, you nod. The stranger hums to himself and suddenly gets up, heading to a different corner of the room.

There's a wooden circular tub that your eyes have missed, big enough for a human to fit into. You watch silently as the man rips a few wooden planks off the floor and takes out something that was obviously hidden underneath — a large water tank. He fills the tub with it silently and once he's done he blindly tosses the empty tank aside.

You're alarmed when he approaches you again and this time he doesn't give you any time to react as his arms wrap around your bare body and pick you up effortlessly. Many protests gather in your dry throat but it doesn't matter once the man has helped you settle in the tub of cool water. It's cold but it doesn't matter — it's damn clean and it washes away every disgust you felt those past days. More cool water splashes on top of your head and you realize that you're being pampered at this point as the stranger washes your hair — another faint scent of lavender shampoo gliding down your locks. Your eyes catch a glimpse of a bathing rug draped over the tub and you slightly turn your head to stare at the intimidating man. He understands what you're asking of him and he nods silently while rubbing more shampoo into your combed hair. You take the rug and begin scrubbing yourself after wetting it. Your movements are sloppy and desperate as you feel frustration over the “dirt” but it's more than that — you can still feel the things that happened not too long ago. The needles, the knives, the blood, the torture, the pain. You scrub harder and harder at your legs, at your arms, at your stomach, at your back. Everywhere. A hand stops your furious scrubbing moments later and you look back again to meet the man’s unreadable gaze. “чистый.” Clean. He tells you and you eventually drop the rug in the water. The man seems pleased with your obedience. You help yourself out of the bathtub as he searches for something in the drawers of the messy desk. He pulls out a simple gray shirt and offers it to you before you wear it. It's long enough to protect your lower body but not that safe to wear without undergarments; yet you do not tell him.

A water bottle is suddenly pushed into your hands and you down it without effort. It makes you cough and splatter a little but it doesn't matter — your throat is slowly getting relieved.

“Идите сюда.” Come here. The raspy voice nearly startles you and you look where the man is sitting on his desk chair, legs slightly spread as his normal hand is wrapped around a small plastic package. You quickly realize it's yogurt and your stomach rumbles loudly. “Я сказал, иди сюда.” I said, come here he demands again and this time you react by walking towards him. Once you're in arms length distance he uses his metallic hand to grab you by the elbow and forces you to sit on his thigh. You'd protest if not for the intensified hunger that consumed you at that moment.

One of your hands unconsciously reaches for the yogurt but the man swats your hand away, making you wince. You stare at him with both fear and confusion as he lifts the yogurt cup near your lips and waits. Did he want to feed you himself? Whatever it was, it didn't matter. You hold onto the man’s wrist as your mouth devours the yogurt messily, no elegance poised in your actions. You're hungry and there's no spoon but you get by as your tongue tries to tuck the food inside your mouth. The man watches as you eat messily in his lap like a starving cat. “какой беспорядок.” What a mess. He says feeling amused when you look up at him, because it's simply endearing to have you feeling so confused about what he says. You tongue at the bottom of the plastic cup and feel sad to find it empty.

When you pull back, the man is still silently observing you with glinting eyes. “более..иметь..?” more... have? you ask but he doesn't reply.

He sets the empty yogurt cup on the desk and you notice the yogurt you've spilled on his bare fingers. It's not much but it's enough and you're starving. Your stomach protests harder. His fingers are in your mouth before he can register it. He stares as you suckle on them and use your tongue to collect any food remains— swirling it around his digits without care. “не хорошо.” not good, the man rasps in your ear and before you can pull away he's using his metallic arm to push the back of your head forward, forcing his fingers deeper into your mouth. it's bad and you can feel the wretch rising. you should have never acted without permission; he was so good to you moments ago but now he's forcing you in this position — forcing you to gag on his fingers as your unfulfilling meal threatens to reverse its course.

“no please—” you attempt to beg but the man shoves you harder by your head, forcing those fingers down your sensitive throat. your eyes water while your fingers try to tug his hand away by his wrist but he's strong — stronger than you will ever be.

you move around, kick your legs and arms but nothing really helps as he finally gets what he wants. you collapse on the floor along with your meal that is now staining the wooden planks. the man kneels by your side as you weep, stomach hurting and your own vomit dripping down your chin.

“If you work hard, you will be rewarded at the end of the day.” His masked lips hover near your ear as he whispers cruelly but the switch of language doesn't impress you. It's the choice of words that makes you look at him and judging by your shocked expression he confirms his suspicions all along. “Вы начинаете вспоминать? Моя осень..” Are you starting to remember? My autumn. Excruciating pain cuts through your head and you clutch your temples, your hands vibrating against them. You can see a few glimpses beneath your eyelids — like short cutscenes of movies that are sadly your reality.

You have failed another test while the rest move on and once again you're thrown in the pit. A cold dark room with the haunting noise of nothing.

They pull you out a day later and the man from your nightmares is towering over you as you're forced to kneel.

There's emptiness in your eyes just how they usually like it but it doesn't please him this time; you've failed so many times in a row.

Your eyes follow him silently as he paces around the room while holding a red notebook. You know what it is but you're never prepared for it. He opens his mouth and the Russian words come out, one by one. Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car.

By the time it's done, you're barely conscious. The man the scientist towers over your limbless body and whispers. “If you work hard, you will be rewarded at the end of the day.”

It's possible that you've gone from one nightmare to another as the masked man carries your half conscious body and places it on the bed again. He cleans up your vomit silently and while he scrubs the floor, you hear him murmur something familiar repeatedly until you fall asleep.

“when early autumn comes, we can eat plums.” he says again and again and again.

Somehow, you feel like you know that phrase way too well. But sleep overtakes you.

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author’s note: new chapter is out! I wrote this while I was sick bc I suddenly felt inspired after weeks of not doing anything lmao as always likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ^_^ ps once again I used google translate so I apologize to the ppl who know russian, I tried y'all

[dilfguzzler]

john price nsfw headcanons!

i'm currently hyperfixated on john price and want to write more for him. i always like to do an nsfw alphabet to get a feel for the character in my little bird brain

enjoy! open to requests (price and ghost only atm)

f!reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

his form of aftercare is definitely quality time. he will have just obliterated you, your mind is in outer fucking space. he'll pull you on top of him, not even cleaning you up yet, just wanting to give you time to come back to yourself.

sometimes the feelings are so much and you'll be crying, just feeling the feels and he'll stroke your back, murmuring how good you were for him, how you're his best girl. once you're fully back to your right mind, he'll get you some water, clean you up and cuddle you until you have a sleep

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

john price is an ass man. nothing else to be said.

he likes his hands. out in the field they cause damage and destruction. but they also keep you safe. they're also the hands that can make you scream and cry in pleasure. he also knows that you have a slight hand kink, so that's a bonus.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

INSIDE. the only time mr. breeding kink will ever not cum in your cunt is if he's coming in your mouth.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he wants to share you. wants to watch you be fucked by his boys while he watches. wants to place you in any position he wants like he's conducting his own porn shoot. he doesn't know if his possessive streak would ever actually let this happen though.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

this man has been around. hoowee he knows exactly what he's doing, knows things about your body that you didn't even now

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

honestly, he's up for pretty much anything. he likes to be in control so even if you're riding him, be sure he's the one really in control.

he loves missionary, seeing your face, and command you to keep your eyes open and on him. he can get some real power behind his thrusts in missionary too, so much that you're limping a bit for a few days after.

also, doggy. see B, ass-man

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

definitely more serious. like he might crack a dry-ass dad joke, but he takes his fucking seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

this man is HAIRY. he keeps it under control but he's a very hairy dude

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

this one is a tricky one because i definitely think he has two sides.

one side is the feral, dominant man who just wants to FUCK.

the other is this old-fashioned guy, definitely still dominant, who wants to be romantic and charm the pants off you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

over his years in the army and the SAS, he has gotten pretty close with his hand. the only difference now when he's away, he has some abso-fucking-lutely delightful polaroids of you. he particularly loves the ones you sneak into his pockets before he leaves. those are always a nice surprise.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

this man is a kinky old boy. as mentioned before he is mr. breeding kink. defo daddy kink vibes although i cant decide if he likes to be called daddy or sir more. i think he has certain moods for each.

like sometimes he's in the mood to wreck you and wants your total obedience, this is when he likes to be sir.

sometimes he feels a little bit softer and wants you to be his good girl, and is willing to allow you a little bit of leeway and let you mess around a bit more or whatever

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

he's a traditional guy. he likes to take you in bed as it's easiest (and god, does he hate to admit it, but his back can't really take anywhere else anymore)

he loves to take you soft and slow on the couch though.

oh, and he'll never forget you sitting on his lap for 2 hours straight, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. he was so proud of you for your minimal squirming and whining.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

simply, you. you literally just wake up in the morning beside him and he wants to fuck you into the middle of next week.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i don't think he'd ever want to hurt you. like he's not against a bit of slapping, bruising you and being rough but he's always very controlled and knows what he's doing. he would never want to genuinely, seriously hurt you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he's a certified pussy eater, i know it. the beard adds so much. but when he eats you out, he's running on his time, he won't stop after one, two, three times. he goes until his jaw hurts.

and while he loves eating you out. fuck it if he doesn't love your mouth on his cock. sometimes he'll just leave you there while he watches the match and smokes a cigar. it's his favourite way to relax.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

as i said above, i think he definitely has two moods. so it depends

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he's a busy chap, so yeah he's up for quickies. it's not his favourite of course but sometimes he just needs to be inside you, and he'll take what he can get.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he's up for experimenting. but he will never put your safety at risk. also, his job requires a certain level of discretion so he can't be doing anything that could jeopardise that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he hates to think about it, but he can't go like he could in his 20s. he can last ages but he needs a bit more time between rounds. but that doesn't mean there's no time for fun in while he's regrouping himself.

if he's feeling mean, he'll pull out your toy collection and use all sorts of fun stuff on you, not giving you a chance to recover

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

yes. you have a toy box full of all sorts of goodies. he loves scouring the internet looking for different things he can use on you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he does NOT like to be teased. but he will tease you omg.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he's grunter lol. he'll say some nasty, sweet things to you.

although, you'll never forget the time you made him almost squeal when you did something with your hips while riding him. that was fun

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he's kind of a meanie sometimes and he's so glad you love it and love his grumpy side. he never thought he'd find someone he'd align with so well, not only sexually, but in every other way too.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

6.5in, uncut, thick but not too thick y'know, kind of curves upwards

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

not as high as it once was. he loves to fuck but he's also 100% content to sit and watch some shite tv with you or watch you make dinner or some other domestic stuff

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

won't fall asleep until he knows you're happy and fully back to yourself. he's also gotten into the habit of needing a cigar after sex. he can't sleep until he ticks certain boxes

[everlxndd]

THE END • SUNDAY

Summary: #𝗚𝗡! 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗫 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬 (𝗛𝗦𝗥) ✧ in which all it takes for life to have meaning is to be thrust into a world of survival and death games (and maybe an attractive rich guy)! (𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗖𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗨) # minimal/no use of [y/n] # graphic depictions of violence

previous chapter // next chapter // prologue

CHAPTER FOUR ;

Your head throbbed, hurting like hell. You must have smacked your head on the floor as you fainted. How embarrassing. It was surprising; you had assumed they would've killed you, that you wouldn't have the opportunity to think about how your brain felt like it would escape your skull as of now.

