#cold water filter system

[aquanutech]

For the best hot water dispenser faucet and instant hot faucet only, visit AquaNu Tech.

[arolesbianism]

I've been chipping at a new oni save recently and I have to say I have gotten way less ambitious with my teleporter planet over my past few saves. In a lot of my earlier saves Id dive right in there, but nowadays I find myself ignoring the teleporter for a good while before dipping in to set up some basic utilities there before leaving again and continuing to stall lol

[syoddeye]

thinking about a futuristic/dystopian au where the tech company you work for moves you into one of their r&d flats under the premise of being a paid, live-in tester. you can't refuse—it'd be foolish to refuse. free rent, a pay bump, and all the latest gadgets available at your fingertips? goodbye, communal bathroom and capsule bunk. hello, filtered air and privacy.

of course, in your hurry to get out of your shitty flat, you skip the fine print. you miss the bit about the new ai that will be monitoring your every move to provide real-time feedback and, at times, tangible nudges to improve your quality of life. the part about the extensive research on your person that's been done and will continue to fine-tune. it's just a pilot program, a temporary arrangement, but it doesn't know that.

a deep, rumbling voice wakes you on the first morning of your indefinite lease, a voice you've unwittingly imagined more times than you'd care to admit. your eyes open to the projection of a bearded man at your bedside, looming, staring down his nose. he blithely observes how hard your nipples are in the flimsy little top you wore to bed. are you trying to catch a cold or impress him? he informs you that you're succeeding in both endeavors.

when you jump up, snatch your robe from the hook, and page your superiors—they're unimpressed. you signed on the dotted line. you shouldn't complain, and no, you cannot opt out. they instruct you to deliver your complaints to john directly to test his receptiveness to human-suggested corrections.

they assure you he cannot harm you* and that he is programmed to view your well-being as his primary priority. if you'd like to learn more, refer to the provided documentation or ask john for assistance. the call ends with a dismissive handwave, and you're left alone. well. not alone alone.

john chuckles as you frantically scroll through your tablet, trying to find ways to filter or limit his speech.

"think we're goin' to get along just fine, user." he dematerializes, his voice drifting from the unit's hidden speakers.

"why don't you sit down, relax, and have a cup of tea? then, when you're ready, i will turn the shower to your preferred temperature so that you may perform your customary morning masturbatory ritual."

your head spins, steam practically billowing from your ears. what kind of sick fuckery is this—

the door to the bathroom whooshes open, and you hear water gush from the bath spout.

"hm, your stress spiked, user. i think a bath would be best. would you prefer to adjust the jets manually, or would you like me to take the lead?"

*please be advised that the ai assistant's physical interference capabilities, if any, remain largely speculative and are not fully documented by the manufacturer. users are encouraged to operate the assistant within recommended guidelines, as the system's limitations in physical engagement have yet to be comprehensively understood.

[writingsonsaturn]

Tim's fiancee gets arrested when a cop (let's say Lucy or someone) (this is after they are rookies) arrests her because she looks like a suspect they already caught, his fiancee told them she was engaged to Tim but they didn't believe her and Tim gets mad at the officer - <3

wrong place, wrong time - tim bradford

{ masterlist }

🪐: very sorry about how long its taken me to write, had a lot of stuff to do this week lol! this ones a little short <333

word count: 850

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Waking up with Tim being gone was normal, even after he had left the military his day continued to start at 6 am sharp. Although on weekends he would cut himself some slack to hold you until you were ready to get out of bed and begin with your various tasks you two needed to get done.

Today didn’t start off any different, waking up only a few hours after Tim had, at a ripe 8:30am.

Rubbing your eyes you flung your legs to your left, your warm feet chilling almost immediately at the cold wooden flooring of you and Tim’s shared bedroom. A shiver shot through your nerves and up your spine, you sighed lightly at the shift in temperature and made your departure to the bathroom.

The spring air seeped into the sunlit room, the fresh morning breeze filling your soul with flowers and bright colors. Music filled the house whilst you finished your morning routine making breakfast and feeding Kojo.

You started out your afternoon deciding to head to the local library, wanting to return a book you had borrowed before you were charged with a late fee. 

The library wasn’t full since it was the afternoon and school was still in session, “hello! i’m here to return a book” you said in a chipper but quiet tone. The librarian smiled and took the book, checking it back into the system and sending you on your way.

Your next stop was a supermarket, you had only a handful of items that were needed. Tim had run out of coffee filters this morning and you needed more shampoo, you also opted to get a new water bowl for Kojo, not that he needed one, you just thought it was cute.

As you walked out to your car you were stopped with a taser pointed directly at your torso, “get on your knees with your hands up!” a woman yelled.

Your confused manor caused your reaction to be delayed, causing the police officer to yell once again. “Get down on the ground with your hands up, now!” you immediately get down to your knees and put your shaking hands up. 

“You got the wrong person, I swear! Call Tim Bradford, he's my Fiancé!” you pleaded, the cop with the name ‘Chen’ on her shirt just scoffed and laughed you off while stuffing you in the back of her squad car.

The ride to the precinct was uncomfortable, the cuffs were digging into the skin of your wrists. “Officer please, I'm not whoever you think I am. All you have to do is call Bradford, he’ll tell you exactly what I'm telling you know” you tried to plead your case once again, but it fell on deaf ears.

“Tim doesn’t have a fiancé, he was my T.O, i think i would know a big detail like him having a girlfriend” she laughed, feeling as though it was ridiculous to even entertain your words.

As you were brought into the station to get your picture taken and be put into holding, Chen passed you onto another officer and went to tell Grey about her catch. 

To Lucy’s surprise everyone had already been packing up the evidence and started paperwork, “what’s going on?” Lucy questioned, “we caught the killer, she was at her parents place shooting up when we got there” Tim explained. Lucy was confused, “so if you caught the killer, who do i have in holding?” the question hung in the air, Tim looking at her with perplexed eyes.

Lucy walked Tim over to holding and that’s where Tim saw you, “oh thank god!” you exclaimed seeing Tim. He hurried over to you taking your cuffs off and waving off the other officers. “Chen, why is my fiancé sitting here in cuffs?” Tim sternly asks, Lucy looks down, stuttering and trying to explain herself.

“Tim it’s fine, she was just doing her job” you did your best to defend Lucy, “No y/n, this is not okay, if it had been anyone else this would be a lawsuit” he turned his body at you but his tone was directed at Lucy.

“Tim i’m sorry, I didn’t know we had already caught the suspect and she looked exactly like our suspect” Lucy tried to explain, stumbling over her words.

“You are going to go to Grey and explain everything, lucky for you, y/n isn’t going to file a report against you” Tim assigned Lucy, to which she scurried away. “Are you okay? oh christ your wrists,” his questions and concerns came at you with speed.

“Tim, baby, I'm okay,” you smiled trying to calm him down. Tim held your wrists in his hands, and kissed them. He hoped his love would be enough to soothe your angry red skin, “i’m sorry, this shouldn’t have happened” he persisted. 

You shut him up with a kiss, “drive me to go pick up my car” your smile made him relax. “Yes ma’am” he laughed, telling Grey where he was going, and walking out hand in hand with you, still profusely apologizing.

[reasonsforhope]

"In drought-stricken areas, communities facing water shortages, or even in residential and commercial buildings eager to improve their environmental footprints, atmospheric water generators represent a new frontier in water production.

While it might sound like a tidbit from a science fiction movie, even the driest places on earth have moisture in the air that can be extracted and used for everyday necessities like plumbing and drinking. 

Unlike traditional dehumidifiers, which also pull moisture from the air, AWGs utilize filtration and sterilization technology to make water safe to drink. 

And while there are plenty of AWG companies out there — and the science itself isn’t novel — AWGs are becoming more efficient, affordable, and revolutionary in combating water scarcity in a myriad of communities.

Aquaria Technologies, a San Francisco-based AWG startup, was founded in 2022 to help provide affordable and clean drinking water in areas most affected by climate change. 

Using heat exchange and condensation, Aquaria’s generators draw air into their systems, cool that air below its dew point, and as it condenses, capture that water and filter it for consumption. 

As the cycle continues, the generator’s refrigerant vaporizes and goes through a process that cools it back into a liquid, meaning the heat transfer cycle repeats continuously in an energy-efficient and self-sustaining system.

“I’m sure you’ve had the experience in the summer, you take a glass of a cold drink out of the fridge and then water droplets form on the side of the bottle,” Aquaria’s co-founder and CEO Brian Sheng, said in a podcast episode. “That’s actually condensation.”

Sheng continued: “The question is, how do we create condensation? How do we extract water out of the air in large volume and using little energy? That’s what our technology does. We have created both active and passive cooling methods where we use special materials, and we’ve created heat exchange and recovery systems and airflow design, such that we’re maximizing heat exchange, and then we’re able to extract large volumes of water.”

Aquaria has created a number of generators, but its stand-alone model — the Hydropack X — can replace an entire home’s dependence on municipal water, producing as much as 264 gallons of potable water per day. 

Other models, like the Hydrostation, can provide water for up to 1,500 people at parks, construction sites, or other outdoor public areas. The Hydropixel can make 24 gallons of water per day for a seamless at-home application, requiring a simple outlet for power. 

“Atmospheric water generators present a groundbreaking solution to the global challenge of clean water scarcity, leveraging the humidity present in the air to produce potable water,” the company’s website explains.

“This technology is versatile, functioning efficiently across diverse climates — from arid regions to tropical settings. From rural communities in developing countries to advanced cities facing unexpected droughts, atmospheric water generators have a wide range of applications… transforming lives and providing secure, clean water sources.”

Considering an estimated 2.2 billion people lack access to clean water globally — including in American cities like Flint, Michigan, or Modesto, California — innovative solutions like AWGs are vital to maintaining the basic human right to clean water. 

The World Economic Forum has begun to dip its toes into this technology as well, implementing public and private partnerships to introduce AWG units in Arizona’s Navajo Nation, where the machines produce about 200 gallons of clean water per day.

“When combined with an appropriate level of community engagement and triple-bottom-line business (people, planet, profit),” a blog post for WE Forum said, “this model can be a powerful stopgap solution where few exist today.”

Similarly, according to New Atlas, Aquaria has a partnership with developers to supply its technology to a 1,000-home community in Hawaii later this year, relying entirely on atmospherically generated water.

The company also has a “Frontier Access Program,” which partners with water-related NGOs, community project developers, and sustainable development groups to deploy this technology in areas most in need.

Regardless of their use cases — in homes, in communities facing water shortages, or at aid sites navigating natural disasters — AWGs have a minimal environmental impact. Sourcing water “from thin air,” requires no plastic bottles, no large-scale plants using up loads of energy, and no byproducts that can harm the environment."

-via GoodGoodGood, August 27, 2024

[luveline]

HI MLLLL! I absolutely loved your fainting fic with James! Can you write like a part a part 2 or like a follow up where reader starts realizing that James isn’t as bad as she thought and she falls for him as he takes care of her bc he’s really worried? I love them sm 🥹

James takes care of you when you faint

James is acting weirder than usual… sort of… nice? fem, 1.2k

The days after you faint are just as hot, but you come into work. You can’t afford to miss it, and it’s not as though you’ll make the same mistake twice. 

The memory of what happened is hazy at the start. James had just opened the window, the breeze that filtered in cooling your hot skin. You’d felt sick, you’d tried to stand, and your head had gone blank. 

You woke with your face in James’ hand. You can remember it if you think about it enough, his head tilted down toward you, the sunshine on his skin, his soft smile. He’d felt like a different person. 

You’d felt different. 

“Can you send me that information from the lab, please?” 

You glance away from your computer, eyes tired. “Sorry?” 

“For the, uh, Mr. Nguyen?” James asks. “You didn’t send them to me. I can’t do them if you don’t send them.” 

“Right.” You blink away the phantom of his hand on your cheek. “Okay.” 

“Are you feeling alright?” 

That’s all he asks. Every day since you passed out, at various times and in various ways. Are you okay? Are you alright? Is it too hot in here? Do you want to swap desks with me? That last one had been a little patronising. You’d told him to leave you alone. Your desk is right next to the radiator in winter, it’s prime real estate, and you’re not giving it up just because you got a bit hot. 

“I’m fine,” you murmur, turning back to your computer to open outlook. “Just thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“About you not talking to me.” 

“Funny.” 

You drag and drop the paperwork for the tests he’d wanted. It’s easy to render an invoice but you hate doing it because it involves a lot of talking back and forth with clients. James, on the other hand, loves to talk. 

“There, sent it,” you say.

“Thank you.” 

Awkward. You pretend to be busier than you are for a few minutes, stealing company time without remorse. James types up an email beside you, the click of his keys quick and loud in your ears. 

Remus pops a pen lid across the way, scribbling onto a post it note that he sticks on his monitor. You know what time it is from the sounds alone. A half a minute later, Sirius slinks up from the front of the office to wrap his arm around Remus’ shoulders, sing-songing, “You’re coming with me, handsome.” 

“Are you coming?” Remus asks James. 

There’s a lapse of quiet. You stare at your computer, aware of a silent conversation, but not privy to its content. “I think I’ll stay,” James says eventually. 

“Okie dokie. Y/N, do you want to come, lovely?” Remus asks. “It’s not too hot.” 

“I’m fine,” you say, “thanks. Thank you.” 

You don’t feel like yourself since you fainted. You’d hoped it would go away once you had a better night’s sleep, flooded your system with cold water and good food, but you can’t kick it. You have no energy, no want to do more than turn up for work and go home again, and you know what it is that’s making you feel this way, but you can’t admit it to yourself. It crops up in your mind unbidden and you push it back down. 

“Sirius never used to act like that.” 

“What?” 

“Sirius. He was never like that when we were growing up. Love makes him pathetic.” 

Love is a tender touch. Sirius had laid his arm over Remus’ shoulder without any hug or kiss, but it was as loving as either. To touch someone like they need a kind hand. 

Like James had held your face. His arm behind your back as he led you to the break room. 

“Do you wanna come with me?” James asks. 

You hold in a second confused, What? He’s standing now, you hadn’t noticed him moving, his water bottle in hand as he pushes his chair back under the desk. 

