#how to clean laminate floor

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. the art of aftercare, love and food.

about. to katsuki bakugou, aftercare is just as important as making you feel good. and nothing beats aftercare more than a home cooked meal, made with love.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw? characters in their 20s, suggestive, fluff, aftercare sessions, bakugou cooks for reader, established relationship, mentions of sex, afab!reader, pro hero!bakugou. i haven’t written him in 4ever go easy on me </3!! wc: 400+

no matter how fucked out or pussy drunk he is, katsuki always makes you a meal after sex.

bakugou’s first instinct is to get you water, kiss your head and tell you what a good little thing you’ve been for him. his baby always takes him so well. his baby deserves a treat.

once you’ve calmed down enough, and he’s cleaned you up, he carries you to the kitchen with his infamous skull shirt draped over your twitching frame. he likes the way you sling your arms lazily over his broad shoulders and the way you nuzzle into his neck too — as if you can’t get enough of him or need the blonde for comfort.

he’s careful when he sets you down on the counter — grabbing you a water bottle from the fridge and holding the cool plastic rim against your cherry bruised lips. “drink,” he says, though it’s more like a caring command. “need to keep you hydrated.”

katsuki keeps his touch gentle when he uses two fingers to tilt your head up, making sure you swallow down enough water to make him satisfied. he’ll praise you, call you his good little baby and ask if he can leave you alone for a second to get your dinner started.

silence with katsuki is always comfortable, never awkward or weird after being so intimate and open with one another. the slight clang of ceramic cooking ware against one another fills your kitchen along with the scuff of his house slippers against your laminated floors. every so often, a kiss is delivered to your forehead, nose or cheeks as the blonde reaches up to grab spices from the cabinet above your head.

he lets you know that he’s still there, in small little ways.

bakugou knows not to spend too long on a meal after ravaging you. you’re always impatient and the food smells a little too good, making your tummy rumble and an adorable pout form on your lips. “such a brat, huh? even now,” he coos, flicking your nose as he slips between your legs. “taste this f’me. wanna know if you think it’s ready.”

like a baby, he scoops a spoonful of broth or soup or stew or whatever you fancy that night, into your awaiting mouth — watching for that spark in your eyes or a brightened expression spreading across your face.

“good?”

“great.”

he shares you out a portion, spending a good amount time feeding you before he has some of his own.

because katsuki bakugou’s love language is cooking — putting the perfect amount of time into creating the perfect meal is how he shows that he cares for you. and as you scarf down every bite, you know that each one was made with katsuki’s love for you.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[solarmorrigan]

Saw someone mention how Steve tends to get defensive when he's anxious and it stuck with me, so here's my take on the "Steve breaks a dish and has a panic attack about it" trope

cw: descriptions of nonstandard panic attack, implied/referenced child abuse

-

The distinct sound of shattering porcelain is followed by a vehemently hissed, “shit,” and then silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls from the couch into the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve calls back, but his voice sounds tight in the way it does when something definitely isn’t okay.

Eddie pushes himself up and moves to the doorway, looking in to see what the trouble is. The kitchen of the house he and Wayne had been “gifted” by the government isn’t exactly huge, and he has a straight line of sight to where Steve is standing by the sink, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and to the red and white shards of porcelain on the floor by his feet.

“Hey,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t look up; if anything, his posture only gets tenser. “You’re not cut or anything, are you?”

“No,” Steve says, and his tone is still a little off, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

“What was that, anyway?” Eddie asks.

Finally, Steve takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes, looking down at the mess on the laminate. “Mug.”

As soon as he says it, Eddie recognizes the colors for what the design must have been. “Shit, the Campbell’s one?”

Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives one sharp nod.

Eddie sucks a hiss of breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he says again. “That was Wayne’s favorite.”

“I know,” Steve says tersely. “I’m sorry.”

His tone is definitely weird. “I mean, I’m sure it was an accident, Steve–” Eddie starts.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, almost snapping this time. “I’ll clean it up.”

“O-kay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Steve jerks into motion and moves over to the corner where they stash the broom and dust pan.

“I’ll apologize to Wayne when he gets home,” Steve says as he starts sweeping up, even though Eddie hasn’t said a word.

“He gets home at, like, six in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure I’m up,” Steve says shortly.

“Steve, you can just tell him what happened later, he’s not going to stand around demanding an explanation. I mean, seriously, you think Wayne is gonna be pissed if you’re not there, immediately scraping at his feet when he comes through the door?” Eddie scoffs, but Steve remains silent. Eddie watches as he finishes sweeping in short, sharp motions, brows pulling together as Steve apparently fails to pick up on the joke. “…he won’t be, y’know.”