Talking of skulls, your head felt like it rested on something plush and soft. The same with your entire body; something weighed you down—something warm and pleasant. Opening your eyes cautiously, instead of being met with a psychopathic killer, you were met with your ceiling.

Perhaps you had just dreamed an incredibly elaborate and lifelike nightmare? The pain in your palm and thigh disagreed. Your neck felt sore too, but it seemed you had narrowly escaped substantial damage to your vocal cords and oesophagus.

Sitting up from the plush pillow, you look at your hand that had held the glass. It was bandaged tightly, and both hands were clean. Maybe an angel had wrapped your injuries after you took a graceful tumble.

You rolled up your sweatpants, and sure enough, it was also clean and wrapped in a white bandage. You could smell lingering alcohol. It was undeniable; the stranger had patched you up for some strange reason. Or, you had sleep-treated yourself, but that seemed. unlikely.

You couldn't help but cringe slightly. Though your skin was clean around the wound, your sweatpants were torn and stained red. They still felt damp and warm.

Your room was empty, and no shuffling sounds could be heard in your apartment. They were gone. You didn't even have bandages or alcohol (your situation seemed to make alcohol quite appealing, though). Why would they use it on you?

You could think about it, or you could count your lucky stars and just accept that someone had done something nice and pray that everyone would extend the same kindness, though unlikely.

The sweat from the game prior stuck to your skin, and you cringe slightly. No electricity or power probably meant that the water was working. There was only one way to find out, and so you walked to your bathroom and turned the tap of the bath. Nothing.

“This is the worst.” You left the room and instead went into the kitchen. Quickly checking to make sure no strangers were rummaging through your cabinets. Nothing.

Recalling the bottled water you had in your fridge, you opened it and took one. Six more remained; you'd have to sort out some kind of water system, as well as a way to get food that wouldn't go bad in a day. Thankfully, the wound on your leg seemed to have been more superficial and not that deep. You could walk fine, and it didn't hurt much—if it did, the paracetamol in your–

They took your medication. No paracetamol or ibuprofen remained in the cabinet. You looked over to the pot of knives you used to cook.

1,2,3,4,... number five is missing.

It freaked you out a little. The person who helped you had stolen a knife and the painkillers you kept in your kitchen. They hadn't decided to stab you, though, so you supposed that was a plus, and you inwardly thanked them for sparing you.

You looked to the floor of where you remembered to have fallen, and you scowled. Smudged blood, it looked like you had been dragged. Thankfully, it was just on the tiles, and your carpet had been spared from being stained.

You were about to leave when you heard footsteps in the corridor. Another person. Whether it was the same stranger or not was something you didn't care to find out. Instead, opting to hide behind the wall beside the entrance to the kitchen. You look at the pot of knives as you hear your front door open. Damn the seven hearts for making the key to your apartment fall out.

Their footsteps were slow; they had boots on—they sounded heavy. You heard them make their way towards the bedroom and cautiously open the door. Peeking your head slowly around the corner, you see the familiar white hood look around quickly.

The sky was still dark when you woke up from your (painful) slumber, so you hadn't been out for that long, maybe half an hour.

Maybe they planned to kill you in your sleep? That wouldn't really make sense, though; why would they use their own bandages on you if they were going to kill you anyway?

They had entered the room now, not a good idea on their part. What if you were waiting in your wardrobe or something to jump them? That said, you had a good opportunity served to you on a silver platter.

You quietly tiptoed to your bedroom door. They had stuck their head into the bathroom, with which you took your opportunity and slammed your door shut on them—locking them in.

You hadn't really thought it through very well, not executed it perfectly. The door didn't have a lock, so you jammed your body upwards into the door handle so the stranger couldn't try turning it down to open it.

“You... you stole my painkillers,” you started as you felt them slightly jostle the handle, trying to open the door. “And knife.”

“Is that what you're concerning yourself with?” The voice surprises you. They had been silent, even when you made your feeble attempt at a threat to get their hands out of your cabinet. That, and you had expected to sound more… rough? It was a guy who sounded like he had stepped out of some type of period drama—regal, composed, with a soft tinge.

“You came back; a knife is missing—how can I be sure you're not going to stab me with MY knife?” You hear him sigh from the other side of the door. You hear a thud; the jostling of the door stopped.

“I wouldn't have used my own supplies on you if I wanted to kill you,” he says in an almost deadpan voice, as if you were stupid. You agreed, but you had also been made to play in a deathmatch hide and seek; anything was possible at this point. There wasn't any such thing as being too careful in a situation like this.

“Hand it over, and I'll let you out,” you bargain. It was a little dumb; who's to say he didn't have another he had gotten from another apartment he'd attack you when you let him out.

You don't get to think; you hear a scraping on the ground, and lo and behold, a butter knife slipped through the bottom of the door. You almost laugh, but any knife would be dangerous if you had the intent to do damage—hell, you used a piece of beer bottle to kill someone.

“You... don't have anything else, do you?” you question. You're surprised the door hasn't gotten two holes burnt into it from the way you stared so intently at it.

“Nothing that concerns you, no.”

Well, that sounds awfully suspicious. You quirk your eyebrow slightly before looking around the main room. You inhale sharply before letting go of the door, quickly grabbing the vase on your coffee table to strike.

The door opened slowly, and out came the stranger. It was the first time you had seen his face. Though it was still a little obscured from the hood, he was worse; you could make out his features.

You almost lose your grip on the vase as you stare at him. He looked like he was some kind of prince or something. You could see silver locks flowing over his shoulder slightly; his stare was intense to say the least.

He wordlessly walked towards the front door again, but his eyes never left yours. Probably, so he wouldn't get smacked in the back of the head with a vase.

He knelt down and picked up a backpack he must have set down when he entered and opened the door.

“Goodbye.”

He was gone. What is going on?

previous chapter // next chapter // prologue

☆ reblogs / hearts are very much appreciated!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ☆

[dirtyvulture]

Natasha Romanoff x Male!Witcher!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by Yuni on Ao3: (Translated from French on Google translate, original request below) Hi, I really like your work and was wondering if you can do a The Witcher style male Natasha x Reader covered in scars (one of which is across his face) and tattoos, a mass of muscles and the rest as a result 😳 😅, who returns from the fight and finds Natasha. To this follows a well-deserved part of legs in the air 😆😜. Thank you if you accept, good continuation. (My apologies for so many details)

AN: I've never watched The Witcher, so thanks to @mostlymarvelsstuff for educating me lol.

Original request: Bonjour, j'aime beaucoup votre travail et je me demandais si vous pouvez faire un Natasha x Reader masculin du style The Witcher couvert de cicatrices (dont une lui barre le visage) et de tatouages, une masse de muscles et le reste en conséquences 😳😅, qui revient du combat et retrouve Natasha. À cela suit une partie de jambes en l'air bien méritée 😆😜. Merci si vous acceptez, bonne continuation. (Mes excuses pour tant de détails)

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You shove your shoulder into your door one final time that almost knocks it off its hinges as you stumble into your room. You throw your sword onto the carpet and have the urge to fall with it until you see Natasha Romanoff waiting on your bed for you.

"Nat?" you ask, fighting against the exhaustion seeping into your bones. "What are you doing here?"

"Here to congratulate you after another successful battle," she says. "I already got your bath ready for you--"

"You didn't have to." While part of you is grateful for her help, you also like to maintain your independency and don't like to be waited on very much.

"Come on," she beckons, standing up and offering her hand. You have no energy left to argue and follow her into the bathroom, where true to her word, the enormous wooden basin is filled with steaming water.

You turn around to let Natasha help you remove off your several layers of armor and clothing. Some of it is splattered with your opponents blood, some of it yours, although you had hardly been injured in the fight. Natasha's hand lingers on your chest, tracing the shell of the wolf medallion hanging around your neck. Her hand travels down your ribs, where you have a thin slash from a sword.

"Let me get you a bandage for that," she says, darting off while you stand there naked, taking a moment to admire your reflection in the mirror. The years of hunts had taken a visible toll on your body, with scars littering your torso and limbs. There is a ragged chunk of missing flesh on your left thigh and claw marks raking across your chest to your stomach. Your most prominent scar could not be easily hid with clothing because it was on your face, crossing your left eye from your forehead to your cheek. But despite the damage from an innumerable amount of fights, you were of good health and strongly built, with sculpted muscles that put most men to shame.

Natasha returns with a bandage and some ointment, but requests that you wash off the blood and dirt in the tub first. You are happy to oblige, slipping into the warm water and closing your eyes in bliss as the heat loosens your muscles.

Natasha conjures up a rag and a bar of soap, wetting both and rubbing them together until a white lather appears. You sit back and let her wash your face, arms, and chest, taking the washcloth from her to finish what's left under the water. She eyes you hungrily as you wash yourself, almost like she's jealous she doesn't get to do it herself.

"You'll get your turn," you promise as you drain the tub of the dirty water. Natasha fills a bucket to present you with clean water to rinse off with, and when you're done you stand up, dripping water onto the ground and Natasha not-so-subtly clenches her legs together.

You go back to the bedroom, allowing her to clean and bandage the cut on your side, and even after that she's still looking at you like she wants to devour you.

"Nat," you say, finally ready to give in to her.

"Hold on. Drink this." Out of nowhere, she conjures up a flask carrying a bright-red liquid and holds it out to you.

"Will this heal me?" you ask, hesitant from the potion's flashy color.

"Yes," Natasha says with a grin, "And it'll help you last longer."

It takes a moment for you to understand what she's referring to, but you eagerly down the potion, cringing at the harsh taste. It doesn't make you feel any different at first, but then a hot warmth spreads to your groin and you realize it's because Natasha's taken your cock in her hands and starts stroking you slowly.

You crawl back on the bed, spreading your legs to allow her to join you. She takes off her own multiple layers of clothing, climbing on top of you and rubbing her bare chest against yours. Her nipples are already hard and you grope her breasts roughly. She arches into you and moans, and you hike your hips up to rub your cock along her smooth thighs.

"Fuck, Y/N," she murmurs, her hands roaming your body as much as yours are on hers. Natasha loves the way your muscles shift and flex under her touch. She can practically feel the individual muscle fibers in your chest straining and popping and your thighs are rock-solid underneath hers.