“Don’t wanna leave you here and have you smash your head in when there’s no one around. Imagine the clean up.” 

You get up on impulse. You grab your drink, and the back of your chair, and you stand there wondering if you’re about to be dizzy again. Your chest feels tight, but that weight of unconsciousness doesn’t come. 

“Hey,” James says. “Seriously, are you okay? You’re not like you today.” 

There’s a softness in his voice you can’t believe. “Can I eat lunch with you?” 

You wish that you said it to avoid the question. James wrinkles his nose, your heart drops into the pit of your stomach, but then he says, “I just invited you first.” 

“I… have to get my stuff from the fridge.”

“Me too.”

You walk slowly, worried it’s a joke, another stupid joke, but James comes up behind you and his hand graces your shoulder with the barest pressure. You can smell something sweet and warm on him, like jojoba oil. Maybe argan. “Sure you’re okay? You look peaky. Is it the heat?” he murmurs.

“It’s supposed to rain tonight.” 

“You can’t answer anything, can you?” James laughs with a vocal fry that goes straight to your chest. “I could ask you how many fingers you’d have and you’d tell me you have two hands.” 

James walks with you to the kitchen, where you gather your food and warm it in the microwave. He leads you to the break room, and makes sure to choose a table with enough space for you, even while people he’s friendly with beckon him forward. They look at you with unashamed curiosity, but James pretends not to notice so you do too. 

You’re expecting a joke. Aw, look, we’re finally on a date. Or Wow, you know how to use a spoon, I had no idea you were so dexterous. 

“Did you see they’re making a new movie about those aliens? The ones who can hear you everywhere you go?” 

You squeeze your spoon. “Uh, no, I didn’t see it.” 

“It looks awesome. I’ll show you the trailer on my computer after lunch, it looks just as good as the first two. That actress, the one with the really nice eyes is in it.” 

You have no idea who he means. James talks to you like a friend. He offers you some of his papris and he passes you a napkin from his pocket when you get food on your hands. James Potter might actually be a really nice guy. All it took was for you to garner his pity for him to show it. How pathetic you must seem to need it. 

“How do you feel now?” he asks as you clip the lid back onto your Tupperware. “You look better. Do you feel better?” 

“I’m fine, James.” 

“You frown so much I can’t tell.” He butts his knee against yours. “Alright, batten the hatches, I’m gonna carry you back to your desk.” 

“Why?” you ask in a rush. 

“Can’t fall if you don’t walk.” 

“James, don’t try it. I’m serious.” 

“You don’t sound serious. You sound like you want me to carry you.” 

“I’ll report you to Human Resources.” 

“For what? Being helpful?” 

“Harassment.” 

“Fine, but I’m not gonna catch you this time.” 

[gingernut1314]

Turkey and Cheese ch. 2

Summary: On the run from enforcers, you collide straight into someone in your rush. Someone whose seafoam eyes take your breath away and all you want to do is spend a little bit more time with him.

Content: female reader x Silco, pre-season 1 arcane, first meeting, gendered terms, reader has water manipulation powers, young Silco, young reader, you share a stolen sandwich with Silco, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna)

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: The characters will age up, but the plan I have set up is reader meets Silco and the others when they are all still teens so there is only going to be like...one or two more chapters as teens and then we're getting aged up. I hope you all enjoy!!

↞ to The Water's Cold Embrace Masterlist | Arcane Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

You got too much joy picking on the Enforcers that hang around the bridge that separated the shining city of Piltover and the not-so-bright Undercity. You stole their lunches and their coin, called them every name under the sun, and threw rocks at them from dark corners. 

It pissed them the fuck off making it prime entertainment for you.

Your guardian, Janna, disapproved of your shenanigans. The lectures were too long whenever you were caught. Lectures about reasonability and grace and blah, blah, blah . 

So, to avoid such mind-numbing lectures, you waited until Janna disappeared for days on end to let chaos ensue.

And this fog-heavy day was one of those days.

Your stomach growled, clenching and twisting in hunger as you knelt on top of one of the run-down tenement houses near the bridge. You watched four Enforcers walk out of the broader toll house, switching posts with the other four Enforcers standing before the bridge. 

You had been watching them for most of the night, counting and double counting how many Enforcers were on duty. You counted nine in total, which was one less than there had been last time you’d done this. 

Someone must be sick or had been fired or, maybe, they were dead. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter one bit to you. All you cared about now was earning a few coins and getting a homemade meal from someone's spouse for a late dinner.

You rushed into action after one last scan of the area, before rushing across the roofs. When you came to the end of this line of tenements, you hopped down onto the fire escape below, a small grunt escaping your lips before starting down the rusting stairs. 

Once on the ground, you yanked your hood up and shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying to keep a low profile as you walked the short distance across the recently redone cobblestoned road. You disappeared into the large shadows the street lamps cast, walking along the smooth wall of the tollhouse.

“Beth just got accepted into that fancy college she wanted.” A gruff voice filtered out from a small, open window. 

“Well, shit--” Was the last of that conversation you heard as you climbed up a ladder around the back of the building. 

You stayed crouched low as you made way to the vent in the center of the roof. You had used this vent for years, but, as you quietly pulled the metal covering off and lowered yourself into the vent system, found it might be one of your last times. 

You were getting too big to fit in the vent.

This was a child's game, as unfortunate as it was to admit, and at the ripe age of fourteen, you were no child anymore. 

“We’ve been saving up--” And blah, blah, blaaahhhh . 

Enforcers rarely had anything exciting to talk about. It was always about someone's family or about whatever game they had gone to watch. It had nearly sent you into tears as you crawled through the vents. 

Where was the excitement? The danger? 

Didn’t Encforcer beat Undercityians up for fun? 

You finally made it to the vent in the locker room area. It was bland and hardly fit hardly enough lockers for every enforcer stationed here, but to you, it was a gold mine. 

You opened the vent, placing it slowly on the other side of the vent shaft, and hopped into the room, hitting the ground on near-silent feet and a held-in grunt. You waited a few seconds to see if anyone had heard you before starting on opening each locker and taking as many coin potches as you could find. The only good thing the last locker had to offer was a piece of gum instantly shoved into your mouth. 

Just as you opened the fridge and grabbed someone's paper bag lunch, the door opened. 

Your blood went cold. You've been caught one too many times over the years, but each time it happened it never helped ease your nerves. 

A younger-looking Enforcer saw you instantly, his eyes narrowing in something like confusion. You didn’t recognize this Enforcer from past interactions, so you assumed he was new. 

“Hey! Who the hell are you?” 

“No one.” You pulled on the most innocent look you could muster, hiding the lunch behind your back. “I think I might have taken a wrong turn.” 

“A wrong--” The Enforcer then saw the open and ransacked lockers. It clicked then, what had happened here right under his nose. 

Before the Enforcer had time to speak, you pushed past him into the small hallway. 

“Hey!” He shouted after you but you were already booking it into the office area where six enforcers sat. They noticed you almost instantly, rising from their seats in the blink of an eye. One tried to grab you, but you twisted out of his way and dodged another on-coming man. 

The front door open with a bang and all but threw yourself into the street, your gum falling from your mouth in the process. 

“Grab her!” One of the enforcers shouted, singling the four others standing before the bridge. Those four were too far away to do any grabbing, so you didn’t feel the need to be worried about them. 

You ran downwards, toward the looming city you called home. As you ran closer and closer, the air seemed to get thicker-- dirtier than that of the air by the bridge. This wasn’t anything new to you, your throat and lungs taking less than a second to adjust to the polluted air. 

The continuous shouting from behind let you know that the Enforcers were still hot on your tail. You would either lose them eventually in this maze of run-down buildings and streets or they would give up, finding they didn’t want to venture as far into the city as you were going to take them. 

Time would only tell which it would be, so you pushed yourself harder. 

You made the first sharp turn into a familiar alleyway, an enforcer that had been getting too close to you tripping and falling into a couple of barrels full of fish. You gave a sharp laugh, looking over your shoulder to watch that scene unfold in your utter glee.

And just as you made to turn back around, you collided into something solid and bony.

You and the person you’d just hit at full speed went tumbling to the ground, each giving own round of curses. 

A pair of blue-green eyes halted your escape. A pair of eyes that took your breath away…well, maybe it had been from the impact but your breath was differently stolen and these eyes--eyes like seafoam weren’t helping.

The blue-green eyes were attached to a thin, sharp face covered in skin that looked like it hardly got out in the sun. 

Though everyone down here always had that “hardly seen the sun” look about them. 

This guy was very attractive. Too attractive some might say. 

So attractive it almost had you forgetting about the four enforcers running after you. 

 The blue-green eyes narrowed up at you, completely pissed off. 

“Get the hell off--” 

 “She’s in there!” The enforcer that had just fallen into fish guts shouted to his coworkers. The boy’s eyes widened and he looked past you to find what you already knew was coming into the alley. 

“Do you have a canteen?” The boy snapped back to you, anger written clear on his face. 

“What? No--” You gave him an eye roll. 

Who didn't carry a water canteen with them? 

Well…you didn’t, but that was beside the point. 

“A flask?” You tried again.

“You ran into me and brought enforcers with you and you're asking me if I have a--” He gave a startled sort of sound as you began patting him down. You’d grown tired of his rambling. You found a flask in his jacket in an inner pocket and gave a little sound of triumph. 

“Thank you!” You sweetly spoke, pushing yourself off the guy who looked so bewildered by you it was cute . You turned your attention back onto the four enforcers blocking the exit. 

“Thought you could get away with it this time, girl .” One of them hissed through his mask. You recognized this man to be Rufus, an Enforcer that had been stationed on the bridge the longest. 

“But whatever did I do, sir? ” He gave a growl, taking a step forward that was meant to be threatening. 

“Give it back and we’ll forget this ever happened.” You knew that was a lie. As soon as you got close enough, they’d grab you and throw you in jail. 

“Promise?” Rufus was growing impatient, you could see it in his brown, tired eyes.

“ Promise .” He grit out. This made you smile. 

“Alright, mister.” You pulled the flask out from behind your back then. “Catch!” And the flask was tossed Rufus’s way. 

You let your magic flow through your veins and felt for the water in the alcohol. 

Rufus caught the flask with ease. He looked from it to you. 

“What is--” With great effort, you made the little bit of water in the alcohol explode. The flask broke into pieces, shooting up into his eyes. He gave a scream and that was your queue to leave. 

You snapped around, finding the boy standing there, shock on his face. He had a lean build and was very, very tall. It just added to his overall attractiveness. 

Focus!  

“Time to go!” You swiped the fallen lunch off the ground and grabbed for the boy in one go, pulling him further down the alley.

It only took the boy a moment to regain his right mind and in a split second, he was the one pulling you along.

You followed the boy, climbing up on top of the dumper closest to the broken fire escape. You let go of his arm so he could launch himself at the escape, slamming into the railing with a bang. Once he was over the rusting railing, you were quick to jump and slam into the escape.

The boy grabbed your wrist once your two feet were safely on the other side of the railing before continuing to drag you up stair after stair until you made it to the roof, which someone had been trying to grow some kind of plants on. Just with a quick glance at the spotting plant, you could tell it wasn’t going very well. 

Shouting from the enforcers below had you wiggling out of the boy's grip and looking over the edge, finding one had climbed up onto the dumpster while the others looked defeated. 

“If it's any consolation, you’ll be feeding a poor underling for a day or so.” You shouted down to them, waving the bag mockingly.

“Don’t think this is over, girl!” Rufus spat. You only gave him a cheeky smile. 

“Tell your wife she makes the best turkey and cheese sandwiches. I’ve been looking forward to it all month.” Rufus gave a growl before storming out of the alley. Slowly, the other enforcers followed after him, throwing you dirty looks as they left.  

The boy grabbed you then, whipping you around to face him. 

You weren’t always the best at figuring out how people were feeling, mainly thanks to being raised by a seemingly emotionless wind spirit, but you could tell in a moment this guy was angry. 

“If this is about your flask, I’m--” The guy was quick to not let you finish. 

“What the hell were you thinking, bringing enforcers to the Lanes?” He snapped. You merely gave him a very slow blink.

“I’m fully prepared to buy you a new one.” You finished, earning a frustrated growl from the guy. 

You liked what he had going on--this uptight, angry, authoritative thing. You liked it so much it made you want to tease him to no end. 

“Why I’m trying to get a child to see reason--” 

“Whoa there.” You held a hand up, further cutting him off. “You’re like--what, a year older than me?” He narrowed his seafoam blue eyes at you once more.

“You can’t be older than twelve.” 

“Nope! Fourteen.” The guy rolled his eyes.

“A child.” 

“Alright, mister-high-and-mighty. How old are you then?” 

“It hardly matters.” Your mouth fell open in disbelief, but before you could nag him anymore, he continued. “You realize they will be back.” You pulled out of the guy's grip again and began walking across the roof. 

To your surprise, the boy followed. 

“The reason I pick on those buffoons at the bridge is because I know their threats are empty.” You opened the brown paper bag and rummaged around until you found a foil-wrapped sandwich your stomach had been growling to get a bite out of. “Especially Rufus.” You took one of the halves out and extended it to the boy. “Want some? It’s the good stuff.” He looked it over for a moment, eyes still narrowed. 

You could tell he didn’t want to take it from you, not when he still looked so annoyed at you…so you gave it a little wiggle that pulled a sigh from his mouth. 

“Thank you.” He took it from you, his eyes finally softening. His fingers brushed the tiniest bit against yours, but it was enough to send sparks running through your every last nerve. 

You watched the boy as he took a bite from the sandwich. Watched as his eyes widened the slightest bit. It was so slight most wouldn’t have noticed, but you had been watching him too intently. 

“Right? It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten!” You gave him a bright smile. One you rarely ever gave--one that was genuine --before chomping down into your own half.

You hopped up on the edge of the roof, which overlooked the whole of the Lanes. From up here, you could spot the tops of the highest buildings and the smoke billowing up from the mines beneath the city. Smoke that danced and twirled upward, illuminating the lights shining from across the city. In the day, the smoke would cast the sky in murky shades of gray, depending on how bright the sun was shining. 

It was quite beautiful, despite its run-down and polluted nature. 