Steve shrugs. His expression has gone eerily blank, and he takes the dustpan over to the garbage can to dump it.

“Hey, don’t–” Eddie reaches out, and Steve jerks to a stop just in time. “You don’t have to toss it, man, we might be able to glue it back together.”

Steve sends Eddie a sharp look. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that it was broken, Eddie,” he says slowly, as though this should be painfully obvious.

“I’m not suggesting we hide it, I’m just saying we might still be able to use it,” Eddie answers in the same slow manner. “It’s not junk until you’re sure you can’t fix it.”

“Right,” Steve snaps, dropping the dustpan on the counter so sharply that the shards of porcelain clink against each other. “Can’t even clean up right.”

Eddie frowns, stirrings of defensiveness rising up in his gut at Steve’s continued sour mood. “I didn’t say that. I just said we might be able to fix it.”

“Fine. We’ll try to fix it,” Steve bites out, turning away from Eddie so he can put the broom back in the corner.

Eddie shakes his head, unwilling to engage with whatever snit Steve’s got himself worked into. “What happened, anyway?” he asks instead.

Apparently, this is the wrong tactic.

“What happened is, I’m too stupid to even do the dishes right,” Steve declares as he whirls back around. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“What?” Eddie is baffled, suddenly caught in the middle of an argument he hadn’t even realized was happening. “No! Why would I want to hear that?”

Steve throws his arms up, a demonstration of giving in. “Well I already said I’m sorry, and I am, and I don’t know what else you want from me!”

The heat of Eddie’s own temper is beginning to flare, but he does his best to shake it away because he still doesn’t know what the hell is going on and he doesn’t think getting angry will help. “I don’t want anything else from you! Why are you acting like I’m yelling at you? I’m not, I’m not even upset about the stupid mug, so what the hell is your deal?”

He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, reaching out for Steve, hoping just to touch some part of him. Physical contact has always been grounding, has always been a comfort for them both; it almost seems like they can communicate better if they can just be in contact somehow. Instead of reaching back, though, Steve tenses up; it’s not exactly a flinch, but it’s as if he’s bracing himself, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to–

Eddie takes in the painfully blank expression on Steve’s pale face, the way his chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths that he can’t quite seem to control, the way he’s angled himself just slightly away from Eddie, and suddenly Eddie feels cold.

It’s as if he’s waiting for Eddie to hit him.

Eddie wonders how the hell he hadn’t realized he was walking through a minefield until he was already standing in the middle of it.

(It still takes him by surprise, sometimes, that Steve’s anxiety, his panic, tends to look more like anger. That he tends to lash out like a wounded animal when he feels backed into a corner, hurt too many times in moments of vulnerability to do otherwise.)

(It takes him by surprise, but he’s learning.)

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, dropping his hand slowly back to his side, “I’m not angry.”

Steve stares at him, almost confused, like Eddie’s not doing it right, like this isn’t what’s supposed to come next. Eddie sort of wants to break something (he thinks, briefly, that he’d like to start with the fingers on Mr. Harrington’s right hand, and then move on to his left).

“It’s just a mug, Steve, it’s okay. No one’s upset about it,” Eddie says. “I’m preemptively speaking for Wayne, because I know he’s not gonna be mad at you. Seriously, getting upset over a broken cup? Does that sound like something Wayne would do?”

Slowly, once he seems to realize that Eddie is waiting for an answer, Steve shakes his head.

“Does that sound like something I would do?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head again, though he’s still watching Eddie with something approaching trepidation.

“I promise it’s fine. I’m not angry,” Eddie repeats, and chances a couple of steps closer to Steve.

Steve doesn’t react this time, no tensing, no flinching, no verbally lashing out, and so Eddie lifts a hand again, reaching slowly for Steve’s. Steve lets him.

When he gets his fingers wrapped around Steve’s own, Eddie can feel how cold they’ve gone, can feel the fine tremble of adrenaline working through them, and can’t quite choke down the noise of sympathy in his throat. He tugs on Steve’s hand.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, invites him by lifting his other arm, but leaves it up to Steve.

It only takes a moment for Steve to step in close, and when Eddie lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve reciprocates by cinching his own arms tight around Eddie’s waist. He takes one sharp breath, and then another, and Eddie can hear the way they shake going in and out.