Her nails dig into the curve of your biceps, trying to keep you pinned down, but of course her strength is no match for yours. You wrap your arms around her waist, flipping her over in one motion and kissing her fiercely. You feel her hands grab at your medallion, then going down your sides and gripping onto your muscular butt to guide your hips.

"Inside," she begs. "I need you."

"Not yet," you tease, rolling your hips slowly so the tip of your cock teases her entrance. But you don't think she's wet enough for you, and with your size, you don't want to hurt her by pushing in too early. Besides, it's fun to tease her.

"Please, please," she begs, widening her legs until you can see her glistening center.

You push two fingers into her and curl them against her front wall; she moans loudly and drops her head back into the pillows. Your cock hardens even more at the thought of her walls clenching around you like that. You roll your thumb over her clit a few times, pumping your fingers in and out, until her thighs are trembling and she's panting and gasping for your cock.

"Now you're ready," you announce, taking her thighs in your large hands and pressing them into the bed, holding them wide apart. You position yourself at your entrance and slide right in, moaning at the heat that clenches at you.

"Oh fuck, Nat," you grunt, overwhelmed by the urge to cum immediately, but you feel something in your stomach tighten, preventing you from release. Knowing this is the work of her potion but not sure how long it will last, you start thrusting in long, hard strokes, filling Natasha and pulling out until you see your tip wet with her juices.

"Yes, yes, just like that," Natasha moans, squirming on the bed as you hold her down and jack your hips into hers.

"You feel like perfection," you say, savoring the feeling of her silky walls dragging up and down your throbbing cock. You know when you finally get to cum, you're going to fill her to the brim.

"So do you," she says, trying to sit up and grab onto your broad shoulders to steady yourself with as the bedframe starts to shudder violently from your motions.

"When can I cum?" you ask, as if she holds that much control over you.

"After I do," she replies with a sly grin.

"Okay." You start to thrust even harder, your abs starting to burn from the effort. "Tell me when," you add, noticing her tensing up beneath you. You feel like you're ready to topple over the edge, but no matter how deeply you thrust into Natasha, you just can't reach the peak.

"I'm gonna cum!" Natasha squeaks, her nails digging into your muscles.

You don't stop thrusting even as she's gushing around you, the slickness aiding your strokes, and finally when her body stops convulsing, your cock pumps cum straight into her womb. The orgasm is so intense and sudden you think you pass out for a moment, finding yourself lying on top of Natasha in a sticky heap.

"Oh no, I am so sorry, Natasha--" you say, trying to push away from her but she locks her legs around your hips so you can't pull out.

"Stay," she says, enjoying the warmth of your body on top of her and the fullness of your cock inside her.

"As you wish," you say, in no mood to argue with her now and shifting to get comfortable.

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AN: This was fun to write! Thanks for the request!

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[bts-hyperfixation]

Outside of the Fox

Chapter 31 of 35

2750 words

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she’d been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

You unfurl your legs as everyone around you clambers from the back of the taxi. Seokjin extends a hand out for you, and you take it gladly, using his leverage to climb free. You stumble a little as you free yourself, and he takes the opportunity to catch you in his arms and hold you close, making you giggle as you wriggle to free yourself and help unpack the luggage.

"Aish... hold still, let me enjoy one more cuddle before I have to return to my own empty home," Jin complains.

You do as you're told. You cease your movement and instead encircle your arms around his waist. He gives a satisfied hum as he stretches his neck to rest his chin on your head. 

"Maybe you should just stick around doc," Taehyung suggests wiggling his brows.

"Yeah, that's what we did," Hoseok laughs, "The invite to move in really is just a formality, not a necessity here..."

The taxi drives away after Namjoon finishes paying, and the others gather up the bags from the driveway to lug back inside the house. 

Jungkook is the first to the door, excited to be back in his own home again. Unfortunately, that means he is also the first to see the brunt of the water damage. 

The rabbit whimpers and drops his bags on the porch, running into the living room and digging through the sodden scrap to try and find some of the things he deemed valuable. Namjoon and Yoongi sprint in behind him. Yoongi dives for the utility to turn off the water and electrics, while Namjoon pulls Jungkook to his feet away from the wreckage. The leader coddles Jungkook to his chest and assesses the damage.

"Looks like it hasn't been broken for too long," Yoongi says, "Maybe a couple of hours? Lucky really," He sighs.

"It's definitely going to be expensive though," Namjoon grumbles.

"We will have to get someone in to see if the damage goes into the studs or not," Hoseok points out as he walks through the door, "I know a guy,"

"Call him," Yoongi agrees "Jimin-ah can you help me get the valuables and see what we can salvage from this mess."

"What can we do?" Jin asks as you and he enter the room.

"Can you try and get some of the water out? It isn't too deep, maybe an inch or two? a mop, bucket, and lots of time should do," Yoongi suggests.

You and Jin nod and get to work. He opens all the windows as you open the cleaning cupboard. 

The cold winter air wraps around you as you go about gathering buckets of water, a far cry from the tropical paradise you had all just returned from. You would’ve thought March would bring some spring warmth but apparently not today. Jin works faster than you, scooping up less at a time for sake of urgency. Namjoon returns to the living room, having taken jungkook upstairs and in to his bedroom. None of you seemed to be addressing the fact that Jungkook’s room was downstairs and therefore likely flooded too.

The door to his room was shut and you were planning to keep it that way until you clear as much water out of this room as you could. You just had to remain hopeful that the door staved off most of the damage. 

The bear drapes a coat around each of your shoulders before taking hold of a mop to help you clean out the water. It takes just under an hour of the three of you going back and forth to chuck water out of the door and wring out the mops. Looking at the floor, you are suddenly very grateful for the lack of carpeting. The rug was easy to roll up and throw out into the garden. The wooden laminate had warped in some places, but was usable for now.

Hoseok’s guy said he could be round later in the afternoon, and Yoongi had spent sometime calming Jungkook down by showing him all of the valuables were okay. He even helped to dry them all off with Jimin.

Luckily it seemed Jungkook’s room was mostly unscathed. A little bit of water had started to wear at the door but it was a snug enough fit to only allow minuscule cracks. 

You all huddle into the master bedroom, lounging around to talk about your current situation.

For the time being though the plumber had suggested over the phone that you stay in a hotel or something until he could work out the extent of the leak. 

Taehyung had happily offered to pay for a place for you all to stay as well as the repairs necessary, but the vein in Namjoon’s neck had almost ruptured at the thought. A holiday was one thing (that he still wasn’t thrilled about), but necessities were something he was unwilling to let others take care of. Namjoon really couldn’t afford for 7 of you to stay in a hotel until repairs were complete

Hoseok asked if his old landlord had found a new lodger yet, he’d had a good rent deal that would’ve been cramped but doable. Regrettably the landlord had already signed a new lease.

“My place it is then!” Jin announced to the room.

“We can’t ask that of you.” Namjoon sighed.

“Then what exactly do you think you’re going to do? Live in this sodden house until you finally have the funds to fix it, in like what? Six months? A year?” Jin levels Namjoon with his most sarcastic look.

He is right of course. They didn’t know the extent of damage yet but it wasn’t going to come cheap. If Namjoon accepted all of your help it would take maybe a couple of weeks. On his already tight salary alone? It would be almost impossible. 

Namjoon looks a mixture of insulted and just plain sad as he processes the true extent of what he is going to have to overcome.

“Come on Joonie, let us help you.” Jin says, a lot softer this time, “Stay at my place and we can talk about the financials of it all at a later date.”

You all nod and Namjoon relents, agreeing that it really is your best and only option. You set about unpacking your summer clothes and packing your essentials instead. Yoongi remembers to grab the airbed from the airing closet too, between that and Jin’s bed you should all have a place to sleep, even if it’s a tight squeeze.

________________

Jin’s house is gorgeously decorated, clearly a professional had been in. There were random artworks dotted around, decorative rugs that pulled the room together, and actual coffee table books on the coffee table. It looked straight out of a beautiful home catalogue. What it didn’t look like, though, was lived in. 

Even the touches that were clearly Seokjin’s were so perfectly put away that it may as well have been a show home. Shoes were all in a neat row and coats were hung and pressed.

“Make yourselves at home,” Jin says, ushering you all through the apartment. 

“Someone should,” Yoongi mumbles, glancing around at the pristine surroundings. 

“Are you okay with us moving the furniture around to fit the blow up bed in?” Namjoon asks.

“Absolutely, change whatever you like. I’m not fussed. I’m barely here anyway,” Jin shrugs. 

That makes sense, he had told you as much when you’d been to the hospital with Jimin. It didn’t make it seem any less sad when you thought of him coming home to somewhere so devoid of that familiar warmth of a messy house. Even in your husbands house you both had personal touches scattered through his expensive estate, in fact, he encouraged you to decorate to prevent you from getting too bored cooped up their. 

You place your suitcase in a corner under the window and the others follow suit getting them out of the way. Hoseok helps Yoongi to move the sofa backwards while Namjoon and Taehyung displace the coffee table leaving a space large enough for the air mattress to fit. It’s reminiscent of when you came home to the nest Jungkook had helped Jimin to construct after your first date with Yoongi. As they squabble about directions and beddings, Jin’s house already starts to have a more homey feeling. Even Jungkook is visibly starting to unwind, his shoulders rolling down back into place.

“Can I sleep where you sleep?” The rabbit asks, sidling up to you. 

He bends so his chin is lay on your shoulder. You tilt your neck so that you can rest your head on top of his. 

“Don’t you want to sleep with Yoongi and Namjoon in this new place?” 

He shakes his head, tickling you in the process. 

“I want to sleep in the blow up bed with my blankets, and you, and Jimin… and Taehyung.” He says the last bit quietly.

“I’m sure that should be fine. Although Jin better have a big bed to fit his shoulders, Namjoon’s arms, and deal with how much Hobi wriggles in his sleep. Yoongi could be in for a long night on the floor,” you chuckle.

Yoongi overhears and groans but makes no moves to protest the arrangements Jungkook has requested. The jackal just gathers his and Hobi’s luggage, taking it in to the bedroom. Jin follows behind him with his and Namjoon’s luggage. 

In the meantime Namjoon has gone from looking sad to looking downright miserable, the weight of the world seemingly forcing his shoulders down.

“What time is the plumber coming?” You ask Hoseok.

“Someone should head back to the house to meet him with in the next hour or so, I would say,” he responds.

“ Great, come on then Joonie, I’ll drive.” 

You take the sullen man’s hand and grab a set of keys.

____________________

Namjoon sulks the entire way to the cottage. Every time you try to talk to him, he grunts in response, eventually you give up and focus on the road. Hobi sent you a text to tell you the plumber was going to be a little later than planned but should still be with you before it got dark. 

In the meantime it gave you plenty of time to try and improve Namjoon’s disposition.

“Do you want to hang around upstairs until he gets here? Or shall we get some lunch?” You ask cheerily.