It was still your home. 

“I didn’t mean to bring the enforcers here…but maybe I gave someone the chance to get across that golden bridge--for them to seek their fortune or a fresh start.” You looked back to the boy who had jumped up onto the edge with you. He turned his gaze towards you, scanning you over with seemingly all-seeing eyes. Eyes that made your skin seem to burn.

“Is that what you want?” The question shocked you.

In The Lanes, most didn’t get too close to one another. Not unless they had to. It was a very lonely world, but you endured.

“No,” You scoffingly said. You wouldn’t even last a day over there. You were too wild, too much a part of the Undercity. You gave the boy a look over of your own, though much less all-seeing as his had been. 

“What about you?” You cautiously asked. Though you didn’t at all mind sharing things about yourself, you didn’t know how this guy was. All you knew is you enjoyed his company….and you didn’t want to be alone all over again quite yet. 

“No,” He replayed, looking back over the city. “There’s too much potential here.” 

You liked that. You liked that a lot . 

You took another big bite from your sandwich, letting the night air fill the quiet between you two. 

You swallowed, glancing back over him as you worked up the courage to speak again. 

And once that small bit of courage was wrestled up, you told him your name.

The boy turned his eyes back on you, his longish brown hair blowing slightly in the breeze. He seemed to hesitate too for a moment.

“Silco.” He spoke before finishing off his half of the sandwich. 

You liked his name. You liked it almost as much as you liked his face. 

“How did you manage to make my flask to explode?” You smirked, turning away from the boy, Silco , once more. 

“A lady never reveals her secrets.” Silco gave a laugh. It was a tiny huffing one, but a laugh nonetheless. 

You liked his laugh. You liked more than his name and face.

Previous | Next

[m1ngkis]

Ice on my teeth Seonghwa can ruin me (18+)

I’m talking about the gloves stay ON while he tightens his grip around your throat, his tongue taking over your mouth as he walks you into a wall.

“Need you so bad today.” He whispers against your lips, his free arm wrapping your waist and pulling you flush against his form.

He still in his suit, trench coat and shoes thrown off at the doorway.

As soon as he saw you in your sleep shorts and tank top, his hands were on you. Your dinner was left to burn on the stove though you could hardly care with his hard on almost breaking through his slacks.

“Tell me you need me.” He grits, releasing your throat and slipping his hand under your top to pinch your perked nipples.

Your hands cup his face as you look at him through a lustful lense. “Need you so bad.”

“Yeah? What would you do without me?” He grins, pecking your lips.

“Die, probably.” You giggle as you feel him play with the hem of your shorts, his leather cased fingers slipping down and making you shiver.

His hands makes it past your panties and dips into your arousal, his fingers smacking against your clit.

Your eyes flutter closed as your belly is filled with warmth.

“Look at me..” Seonghwa presses his forehead against yours, your noses grazing, lips centimeters apart. “Look at me so I can play with this pretty pussy.”

You’ve never snapped your eyes open so fast and as soon as your gazes met, he started circles on your clit and watched with greedy eyes as your jaw dropped open and the sweetest moans fell from your lips.

“That feel good?” He has the audacity to ask, leaning forward in the slightest to catch your lips in a kiss.

“Mmhm.” Your voice trembles against him as you drench his gloved fingers, your arousal leaking down your thighs and dripping to your panties.

You hear him hiss in your ear and only then do you realize he’s grinding his erection against your hip, the fabric confining him only adding to the waves of pleasure in his system.

“Fuck you’re so wet. Can feel you up my wrist baby. You gonna cum for me?”

“Y-yes.” Your breath is ragged and your legs are starting to tremble as he speeds up and applies more pressure. “Oh god Seonghwa yes!”

“That’s it. It’s alright. I got you.” You feel the smirk on his lips as you unravel in his hold. Your eyes crossing and head thrown back just how he liked it.

The piercing BEEP BEEP BEEP of your fire alarm is what jolts you out of your bliss.

“Shit.” Seonghwa goes to turn the stove off and drops the scolding pan in the sink under cold water.

Your dizziness aside, you go to open your apartment windows to filter the smoke out. “I told you to let me turn it off.”

“Sorry, couldn’t wait.” He grins, taking his gloves off with his teeth and cleaning your arousal with his tongue

[swordsandholly]

Fancy: The Rewrite

Chapter One: Here's Your One Chance

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | next | masterlist | Ao3

A/N: This fic has been haunting me since I stopped working on it. I just wrote myself into a corner and sped through the story far too quickly. Plus, I have some new concepts that I think really fill out the unfortunate issues with the original. Chapter one is the most similar to the original. I'm leaving the original up on tumblr for the hell of it, but I hope you enjoy the re-write as much as I am.

A permanent darkness rests over the city; dense and unbidden. Cold, too. Despite living here your whole life you’ve never quite adjusted to the artificial nature of it - to the shadow hanging above the miles and miles of city. The chill on your skin never lifts. It leaves a shivering underneath, nearly an ache these days. Something ingrained into your very nature by your surroundings.

Really, you aren’t meant to be here. This place isn’t built for humans despite the mass that live within the confines of the city’s dome. It’s purpose made for creatures - beings of the night that stalk and rule. The air has become rotten in the lower neighborhoods over a century of pollution and overpopulation. The constant cover of the dome cannot be broken to filter it - not even for a moment can the eternal night hanging overhead end. Your lungs will turn black before the age of five without proper protection. It’s worse it summer - at least the artificially created facsimile of summer - when the air warms and wets and coats your insides. When the pollutants find their way into the water supply. As if there is any point to the heat with so sunlight in return. Your nails always have a layer of dirt crusted underneath during those months.

The lower city is nothing but old buildings on top of even older structures; all moderately crumbling in some capacity. Apartment buildings are crowded and decent living conditions are hard to come by. Many have a waitlist longer than the human lifespan. Most operate on a dorm system - at least one person per room. Randomly assigned of course, based entirely on who can pay the rent. You’ve lucked out enough to earn a shitty studio to yourself. It’s cracked and crumbling but the locks are tight and it has a window - even if the view is just a building across the alleyway. Even if the smog has turned the tempered glass a semi-opaque grey.

The slippery polyester of your black dress smooths over your skin, just as artificial as everything else in this place. You tie your hair up to show off the double string of pearls on your neck. They’re the nicest thing you own. The most authentic, at least, and the only thing that makes you seem worthy of the upper city. The only thing that can project the image needed to get proper tips - to get what you need to survive. Red lipstick as a final touch, always. It’s corny, and leaves you cringing every time you glance at the damn thing but the vampire clients are always suckers for it. Pun intended.

This job is important. There can’t be a hair out of place; can’t be a single reason to cast doubt that you are inhumanly perfect while never losing that very humanity they crave so desperately. This is your chance. Your one chance to make enough money to get out of the slums and at least make it to the middle city. Once you ruin your reputation at a place like this… well, you might as well call it permanently. You can practically hear the grime on the sidewalk as you make your way toward the metro station. Dirt and debris so caked into the very air down here that you have to wear a respirator as you go. It’ll leave marks when you first take it off, but they usually disappear by the time you’ve made it from the depot to the club.

You don’t bother with sitting on the train. Hell will freeze over before you chance catching whatever new disease has grown in that Petri dish. Instead you join the rest of the patrons in awkwardly standing in the center of the cart, damn near falling over when the train lurches to begin its journey from the slums to the upper city. There are actual names for the two areas, but nobody uses them anymore. They died two generations ago.

The respirator makes a hissing sound as you remove it after stepping out of the train. The cool, clean air of the upper city fills your lungs. It’s satisfying in a way its sticky, filtered sister could never be. The faux fur of your cropped coat tickles at your neck as you walk, blown by that strange breeze that never seems to stop up here. The one that sends all the grime and smog downhill, leaving a fog so thick you can’t even see the building lights properly.

The club sits square in central downtown - bult into the underground level of a historical hotel. It’s an elegant building. Red with curled metal accents over the windows and doors. Modeled after the ancient art nouveau movement. At least that’s what the plaque in the lobby says. You had just long enough to change a glance at it while heading up with a client once. The fixtures sparkle underneath the artificial LEDs of the city - all signs and glowing windows. You can always tell where the humans are, catching glimpses of that unmistakable glow only a UV light gives off.

You duck down the alley behind the hotel. Grimy and dark, the complete opposite of the front entrance. Your heels clack on the concrete loudly - echoing off the hard walls of the building surrounding you. If it weren’t for the small glowing sign that marks the “Back Stage” you might never know it’s there.

It’s easy enough to slip into the routine of your job. Going back and forth to the bartender, carrying various drinks and placating the egos of cowardly men and the vampires they lie to themselves about being equal to. You can see the pity in the ancient creatures’ eyes when they look at their human cohorts posturing to appease them. You can see the hunger, in equal measure, when you tilt your head, exposing more of your neck to the light; when your wrists just pass their noses as you set down their glasses. It’s all purposeful, of course, maintaining the dance of remaining just out of their grasp, but close enough that if they really wanted to take you, they could.

It’s hard work, the dance. Long hours and more days of the week than you would like, but it pays enough for you to afford your little apartment and save some for your theoretical future.

“Hey! You!” The owner barks at you as you gently set your tray back into the stack to be washed.

You whirl on your heel. Shit, did you fuck up? Your mind runs through every interaction over the course of the night - every comment, every stilted moment. Every outcome of whatever mistake you made. Being thrown out into the city before you can even gather your respirator or coat. Choking on the air as you make your way home and praying you survive the symptoms after. Though, there wouldn’t be much point to surviving them without work.

“Y-yes, sir?”

“Need you as a Companion.” He stands in front of you, the pinstripes of his suit warping over his massive, crossed arms. The wrinkle in his nose makes his mustache twitch.

“C-companion!” You squeak. “I’m not-“

“We had a mix up. Need you to take the private booth in the back.”

Your eyes are saucers - heart beating so hard you almost can’t hear him. You don’t know what to make of this. His words are nonchalant and cut right though you, but the prospect they hold… so much opportunity and disaster…

“You paying attention?” He grunts.

Your voice shakes. “Just… why me?”

“You match their preference.” Its blunt. Uncaring. Not that you would ever expect much sympathy from the owner of a place like this - feeding girls to vampires and their kin.

Generally, you’re not the type to be preferred - too big and soft for most. It’s what kept you as a server exclusively, you’re sure. Companion is such a major step up, too. You haven’t had any training. You never thought you’d get there - only a few girls make it from Server to Companion. To have it by happenstance…

With a deep breath you remind yourself that this is temporary. Just for tonight. You are acting as a replacement, nothing more. If you pull this off maybe you’ll get enough extra cash to finally replace the air filtration in your apartment. Maybe you can even get an overhead UV light. Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely!

Another tray is shoved into your hands. Is this… actual gold? You turn it over in your hands briefly. Ornate designs line the outer rim - all weaving in and out of each other inlaid with iridescent mother of pearl. It’s cold on your skin and so shiny you catch your reflection in it before the bartender sets a bottle of wine and four glasses on it. You’re fairly certain between the wine and the tray you are holding upwards of ten thousand dollars a in your hands. It takes everything to keep your hands from trembling.

You slowly head for the back booth under the scrutinizing eye of the owner - just beyond the main floor of the bar. It’s far quieter here; the music from the floor muffled by the distance. There are only a few private booths and they are only ever occupied by the city’s elite. The top of the top. You pause at the heavy, velvet burgundy curtain separating you and your clients for tonight.

You just hope they aren’t the type to get rough.

Balancing the tray on one hand, you use the other the push the heavy curtain to the side - entire body alert and tense as your eyes land on the four men sitting at the rounded booth. Their eyes meet yours, and you freeze. A shiver runs down your spine.

They’re beautiful in that way only vampires can be. Untouchable. Marble-esque. Eyes clear and bright even in the low light of the booth - that sheen of night vision apparent. Lions staring down their prey and you, who walked into the den willingly. Their stares tear through you, seemingly pulling you apart at the seams. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think that hypervigilance leaned toward fear.

“Good evening.” It takes everything to keep your voice steady. To slip back into that comfortable service headspace you’ve curated. “I’ll be your Companion tonight.”

“What happened t�� Cherry?” The man on the outer right side of the booth asks, words slow and hushed. His arm is slung carelessly over the back of the booth, body too tense and words too stilted to sell whatever casual air he is trying for.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You say softly, carefully sliding the tray onto the table. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” A man with an imperial beard smiles. It softens his face - makes him look less like stone. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” You murmur. It’s your chosen work name - based on a song your mother used to play from a century ago. All the workers names are single words. Easy to remember. Easy to request for returning quests.

“Fittin’.” The man to your left grins, bright blue eyes sparkling. His fangs catch the light - your hands tremble for a brief moment.

“Do you know who we are?” The masked man beside him asks. His voice rumbles through your nerves, all the way into your bones. You can hardly look at him - the skull covering the top half of his face makes your gut churn.

Should you know them? Oh, fuck, you probably should. Vampires live forever - their names and legacies travel across centuries. Millenia. It’s going to give you away. You’re just a low class human from the slums. You don’t know Vampires from the uppers.

The illusion of luxury only goes so far.

“It’s not a trick question.” The man to your right smiles gently, tilting his head to the side.

“No, sir.”

“Well,” The one with the beard sits a little straighter. “I’m John Price and these are my… confidants. Cohorts. Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley.” He gestures to each as he goes.

John Price… John Price… Nothing comes to mind. Nothing about any of them, for that matter.

“Lovely to meet you.” You smile pleasantly, slipping back into the script. Swallowing roughly and steadying yourself, you reach for the bottle and slowly pouring a tester amount into the four glasses. “Tonight we have a vintage red for you from 2089.”

John hums, swirling the glass before taking a sip. His eyes don’t leave you and you try not to shrink from them. “You remember the 80’s, Simon?”

“Which one?” The makes you pause. How many 80’s could there be?

John laughs, whole and hearty. Little crows feet appear in the corners of his eyes. “Which d’you think?”

“I remember the blood.” The masked man mutters. He doesn’t look at John either - dark eyes locked on you. You keep up the well trained smile. Neutral, comfortable.