“There you go,” Eddie says quietly, rubbing Steve’s back.

“I just dropped it,” Steve says, his voice a little hoarse. “It was an accident.”

“I know it was,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Steve says again, and Eddie wonders how often someone has believed him – how often he’d ever even been given a chance to explain.

“It was an accident,” Eddie agrees. “You’re okay, Steve.”

Steve lets out a little noise, like maybe he’s trying to laugh, but then he pulls in another shuddery breath and rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay.”

In a little bit, Eddie might lead Steve to sit down on the couch, or maybe just take them both up to bed, because fuck doing the dishes after this anyway; he’ll make sure to leave a note for Wayne about the mug (ask him not to bring it up until Steve does, to not even jokingly make a thing about it), but for now, he concentrates on holding Steve close.

He’ll stand with him as long as it takes for the shaking to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to relax even just a little against Eddie, and he'll promise, as many times as Steve needs to hear it, that it’s okay. Things will be okay.

[Prompt: Embracing your partner]

[cher-rei]

Hey babe

Your such a good writer please more lamine yamal fics im acc begging there literally none🙏🙏🙏🙏😪

the sitter— lamine yamal [ l.y ]

met you at the right time. this is what it feels like– feels like [gracie abrams]

pairing: lamine yamal x fem!reader

summary: a rushed call from lamine's mother to babysit kenye turns into more than just a regular afternoon

genre(s): toothrotting fluff (have your dentist on standby)

[w.c: 2.8k] masterlist

notes: I wrote this instead of watching the real sociedad match to cope with the fact that we're losing. I got a bit carried away with this one but I hope you like it <33

as you stepped into the familiar house, not even having to ring the doorbell you were greeted with the smell of fresh baked cookies and comfort. you shut the door behind you and easily walked through the familiar hallway.

when she saw you, lamine's mother's shoulders relaxed a heavy amount along with the breath of relief she let out. “my saviour,” she said with a smile and pulled you into a tight hug, her gratitude evident. “I'm so sorry for calling on short notice but I have an emergency— ow!”

she bit her tongue in frustration and looked down to see the toy car that she stepped on, her head spinning at her son's carelessness. “never have kids, you’ll regret it eventually,” she said half-joking and hurriedly led you to the living room where kenye was sitting on the floor, a toy car in his hand while he watched tv.

she didn't even have to call out to him, the second he saw you he was up and in your arms with a toothy grin. “hey, buddy. didn't expect to see me today did you?”

the older woman watched with a smile as you interacted with her son, the moment being cut off by her ringtone. she didn't even bother to look at it and instead grabbed her purse and made a beeline for the front door, yelling out instructions and goodbye's as if you hadn't been doing this for a year already.

“and thank you, sweetheart! I owe you! kenye, behave!”

the door slammed shut, leaving you to the 5 year old's energetic grasp. you quickly settled into your usual routine, skipping the snack part because he had his breakfast already since it was only after 10 am.

you took your usual seat on the carpet with him because he was usually full of energy this early and jittery. so to get it out of his system, you played games with him— built some lego, played with his toys and so on.

an hour had passed and you found yourself trying to make his yogurt seem edible. it was never an issue to get him to eat, all it took was one “hereeee comes the airplane” and he was more than compliant.

“there you go,” you said with a smile and lifted the final spoonful of yogurt to his lips, the boy clapping alone happily when it was finished. “you took that like a champ.”

that didn't last long however and he was starting to grow antsy again, his suffocated whines piercing your ears. it was obvious that he was sick of the house and needed to get out, so without another thought you cleaned him up and took him out to the backyard.

it was any kid's dream back there. a playhouse, jungle gym with a slide, a ball pit and his personal favourite— the mini football net that was more of a self indulgent addition from his older brother.

you'd known lamine for over 3 years now seeing that you attend the same high school but it was a cute coincidence that his mother picked you for the babysitting job. the job wasn't even needed, you were just bored and needed something to do on weekends, there wasn't even a proper answer for how she found you.

as you and kenye played in the sun-drenched backyard, laughter and joy radiated from your every move. the mini football net, a testament to lamine’s passion for the sport, stood like a sentinel awaiting kenye's energetic kicks. your eyes sparkled with delight as you cheered him on.

the air vibrated with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, infusing your playtime with an idyllic charm. kenye's giggles echoed throughout the yard, mingling with the chirping of the birds.

meanwhile inside the house, lamine stirred from his sleep, rubbing the remnants of sleep as he descended the stairs to look for his mother. he called for her a good few times but she didn't reply, so naturally he searched the kitchen and her bedroom only to realise that the house was awfully quiet.