“Whatever,” he grumbles in response.

You sigh and roll your eyes at the man. He has the wear-with-all to look at least a little bit guilty about his behaviour but it doesn’t seem like he plans to correct it any time soon either.

“Namjoon, you are going to have to get over this,” you huff.

You walk away from him, leaving him alone in the driveway staring up at his home as you storm inside. You don’t wait to see if he is following you.

 You march up the stairs and into your room/the office and slam the door. You’ve long since had enough of Namjoon shutting down every time something upsets him, and it wasn’t your job to baby the man. A man that wanted to lead a pack should be far less petulant about it anyway.

You shiver as you finally notice the chill that has settled through the hovel. Having left all the windows open, and with no electricity, the outside air had made it freezing inside. You crawl onto your futon and wrap the covers around yourself although it did very little to shield you when you had very little body heat to assist in warming the blanket in the first place.

 You wriggle and writhe trying to warm the air around you but it only succeeds in making you see just how uncomfortable your temporary turned permanent mattress was. The lumps and bumps stick out a lot more than you remembered. Your mood soured further the longer you sat but you refused to venture out and deal with Namjoon.

A short while later, there is a soft knock on the door and a sheepish bear poked his head in.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You take one look at him and remember how warm he always is and decide to forgive him instantly for his attitude. You open up the duvet wide enough to invite him in and he takes the chance immediately, diving into the empty space beside you. He swings his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his lap. He still seems unwilling to have a conversation but it’s an improvement. And you get to be warm.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but we really need to,” you start.

Namjoon buries his face into your shoulder and doesn’t respond, so you continue.

“I don’t understand why you are so opposed to everyone actually contributing to the household now. There are seven people that live in this house, potentially soon to be eight if the others get what they are going for… We cannot live on your author salary alone, it’s not feasible.” You comfortingly stroke at the arms he has wrapped around you. 

He sighs deeply into your shoulder. His arms tighten around you and he breathes you in.

“None of us are even pack animals Joonie, this desire of yours to be so in control makes no sense. You’re just going to work yourself to death for no reason,”

Finally he unburies his nose and speaks.

“Did you know my father is a wolf… my mum is a bear, it’s where my features come from. But dad left a much bigger impression on my instincts. It causes me to need to provide, I can’t really control it.”

So many things about him finally click into place with his admission. Wolves were known to be overprotective, to an almost aggressive degree. As with most scientific or technological advancements the hybrid experiment was originally  an act of war. So when hybrids first came into being wolves had been mixed into the DNA a lot to try and make loyal and fearsome soldiers. As hybrids became more common place, wolves became less common because their instincts were too strong, although obviously those that already existed were breeding.

So all of Namjoon’s possessive quirks and aggressive reactions suddenly made a lot more sense.

“I understand on an intellectual level that we would be far better off if I let you all chip in. Taehyung’s like a millionaire or something for fuck sake!”

He pushes you away a little as he becomes annoyed again. You shuffle on to the futon and face him. He buries his face in his hands to not look at you.

“I hate this part of myself, it’s why I get so angry. I’m never angry with you guys… unless it’s about Jungkook, but that’s a separate issue.”

You put a hand on each of his knees, drawing slow circles to try and comfort him. 

He goes on to explain how his father had drilled into him that he should always be in charge, that he needed to provide, that he would one day be an alpha of his own pack. His father would be disappointed whenever Namjoon displayed less than what he thought of as perfect alpha behaviour. A disappointment that left clear marks on his subconscious 

He still won’t look up.

You reach up and pull him into your lap. He allows it, laying his head on your thigh. You stroke his hair and shush him gently.

“Maybe we should talk about getting a therapist for you too…” you suggest.

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away either.

“And I really think you should let me, Taehyung, and Jin handle this emergency.”

“You? Y/N you’re a secretary. You shouldn’t be using your little salary for stuff like this, it should be used on nice stuff for yourself,” he complained.

“Joon… I’m the widow of a very very rich man, I’m also worth a fortune,” You point out.

“Then why did you move in to the shelter? Or with 4 almost perfect strangers for that matter?” He stares up at you confused. 

“I wanted to see if I could make it on my own… and I guess I failed miserably,” you shrug “but I’m much happier where I am.”

“I’m so glad you stayed with us.” He says. 

He twists in your lap and pushes up your shirt, kissing your stomach and making you giggle.

Next

Masterlist

Send me asks - doesn’t have to be fic related. Can be smutty, thirsty, fluffy, angsty, whatever you’re feeling regarding BTS. Can be literally anything doesn’t have to be BTS

[whitehallcarpetcleaners]

Carpet Cleaning For A Healthy Home

The Importance Of Regular Carpet Cleaning For A Healthy Home

Dirty carpets don’t just look bad; they can also make your home feel less healthy and comfortable. Our research shows that regular carpet cleaning��can improve indoor air quality by up to 50%.

This article will explain why carpet cleaning is essential and how to keep your home fresh and clean.

Key Takeaways

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A professional cleaning every 3-6 months extends carpet life by removing deeply embedded dirt that wears down fibers.

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Expert cleaning is crucial after water damage or pet accidents to prevent mold growth and eliminate harmful bacteria.

Clean carpets create a healthier home by reducing allergens, dust mites, and VOCs that can cause breathing issues.

Why Regular Carpet Cleaning is Essential

Regular carpet cleaning keeps your home healthy. Clean carpets improve air quality and last longer.

Clean carpets mean cleaner indoor air quality and fewer allergens floating around our homes.

Enhances Indoor Air Quality

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Whitehall Carpet Cleaners utilizes specialized tools and solutions to break down difficult stains from spills, pet accidents, and heavy foot traffic. Our techniques also target odor-causing particles trapped deep in carpet fibers.

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Proper care will prolong the life of our carpets, saving us money in the long run. Routine maintenance also helps preserve the carpet’s texture and color, maintaining its appeal for years.

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Following Water Damage

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Our carpets need expert care to prevent long-term damage from water. Professional cleaners use special tools to extract water and dry the carpet thoroughly. They also apply treatments to stop mold growth.

This thorough process helps maintain a healthy home environment and extends the life of our carpets.

After Pet Accidents

Pet accidents demand swift action. Our furry friends can leave behind more than just stains. They create odors and potential health risks. Professional carpet cleaning becomes crucial after these mishaps.

Regular cleaning methods often fall short in tackling deep-set pet stains and smells.

Timely expert intervention prevents stains from setting permanently. It also eliminates harmful bacteria and allergens left behind. For pet owners, frequent professional carpet cleaning is a must.

It ensures good carpet cleanliness and a fresh and healthy home environment for humans and pets alike.

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Conclusion

Regular carpet cleaning is essential for a healthy home and a healthier indoor environment. We’ve observed how it enhances air quality and prolongs carpet life. Professional services provide a thorough cleaning that eliminates stubborn stains and odors.

They also address hidden allergens and dust mites. Clean carpets create a safer, more comfortable living space for everyone. Vacuum often and schedule professional cleanings as needed.

Your home and health will benefit from this practice. Contact Whitehall Carpet Cleaning today for all your floor, rug, and upholstery cleaning, disaster restoration, tile and grout cleaning, and disinfection services!

[fruitcoops]

Bedsheets and Broomsticks

Day 7: the journey continues! Characters inspired by @lumosinlove's Sweater Weather, header by @noots-fic-fests.

Halloween movie #6: Jennifer's Body (2009), because who wouldn't want to hear Finn drop the "I go both ways" line next?

“It makes no sense.” Lily knelt and laid the map out, smoothing the creases with a few careful passes of her hands. The new angle did nothing. Patterns, clues…mystery, inked in dark lines.

The floor creaked beside her. “I dunno,” Remus said nervously. “Maybe that’s the point.”

The middling green of his shirt made him look sickly in the dank, low light of the house. James was still traipsing about the attic above them, no doubt. She had outright refused to even look at the ramshackle stairs leading up. The living room would be just fine, even if wool and tiny hardwood splinters threatened her knees through her thick stockings. She didn’t want to think about how long it had been since this carpet was cleaned.

The map was some sort of parchment, thin and brittle. Remus crouched beside her; Lily drew the candlestick closer, though she was hesitant to bring it near enough to risk any damage.

“I’m just not seeing it,” she murmured. Defeat was bitter and dry in her mouth. “There has to be something I’m missing.”

“The front door is here.” Remus tapped his index finger on the line-break closest to them. “And we’re here.”

“There’s no basement, just the second floor and the attic.”

“And the attic’s marked on the back,” he confirmed, finally sitting with a huff of breath. His knees and elbows cast spider-shadows on the far wall. The cuffs of his khakis were ragged and stained from trudging through the overgrown yard, where tall grass snuck in through the empty first-floor windows.

Lily chewed the inside of her cheek and pushed her headband back to clear her periphery. “Right. Okay. We’re missing the second floor, then.”

“Mhm.”

“So it’s lost.”

Something shifted. A faint mist of plaster puffed down from the ceiling, too close to be movement from the attic. Remus swallowed thickly. “Or it got taken.”

A shout split the gentle groaning of the house.

Lily flinched herself to standing, already reaching for Remus with both hands by the time the first drop of beeswax hit the map’s east corner and bled over the ink. “James!” Remus called as he backpedaled toward the front door. Footsteps pounded overhead—Lily dove for the map, abandoning the candle to its dead wick and wax oozing into the carpet’s tassels.

“Holy shit!” James’ voice echoed down the stairs. He was coming closer, closer, and Sirius was right behind him paws pattering bodies hitting the old walls they were running, coming full tilt at Lily and Remus.

“What is it?” Lily couldn’t breathe, could hardly speak. They tore through the house in a tumbling pile, through the dining room and kitchen and a parlor that stank of water damage.

“I don’t know!” James answered, equally frantic. “Something—it was white, it was near the stairs!”

“I told you not to go up there!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

His eyes were massive and blown dark behind his glasses. His hair was a mess. Lily let him grip her elbow and pull her down the hall after the others, past closets and the pitch-black sunroom.

The front door was still open. They just had to make it there.

In and around and out and down—she hopped over miniature staircases that she hadn’t even known were there, over thresholds to rooms that blurred into one another until it felt as if they were running in circles. Secret passages that would have fascinated her an hour ago only sent plaguing terror into her belly. She kept ahold of Remus’ knobbly wrist and tore after them, cursing the light heel of her shoes.

“The yard!” Remus hollered over his shoulder. The dark shadow of Sirius bounded ahead in two long strides, shoving a fallen chair out of their path with a scrabble of paws and a push from one massive shoulder.

The dog vanished out the door, cutting a path through the overgrowth with his body. Lily’s pulse muted any other sound but the one-two-one-two-one-two of her feet searching for purchase on the slanting floor of this endless hall.