“Och, ye would.” Johnny scoffs, taking his own glass after John gives you a nod to fill the four properly. “Cannae ever remember the good.”

“Well what’s your finest memory then Johnny?”

“There’s was this lass… think her name was Cassandra. Had the biggest tits and-“

“Enough of that. There’s a lady present.” John waves his hand. To your surprise, Johnny actually listens despite looking muffed about it. You can’t help but snort. Lady. As if.

How old are they, anyway? They look young - especially Johnny and Kyle. Definitely below thirty when they were turned. John obviously leads but that doesn’t necessarily mean he turned the rest of them. They could have just come together over the years. Vampire covens vary heavily as to why they came together. Sometimes friendship, sometimes relation, sometimes just convenience.

Simon is still staring you down, hooking a thumb under his mask to raise it just over the end of his nose. Scarred lips sip from his glass.

“Come sit, luv.” Kyle pats the booth beside him, voice hushed.

You snap out of your thoughts at the prompt - moving to sit in the empty spot beside Kyle. The next thing you know hands are on your hips, passing you over until you’re sat square in the middle as if you weigh nothing. You know vampires are strong - you’ve gotten thrown around by your fair share in the slums, whether a mugging or fucking - but it still startles you. They could crush you with barely a flick of the wrist.

Fingers brush over your shoulders, tracing the shape of them and leaving goosebumps in their wake before lowering to rest between your exposed shoulder blades.

“Tell us about yourself, hm?” John prompts.

“Oh, not much to tell.” You shrug and smile. “I’m from the city. Started here about a year ago-“

“How have we never seen ye then?” Johnny interrupts, eyes locked on your chest. You’d think he was staring at the mole just below your collarbone, but that’s probably too presumptuous. “A bonnie thing like ye…”

“Well…” You raise your hand to your mouth like you would when whispering a secret. “I’m not supposed to tell but I’m actually a server, normally.”

“Oh, really?” Kyle leans his chin on his palm. “In a dress like that?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” You huff, letting the pliant facade slip just enough to make yourself seem real. Just a little less doll like before you return to the script.

“Absolutely nothin’.” Simon hums beside you, eyes near black under the shadow of his mask.

Your face heats. Client compliments never get to you and you’re not sure what about his feels so different. All of their attention is so intense. It dives under your skin and burrows deep in your marrow.

“So, seeing as you implied I should know who you are-“ You tilt your head and meeting John’s eye, “who are you?”

John chuckles, leaning close. “Oh, no one important. Contractors. Independently employed.”

“Ah, so, criminals.” You laugh.

“If you say so.”

“I can’t exactly judge.” You lean in as well, shoulder pressing against his broad chest. The material of his suit is soft and thick. High quality. “I mean, look where I am, hm?”

“Are ye a criminal, lassie?” Johnny grins at you, tilting his head. How he makes a mo-hawk cute is beyond you.

“Shh.” You press a finger to your lips.

“That how you got these?” You startle as John slips his fingers beneath the string of pearls, tugging ever so slightly. You meet his eye, only briefly, only long enough to see something hard behind them that wasn’t there before. He rolls the golden clasp between his fingers absently.

“I… I’ve always had them…” You frown, suddenly wracking your mind as to their origin. You’d never thought about it. They were your mother’s… you’re sure… but somehow that doesn’t feel right. The harder you think, the further the answer seems to be.

Either way, John seems placated by that. He retracts his hand, falling back into the simple banter from before. You allow you shoulders to relax, deciding to take his return to form at face value. Not that you have another option, really. It’s easy enough to look sultry, to play the part, to mindlessly flirt. Easy enough to fall into the simple back and forth. Scripted. Basic. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’re just clients at the end of the day, even if they have more money and power than your usual crowd.

You carefully refill each of their glasses as needed - mostly Johnny’s. His face would probably be red from the alcohol were he alive. You can feel their eyes on you - boring through your very being. It takes more concentration than you’d like to keep your breath from hitching when John’s finger traces the exposed upper curve of your spine above the dress. You lean forward, pushing each glass back to their respective owners.

Johnny takes your hand before you can retract it, placing gentle kisses from your palm to your wrist. He sighs shakily, teeth catching your skin ever so slightly.

“Johnny.” The masked man rumbles in warning.

“Not gonnae bite, LT… she just...” Johnny murmurs against your wrist.

“Have you ever been bitten, dove?” John asks, eyes half lidded as he stares you down.

Prey. You’re just prey.

“N-no…” You shake your head, voice smaller than you’d like. You’re not supposed to. Clients aren’t allowed to bite the girls here - it’s not one of those clubs - but in reality you’re at their mercy. To book one of these rooms they surely have the money to pay whoever necessary to do whatever they might want with you. It’s not like you’re one of those girls anyone would miss.

“Donnae look so afraid.” Johnny chuckles.

“We’re not goin’ t’bite.” Kyle leans forward. “Just curious.”

“Oh…” You whisper. Johnny drops your wrist and you pray that they don’t notice how quickly you retract it. As you settle back into the booth, you allow yourself to sink comfortably into the soft cushions. A jolt shoots down your spine as a cool finger tucks a section of hair behind your ear. Your eyes meet John’s - some undiscernible pain swirls in those grey-blues. It looks wrong, that much emotion on such a statuesque face. He glances past you, toward Simon, you think.

The next thing you know you’re blinking blearily, sitting in John’s lap with your legs across Kyle’s. The younger man’s hand rests on your leg, thumb gently stroking your ankle as you come back to sentience.

It’s like coming up from the undertow and getting your first gasp of air.

“There she is.” Johnny murmurs, smiling softly.

You were compelled - you know that much. There isn’t any other explanation for your sudden, uninterrupted blackout. It’s disorienting. You rub the corner of your eye, purposefully evening your breath. At least your clothes are all still in place. You don’t feel… used. Not bitten either. A choked sigh escapes you against your will, hands trembling in your lap.

“You’re alright, dove.” John coos, cold breath puffing against your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. How much time has passed? When… what… “Can be hard t’come out of it, hm?”

“I’m okay...” You whisper.

“Have some water.” Kyle pushes a glass toward you. The concern on his face feels foreign.

A large, empty decanter of scotch sits in the center of the table accompanied by five empty glasses. That’s the closest hint you have to how long you’ve been here. You take the glass of water shakily and sip, leaving an imprint of red lipstick on the rim.

John continues to coo and soothe down your hair. His other hand travels down to rest on your hip, holding you in place against him. It’s strange… this feeling. You’ve been compelled before briefly but it wasn’t like this. John has to be strong. Old. He’s been around a while to have that kind of power - for it to be this difficult for you to come out of the haze. Assuming he is the one that compelled out, of course, though it isn’t exactly a stretch based on his behavior.

It’s taking more concentration to keep from crying than you’d like.

Stranger, though, is the way they watch you. The way John works you back to reality. Most vampires would have been inappropriate while you were gone, wouldn’t bother with the borderline aftercare needed when coming out from under their spell. Most would have left you slumped in the booth - drained of blood or pleasure or both - laughing as they went.

You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter and gathering your wits. “Can I get you gentleman anything else?”

They share a look, one that you can’t quite interpret.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” John asks, voice low.

You look up at him with big eyes. Childlike, almost, staring up in wonder. It’s so strange how vampires aren’t quite white - they just lack the redness of life. The pink under the skin that signifies a beating heart and limited life span.

“I’m sure.”

John presses closer, breath caressing the shell of your ear. “Thank you for being so gracious f’us, tonight.

“Always…” There’s an honestly behind the word that startles you. A craving deep in your bones to prove yourself worthy of him and his men.

Strange.

“We best be on our way.” Simon rumbles, prompting Johnny to let him out of the booth.

John’s eyes flick between yours briefly before he moves you off of his lap with the gentle touch one might use when handling fine china. As much as you want to stay there, dazed and still coming down, you have work to do. So, you stand after them and begin slowly gathering the empty glasses on the tray. They sit heavier in your hand the normal - each movement feels as though you’re moving through molasses.

A cold touch runs up your back and you freeze. Fingers trace the curve of your spine. You straighten, turning slowly only to meet those soft blue eyes again. John takes your hand, eyes alight with something you don’t understand. “I’ll tell the owner he’s wasting you as a servin’ girl. You’re made for more.”

Before you can even possibly decide how to respond, he’s gone. Disappeared through the curtain and into the forever night. Something crinkles in your hand. When you look down, slowly opening your fingers, the contents make your heart jump into your throat.

Cash. A massive roll of neatly banded cash.

How much is this? A few thousand? More?

With frightened eyes and slippery hands you tuck the cash into the secret pocket of your coat. Having that much cash on your person is so out of your wheelhouse - out of the realm of possibility- you don’t know how to react.

You didn’t even get to say thank you.

Your mind whirls as you finish up your shift, eyes glazed over while slipping on your coat and gathering your things from your locker to make the long trek home before the train stops running. The other girls look off put. A few whisper and stare. The air is heavy with the implication that they know something you don’t. They must. You aren’t exactly in on the gossip.

What do they think you did?

Then again, you think as you brace yourself for the lurching and squealing of the metro, there isn’t any way to know what happened. Not unless one of the vampires tells you, and good luck prying any information out of one of them. Even if they tell you, they can just make you forget all over again.

How did you behave? Were you the same as always? Were you an entirely different person?

Some people forget themselves when under compulsion - every inhibition thrown to the wind carelessly. You need your inhibitions. They keep your job secure and yourself safe. You can’t afford carelessness.

The walk back home is tense. That small bulk in your pocket burns a hole though you as your mind runs with every possibility of what might have happened. What you might have done to earn such a massive tip. It can’t have been dignified, could it? There’s no way they just like you. That’s not how vampires are. Then again, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter. They liked you enough to pay you. There isn’t any point in trying to dissect such a simple transaction beyond that.

It takes everything to motivate yourself to actually take off your clothing and jewelry before falling into bed. However long they had you, it drained you. Left you tired and shaky as you crawl under the thick bundle of quilts that make up for the lack of heating in your home.

Your eyes meet the wad of cash that barely fit in the inner pocket of your coat. It feels like a threat. Use me well or lose me forever! Make me count because you’ll never see me again!

For now, at least, you can bask in the simple victory of it.

banner by @the-aesthetics-shop

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike (Epilogue, Acknowledgments and Requests)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awakened in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fell into the clutches of his nemesis, before stumbling into the arms of the Radio Demon himself. A whole lot of fucking later, you became the catalyst for something resembling a reconciliation, and now you're back in the TV Demon's private quarters with both Vox and Alastor, hung over and sore. 

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, Vox X reader, Alastor X reader, Vox X Alastor, reader is in Hell for a reason, Valentino, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Now completed! Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

The thing about Hell was that your internal body clock woke you after only a couple hours of sleep, just enough of the alcohol out of your system that your head throbbed and the rich bittersweet taste of last night’s whiskey had been transmuted with the alchemy of the morning after, the interior of your mouth now tasting of rancid orange peel and dirt. You lay splayed across the couch, Alastor’s tailcoat covering your nakedness, its red unmarred by the blood it had soaked up, your head in Alastor’s lap, your hooves in Vox’s lap.

Consciousness brought with it the awareness of the various injuries you had acquired, the fullness of your bladder, and the generalized muscular ache that was probably from all the wall-climbing you’d done. You were also filthy, your whole body faintly sticky like a budding rhododendron. You moved to get up, but found Alastor’s arm around you.

“-very dear to me,” mumbled Alastor, the radio filter almost entirely missing from his hoarse, sleepy voice, and his claws wrapped around your shoulder, hard.

“Darling. I have to piss,” you croaked, stroking Alastor’s fingers, and he gave a noise of irritation, his red eyes opening a fraction, but his grip loosened and you pulled yourself free.

Brushing away Alastor’s shadow’s hand as it snagged at your hoof, you staggered naked across Vox’s small living space, to where you remembered the bathroom to be, and took a piss that felt like it lasted at least a minute and a half, your head throbbing all the while. The things that Vox had brought for you during your short stay were still there; the little blue toothbrush, the showercap with room for your ears, the robe.

You brushed your teeth, drank several cups of water from the tap, and ate a Tylenol before grabbing the bottle of deer shampoo from the cabinet and stepping into the shower.

Vox’s shower was large, enough to comfortably fit three or more people, the flooring some kind of expensive looking stone tiling that was probably fiendishly difficult to get blood out of, and the showerheads set at chest height. You hesitated at the shower controls- which button turned the water on, again?

“You, uh- you want some help with that?” Vox stood at the entryway to the shower, wearing only pants and looking pretty much exactly like you felt.

“Sure,” you sighed, not really surprised when Vox stripped off the rest of the way and stepped into the space with you.

A gesture from him was all it took for the water to start running, no uncomfortably hot or cold initial flow but something close to body temperature. You stepped into the stream, sighing as it hit you, the water swirling a brownish color around your feet as it began to wash away the blood that had caked onto your skin.

“Temperature?” Vox asked, stepping closer.

“Warmer,” you said, an involuntary noise in your throat as Vox made it so. It stung the lacerations on your back, the small wounds on your hips and thighs, the scrapes that Alastor’s teeth had made on your neck.

“You like that?” Vox asked.

“Warmer,” you repeated, and the temperature rose to something crueler, enough that steam rose as it hit your skin, a truly scouring sort of heat. You felt your soreness recede, a little of the tension in your shoulders relaxing. “There,” you said, content to stand under the water for a few moments before uncapping the shampoo you had brought in with you.

“Let me?” Vox asked, and there was a little of the Vox who had sat in the armchair in your bedroom in his voice, pleading. You handed him the bottle, and he unhooked a second showerhead from the wall and turned it on, wetting your hair with a trickle of warm water before he lathered shampoo between his palms. It was strange; anyone else save Alastor and you might’ve had second thoughts, but Vox had had you last night, quivering and vulnerable in his hands, so you had no qualms turning your back to him.

Vox’s hands in your hair were a gift. You stood under the stream of near-scalding water as he drew close, his fingers running from the back of your neck and up, fingers parting your hair, massaging the lather into your skull. You groaned low as he worked the base of each ear, his body pressing closer to your back. He was hard, his cock brushing up against your tail and the small of your back, but there was no threat to it, no intent beyond simple closeness.