she would of said something if she had something planned today, and the tv was still on so someone was definitely home. then he entered the living room, his feet padding on the tiled floor as his eyes adjusted to the light from outside.

with a yawn, he neared the sliding door to check the backyard, but just as he was about to open it his hand froze on the handle. his mind blanked, his immediate reaction to seeing you play with kenye being to hide behind the curtain.

his thoughts were reeling, not expecting you to come over today. in panic, he took one last peep outside which only made his pounding heart thump even louder at the sight of you passing the ball to his brother so effortlessly.

run. that's what he did when he got the clearance, not wasting a second to rush back upstairs and grab his phone and hit the facetime button in the group chat. after 3 rings, hector and pau were on the line with him— their confused faces synced as they watched the boy lock himself in his bathroom and start pacing.

“what happened to ‘hello'?” hector said, judgement evident in his tone but lamine didn't have time to fight his snarky comments.

he propped his phone up against the mirror and rushed to get his toothbrush, his palms sweating against the toothpaste tube.

“bro, are you going to tell us what's going on or is this some type of ‘get ready with me’ gimmick?” pau spoke up finally and put another spoonful of cereal his mouth, quickly getting distracted by the cover on the box and commenting on it.

“she's here. she's not supposed to be here today so I don't know why!” lamine muffled out through his mouth full of toothpaste but his friends got the gist of it. perks of knowing each other for nearly their entire lives.

hector couldn't suppress his laughter, his smile on the screen teasing lamine. “this is even funnier because it's actually never that deep.”

pau joined in on the laughter. “imagine asking why your brother's babysitter is over to babysit,” he snorted. “it's been a year, you're insane.”

lamine finished rinsing his mouth, double checking to see if there was anything in his teeth before splashing cold water on his face. “does it look like i just woke up?” he asked and touched up his hair. “is it giving ‘I just woke up and look this good’ or ‘I freaked out and had a panic attack in my bathroom’?”

his friends went silent, their jaws on the floor at the amount of overthinking that he was doing. he's liked you since he could remember. at first it was simple attraction, and then came the longing to know you more personally, and when he did that's when everything went to shit.

you were beautiful, that's for sure but you had this natural charm that he couldn't get enough of. you made an effort to talk to him, to help him with anything that he needed and your selflessness was barely the tip of the iceberg. family was the most important thing to him, and the fact that his family loved you and treated you as their own had him on his knees.

“it's giving, ‘I can't talk to girls I'm actually interested in'” hector deadpanned and pau was quick to follow.

“I got a better one,” he said in between his laughter. “It's giving, ‘professional winger by night, but professional wreck by day.”

the bathroom echoed with pau and hector’s non-stop laughter, both boys having rolled onto their sides by now while lamine stood with his head in his hands to try and calm himself down.

worst wingmen of the year, he liked to call them. the only advice he got was to breathe and not trip over his own feet. it was pathetic of him to let his attraction towards a girl make him this… messed up? but what was a teenage boy to do?

he put on his game face and made his way downstairs again, a smile tugging at his lips when he saw that you were watching kenye as he played in the ballpit.

when you turned around you saw him there, your heart skipping a beat as he opened the door with a warming smile. it was your turn to take a deep breath. “hey, I didn't know that you were home today,” you greeted cheerfully, you confidence oozing.

“yeah, we got the day off so I took the liberty to sleep in,” he answered a took a seat beside you on the grass to greet his brother who immediately threw one of the plastic balls at him.

laughter tickled at your throat as you watched lamine playfully throw them back at him but kenye took it personally and began hurling them at him. “we're going to have to put a warning sign on him or something,” you joked in between laughter and lamine scoffed.

“the real threat is his ability to kick a ball,” the footballer said with this lips pursed.

you playfully rolled your eyes at his comment. “oh, please, you're just mad because he already has better dribbling skills than you.”

lamine's face was contorted with mock offence, and he leant back on his hands to look at you. “are you talking about the same guy who won the kopa trophy less than 2 weeks ago.”

you couldn't shake off how laid back he looked in that moment. the way he was looking at you with such ease and playfulness made your head spin. “yes, yes I am.” you answered confidently to which he put a hand over his heart.