One-two-one-two-one-two—

One. Two. Onetwoonetwoonetwoonetwo.

Sirius barked. Her heart tripped over itself. Footsteps, growing loud and close.

Lily planted her heel and wheeled around, already reaching out. For what, she didn’t know.

James was right—the thing was white.

And cottony, when she grabbed it by the face and yanked with every ounce of her strength.

The sheet billowed outward with a startled yelp and a burst of dust. Lily wanted to choke on it, but her lungs refused to do anything but suck in desperate gulps of air.

Severus’ grab for the sheet was futile. He froze. Lily stared.

“Lily!” he wheezed. “It was a joke, I’m sorry, I—”

She dropped the fabric and swung.

Severus hit the ground harder and faster than his stupid fucking bedsheet.

Sirius was sitting in the doorway when she turned again, his head cocked to the side and ears pricked up. He was the perfect height for Remus to bury both hands deep in the dark fur around his neck and hang on against his shock-wobbled legs. Lily narrowed her eyes at him. He blinked big silver eyes at her and whined softly. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to smell the difference between a ghost and a human?”

“You’re amazing,” James breathed.

Lily gave him a quick up-and-down look. “Nice costume, Potter. What are you going as? A dusty corner?”

James’ lopsided smile made her chest tight all over again. “Maybe.”

“You have cobwebs in your hair.”

“Sure.”

“And dust on your nose.”

“Whatever you say, Evans.”

He was ridiculous. And warm, when she threw her arms around his neck and let him dip her back for a kiss that stole her breath away more than any false ghost or skipped step. She twisted one hand in the front of his thick white sweater and the other in the orange cloth tied around his neck. He tilted his chin; the kiss deepened. Lily sighed and let herself melt.

--

Far away, curled up in her bed, Lily rolled onto her other side and buried her nose in the soft place of her husband’s jaw. No dreams could hurt her here.

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground

Chapter One - Welcome to The Under-Ground

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - In which you work at the local Hawkins coffee shop where you thought you'd be able to escape the horrors that were high school a few years after graduating. Until one of those horrors lands a job in the closing shift with you...and you have to train him.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

5K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I finished this sooner than I thought I would...pls let me know what you think, I am having so much fun writing this so far and I can't wait to keep going

Masterlist

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The chill Autumn air infiltrated the apartment and left you shivering, the wool blanket atop your comforter did little to aid you in getting warm.  That’s what five hundred dollars a month got you in small town Hawkins, it's what you could afford.  Old striped wallpaper that alternated a faded baby blue and pale yellow that seemed to have been glued to the wall since the 70’s barely clung to the walls, a majority of it peeling and begging to be torn off.  The stained white linoleum throughout the kitchen had seen better days and the carpet in the living room and bedroom was dingy, so dingy that no vacuum could possibly come close to cleaning it.  The lock on the door was on the verge of breaking and almost didn’t work–almost.  And of course the heater was definitely broken, the creepy landlord would take his sweet time to fix it, leaving you with a freezing apartment as the seasons changed and Hawkins welcomed the fall.  A broke college student by day and a barista by night, these are the cards you were dealt for now.  

Classes at the community college had finished for the day, rotating to the night courses.  A few papers were due next week, one for your business class on the effects of product promotion in business growth that happened to be stressing you out extra.  Your fingers tapped away at your laptop from your mattress nestled in the corner on the floor of your tiny bedroom.  4:30PM, the time in the corner of the screen read, just half an hour before your shift at The Under-Ground.  With a groan, you click save on the document and shut the laptop which was certain to be opened later tonight after your shift only to continue the torturous essay.  Begrudgingly you began your pre-work ritual of grabbing whatever snack or meal you had in the fridge, scarfing it down, and then tidying your appearance a bit while listening to your daily playlist named “Eh” on Spotify.  Today’s vibe was set by Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.  

The rusty bathroom faucet sputtered water before allowing a full stream to flow into the sink.  You splashed some water on your face to feel more alive although it may have been a mistake in hindsight since the apartment was already cold and rather than feeling refreshed, you felt like a wet dog.  Dabbing your face with a towel hanging from over the rod where the tie dye shower curtain hung as well, you collected any leftover mascara from the previous night beneath your waterline and around your eyelids.  Moving to the compact closet in the bedroom, a simple outfit of jeans and a maroon knitted sweater you’d ‘claimed’ from the lost and found at the college were chosen and paired with your only signature docs.  Lastly, your apron was tied around your waist in a neat knot.  

Grabbing your keys from the laminate countertop and shoving your laptop in your bag, you make your way through the damaged and scratched up wooden door that was the entrance to your apartment, the number seven nailed to the front of it.  “God dammit.” you jam your key in and out of the lock, twisting and repeating until it finally clicks in place.  The door leads right outside into the biting air and you scurry down the concrete stairs while avoiding touching the nasty railing, Mrs. Harrison’s chubby cat, Raphael is perched right at the bottom like he always is.  His large green irises stare up at you, giving the appearance that he was just a fluffy ball of black fur with eyes.  “Ralphy” you mumble your nickname for him affectionately as you steal a pat from his head on your way out of the apartments, a small meow chiming through the air.  

The Under-Ground wasn’t a far walk but it sure did seem that way the colder it got.  You’d been working there since the Spring and so far had no issues with weather but you knew it would bite you at some point.  The walk through downtown Hawkins is crisp and cloudy, leaves blowing delicately from the trees and laying perfectly in the street, colors varying from red, orange, and brown.  It was mid September.  Patrons wander about the streets attending to their daily errands.  Teenagers mess around at the entrance of The Hideout, no doubt attempting to use their fake IDs only to be turned away by the bouncer, Stan.  

Joyce Byers cleans the storefront window of Melvald’s, taking care to not miss a single streak.  Her face lights up as her son, Will approaches the store.  Max Mayfield skateboards past you down the sidewalk at lightning speed, the only reason you know it's her is a flash of her flaming red hair as well as Lucas Sinclair trying to keep up with her on his own board, a nervous expression written on his features as he carefully maneuvers.  Nancy Wheeler hurriedly gets into her car, wrapping up her workday at The Hawkins Post while Jonathan Byers gives her cheek a kiss and heads over toward Will and Joyce.   

The Under-Ground comes into view as you round the corner, the brick building vacant of customers at the moment from what you can tell through the windows.  The evening rush hasn’t picked up yet, usually kicking in at around six when the college students like yourself would make themselves at home and study over lattes and espresso shots.  The bell chimes above the door as you pull it open, the smell of coffee beans and pastries flooding your nose and some upbeat jazz playing through the speakers.  Robin sits atop the counter much to the boss, Ronnie's dismay but he’s not around to scold her.  Her dirty blonde bob is freshly trimmed, bangs laying just right across her forehead while she has a lollipop sticking out her mouth and she skims through a magazine lazily.  One leg is hitched up onto the counter with her bright yellow converse on display, knee to her chest.  She’s wearing jeans with a few holes and a vintage tee.  Her bright blue eyes glance up and land on you, face lighting up as she greets you.  “Hey, Robin!” you greet back, making your way behind the counter to clock in on the computer.  

“You’re lucky, it’s been dead for hours.” she says while setting aside the magazine.  “Think it’s gonna rain too so it’ll probably stay that way.” she continues.  

“Good, I can probably catch up on some homework then.” you hum, punching in your employee number.

“Oh and some new guy is supposed to close with you tonight, I think you’re training him.” she mentions.

“So, no catching up on homework then.” you sigh.  Training someone new wasn't necessarily difficult however it was draining since you already knew how to do everything like the back of your hand.  Dumbing it all down always took a minute since you had to slow down and give them time to catch on.  

“Did Ronnie say who?” you ask, turning to face Robin.  Hawkins was small which meant that everyone knew everyone.  Which was unfortunate sometimes since that also meant everyone knew everyone's business.

Robin hops off the counter, hair bouncing as she does.  “Nope, I just know that it's some dude.” she crunches down on her lollipop and discards the stick in the garbage a few feet away.  

With a sigh, you head to the back room to put your bag in your locker only to find Steve lounging at the lunch table, his feet crossed on top of it while scrolling through his phone and two legs of the chair he occupies off the ground as he balances.  Today he sports some red corduroy pants and an ivory crewneck sweater finished off with converse, just like Robin’s, only black.  “What’s up?” he greets, not once looking up from his phone.  

“Scrolling through Tinder again, Stevie?” you mock while setting your bag in your locker for safe keeping, hooking the lock around the metal and clicking it into place.

“Actually, it’s Grindr.” he says matter of factly.  

“My bad, you find anyone cute?” you ask, peering over his shoulder, his aftershave smelling subtle and pleasant.   

He lands on a cute blonde guy with green eyes, most likely from a town over.  “Not really.” he exhales, running a hand through his voluminous hair.  

“Well what about him?  He’s pretty cute.” you encourage.  

“Dude, it says he likes to do Karaoke for fun.” he glances behind at you with a raised brow.  You shrug, unaware of why that would deter him.  

“If that's not a red flag, I don’t know what is.” he states, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his pocket while standing, making his way to the vending machine.  “What happened to me, Socks?  I used to pull 'em left and right and now no guy or girl will give me the time of day.”  Socks was your nickname given by Steve and Robin after the dreadful incident where a pipe burst from one of the sinks and you happened to be standing in front of it, the bottom half of your pants along with your socks becoming soaked.  The rest of the evening you worked your shift without shoes, only in your sopping wet socks with your jeans rolled up.  It had been an ongoing joke since, although you always reminded them how horrible it is to go around in wet shoes, the squeaky sound they would make against the floor and the squishiness of the soles.  They always disagreed, insisting that it would be worse to work in only socks and how they’d just opt to continue wearing the drenched shoes.  

“Steve, I think Grindr and Tinder and all the dating apps might be giving you unrealistic expectations.” you tell him truthfully.  

“Okay, but who the hell else am I gonna find in Hawkins?  Been there, done that, this is my only option."  He inserts a dollar into the vending machine and punches in his selection, shortly after a bag of pretzels falls.  

“Pretzels, Steve?  Really?” you taunt.  “How bland of you.” you deadpan.  He pulls open the packaging and tosses a pretzel in his mouth all while giving you his signature pout.  “Maybe that's your issue, you dumb yourself down for these people you don’t even know.” you continue.

“Wow.” he raises his arms in disbelief, a hint of humor evident.  “That…” he flings a pretzel at you, hitting your chest.  “...was mean.” he sasses.  “But probably true.” he finishes.  “Don’t you have a job or something?” his head tilts toward the door.  

“Yeah, and so do you.” you shoot back, grabbing his apron from where it hung over one of the breakroom chairs and throwing it at him.  