“That good, eh?” he asked, as you gave another appreciative grunt, and you braced yourself against the wall to avoid melting completely under the touch.

“You’re making me forget about my headache,” you said, which was rewarded by Vox pressing his fingers more firmly against your skull, more head massage than shampoo application. “Don’t you have things to do?”

“It is five fuckin’ thirty am,” said Vox, his voice thick and hoarse, and he leaned into you, his chest pressing warm against your narrow back, his erection squashing temptingly against the meat of your ass. “I’m all yours, baby deer.”

It would be so easy to let him fuck you like this- even as hungover as he clearly was, he was strong enough to lift you against the wall of the shower and fuck you against it until you were whimpering and quivering, your orgasm smoothing the edges of this rough and difficult morning. It would feel good.

But no. No fucking. Only Vox’s soapy hands in your hair, rubbing your back-tilted ears until you wanted to purr, his thumbs experimental around the base of your antlers. He told you to close your eyes before he raised the spare showerhead to rinse you off, the water dark, even the soap bubbles brownish as the blood was sluiced away. Vox repeated the process twice more before the water ran clear, finger combing your hair to check for errant viscera.

“I don’t need you to wash my back for me, you know,” you said, as Vox put the shampoo aside and reached for the bodywash.

“Course you don’t,” he said, eyes narrowed, and for a second his grin reminded you of Alastor’s. “But you fuckin’ like it, don’t you? You like my hands-” he said, rubbing soap into your flank, then tracing a line down, over your thigh. “My mouth.”

You opened one eye. “I hope you’re not proposing to lick me clean.”

The glazed expression on Vox’s face, along with the way his antennae flopped, told you that yes, yes he would very much like that, his gaze drifting to between your thighs, the faint trickle of Alastor’s cum mixed with his as it leaked out of you and mixed with the water from the shower.

Vox swallowed. “Please,” he groaned. “Fuck, please, baby deer. Just a little. Don’t make me fuckin’ beg.”

“I’m not making you do anything, Vox,” you said, a sidelong look at him. The steam from the shower was fogging his screen, droplets of the splashback running down the front of his wide face like sweat, and his eyes were wide. “You’re begging of your own accord.”

You put your palm on Vox’s grey-skinned shoulder and pushed him down. He sank to his knees, obedient, the water on your back slowing to a trickle, still under his control. His eyes weren’t hearts but they might as well have been with the expression he made as he reached out to touch your thighs, pulling his face close to your legs, his long blue tongue extending.

Vox’s tongue against wet skin was a new sensation; a crackling pressure that conducted over a wider area than his tongue touched as he lapped blissfully at the rivulets of diluted cum that ran out of you. You shivered, and breathed in as you watched him eat, running a hand over the top of his screen, your claws gentle on the fragile antennae that sprouted from it.

Vox whimpered as you held the tip of his antennae between thumb and fingertip, and it occurred to you, belatedly, that maybe these were analogous to antlers for him. You stopped touching them, returning to stroking his frame. His hand found yours, your fingers twining, and you knew that if you asked him he would fuck you with his tongue, lap every last drop of Alastor’s seed from your aching cunt and drink it down like a man starved.

“Please-” he whined, looking up at you between strokes of his tongue.

“You know,” you said, smiling to yourself. “Alastor has very sharp hearing, and he was mostly awake when I got up. He can definitely hear us right now.” You paused to take a breath as you felt Vox freeze, his tongue still on your thigh. “He definitely heard you begging me to let you lick his cum from my legs.”

Vox’s eyes fluttered closed, a low groan in his throat. “Fuck.”

“Tell me,” you said, pushing him a little as his tongue swept up your leg, perilously close to your sex. “Tell me what you’re begging for now.”

Vox’s voice came as a stream of consciousness as you squeezed the top of his screen, hard enough that colors distorted around the pads of your fingers, his breath in gasps as he tasted you between each word, a prayer to you, a prayer to Alastor. “Fuck, yes, please, I fucking want it, oh god, fucking god, let me, let me, please please, let me taste him. I wanna taste him in your pussy, oh god.” He swallowed, whimpering, cock finding friction against your leg, and he trembled. “God-” Vox’s eyes sprang open as he came, his body jerking as he shot his load over your hooves. “Fuck-” he breathed, softly, his screen tilting against your thigh.

You were gentle with him as you pulled him to his feet, letting him lean against you as he came down from his high. You rubbed his back, his shoulders, and the edges of his screen, eliciting soft groans from him, and he nudged his face into your shoulder before you grabbed the soap and started to lather it into his chest.

As if realizing where he was, Vox started the water running at full pressure again. When you had finished him he washed your back for you without complaint, merely a pleading look in his eyes as he scrubbed you down, the runoff going from dark brown to pink as the ablution opened a few of your newer injuries, his hands gentle enough on you to make you sigh and forget your hangover for another few seconds.

When you emerged from the bathroom, toweled dry and dressed in the monogrammed robe Vox had kept for you, you felt almost alive.

“You were in there a while,” Alastor commented from the couch as you emerged, one eye opening, his voice rough and crackling like old vinyl.

“You didn’t want to join us?” you asked, squeezing a little more moisture from your hair.

Alastor shrugged, his lips a tiny smirk. “You seemed to have everything under control,” he said, a statement not lost on Vox, who did not meet his eyes.

Vox’s arm was protective round your waist, or perhaps simply clingy, as the three of you proceeded out of his quarters and into the living area he shared with the other members of his coterie. You sat at the breakfast bar as Vox operated what was perhaps the most complicated coffee machine you had ever seen. Alastor took a seat at the breakfast bar too, his tailcoat on, overdressed compared to you in a robe and Vox in his lounge pants and t-shirt. Alastor’s shadow looked more hung over than he was, sulking in a pool by his feet and clutching its head. Vox seemed to have some level of sympathy for his condition, because he turned to Alastor first.

“So, Al, you want anything? This baby makes a mean fuckin’ macchiato, I’ll tell you that much. We’ve got three types of coffee, too, a Columbian-”

“Coffee,” said Alastor, a grinding edge of almost mechanical stress to his voice. “Make me a coffee.”

Vox sighed. “Americano it is,” he said, setting the machine running with a cheerful beep as he manipulated his way through the menus.

Alastor was sniffing his americano and the expensive looking machine was grinding something in its innards when the door on the lower level opened and a small group of people came in, clearly still mid revelry, brightly colored plastic drink containers in hand. You recognized one of them as the man who had dumped you on Vox’s bedroom floor on your first night in Hell, dressed to the nines in patent leather thigh high boots and a naked effect body-stocking with red sequins that barely covered the essentials. Valentino.

“Ah.” Vox froze with one hand on the coffee machine. “Fuck.”

“Vox?” Valentino’s tone was disbelieving, and he sashayed up the stairs to the breakfast bar to stare at the three of you, lowering his pink glasses dramatically. “What the fuck is this?”

“Val.” Vox hopped the breakfast bar with surprising alacrity, placing himself bodily between you and Valentino, his hands up in a placating gesture. It was unnecessary, all things considered, but sexy. “I can explain.”

Alastor, meanwhile, lowered his ears and hid his face behind his fuck Alastor mug, clearly uncomfortable at being witnessed in Vox’s residence at such an early hour.

“So this is where you’ve been?” Valentino gesticulated. “You don’t take my calls, you say you don’t wanna party with me, all so you can stay home and jerk off onto your pile of Alastor lookalikes?” He turned to Alastor, the real Alastor, his eyes squinting behind his pink glasses. “Where did you even get this one? He looks like shit!”

“Gotta agree with you there,” you deadpanned. “Not a word of English either.”

“Bonjou,” said Alastor, gamely, his voice gruff with the full impact of his night of drinking, his radio filter completely absent.

“You see?” Valentino waved. “You want more Alastors, chulo, you come to me. None of this amateur hour carajo.” He shook his head. “Me and these professionals are going to my room.”

“Val, wait-” Vox called, but Valentino was already on his way out. He stopped, perhaps realizing the futility of it, and rubbed the front of his face with his hand. “Fuck.”

“Is that-” you watched Valentino walk out, shooing the squad of sex workers through the door ahead of him so that he could slam it. “-is that gonna be okay?”

“Fuck knows.” Vox’s shoulders sank, and he walked back to the coffee machine. “It’s hard to tell what he wants sometimes. I mean, first he gives me you, then he’s pissy I’m spending time with you. Does he want me to chase after him? I don’t fucking know anymore.” The machine finished making your drink, and Vox picked it up, vanishing in electricity and arcing to appear behind you. “I know what you want, though,” he purred, his face close enough to your back that the hairs on your neck stood on end, and pushed your coffee in front of you.

You turned your head to grin at him, eyes half-lidded. “A full and unredacted list of the members of my fanclub still extant in Hell?”

“Fuck.” Vox’s expression soured, and he leaned back. “You're all business, aren't you? You know, I preferred it when you were pretending to be stupid.”

“And I preferred it when you had your tongue up my ass,” you said, enjoying the instant of startlement and arousal that flashed across his screen, Alastor smirking into his cup of coffee behind him. “I guess we’re just not our best selves this morning.”

“I liked that too, but I can't just hand you those names, baby deer,” said Vox, leaning on the breakfast bar beside you. “That's not how business works around here. It's about trust.”

“He’s lying,” Alastor interjected, mildly. “He could give you whatever it is you’re talking about, he just doesn’t want to.”

“Oh, butt out, Al,” groused Vox. “I’m not lying. There’s a cost.”

“One which you could well afford to waive,” said Alastor, smiling. “Given our situation.”

“Yeah, and what situation is that?” Vox shot.

He was unprepared as Alastor stood, closing the distance between them and seizing Vox by the front of his shirt, bringing their faces close, not quite touching, but close enough to kiss, or bite. Vox made a noise in his throat, and Alastor grinned, violence in his teeth.

“If you want this to continue,” said Alastor, his voice low menace. “You’re going to have to give our delightful young friend here everything they want. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what it costs you. Everything.”

“Fuck,” Vox croaked, his eyes wide.

“Well?” said Alastor. “Do we have a deal?”

“This isn’t fair, Al.”

Alastor’s grin was steady. “These things rarely are. Yes or no, old pal?”

“Shit, I’m such a fucking idiot.” Vox closed his eyes. “Yes.”

Alastor set Vox down gently, a sly wink to you as he did so, then stalked his way over to you, taking a small sip from your coffee cup before winding an arm around your waist and burying his face in your hair.

Vox looked at the both of you with something approaching dismay. “He likes you way too much, baby deer,” he said, shaking his head. “Way, way too much.”

Alastor just laughed, his nose pressing against your neck.

The following list is all of the people without whom this work would not exist in its present form; who cheered for me, who reassured me, who pointed out where my phrasing was awkward, and all in all encouraged me to go the whole hog and not just the tip. Thank you for putting up with me and my incessant self-aggrandizing wank and telling me, each in your own way, that the dog exploded.

Bapple Fraugwinska Macabre Barbie Miggy Katethulu Rein Miz blue Molly Anne

The others in the discord server for whom I do not have an ao3 or tumblr account

Special thanks to Shunypie/Shunyhuny who drew fanart (holy shit I am still absolutely fucking floored by this, it's so beautiful)

My final acknowledgment goes to everyone else who read this and thought it was hot, love you guys. Your comments feed me, your likes sustain me.

Though my planned procession of porn is past its climax, I am still open to penning vignettes about the lookalike and set in the lookalike’s timeline. If you have an idea or request, please post a comment here, or if you fancy remaining anonymous, you can use my inbox at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/impale-me-radio-daddy

Regretfully, I do not take commissions (I can’t think of an amount of money that would be worth the expression of confusion and fear from my accountant) so all requests will be undertaken at my own discretion.

Until next time, dear readers.

[aquanutech]

AquaNu Tech’s mission is the core element that drives their daily business and underpins every decision they take. Their aim is to deliver eco-friendly, next-generation products that are not only futuristic but are also available in the present. Their manufacturing and product design methods are in line with their commitment to the environment, and they strive to offer their customers products that help them save resources. They offer the best on demand hot water dispenser and hot water dispenser faucet.

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Flu

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You get the flu. But for someone with your immune system, the flu is never just the flu. Warnings: Flu, one tonic-clonic (grand mal) seizure Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

"Y/N, are you alright?" Sirius's voice cuts through the fog of your mind. You open your eyes to find him sitting on the end of your bed, concern etched into every line of his face.

His fingers brush against your forehead, and you flinch away from the unexpected contact. His touch is cool against your fevered skin, a stark contrast that sends shivers down your spine despite the warmth radiating off you in waves.

"You're burning up," he murmurs, pulling his hand away as if burned himself. "James, get her some water. And have you taken your meds?"

Before you can protest, James is already moving, filling a glass from the pitcher on your bedside table. He offers it to you with a soft smile, his hazel eyes full of worry as he finds your pill divider, handing you your morning meds. As you take your meds, you can't help but notice how attentive he is, watching for any sign of discomfort or pain.

Remus lingers in the background, silently observing as Sirius fusses over you and James refills your glass. His eyes are intent, taking in every detail of your flushed cheeks and laboured breathing. Right now, though, all you can focus on is the pounding in your head and the heat consuming your body.

"I'm fine," you insist, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. The room spins around you, and you fall back against the pillows with a groan. Despite your words, they don't leave. They hover close by, their presence a silent promise that they won't let anything happen to you.

The morning passes in a blur of sleep and half-awake moments where you drink more water and try to eat something at the insistence of your boys. Each time you wake, one of them is there, watching over you with worried expressions.

The afternoon light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over your sweat-slicked skin. You lie motionless under the heavy blankets, shivering despite the fever that has taken hold of your body. Your head throbs in time with your racing heart, each pulse sending waves of pain crashing against your skull.

Every muscle feels weighted down, as if you've been lifting weights for hours on end. But it's more than just physical exhaustion; there's a heaviness that seeps into your very bones, sapping away at your energy until all you can do is lay there and breathe.

Your thoughts are hazy, fragmented by the heat coursing through your veins. The room tilts around you, and you squeeze your eyes shut against the vertigo. It leaves you gasping for breath, clutching at the sheets as you fight off the urge to vomit.