Exiting the room, you hear Steve chime in one more time.  “I’m off in like fifteen!”  Your shifts always overlapped with Steve and Robin’s, them usually taking the morning to afternoon shift and you taking over closing.  Ronnie would always hang out in the back office so you didn’t have to close alone but that was pretty much the extent of his labor.  The beans needed to be ground for the next day, chairs stacked on the tables, bathroom tidied, ingredients prepped, counters wiped down, etc.  And you were always the one to do it, not that you minded so much.  Ronnie never micromanaged and you had gotten good at closing so it became somewhat of a meditation time.  The town winded down and the dim lighting provided a relaxing glow, almost as if you were in a spa.  You could at least pretend anyway.

Robin was making herself a latte, carefully pouring the milk over the coffee in an attempt to make a design.  She’d been practicing for weeks with no success.  “Dammit!  Another wasted latte!” she slams the small pitcher of cream onto the counter.  

“That for me?” you question over her shoulder, spotting the blob of white draped over the coffee.  You ended up drinking them most of the time, always looking forward to your daily latte handcrafted by Robin.  

Letting a breath out, she hangs her head in defeat.  “It is now.” 

Steve saunters out from the back, stopping in his tracks right next to Robin.  “Another one?  Seriously?” he mutters before continuing to the espresso machine to make probably his fourth drink of the day.  

“When is the new guy scheduled to come in?” you ask as you pour yourself an iced coffee.  Everyone was allowed one free drink a day however it was never enforced unless the owner, Ronnie’s mom was around.  She owned The Under-Ground while her husband owned The Hideout.

“5:30, I think?” Robin answers.  The clock on the register currently reads 5:20.  Steve glances at you, trying to hide a smirk as he quickly looks in the other direction.  

“What?” you demand.  Shaking his head he continues pouring an espresso shot into paper to go cup.  A tug on his sleeve doesn’t get him to budge.  “Steve, why did you give me that look?!” you hound him.  

“Nothing!” he raises his hands in defense, a shit eating grin on his face.  

“Steve.” you narrow your eyes at him, brows knit in frustration.  

“Yeah, Steve.  What do you know that I don’t?” Robin steps towards him while crossing her arms in offense.  

“Nothing!” He lies, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Steve.” Robin glares at him.

“Y’know, this is already getting to me.” he points to his cup.  “I gotta run to the bathroom.” he rushes to the back once again, holding his stomach and pretending to grimace in pain.

“What’s up with him?” you look at Robin, the two of you left standing there without any idea.  She shrugs, handing you the botched latte she just made.  

Pushing aside your theories, you begin setting up for your shift, restocking the cups and making sure there’s enough whip cream in the canister.  The Under-Ground had a very cozy vibe, dark mahogany woods decorating the interior, little twinkly lights draped above the windows, and a snug book nook tucked away in the back corner with large shelves that took up the whole wall.  Accompanying it are a few tables and chairs, their wood matching the counter and on top of each table sits various houseplants that you’d have to remind yourself to water.  

Robin tops off the pastries as she always does at the end of her shift, adding some chocolate croissants, blueberry muffins, brownies, and a brand new lemon loaf to the case.  She finishes off by wiping off the glass with a rag and then ensures the display of gift cards and bags of coffee beans on the counter is dusted off and pristine.  

You busy yourself by restocking the to-go sandwiches in the open cooler at the front of the counter, making a note to also grab a few more parfaits from the back since those were running low as well.  A few books are scattered among one of the tables so you take it upon yourself to collect them and tuck them neatly back on the book shelf.  Other than that, nothing else is left to do and you should be ready to start training the new hire without any distractions.  You reward yourself by sipping on the latte, the bitter taste gracing your tongue and warmth coating your throat.  Robin disappears to the back briefly, coming back out with her bag while shoving her apron into it, ready to clock out the second it hits 5:30.

The roaring of an engine suddenly echoes in the streets, an obnoxious sputtering filling your ears as you glance up and out of the front window.  It comes to a screeching halt as a motorcycle pulls up into one of the parking spots horizontally rather than vertically like the rest of the vehicles.  Jackass, you think to yourself as the owner kicks the kickstand down.  He wears a standard black motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and some combat boots, a walking stereotype for some kind of punk ass kid.  

Jim Hopper catches him, his cop car parked a few spaces away while he does his crossword in the driver’s seat.  You can’t quite make out what's being said but as Hopper exits his car in a hurry,  you can tell they have most likely had run-ins like this before.  The jackass looks up in aggravation as he still straddles the bike, the sky reflected in the visor of his helmet.  Hopper appears to be telling him off but not giving him a ticket when he most definitely should.  Jackass reparks the bike correctly, gesturing to it as if he’d performed a magic trick, Hopper with a hand on his hip and a scowl on his face.  He points a finger at him, muttering one last thing before retreating back to his own car, eyes never leaving the guy.  

Steve emerges from the back again, carefully.  “Shit.” he mumbles.

Your gaze moves from the scene outside to behind you at Steve who is also now looking out the window.  This provokes you to look back outside.  Just as you’re about to ask, the jackass removes his helmet, revealing a head of wild brunette curls, his hand adorned in chunky rings as he grips the helmet.  Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to inputting some inventory in the computer.  Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he’s making his way toward the door.  “Are you kidding me?” you say under your breath.  

“Thought trendy coffee wasn’t his style.” you say to no one in particular.  Steve inhales as if waiting for some kind of impact.  

“Oh…” Robin says in some kind of realization.  

The bell above the door rings as he swings it open, striding across the shop and in front of the counter, his eyes are a dark abyss as he looks from you to Robin and then to Steve.  

“Munson.” Steve acknowledges him.

“Harrington.” he says back, a tinge of disgust rolling off his tongue.  Robin’s eyes are wide as they shift between you two.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you bite, voice full of malice as you glare up at him.

Bringing his hand to his chest, his face contorting into a mock pout, he sets the helmet on the counter.  “Ouch.  That make you feel better, sweetheart?”  Sarcasm drips from his tone.

You scoff about to tell him to leave but he just continues.  “Make you feel all big and bad?  Get it out of your system yet?” he taunts, a smirk playing on his lips.  

“Oh no.” Robin says quietly, leaning over you to clock out and then subtly making her way around the counter.  

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here and find someone else to dick around with?” you snap, grabbing his helmet and forcing it into his hands. 

A cocky look takes over his features.  “Well what if I’m a paying customer?” 

 “I have the right to refuse service so, I’m refusing.” you can feel anger coursing through your veins, blood running hot.  

“That’s unfortunate.” he frowns, moving to make his way behind the counter.  “For you.” his stare burns into you, two black holes nearly swallowing you up.  

“I don’t have time-” you begin but are cut off when he reaches over you and starts typing away at the computer, clocking in.  His cheap cologne and cigarette smoke flood your nose.

Steve looks at you apologetically as Eddie passes him on his way to the back.  A silence lingers as you process that you’ll be forced to work with the one person in this town you can’t stand.  Eddie Munson was the new hire and of course he had to be scheduled on the closing shift with you.  Life couldn’t get any worse than this, a shitty apartment, and now a shitty job that you used to love combined with mountains of homework.  Your eternal hell.  Work was supposed to be a place you could briefly escape.  Sure it was still work but you didn’t mind.

“Steve!” both you and Robin scold him at the same time.  He squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for more yelling.  

“You knew Ronnie hired him and you just didn’t tell me!” you seethe.  “You could have warned me!  I could have switched shifts or something-or, or–or tell Ronnie he’s a criminal or something!  So he wouldn’t get hired!” your eyes are bulging out of your head as you reprimand the poor guy.  

“Okay, see, the way you're reacting right now doesn’t give me any confidence that you would have reacted any differently if I told you earlier.” Steve explains while clocking out.  

“So you think springing it on her like that was any better!” Robin says loudly.  Steve contemplates for a moment.

“Look, Socks.  I’m sorry.” he apologizes sincerely.  

“Socks?” Eddie stands in the doorway that leads to the back, now free of his leather jacket and wearing a black Metallica tee.  “What kinda fucked up thing did you do for a nickname like that?” he asks, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, kill me now.” you drag your hands down your face in agony.  Steve and Robin slowly make their way toward the front door, looking at you sympathetically.

“See you tomorrow?” Robin awkwardly points finger guns at you before they speed up and shuffle out the door.

You sigh heavily, dropping your arms limply to your sides.  Turning around, Eddie is about to speak up again but you cut him off. 

“I don’t wanna hear it.  You don’t talk unless it's about work.  I’ll train you today and then I’ll ask Ronnie to move you to mornings or something.” you tell him in one breath.  

He laughs before replying.  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?  Hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re stuck with me, doll.” he chuckles lowly.  “I only work nights.” he says with that stupid grin.  

“Who did I piss off for this to happen?” you mumble to yourself, rubbing at your temples.  “Put this on.” you shove an apron at his chest.

He grunts at the impact.  “No.” he simply says, refusing to grab it from you.  His expression is blank.

Scoffing, you shove it against him even harder.  “This is work.  We work here.  Stop acting like a damn child.” you say sternly.  

Now taking the apron in his hand, you think he’s finally come to his senses until he bunches it up and tosses it onto one of the counters, eliciting a groan from you.  You were foolish to think he would play nice.

–

Trying to train Eddie was as useful as training a fly.  He didn’t listen and would purposely mess things up claiming he didn’t know any better and he almost charged one of your only customers that night double the actual cost.  It was like watching a toddler, you couldn’t take your eyes away from him or all hell would break loose.  The cherry on top was all the snide comments he would make which led to more bickering.  

When it came to closing time at 9:00, you were exhausted and could practically feel the eyebags hanging off your face.  There was not enough espresso in the world to keep up with Eddie’s antics.  You were counting the money from the register, making sure all was accounted for, Eddie watching as he was supposed to be learning when really he was zoned out.  

“Alright, Socks, are we done here?” he says with a bored tone.  

You glance between him and the cash, still counting under your breath while ignoring him.  Poking your arm, he tries again.  “Socks.  I got things to do.” he continues.  “Hey, I’m talking to you–”

“--Oh my god, just go.” you break, finally completing your counting and setting the money back in the drawer neatly.  

“Fuck yeah.” he whispers, rushing to the back to collect his things.  Pinching the bridge of your nose, you only hope he quits before you have to work another shift with him.  Eddie wasn’t just an asshole, he was the asshole who was partially responsible for your shitty high school experience.  You know it's dumb, there’s no reason to let something keep a hold on you for so long but it just does.  It makes you cringe, it's like the equivalent to peaking in high school but opposite, and yet you can’t seem to look past it.

Nothing but the twinkly lights and the dim overhead lights lit up the shop, a moment of peace taking over you while the town outside laid itself to rest.  Shutting off the music and untying your apron to drape it over your arm, you do one more scan to make sure everything is set for tomorrow.  Satisfied, you head to the back to retrieve your bag.  Eddie passes you, almost running you over on his way out, his stupid helmet in hand.  

“See ya tomorrow, Socks.” he salutes as he clocks out, shortly after you hear the bell chime signaling that he had left.  He was overusing that nickname but you knew it would only please him to call it out.  You had to keep your cool until he figured out he didn’t fit in here and quit.  Exhaling, you unlock your locker, grabbing your bag and tossing your apron in before exiting and heading for the door.  

The door is locked and double checked as you step out onto the sidewalk only to find that it was still raining.  Just my luck.  Eddie’s dumb motorcycle roars to life again a few feet away from you, a nuisance to the tranquil town around you.  Rolling your eyes, you begin your damp journey home.  It’s not until you’re in front of the movie theater that you hear that damn bike behind you.  You think he’s going to speed past you, maybe splash some water on you while he’s at it but the engine rumbles as if right next to you–which it was.  

“Are you lost?” you spit, continuing to walk.  

He rides beside you slowly, irritating you to your core.  “Need a ride home?” he asks, slightly muffled by his helmet.  

You huff before responding.  “No.  I don’t need anything from you.  Get the hell out of here.”  You keep your gaze straight ahead as you walk, him still following behind.

“Sweetheart–”

“--Do NOT call me that.  Ever.  Again.” you scold, taking a moment to point your finger at him, your face displaying disdain toward him.

“Look, I may be an asshole but it's raining.  I can give you a ride.” he coaxes but it doesn’t work.  You keep on, the rain drops collecting on your eyelashes.  

“Get bent, Eddie.” you say, now walking faster, hoping to evade him.

He lifts the visor on the helmet, now showing his eyes as he keeps up with you.  “Get on the damn bike.”

“Fuck you.” you snap at him.

Desperate, you start jogging across the crosswalk and that's when he gives up.  Glancing behind you, he flips the visor down and revs the bike before speeding off.  You weren’t stupid and you weren’t going to play into his little sadist games.  Life was already steamrolling you and you did not need some jackass to factor into it.  After a few minutes of walking, you finally rounded the corner and the faded powder blue apartments came into view, street lights illuminating the way.  The streets were sleek with rain and oil, giving off reflections of the traffic lights and buildings.  You were careful to scurry your way across the parking lot to avoid any of the creeps that hung around late at night.  It wasn’t exactly the best area, being notorious for drug deals and any other illegal side hustles.  

Raphael’s spot on the stairs was vacant due to the downpour which you frowned at, you always looked forward to seeing him upon coming home.  A few skeezy looking men stood nearby however they seemed to be involved in their own drama as they argued and took no interest in you.  Gratefully, you continued quietly up the stairs and hurriedly unlocked the door, jamming the key in the lock until it gave out to you.  

Slipping into your nightly routine, you begin to unwind as much as you can.  A quick shower awaited you since the hot water was limited and you couldn’t wait to munch on one of the sandwiches you snagged from work.  In your defense Ronnie had ordered way too many for the week and the back fridge was overflowing with them.  The local deli they came from, Anderson’s had some fairly good quality meats and cheeses so for that you were thankful as they pretty much kept you fed.  Tonight’s would be turkey and swiss with mayo on sourdough, your favorite.  The lights flickered on as you hit the switch, another quirk that came with the run down apartment.  The living room and entryway were now bathed in a warm and quite dim glow, or in other words if you wanted to read a book, it’d be quite difficult to see.  Shivering from being drenched in rain, you set your bag on the kitchen counter adjacent to the entryway and start taking off your damp clothes, peering into your room to toss them into the hamper and slipping into the bathroom.  It was a tight space, not a whole lot of room to do much but it was home.  

Turning the faucet to ‘hot’, you wait for the water to get warm enough to bear, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom still bothered you no matter how long you lived there.  You stood on the bath mat feeling the water with your finger until it was to your satisfaction, stepping in and feeling welcomed by the sudden warmth you’d been waiting for all day.  In that moment you feel relief from the pressures of the world, the deadlines, bills, loans, essays, all of it.  Everything melts away for approximately three minutes and that's when the water starts to turn cold again, returning you back to the dreadful reality you wish you could neglect.  

But to your dismay, the cycle just starts all over again, keeping you hostage.

~end~

Next ->

Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi

[sustainabilitythoughts]

A stitch in time

“A stitch in time saves nine.”  This old saying is still very applicable and fits right into our sustainability mindset.  Making repairs as soon as possible not only saves effort but can also reduce the amount of materials you need for the repair and the amount of waste generated during the repair.  A timely repair can rescue something that would otherwise become trash.  Here are some examples.  I’m sure you can think of a lot more. 

Mend a tear or split seam in clothing while it’s small. A small repair might not even be visible.  

Leaks don’t get smaller if you ignore them.  An unattended leak can rot wood in walls and floors and could eventually result in major rip-out and replacement.  And leaks waste whatever resource is being leaked.  Check for water leaks under sinks and showers, in attics, around windows (air leaks can also increase your heating and air conditioning bill) and doors, and in basements and crawl spaces.

Repainting a building or item before the material under the paint is damaged will reduce effort and materials required for repairs.

Check your car tires for unusual wear patterns.  Proper tire inflation and wheel alignment will help your tires last longer and help your gas mileage.  Proper routine maintenance will help your car last longer.

Clean spills right away so floors, cabinets, carpets, and clothing are not damaged.  Regular cleaning with mild cleaners can prevent the need for harsh cleaners after soil builds up.   

[swabian-princess]

Domestic engineer tales - daily cleaning routine

Hey girlies,

as we all know - I'm a proud domestic engineer (aka SAHGF) and while this life is very soft I still have responsibilities. One of them is cleaning.

I grew up with a mother that wasn't about cleaning all the time. Sure, the basics were always done but she wasn't bothered if some pet hair was on the couch or if the kitchen wasn't cleaned until the next day.

Well, my bf is the direct opposite. He hates dirt, dust, stains, pet hair and the list goes on. Basically - he wants our apartment to look like nobody lives there. He's a perfectionist and he can't relax if he suspects the apartment is not clean. That's when I enter the game - it's my task to tidy the apartment every day, so he can come home and simply relax.

I'm not going to lie - it was really rough in the beginning because it seems like this man can smell a faint stain on a towel ten miles away.

Realize that maintenance is key!

It took some time for me to realize this. Just trust me - it's way easier to clean just a little bit every day than to spend hours cleaning once a week.

1. vacuuming

My first step is always vacuuming the whole apartment. I need roughly 30-45 min to thoroughly vacuum the apartment. My holy grail tip is to invest in a wireless vacuum cleaner. It doesn't have to be the newest dyson! In fact, bf and I have three vacuum cleaners: two dysons, one of them wireless and one Phillips, and I absolutely prefer the Philipps one over both the dysons.

2. dusting

I hate dust. It makes my nose itch and my eyes water - so there is a strong no dust policy in my home! I just grab an good old swiffer and simply dust off all my counters and all the surfaces in the apartment.

3. disinfect

I blame the pandemic for my urge to disinfect everything. I love sagrotan cleaning wipes and I always buy them in bulk when they're on sale. I wipe down my kitchen counters and every other surface in the apartment. I've been doing this for a few months now and I don't see any damage on our furniture that could be caused by the wipes.

I also wipe down my bathrooms - my sink, the water taps and the complete toilet. I also spray down the toilet and my door handles with disinfectantspray for extra protection.

4. polishing

We have quite a few glass surfaces that need to be polished every day because they tend to get grease stains very easily. I take a microfiber towel and a cotton towel and spray those surfaces with a special glass cleaner, rub it in with the microfiber towel and dry with the cotton towel for a streak free finish.

5. couch vacuuming

It was not the best decision to get two white/grey coated cats with long and fine hair while still having a black couch. You. can. see. every. single. hair. I'm very happy that our Philipps vacuum comes with a special attachment for pet hair removal. I use it on both of our couches and the attachment works like a charm. No more hairs!

6. making sure it smells good

A good smelling apartment is mandatory for me because I believe that a good smelling apartment makes living way more enjoyable.

I make sure to clean the cats' litterboxes frequently - I try to scoop the litter out immediately after they finished their business. Nothing is worse than the smell of cat shit or piss and I know way to many people that have their whole apartment smell like their cats litterbox because they neglect cleaning it.

I also spritz our couch and our carpets down with some Febreeze golden orchid cushion cleaner. It smells heavenly and the smell stays for hours! It's also pet safe, so don't worry.

Last but not least - candles. I like to light some scented candles in different rooms of the apartment to make sure that it smells nice everywhere. My current favorites are the yankee candles in vanilla cupcake and sunny daydream!

It takes me around 3hours daily to finish cleaning the apartment and that's only maintenance.

I deep clean different rooms on different days during the week. My daily tasks also include loading and unloading the dish washer, doing laundry, cooking and cleaning the kitchen after cooking.

lots of love

Selene

[a-lonely-dragon]

Strike! - Chapter 2

Montgomery Gator x F!Reader

CW: mentions of gross food and a small amount of blood

AO3

Navigation: Chapter 1

The following week passes much like molasses, with each day a new slog of navigating the course and its back hallways while trying to keep up with Rodney’s demands and hellish lists.

At the very least, you’re grateful you haven’t come face to face with one Montgomery Gator. While you find it strange that the attraction’s mascot doesn’t seem to have many scheduled appearances, you can’t help but feel relief that you haven’t had to navigate those turbulent waters just yet.

Instead, you’re able to fully focus on your oh-so-important tasks to keep the mini golf course running smoothly. Or, well, running at the very least.

The man-made stream gurgles along beside you, the partially submerged alligator heads lunging up to hiss and grumble and spray you with tepid water (you do your best to keep your mouth firmly shut).

 Kneeling on the rough carpet, skimmer in hand, you swipe at the stream’s surface, earning three neon golf balls and a chunky, waterlogged fried slice of pizza, the worst prizes to a terrible carnival game. The golf balls go into a plastic tub, clanking against dozens of others. The pizza crumbles in your gloved hands as you scrape it out of the netting and you gag at the revolting stench of rotting fish that punches you straight in the face. Anchovies. Of course, you think. It isn’t the first time you’ve dredged up nasty pizza in this building, but boy do you never get used to the smell.

It lingers even after you’ve tossed it into the garbage bag behind you, and a line Bonnie loved to use comes to mind.

“You look like you want to give someone a pizza your mind!”

Your lips twitch despite yourself, but the amusement is fleeting in the face of the monumental task ahead of you. Rodney wanted the entire course cleaned tonight, and so here you were, scooping mounds of discarded food, merch, and equipment from every nook and cranny, inch by painful inch.

For once, you found yourself grateful for the dead-eyed STAFF bots pattering about. They bumble about like dutiful worker bees, vacuuming, sweeping, mopping, and wiping down the surfaces they could reach. At least that only left dealing with all the garbage, water hazards, and sand traps were left to lucky, lucky you. Rodney had dipped not long after you arrived for your shift, claiming an important meeting had come up and you would be fine on your own for a while, right?