But then, something changes. A coldness creeps up along your spine, replacing the fever's heat with an icy chill. Your heart beats faster, thudding loudly in your ears as your surroundings start to blur. Panic rises within you as it becomes harder to focus, harder to think.

You know what's coming. You've experienced these symptoms enough times to recognize the signs of an impending seizure.

"No," you whisper, the word barely audible as you press your hands to your temples. "Not now."

Images flash before your closed eyelids — falling, shaking, convulsing uncontrollably while those around you watch helplessly. You may not be aware when it happens, but you’ve seen the footage from when you were a kid. This time, it's not just Remus who will see you at your weakest. Now, James and Sirius will witness the truth of your condition too.

"Y/N?" James' voice floats towards you, tinged with concern. He must have sensed your sudden shift — the way your breathing hitched, the tension coiling around you like a tight spring ready to snap.

"Seizure... coming." The words are barely a whisper, but their impact is like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of alarm through the room.

James' eyes widen with fear as he takes in your rigid posture and shallow breaths. Sirius rises to his feet, all traces of his earlier amusement gone. Replaced by an intensity that leaves no room for doubt—he will move mountains if it means keeping you safe.

Remus stiffens beside you, his face paling. He's seen this before—your body wracked with uncontrollable tremors, your mind lost in the terrifying abyss of a seizure. And every time, he's felt powerless, able only to watch and wait for it to pass. And the other two - you’ve only told them about it, about what to do.

Panic flutters at the edges of the room, threatening to consume the calm sanctuary. But there's no time for fear—not when every second brings you closer to the storm brewing within your body.

"Sirius," Remus's voice cuts through the tension, steady despite the gravity of the situation. He doesn't glance away from you, his eyes locked onto your form as if he could somehow will away the impending storm with sheer determination alone. "Keep track of the time. If it lasts longer than five minutes..."

Without missing a beat, Sirius nods, pulling out his watch and positioning himself at the side of your bed. His fingers tremble ever so slightly against the cool metal, betraying the adrenaline coursing beneath his composed exterior. "I've got this."

James remains nearby, hovering over you like an anxious shadow. His hand hovers inches from yours, caught between the desire to provide comfort and the fear of causing harm. The usually confident boy looks lost, unsure how to navigate the treacherous waters of helplessness.

Remus keeps his focus on you, monitoring each breath, each twitch of your muscles for any sign of what's to come. His expression is tight, lips pressed together in a thin line as he fights back his own fears. This isn't about him; right now, all that matters is keeping you safe.

The room is thick with anticipation, every heart pounding in sync with the ticking seconds. Yours, however, beats out a different rhythm — one that speaks of the tempest brewing within. And all anyone can do is wait for it to break.

"Any moment now," you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else. The world begins to warp and blur at the edges as your body tenses, instinctively bracing for impact.

And then it hits — a tidal wave of sensation that crashes over you, relentless and unforgiving. Your muscles seize up, locking into place as if held by an unseen force. Every nerve ending screams in protest, caught in the throes of an invisible storm.

"Sirius..." Remus' voice cuts through the chaos like a lifeline, grounding you amidst the turmoil. "Start now."

Without hesitation, Sirius counts out loud, his voice steady despite the tension etching lines across his face. He watches as each second ticks by, marking them not just on his watch, but also in the creases deepening around his eyes—each one a testament to his unwavering vigilance.

When the seizure finally subsides, your body feels like a battleground. Drained and weary, you lie there, muscles still trembling from the onslaught. The storm may have passed, but it's left wreckage in its wake—each breath an effort, each movement a reminder of the ordeal.

"Four minutes, six seconds," Sirius announces as Remus turns you onto your side, his voice tight with relief and something else—an undercurrent of worry that lingers even as he lowers his watch.

James moves then, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he reaches out to adjust the blanket around you. His touch is gentle, almost hesitant, as if afraid any further jostling might set off another wave of convulsions. It's a small act, but one that speaks volumes about the depth of his concern.

"Is she...?" James starts, unable to finish the question hanging heavy between them.

Remus leans forward, brushing your hair back. "She'll be okay."

James, Sirius, and Remus stay by your side, their presence a constant amidst the lingering echoes of fear. They sit in silence, each lost in their own thoughts yet bound together by the shared experience.

Their attention never wavers from you, taking in every shuddering breath, every flutter of your eyelids—a silent vigil maintained out of concern, yes, but also something more profound. It's an unspoken pact forged not just in friendship, but in the crucible of trials endured and battles fought—side by side, always.

"Could it... happen again?" James asks, breaking the stillness that has settled over the room. His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of his worry nonetheless.

"We'll need to keep an eye on her," Remus replies, meeting James's gaze with a nod. "But for now, let's give Y/N some space." He turns to look at Sirius, who seems rooted to the spot, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "You should get some rest too. We'll take shifts watching over her."

Exhaustion tugs at your consciousness, pulling you further away from the world and towards the sweet oblivion of sleep. You welcome it, welcoming the respite it promises after the storm. But even as you drift off, there's a sense of relief that washes over you—not because the seizure is over, nor solely because the pain has subsided, but because they are here.

They're here, and for now, that's enough to quiet the fears clawing at the edges of your mind.

The boys exchange glances, their expressions serious despite the fatigue etching lines around their eyes. They understand the gravity of the situation—that much is clear—but there's also a determination there, a resolve that speaks volumes about their loyalty.

"Alright," James agrees, running a hand through his hair as he pushes himself up from the floor. "We'll do this together."

Sirius nods, standing as well. There's a heaviness to his movements, hinting at the toll the evening has taken. Yet, when he looks back at you, there's a steadiness in his gaze—an unwavering promise of protection.

As James and Sirius move towards the door, Remus stays behind, his focus fixed on you. He watches as your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, each breath a testament to your resilience. The sight brings a small measure of peace, easing the knot of worry that's been tightening in his chest.

"It was expected," Remus says quietly, turning to face them. "With the flu... being any kind of sick is a trigger for her."

His words hang heavy in the air, bringing with them a sense of finality. This wasn't a random occurrence—it had been a ticking time bomb, waiting for the right moment to detonate. And though the explosion had been contained, the aftermath was far from over.

"But she'll recover," Remus continues, offering them a reassuring smile. "She's strong, and she's got us."

For a moment, neither James nor Sirius respond. They stand shoulder to shoulder, absorbing Remus's words and finding solace in their shared understanding. Then, almost simultaneously, they nod, a silent acknowledgement of the truth in what Remus has said.

They trust him—they trust his knowledge, his judgement, and perhaps most importantly, his reassurances. Because if there's one thing they've learned over the years, it's that Remus Lupin is rarely wrong when it comes to matters of health and healing.

As darkness settles outside, casting long shadows across the room, you slip into a fitful sleep. Your dreams are filled with flashes of memory—the sharp sting of fear, the crushing weight of helplessness—all tinged with an undercurrent of unease.

Yet, even within the depths of slumber, you sense the steadfast presence of those keeping watch over you. Their voices are distant whispers, woven together by threads of concern and care. They follow you into the dark, anchoring you with their constancy.

[fairyhaos]

. ˚ maybe... a little bit sick?

requested by anon: "Hii can i Pls request taking care of Junhui when he’s sick (like maybe he has the stomach flu or smthn) and calls you to come over and be there with him"

pairing: junhui x gn!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship, sick fic, junhui is an adorable baby

word count: 1607

warnings: pet names (baby, love), junhui exaggerates his cold by saying he's "dying", mentions of burning up (not literally tho)

notes: this is really cute actually. i think i love writing for silly soft jun a lot <3

Junhui is not a person that falls ill. 

It's just not something he does. He's proud to admit that he's probably fallen ill a maximum of ten times in his entire life, and his immune system is so good that it could probably enter a competition against other immune systems and come out on top. The immune system olympics, if you will. 

But the main point is, Junhui doesn't get sick. He doesn't get hay fever, doesn't catch colds all that easily, could probably go out in the winter without a coat and still be fine the next day (albeit with a mild loss of feeling in his nose). 

Right now, though, as Junhui rubs his nose and tries to stop his eyes from constantly watering, he thinks that perhaps, perhaps, he could be coming down with something. 

It's a horrible thought. Unthinkable, in fact. Besides, it's the middle of summer! Who falls ill in July? 

"Y/N?" Junhui croaks, and then blinks, startled by the sound of his own voice. "Y/N?"

He has to stop, then, because his throat feels like sandpaper. Plus, one of his nostrils is running, and the other feels so blocked up that it's like it was replaced with an impenetrable brick or something. 

He's not sick, though. Junhui doesn't get sick. 

The sun is filtering brightly through the curtains, and he guesses that it's late morning by now. He hasn't been able to get out of bed since he woke up some hours ago, his head throbbing and protesting with every move he makes. He hasn't even been able to check his phone. 

Junhui coughs, then, a wet, uncomfortable cough that makes his body shudder and his brain rattle around uncomfortably in his skull. He sniffs, a little pathetically, and squeezes his eyes shut. Everything hurts. 

But he's definitely not sick. 

"Y/N…" he mutters, his hair feeling sticky on his forehead, his tongue cumbersome and rubbery in his mouth. Vaguely, he remembers that you're going out with friends this morning, and won't be back for a while. The very thought makes him whine internally, upset. 

Okay. 

Maybe he is a little sick. 

Centuries pass as he lies there in bed, admitting defeat, admitting that he really is sick for once and that being sick is horrible and all he wants is for you to come help him. Why are you taking so long to have brunch with your friends, damnit? 

He's drifting off into a hazy sleep once again, his entire body feeling like it's on fire when the front door finally, finally clicks open and he hears your voice. 

"Junhui?" you call, taking off your shoes. "Junhui, baby, are you up yet?"

It's around one in the afternoon when you've finally managed to come back home after meeting up with your friends, and normally your boyfriend would be bounding towards you and engulfing you in a hug, eager to hear how your outing had been. But the apartment is, oddly, silent, and there's no sign of a hyperactive Junhui anywhere. 

"Junhui?" you call again. 

And that's when you hear his voice, coming from his closed bedroom door. 

"Y/N… in here…"

He sounds weak, like he's on the verge of dying, and you gasp when you open the door and look at him. 

"Oh, darling!" You walk over to his bedside to place a hand on his forehead, sighing when he whimpers softly at the cool sensation on his burning skin. "Look at you, you have such a horrible fever. Wait here, I'll go get a cold towel," you say, and then hurriedly leave the room again. 

Junhui coughs pathetically again. "I can't really go anywhere… but okay."

You come back in a few seconds later, equipped with a cold compress, medicine and a glass of water. The kettle whistles in the distance. 

"How did this happen?" you scold lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed, placing a hand worriedly over his forehead again. "How did you manage to get yourself so ill?"

Junhui opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head. 

"Wait, don't answer that. You probably have a really bad headache right? Talking will make it worse." 

He closes his mouth again. 

"Poor Junhui," you murmur, wiping down his face and his sweat with a damp cloth. "It must really hurt, right?"

Junhui nods sadly, eyes half closed, as you put the cold towel over his forehead. "Hurts so much. I feel like I'm dying."

You laugh softly. "I can imagine. Can you sit up for me, baby? You need to take some medicine."

"No." He turns his head away when you offer him the pills and the glass of water, accidentally dislodging the towel from his head. "Don't wanna."

"Junhui, come on, it'll help," you wheedle softly, trying to encourage him. "You don't want it to hurt, do you? This'll help make it better, I promise."

"I can't," he whines, looking at you, and now there are tears pooling in his eyes. He coughs, then, so hard that the tears well up faster and end up spilling over slightly. Then he groans, head thumping, while you lean over to gently wipe his tears. "Everything hurts. I don't like it."

"Junhui, please?"

"No."

"Junhui, baby, it'll make everything feel a lot better."

"No."

"Junhui…"

Junhui, when he falls ill, becomes a little like a toddler. He doesn't get sick often, so when he does he always suffers terribly. He ends up throwing mini tantrums, pouting and resisting taking the medicine that will make him better purely because he doesn't want to. 

You may not have had to deal with a sick Junhui often, but really, it's about the same as dealing with a small child, so it's not that difficult. 

Several more minutes of wheedling later, you manage to get Junhui to sit up and drink the water along with his medicine. He ends up spilling half the glass all over himself and whines, looking at you with glassy eyes as if wanting you to tell him what to do. 

"Don't worry, it's just water," you tell him, stroking back his hair and adjusting the towel on his forehead to make sure it's in place. "Wanna have something nice to drink?"

In the kitchen, the kettle is beeping, signalling that it's finished boiling water. Junhui rapidly shakes his head, though, before wincing at the movement. 

"No. Don't wanna drink anything."

"Are you sure?" You tuck a damp curl of hair out of his face, noting that he's still sweating. He's really ill, the poor thing. "Have you eaten today?"

"Don't wanna eat anything."

"You've lost your appetite?" you ask worriedly. "What if I ask Minghao to come over and help make you some wonton soup? Would you like that?"

Junhui squeezes his eyes, once, and then coughs again. "No."

"I'll call him anyway," you say, getting up. "And I already boiled the water, so I'll make you some tea for your throat as well, okay? I bet you have a sore throat too."

He blinks, eyes a little glassy and confused. "Wait… how did you know?"

You chuckle softly, leaning over to pinch his cheek lightly. "Magic. Rest now, alright? You should try to sleep, let your body recover."

You back out of the room, watching his weak frame as he lies in his dim room, the curtains still drawn, eyes watery and half-open and a wet towel over his forehead. He looks so sad and forlorn, like a dejected kitten, and it would make you coo if a bigger part of you wasn't worried at just how ill he looked. 

You're just closing the door when he croaks out your name again, thin and warbly.

"Y/N?"

Pausing for a moment, you open the door again, poking your head in. "Yes, baby?"

He looks at you for a long moment, squinting out of puffy eyes, before giving you a small smile and lifting his arms. "Hug?"

Obviously, you really oughtn't. He's sick, after all, horribly so, and it would be much better for both of you if you stayed away. But his hair is all messed up and his cheeks are all flushed from his fever and he just looks so small swathed in all his blankets and really, how were you meant to refuse? 

He's warm, as he always is, and maybe he's a little warmer than usual but you let him hug you tightly, his head tucked under your chin, fingers gripping your shoulders while you bend over him and thread a hand through his hair. Junhui hums, pleased, when you lightly knead your fingers into his scalp, making little rumbly noises of contentment when your hand slips down his back, rubbing firm circles into his shirt. 

"Love you," he mumbles, his words a little drowsy but still soft and warm. 

You smile, kissing the top of his head. "I love you too."

There's silence for a moment as he continues to cling to you while you kneel awkwardly on the bed, one knee on the mattress while your other foot supports your weight from the floor. And then Junhui speaks up again. 

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Junhui?"

"Instead of wonton soup, could you make me hotpot? A really spicy one?"

That makes you smile a little, endeared, and kiss his head again. His forehead is unnaturally warm still, and you disentangle him from your arms to rest him down on his pillow again, feeling vaguely like a prince lowering his princess to sleep. 

You brush gentle fingers over his cheek, fond. "Of course. Anything to make my kitten feel better."

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride

[artechoceneexplorer]

A Survivor in Hell:

Dante's Dumingo

Perfectly adapted for flying across the harsh Ourean Mountains interior, the "Abominharenas", and feeding on scalding hot brine pools, Dante's Dumingo not only survives but thrives in the most inhospitable environment on the surface of Artechocene Earth

Dante's Dumingo, as is name implies, is a Dumingo, an anatid in the family Anabalaenidae or the "Baleen-beaked Ducks". They are a family consisting of many migratory and gregarious species in several genera, all adapted for filter feeding in various environments. The genus Infernanas is particularly known for liking more extreme environments than its relatives, like soda lakes deep in the Sahara, boiling hot pools in remote islands up in the north Pole, or brine pools up in the highest mountain ranges.

But to survive in the Ourean mountains and surrounding deserts, this species had to adapt for every inhospitable conditions known, and yet, it has been able to survive every one of them. It's thick coat of white feathers is a great insulator against both the cold at night and at great altitudes, and against the scorching temperatures of the day. The clearer feathers on its back also help it deflect most sunlight that hits its body, and the dark patches around its eyes help it see with the glaring sunlight. Its thick skin is able to withstand scalding water and impressively high ion concentrations of different species. Its physiology and filtering systems also allows it to drink extremely water of high temperature, salinity, acidity or alkalinity.

[icallhimjoey]

Lost & Found

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader    

Summary: You take a little break, a week away to somewhere warm to relax and calm your senses. So does Joe – same flight, same hotel, same travel plans and, worst of all, same suitcase. What was meant to be a lovely trip to the sun starts off on the wrong foot when you find expensive designer outfits belonging to a man in what you thought was your suitcase.    

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, lots of swearing, we get a little spicy but nothing too bad, 18+ just in case though!    

Author’s note: i know i already said we were going at a slower pace, but, i really meant it - ive got too much other things going and i apologise! part four might take EVEN LONGER ive got a busy month coming up, so we'll see how it goes! thanks for being patient with me &lt;333

Wordcount: 4.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Your breath hitched as your fingers twitched with need of a self-destruct button when you saw him.

Swimming shorts, black. The ones you’d had in your hands two days before. Linen shirt, short sleeves, beige – unbuttoned. It was one of the things you’d tried on. Your friend had said it looked like a pyjama top on you. You were glad to learn it did not look like a pyjama top on him.

Sunglasses. Black, dark, and designer if you were to go by the large metallic logos on the sides.

Hair sort of all over the place, like he hadn’t touched it after rolling out of bed this morning. Book in hand, paperback, folded corners and broken spine. 

If you were honest, it was kind of a vibe. Until you panned down, and...

Loafers.

You hoped that the glare of the sun didn’t turn your sunglasses transparent enough for Joe to notice you weren’t looking at your phone screen when you saw him step out and enter the pool area.

He walked past a couple of sun loungers that had towels on but seemed otherwise fairly abandoned. The pool was empty, the water too cold to casually dip into, so the towels probably belonged to people who dumped them there before breakfast, just to ensure they’d have a space of their own in the sun later.

Well, it was later now, and had there been no empty sun loungers free of towels, you’d have tossed a random one to claim as your own. Like the one right next to you. Just a big white towel from the hotel on an empty sun lounger that seemingly belonged to no one.

You saw Joe get closer and closer until you realised that he seemed to be coming right over to you.

Maybe he’d seen you and was now just there to come and tell you that he needed his jacket back. The one he gave you last night. The one you were meant to return to room 907. The one you still had up in room 1103.

Listen, it had gotten late. And you’d gotten too tipsy.

You also weren’t sure if you’d remembered 907 correctly, and, what if he was asleep already, you know? You decided after having your 6th drink poured into a plastic cup that you’d bring Joe his jacket tomorrow.

Maybe just after breakfast.

But then, you’d slept right through breakfast, hadn’t you?

You’d woken up two hours after falling asleep, and hadn’t been able to slide back into slumber until after you’d watched the sunrise from your balcony through blinking bleary eyes.

You’d only gotten a very quick gulp of water into your system after brushing your teeth, and now here you were, by the pool, living your best holiday-instagram-filtered-story life.

When Joe walked into earshot, you were ready to launch an excuse at him for not having returned his jacket yet. 

But then he bent and sat down on the sun lounger next to you and you realized; that was his towel. One he'd probably laid down just before breakfast to ensure himself a lounger for when he'd want to enjoy some time by the pool side later.

Later was now, apparently.

Joe sat and took off his loafers as he looked over at the pool where the sun made the surface glitter, and then you saw him turn his head to look at you, giving you a polite smile.

“I was going to bring it over last night,” you blurted out as you sat up a little, “I promise, room 907, I didn’t forget. It was just, it got a bit late, and I didn’t want to maybe wake you– I’ll give it back today,” God, the nervosity practically dripped from the words you squeaked out. 

Joe just smiled, which only made it worse.

“I... I’ll go get it right now, sorry,” you swung your legs to the side but stopped when you heard Joe laugh. 

“That’s okay, no worries,” he quickly said, stopping your feet from finding your flip flops.

“I wasn’t going to keep it,” you reassured.

“I didn’t think you were.”

Okay, good.

“None of my other things have gone missing, so you’re fine,” Joe scrunched his nose and made a face before he got comfy with his book in his lap.

You thought back to that first night with his suitcase. He was sort of right. You could’ve easily kept something - probably would have if you’d listened to your friend who kept telling you, “That looks great on you, fucking keep it,” over and over.

“About that...” you heard yourself say it before you could stop yourself.

“Can I, just, do you want my unsolicited opinion on something?”

Joe found the page in his book he’d left off on and used fingers to bend the spine a bit further. He didn’t really reply, which you took as an invitation to just drop what had been on your mind without holding back.

“Just, I don’t understand, you seem–” you thought your choice of words over just for a second. “You sort of seem like you know what you’re doing. Man on a business trip, expensive clothing, all tailored I’m guessing, and then there’s– I’m sorry, but why would you use two-in-one shampoo?” 

Joe blinked at you a second.

“And not only use it, but bring it?!” 

It took Joe a second to figure out how to react to your animated question. You seemed genuinely grossed out and properly confused. 

Man on a business trip.

That tickled him.

“You um... you went through my toiletries?” Joe asked, eyes back in his book, hoping that maybe the question would get you to blush again like you’d blushed when you’d met at the airport the day before. 

“I went through everything, and you fucking know it,” you couldn’t help but laugh yourself now. “Please tell me that bottle has been in your that bag since the nineties and you don’t actually use it still,” 

Joe snorted, head bobbing a little. 

“I mean,” he started, “It’s how long I’ve had the bag, so that’s not as implausible as you’d think,” 

“Yea, it looks it, Joe” you jabbed, grinning, and that’s when Joe realised. 

The fucking toiletries bag.

The one he’d had since he was eight.

The one his mother had written his name on with black sharpie so he wouldn’t lose it. 

JOE

He could picture it clear as day.

You knew his name because you’d read it on his toiletries bag.

You didn’t know who he was. 

His mother’s handwriting had revealed his name to you, and you didn’t fully understand the wistful little smile that overtook his face for a moment as he frowned at his book a little.

This new knowledge shifted something for him. He could dissect the relief of it all later, if he wanted to. Now, it just made him want to entertain this interaction further.

So he did.

Asked you if he was correct at having missed you at breakfast. Told you he wasn't actually on a business trip, but just there for a short break from the hustle and bustle of the city, of work.

You told him you were there for the same reason, and you swapped similar stories of busy jobs and hectic schedules, of tensed shoulders and worried supervisors who pressured you into trips to the sun, and now, here you were. By the poolside of a nice hotel where they served nice drinks and, would you like a drink? What did you have last night?

“Stop, if anyone needs to get anyone a drink here, it’s me. As a thank you for the jacket and not having me, you know, arrested.”

You got up, were about to wave your card in Joe’s face but found yourself plonking back down onto the lounger.

Weird.

You didn’t feel dizzy at all, but somehow your balance felt off. You went to test it by giving your head a little shake, and then suddenly, the world moved sideways. Gravity pulled at you from the side, making you lean there a little, and then, a lot.

There was lounger where you landed, shoulder first, but there wasn’t enough lounger. After bouncing once, you felt yourself slide.

It somehow felt fine, didn’t make you panic at all, your brain already making sense of it but in all the wrong ways. You didn’t feel so heavy, head all light, and so the thud to the floor wasn’t so bad. It was almost like you floated down there, but then, with your cheek pressed against the warm concrete, everything unexpectedly moved upwards with a rough jerk. Smacked you right in the face and the rest of your body sort of slumped down, hurting your cheekbone and what you thought was your brow bone as your full weight seemed shoved into them.

It hurt.

Not in the same way the cold water of the pool hurt the bones of your feet when you'd sat on the edge of it earlier – this felt worse. Cutting.

Your face was pushed into the ground by your own weight until out of the blue, the concrete moved away from you, and you floated back up. Back the right side up.

There were hands and they pulled, and it hurt your arm, your elbow, your shoulder.

“Did you faint? What the– did you faint? No, you– hang on,”

Hands clambered at you until you were back on soft familiar surface, but everything felt a little sticky. And somehow you were fucking freezing.

“Joe?”

You felt your vocal cords say it, you knew you just said something, but you didn’t hear them. Was your voice not working? Or was it your hearing that had gone?

“You fainted,”

“It’s fine, I don’t– what’s happening, what is…”

“Fucking hell, lay down a second. Legs up too, just, I want you flat– be flat,”

You didn’t move quick enough for Joe’s liking, which Joe realized, of course you fucking didn’t. You just smashed yourself face first into the concrete and your eyebrow was bleeding now. In an attempt to gracefully get your legs up onto the lounger too, Joe nearly flung you off of the whole thing on the other side. Managed to grab you by the side just before you swung too far.

“Hands, hands,” Joe just grabbed them. “Give me your hands.” He was already holding them. “Here, hold the sides for me. I need to move you into the shade.”

And then the whole world moved. A tree came into view as the lounger you were on got dragged across grass. It disoriented you into a dizzy spin that made you forget which way was up for a second, even though you were staring right at up.

In no time, two guys who wore polo shirts with hotel-logo-nametags hovered over you and a lady from three sun loungers over stepped in to tell them to get a first aid kit. Something to clean that gash with. To make the bleeding stop.  

Joe stepped back and let her mother you for a second, told one of the guys who worked at the hotel that you’d gotten up from the sun lounger and then just… fell.  

The lady asked if you’d eaten, and you tried to convince her you were fine and that all of the fuss was a bit much, but then you had to confess that you hadn’t actually eaten and you’d also not slept very well the night before, and the night before that, and, you actually hadn't slept normal in ages, and your shoulders hurt, lower back too, and you’d drank a lot the night before, and, Jesus Christ, you were so fucking cold.  

“Someone get her something to drink, she needs sugar,” 

“And a sandwich maybe? Something to eat?” Joe added, making the other man scurry off.  

There was a moment where the lady and Joe looked at each other and then both looked back at you and you felt so stupidly embarrassed.

“Can I– I want to go back to my room,”  

So you could fester in your own embarrassment by yourself in peace and quiet. Without people staring down at you, and no doubt from all around the pool too with all the commotion that was made.  

“They’re getting you a drink and some food, and you need your eyebrow looked at,” the lady smiled politely at you, using a finger to wipe some of your hair away from getting stuck in the blood there. 

You moved a hand up to touch it, to feel how bad it was, but saw Joe reach an arm out that he quickly snapped away when you halted. You moved it to your mouth instead, to bite at the thumb nail to stop your teeth from chattering.  

You were outside and people were barely wearing any clothes and seemed fine – why were you still freezing?  

“Are you cold?” the woman asked, already looking around for a towel to drape over you. 

“I’m fine,” you lied, and heard Joe huff a laugh. Obviously, you weren’t.  

“Here,” he said, and you saw how he handed over the white hotel towel from his sun lounger. It got carefully placed over your shoulders, and it helped a little, but you just wanted to go upstairs and crawl back into bed. Get under the warm covers and sleep this off.  

The first aid kit arrived, and this random hotel guest in a bathing suit took it from the guy who’d brought it over. She took over completely, cleaned your face with disinfectant and asked for Joe to help her cut a piece of tape to bandage it up. You saw his fingers fumble, shaking a little bit, like he seemed nervous.  

A plated club sandwich and a can of coke arrived. After plenty of “How are you feeling?” and you repeating that you were fine over and over and over in between sips and bites, you were finally asked which room you were staying in, and if you were there with someone.  

You hesitated to answer, afraid that if you said you were alone, they wouldn’t just let you go back to your room. They should, of course they should just let you do whatever, but there were three strangers doting over you all worriedly, and then also a fourth one who, even though you'd gone through everything he brought on this trip, was still technically a stranger too.  

“It’s okay,” Joe then said. “I’ll take her up to her room.”  

And before you could complain about it, he’d slung his towel around his neck, had taken the glass and the plate, then bent sideways and stuck an elbow out for you to loop an arm through.  

It was a little weird to walk into the hotel with Joe. To get into the lifts with Joe. To step into your room with Joe. 

It was a little weirder to say you were going to shower and that you were fine, thank you.  