“I’ll be back to help you after the meeting,” Rodney had claimed about four hours ago.

You hadn’t held your breath, thankfully.

Sweat collects against your back as you work, the fabric of your shirt sticking uncomfortably to your skin as you work. You’re starting to slow down a bit, but you’re putting off your break until the middle of your shift. It was easier to make it through the rest of the hours that way.

And, despite your sour first impression, the Gator Golf course did hold a certain charm when it wasn’t overrun with screaming kids and parents. If you closed your eyes and plugged your nose, you might be able to pretend you were somewhere else entirely. On vacation in a bayou, maybe, dozing off as fireflies dance over the water like stars. It was actually kind of cool, all of the little designs here and there that gave the eyes a feast no matter where you look.

You catch another armful of golf balls, a Chica plush with its face details peeling from the water damage, and a novelty Roxy-talkie before you decide you move on. As you gather your tools and trash bag, an ominous groan from above stops you in your tracks.

You pause, craning your neck and straining to hear past the thumping bass and robotic noise, hoping you weren’t about to meet the catwalks in a violent and sudden way. If you stare up long enough, you can just barely make out the crisscrossing platforms above.

A heavy minute passes, in which STAFF bots roll past either unaware or uncaring of possible disasters when there’s work to be done, but when no more sounds out of the ordinary meet your ears, you shake off your worry and make for the next section of the course. Unless the ceiling actually comes down, there wouldn’t be any excuse for slacking off.

Shuffling alongside the meandering path, a flickering just above eye level catches your attention, hidden among the foliage draped over the stream.

You squint, trying to parse through the lights and fog, but it isn’t until you’re right next to a small wooden bridge that you’re able to see it fully. Just an abandoned Monty balloon, its string tangled in the vines, its grinning face swaying in the current of air being blasted from somewhere overhead. You set down everything except the pool skimmer and purse your lips, tilting your head this way and that, trying to figure out the best way to reach it.

Stepping onto the bridge, you grip the wooden railing and give it a shake. It wobbles a tiny bit, but it seems sturdy enough so you extend the pool skimmer to its longest length.

You stretch over the railing, two hands gripping the pool skimmer tightly as you bat at Monty’s shimmery snout. It bumps back and forth, mocking. With a huff, you press farther forward, the wood biting into your stomach as you swat at the vines that hold tight to the balloon’s string like a child. If you could just loosen it—

There’s a telltale creak that you don’t even have a second to register before the steadying weight of the railing gives way and your body follows, stomach swooping as you plunge forward. A yelp escapes your lips as you pinwheel your arms, the skimmer slipping from your grip as you desperately try and grab something, only managing to scrape the back of your hand against a sharp edge. You barely register a heavy whump somewhere off to your right and then you’re wrenched back by your collar like a kitten held by its scruff, and you flail a bit in protest by instinct, before being unceremoniously dropped back onto solid ground, where you land painfully on your ass.

Gasping, you press a hand to your chest as your heart tries to slow back down, but that notion is quickly recanted as you realize who had saved you from a soggy and miserable rest of the night.

Montgomery fucking Gator. The very same animatronic that’d taken Bonnie’s place.

The ambient lights give Monty a strange, otherworldly glow as he looms over you. Your gaze snags on the rows of fangs jutting from his jaws, each tooth as long as your finger, and it takes a concentrated effort to look away from them. Red optics flash from behind Bonnie’s star-shaped shades, scanning over you—and you’re suddenly aware of how the mouse must feel when faced with the cat. His silhouette is gargoyle-like, and it’s an effort to breathe normally until he leans back.

The gator stands as tall as the rest of his bandmates, but like Freddy is on the wider, bulkier side. His crimson mohawk is in slight disarray, as if it hadn’t been maintained in a while. His purple shoulder pads, which should look ridiculous, just add to his angular, intimidating appearance.

You scramble back to your feet, anxiety skyrocketing as Monty’s optics track you with a predator’s intent.

His jaw parts, and his voice comes out blanketed in irritation. “Can’t you read signs, lady?”

He points a claw over to a painted sign that reads, Please don’t lean on the railings! Your mouth pops open to defend yourself, a flush of embarrassment at the fact that no, you actually hadn’t noticed that sign the entire time you’d been here. You swallow, unable to unglue your tongue from the roof of your mouth as you stare up at this behemoth of an animatronic.

“Well?”

You cross your arms and swallow down the trepidation clogging your throat. He was just an animatronic, and despite the amount of spikes and sharp bits attached to him, he couldn’t hurt a fly. But even as you tell yourself that, you remember the pronged batons that security carries around regularly and withhold a shudder.

“I was just—” You wince as your voice cracks and turn your head to focus back on the balloon still hovering just out of reach, but the weight of Monty’s attention is as heavy as a weighted blanket. “I was trying to get that.”

Monty arches a brow over his—Bonnie’s—sunglasses and follows your gaze.

With a huff, Monty snaps out a hand, his height allowing him to snatch the string at the very base of the balloon, and with a sharp snap that shakes the plastic plants and sends a few leaves spiraling down to the sluggish water below, he pulls it free. You flinch as he shoves his fist towards you, that silly, grinning balloon bouncing to and fro.

You reach out to take it, palms sweating, only to freeze as his head jerks down and his optics zero in on your hand. Panic bubbles up in your chest and you recoil, attention pulled back to those deadly teeth.

“You’re hurt,” he says sharply.

Flexing your hand, you eye the bloodied scratch that runs across the back with a twist of your lips. It didn’t look deep, but it did sting like hell. A few specks of wood dot the wound. “It’s, uh, fine. Sorry.”

He stares at you, narrowing his eyes and setting his free hand on his hip. “You’re bleeding. There’s a first aid station nearby, c’mon.”

You stare at him blankly. Montgomery was not helpful. According to Rodney, he was a “million-dollar pain in the ass” who skipped out on scheduled practices and parties more often than not. And yet, here he was, ordering you to get fixed up after saving you from an impromptu dip in Fazbear-infected waters. He certainly didn’t sound happy about it, his programming likely forcing him to insist on taking care of an injury, but this whole situation was just weird.

“Hey!” he snaps after taking a few steps and you still haven’t moved. “What’s the hold up?”

You cradle your stinging hand and stammer out, “The, uh, the balloon—I should—"

He blinks at it, as if he’d forgotten he was still holding it. Then, quicker than you can think, he grips the balloon and punctures his own face with such swiftness and efficiency that it makes you squeak, a sound that’s swallowed by the loud POP. His eyes flicker towards you, but he doesn’t speak, only tosses the deflated husk into the nearest trash can. “Good? Now, let’s go.”

Unable to dredge up any excuses, you take a slow breath and then trail after him. The quicker you get to the first aid station, the sooner you can get back to work and be out of Monty’s synthetic hair.

As you walk, keeping a few feet behind, a question nags at you.

Where the fuck did he come from?

You would’ve heard him approach long before you saw him, the animatronics couldn’t be quiet if they tried thanks to the heavy endoskeleton beneath their casings, and you sure as hell hadn’t seen him anywhere while you cleaned. Goosebumps run up your arms at the thought of him hiding, watching, somehow being so close yet you hadn’t had a clue—

He leads you to Gator Grub where a STAFF bot blocks the door, wet floor bots in a ring around it as it mops. The bot lifts its head as Monty approaches but doesn’t react as he shoulders past it. As you go to step through, however, it beeps and shoos you back with its arms, pointing at the wet floor bots.

A growl reverberates from Monty’s chest and he uses his arm to shove the STAFF bot aside, throwing you an impatient look. The STAFF bot’s beeps become more insistent as you step over the streaks of dirty soap on the floor, and Monty gnashes his teeth, grumbling, “I’m right here you stupid hunk of—quit hollerin’!”

You watch the interaction with an uneasy frown, letting out a small sigh of relief when Monty finally lets the bot go and lopes in after you. You skitter back a couple steps as he fills the space normally meant for humans and STAFF bots.

Through a side door, you find yourself back in the hallway where the security office is. Was Nathan on duty tonight? He’d said most days it’d be him, so maybe not, but regardless you can’t help but hope maybe Nathan would just happen to step out of the office and save you from this forced escort farther into the back rooms.

The door remains firmly shut as you pass by, ignoring your pleading eyes to please please open.

“Quit draggin’ your feet, would ya?” Monty snaps over his shoulder.

You grit your teeth and bite back a retort, not wanting to annoy him further, but if he kept ordering you around like a child . . .

Finally, at the end of the hall there’s a room with a mess of pipes and a large control panel that you assume is for the stage set up in the course. Steam sprays from various corners of the room and one of the hanging lights lets out a shower of sparks every so often. Tucked between to massive pipes is a first aid station the size of a small changing room, complete with a red curtain that screeches as Monty yanks it to the side. He looks expectantly at you.

The inside of the station consists of a single plastic chair with Monty plastered on the seat and a slim red box sitting on a shelf beside what appear to be old cans of paint and a candy bar. You have to squeeze past Monty to get in the station, and you’re beginning to think he thrives off your discomfort because there’s no way he can’t read your body language, he was programmed to interact with kids, for God’s sake.

Popping open the kit, you paw through a few half-empty tubes of various ointments and gels until you find some packaged gauze. Band-aids would’ve been easier to deal with, but it appears that the contents were first come first serve, so you’ll just have to make do.

It’s a nerve-wracking process, bandaging up your hand while Monty waits. What should take only a few seconds feels like it takes an age, your hands unsteady as you weave the gauze around your palm. Every time you peek from the corner of your eye, he’s just watching. Not saying a goddamn word. Was this some kind of hazing? Were you overreacting? Sweat drips down your back and the air feels too warm and thick around you. Your stomach starts to churn. His optics follow your hand’s movements, and then, just as you tie off the gauze with a small knot, he grunts.

“That ain’t gonna hold.”

You jolt, head whipping up at his comment and back down to the gauze. You flex your hand experimentally, and sure enough it feels loose already. But you can’t stand being in this claustrophobic back room with the gator for one more second, so you find your courage to say, “It’ll do for now. I have a job to do.”

For a moment, you fear he’s going to insist on redoing it himself—you can’t imagine those clawed hands being gentle about it—but with a huff that’s all too human, he turns and heads for the door at the opposite side of the room and pushes it open, green ambient light washing through the gloom.

It’s all you can do not to sprint out of there, murmuring a small thanks to Monty for holding the door, and step back onto the course near hole 12. Instantly it feels easier to breathe, and you wipe sweat from your forehead with your uninjured hand. Checking your watch, you find only a few minutes have actually passed.

Monty’s heavy footfalls start behind you, and you whirl around on instinct, but he passes you without a second glance, free from his obligation. “Try not to break anything else in my course,” he says, and stalks off through the passageway.

Fuck it, you’re taking your break now.