It was a little weirder when Joe didn’t just accept that and looked at you with worried eyes before he asked if you could shower with the door open, and if he could sit just outside in case the hot water did silly things to your blood pressure. What if you dropped in the shower and no one would be there to stop you from drowning?  

“Drown? It’s a shower.” 

“Place could flood.” Joe shrugged. 

It was weird when you looked at each other a second and you realised he wasn’t going to leave. Wasn’t going to let you shower with the door shut and locked, and so, fine. 

Joe awkwardly stood in the middle of your hotel room, plate and drink still in hand, when you moved the desk chair closer to the bathroom door.  

“I’m sorry, I just, that lady from downstairs will murder me if I don’t make sure you’re okay,”  

You laughed at his excuse and gestured for him to put all he was holding down on the desk.  

“I’ll be quick.” You said, finding a change of clothes to take into the bathroom with you. 

“Please, take your time. Don’t rush.”  

You didn’t rush, but were quick anyway. You now had a man waiting for you to finish a shower and you knew you’d gone through all of his things, but leaving him alone in your hotel room surrounded by all of your things felt invasive.  

The warm water was nice and managed to relax your shoulders a little.  

Not a lot.  

But, you know, all little bits helped. 

“I’m okay,” you called when you shut off the water, hoping maybe Joe would reply, ok great, and maybe leave. He didn’t. Just said, “Good.” and then stayed put.  

When you emerged with wet hair, in soft shorts and a white tank top, Joe smiled at you. His eyes immediately went to the wet bandage that covered your eyebrow still, the tape strong enough to have kept it in place. Good. That was good.

His smile quickly disappeared however, when he saw you rub a hand at your neck, your face displaying a painful grimace. 

“Your jacket,” you pointed and Joe looked. Saw his jacket. Had seen it already. 

He didn’t move to grab it, instead turning back to you. His eyes flicked between your face that displayed painful discomfort and the hand that was squeezing at the flesh of your shoulder now. 

“All right, I’ll leave you alone in a second, but before you tell me you’re fine again, can I… can I just…” Joe held both his hands up. You just looked at them and didn’t move. Joe, in turn, placed both hands on top of your shoulders and frowned at what he felt.  

“Jesus, all right,” Joe turned, looked around the room, eyes darting and brain going at top speeds to put a plan together.   

“Do you mind if I…?”  

Perhaps Joe could start actually finishing his sentences, you thought, although you thought you knew what he meant and shrugged both your shoulders up to your ears.  

“No,” Joe’s eyes grew wide before he tutted at you. “Don’t, that doesn’t help. Come, sit,” 

Joe sat down on the edge of the bed before you did.  

“Face that way,” Joe pointed towards the windows, away from him. You followed instructions without question and felt how he collected your hair into one hand before carefully placing it over a shoulder so it’d be out of the way. 

“You know this isn’t what this is meant to feel like, right?” You could hear the humour carried in his voice. Of course you knew that. You knew you also weren’t meant to bite at your nails until your fingers bled. Weren’t meant to wake up sweating and panting because you’d hallucinated being trapped in a small dark place again.  

You felt the mattress level out behind you as Joe got up and stepped forward. He bent to the side a little, getting his shoulder in front of your face. 

“Here,” he touched himself where he’d touched you just before. “Feel this bit, how you can easily squeeze the soft tissue here?”  

You reached up, hesitated for a moment, but then touched Joe over his linen shirt that had a few buttons done up now, and squeezed where he told you to squeeze. Like it was normal.  

That was… that was all muscle.  

Not as thick and hard as whatever was happening to your shoulders, but these were Joe’s warm muscles you were pressing your fingers into. 

“Now feel yours,” Joe moved back, touched his fingers to where he wanted you to feel, and made you squeeze yourself in the same spot and, yea, okay, that was a big difference.  

“I am also here to relax, but clearly one of us needs it more than the other,” Joe huffed a laugh through his nostrils as he sat down on the bed again behind you and he got back to what he was doing before. 

“I've not gotten a good night's sleep in months,” you revealed as Joe dug thumbs into where it hurt.

Hurt good. 

Hurt so good. 

“You should book a massage,” Joe spoke softly, but kept massaging your shoulders, the bottom of your neck.  

“Hmmh,” you replied, afraid that if you’d say anything else, he’d stop what he was doing.  

Joe kneaded and pushed and squeezed and touched for a while, and you noticed you were starting to have to work really hard at not flopping over. At sitting up right and keeping your eyes open. You repressed yawns and tried to remember to breath properly, but you’d just had a nice shower and you’d barely gotten any sleep before and now you were on your bed in a comfortable outfit and Joe was massaging you with his big hands and maybe you could rest your eyes, for just a second, you know? 

“Here, lay down,” Joe suddenly whispered and without acknowledging how weird it was that Joe just sat outside your bathroom whilst you showered and was now massaging you to sleep in your hotel room, you just laid down. Instantly got comfortable on your stomach leaving enough space for Joe to sit on the side, one knee folded onto the bed and the other dangling down the side still.  

“There’s a– do you feel this?” Joe pushed knuckles exactly where you wanted them. “Huge knot.” 

“Feels nice,” you whispered, breathy and exhausted. 

“I can loosen it up a bit more, but this– you really should get a professional massage,”  

Joe kept working strong fingers and even stronger knuckles into the same spots until you couldn’t even feel it anymore. Just felt numb. Or maybe you were just falling asleep and not stopping yourself from slipping under.  

Joe’s hands never ventured much lower – maybe just a little, but nothing inappropriate. You were only strangers after all. He thought that you knew who he was but then you didn’t and now the playing field was level and, sure, you knew more about him because you’d gone through his whole suitcase, but he was in your hotel room now and you were falling asleep under his touch.

Fell asleep under his touch. 

You woke up in an empty hotel room hours later, covered by the folded-over other half of the duvet you were lying on top of.  

You felt… well rested. Only a little disoriented. A little thirsty. Nothing crazy. 

The last thing you remembered feeling was Joe’s fingers trailing from your shoulders down your arms and back up again and you felt a little sad that he wasn’t there anymore.   

It was still light out, but the sun was setting and it felt like the whole day had passed you by today. You stretched, body feeling looser. Better. Joe was right though, you needed to book a massage. Maybe two. Or three.  

When you looked over and saw Joe’s jacket still there, slung over the back of the chair that was now back in its spot behind the desk, you couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped you. He could’ve taken that – should have taken that, and yet… 

Yea, the day had been weird.

Had been weird from the start.

The weird night's sleep, Joe's toiletries bag, the wound above your eye, the empty coke can on the desk, the massage that had put you to sleep for several uninterrupted hours, and, Joe's jacket.

Weird.

And then room service was weird.

And watching the sunset from your balcony was weird.

Then trying to get back into bed for actual nighttime sleep was weird.

All of it, just... weird.

Room 907.

You'd said you would return the jacket today.

And then he'd been in your room and he'd stayed with you until you'd fallen asleep and then he hadn't taken it.

Joe's jacket was still in your hotel room.

Weird.

You tried ignoring it. Tried to watch TV. Scrolled on your phone. Thought of taking a long bath, maybe.

But that stupid jacket. It kept calling your attention from across the room.

Even after turning off all the lights and tossing and turning for about an hour, you could still feel it there. Taunting. Whispering dares.

Bring me to his hotel room.

Take me there.

Come on.

And...

Fuck.

All right.

You sat up in bed, flicked on a light and squinted both eyes at the sudden brightness.

There it was, still in the same spot. Joe's jacket.

“Fine. You win.” you told no one and slung your legs out of bed, grumbling with annoyance as you took the jacket from the chair and found your hotel room key on the side.

Room 907.

The hotel was quiet as you took the lift down two floors and found Joe's room quick enough.

You stalled a second, unsure if you should knock, but then thought, fuck it. You were there now, jacket in hand, and you'd said you'd bring it back today. You knocked softly, then waited and listened. Nothing. Just to be safe, you knocked again, and then heard the soft click of a light switch. You ignored how that made your heart thunder in your throat.

It didn't take long for the door to open. When you saw Joe's tired face, you immediately knew you'd made a mistake.

You should've waited 'til the next morning. This wasn't a cool move.

“Your jacket,” you felt so dumb. Looked so dumb.

But then you caught sight of the smallest of smiles as Joe took it from you, holding the door wide open as he did.

A beat of silence followed where you hoped Joe'd say thanks, so you could tell him thank you for letting you borrow it in return.

The thanks never came.

Instead Joe stepped aside, door still wide open, and gave a tiny backwards nod that welcomed you inside, followed by a quiet whisper.

“Come on.”

---

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[waklman]

Bubbles

summary: bradley flushes out your eyes when he blinds you with chlorine during swim practice one night.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n. fluff, suggestive jokes. 18+ blog in general.

word count: 1k

olympic swimmer au

take your marks masterlist

"I won’t be able to see again,” you sniff, mourning the loss of your eyesight. 

“Sweetheart, it’s just chlorine,” Bradley seals his lips together to hide a smile. With your eyes scrunched shut, he’s ushering you inside the empty locker room, leading you towards the line of open showers. 

While you knew that you’d eventually end up being dunked into the pool during your boyfriend’s late night swim practice—you anticipated that he’d do it while you had on your goggles at least.

But, no. The conniving gold medalist had the nerve to ask for a kiss as a pretense to pull you into the chemically treated water. And of course you were going to come waddling over because honestly, who wouldn’t? 

The lazy smile on his face sparkled under the glow of the underwater led lighting system, and his biceps increased in size because he had been doing backstrokes for the last hour.

If you didn’t have the confirmation that he was human, you would’ve assumed he was some sort of siren—luring your unsuspecting self closer towards him. 

“But, hey. You’re still kinda sexy doggy paddling away from me, blind and all.” He unhelpfully adds on, guiding you by the hips.

Nudging the back of your ankle, he steers you away from the bench you’re about to walk into. “Watch where you’re goin’ baby.”

“I can’t watch! I’m blind!”

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell when you were screaming that earlier,” he puts forth, deep voice practically dripping in a thick coat of sarcasm. 

All he gets in response from you is something akin to a growl, as he spins you around to face him, backing you up into the tiny shower that barely fits you both.

As of right now, he has no plans to peel your swimsuit off, so the curtain stays open. 

Now standing under the shower head together, Bradley reaches to twist the knobs behind you. Leaning his head in, he blocks the water from hitting the top of your head. “Open. And I mean your eyes, not your mouth.” 

“I-I know that!” 

In a rush to get the pain over with, your eyes shoot open and you lean back, giving your smirking boyfriend a view of the irritation he caused to your poor eyeballs.

Lifting his head upright, Bradley raises his pruney fingers to gently hold your eyelids open. 

Whispering encouraging praise of Good girl, Bradley helps you get through the uncomfortable feeling of water filtering over the scratchy surface of your pupils.

“I don’t know how your stupid mustache doesn’t burn off from all the chemicals in that pool,” you grumble, rolling your eyes back, chasing relief for yourself.

“Oh shut up, you like it.”

When you don’t give him a snappy response, Bradley chuckles. Because he’s right. You do like it.

After thirty seconds of you silently flushing out your eyes—and Bradley assisting you, the pain subsides.

At that, relief fills you. Because not long ago, you were sure today would be the last day you’d ever get to see your handsome boyfriend’s face. 

Blinking rapidly underneath him, Bradley takes it as a sign to hover his face over yours again—blocking off the stream of cold water from hitting your face. Though, the weak pressure of the shower pangs against his thick neck instead, tracing down his muscled back.

With his hands back on his sides, Bradley cracks his knuckles against his tight custom swim shorts. 

“Thought you liked it, Bubbles,” the curve of his mouth lifts upward, stretching his grin to its limit. If there was one way to get you worked up—besides yanking you into the pool—it was bringing up your nightmarish attempt to ask him out on a date.

Truly, you don’t know what came over you when you blurted out Do you want to come over and watch Bubble Guppies?

But then again, the three brain cells scrambling around in your head at the time couldn’t come with anything better when there was Bradley Bradshaw—your dad’s new olympic recruit standing in front of you—very shirtless and very wet. And very much your age and type. 

It would be a lie to say that you stopped fighting with your father when he dragged you to work with him. Suddenly, it wasn’t all that bad. 

Who knew that towel folding and monitoring equipment would magically become easier when you had some eye candy walking around the two meter pool every single day.

“I wish I never watched Bubble Guppies with you!”

“Hey, at least ‘M not calling you Mr. Grouper,” he offers, scrunching his nose at you. At the remembrance of that round goldfish that led around the school of guppies, you’re glad he’s not calling you that either. 

“Mr. Grouper acts more like my dad.” Fat droplets fall from your water clogged lashes when you start to smile. 

Smoothly, Bradley ducks down to kiss your smiley mouth. “I must really like you, to be kissing you after watchin’ you swim away like a drowning dog.”  

That rush he gets from winning a race pounds him right in the chest when you swat his defined arm, your giggle echoing through the vacant locker room. 

Bradley’s unable to resist pecking your lips again. “You think Mr. Grouper would be happy that his little girl is off hanging with the likes of me?” He quips, cocking his head. 

At this rate, his face is a bit sore from grinning so hard. He could imagine the shit Seresin would give him for smiling like a loser right now.

You shrug, playfulness glinting in your eyes. “Well, do you think he’d rather me swim with members of the U.S team or Great Britain?”

Bradley’s expression immediately drops, not pleased with the mention of that other team.

There were so many other countries you could’ve brought up, and like your dad, you decide to rile him up by bringing up the guys who beat him last season. 

He audibly frowns, large hands extending to finger the band of your swim bottoms. “I’m hopin’ you don’t have plans to hang around them.”

Bradley eyes you up and down.

Again, you shrug, cheeks almost touching your shoulders when you do so. “Nah, I kinda really like this cute guy on the U.S team.”

“Yeah? Good. ‘Cause I was thinking about dunking you back in the pool, Mr. Grouper.”

“Bradley!”

The following day, Bradley calls you Mr. Grouper for the entirety of swim practice, leaving everyone else confused—especially his Coach.

note: anddd another little series blossomed because i’m in a summer mood! as always thank you for reading, and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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