“you wound me,” he joked. “I'm going to start making you nurse me back to health.”

funny. he was joking. right?

kenye, thrilled by the attention hurled another ball at lamine to which his older brother caught and tossed it back at him with a gloat. “nice try, but we already have the backyard champion sitting next to me right now.”

you smile faltered for a moment. “that's only because you let me win.”

lameye's eyes twinkled as he took notice of your slightly flushed cheeks and he thought that maybe he was doing something right. “you literally crushed me.”

you shook your head at his retort, ready to counter his argument as you put your hands in the air, and swiftly as if it were second nature lamine gently took them into his own to stop you from talking further. “consider my ego bruised, you're just too good,” he joked with a shrug, his hands still holding yours.

it was for a moment that you stopped breathing, unable to function properly until you realised that kenye fell asleep in the ball pit. his light snores took the attention off from your banter and onto his peaceful figure that lamine effortlessly picked up and carried to his room.

when he came downstairs again, the house had gone quiet while you cleaned up kenye’s mess that he eventually helped with. “oh wow, okay mr house husband,” you teased and tossed one of the toys at him, his smile not wavering as he continued to help you in comfortable silence.

after lunch the two of you found yourselves in the backyard again, chatting as per normal while lamine kicked the ball at his feet. he ended up stopping mid sentence to propose an idea that you weren't too eager about. a rematch at what cost? your embarrassment?

unfortunately for you, he was persuasive as hell.

“what do I get if I win?” he shrugged at your question with a knowing smile.

“anything you want, amor.”

you nearly choked on air at the term of endearment that came from literally nowhere. he didn't seem fazed by saying it though so you were almost certain that you heard him wrong and pushed it to the back of your mind and focused on the little tournament in front of you.

the sun was high, the barcelona heat was warm on your skin as you watched lamine ready the ball. the game wasn't supposed to carry on for as long as it did, but both yours and his passionate calls for cheating and distractions played a huge role in the 40 minute rematch.

“okay, this is the last round I swear,” you said with a tired huff which he was more than happy with. the ball was at your feet for a split second before you felt lamine's hands on your waist, holding you close to his chest as he sneakily took the ball and shot it into the back of the net with ease.

you jaw dropped at the utter foulness of the round. “you cheater!” you said in shock and turned to look at him, but he was too busy relishing in his glory to care. he let go of you with a proud laugh and picked the ball up again, giving it one last kick.

“I didn't cheat,” he said through a cheeky smile and took a few steps towards you. “it's a contact sport, so it's fair.”

you rolled your eyes jokingly at his counter, still in disbelief that he'd go that far. but you weren't a spoilt sport so you congratulated him on his win, fair or not and he humbly thanked you.

you turned back with a smile and began heading inside but his hands were on your waist again, the familiar tingle setting your body on fire as he turned you to look at him, the smile on his face making your heart race.

“I'll be taking my prize, thank you,” he said with a boyish grin and let his lips gently brush your cheek, a gentle, fleeting kiss that had your knees weak for a split second.

he craned his neck to look down at you, a blushing mess and he couldn't help but coo even thought he was internally jumping off buildings. “aw, don't get shy on me now.”

you quirked your brow at what you took as a challenge, mild irritation clear in your eyes that were fluttered shut seconds later when your lips met his for what was supposed to be a quick peck.

keywords: supposed to be.

the feeling of your lips on his sent a surge of electricity through his body, and he couldn't waste the opportunity. he dropped the football that was underneath his arm and pulled you in, one hand resting on your cheek and the other on your waist as he relished the taste.

the long-awaited kiss finally came and it was everything that he hoped for and more. the way you melted into him, sent a warmth through his chest that had his head spinning and hoping that you'd never let go.

when you eventually pulled away to catch your breath, your lips tugged up into an amused smile at his lovestruck look and flushed cheeks. “isn't that a better prize?” you joked, your hands still loosely wrapped around his neck.

“I want a rematch, now,” he said immediately after, and pulled you back into the yard, his eagerness getting the best of him because he was not going down like this— “if I win then you have to marry me.”

“what?!”

[blogport]

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[graysturns]

𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣 | 𝕔.𝕤.

notes: oh shit another one! i’m in a good mood today oops

warnings: no smut sorry just chris w the rizz

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄

i sat at a booth at the far end of the restaurant, polishing and rolling silverware into neat little bundles. it had been two hours since anyone had come in, so i sent the cook home. i could handle it on my own, the diner had been in my family for years and i basically grew up there. not that there was anything to handle, the floors were mopped, grill cleaned, and now, silverware rolled. but still, someone had to stay behind, just in case.

i was gazing at the sunset through the large glass windows, when i heard the bell above the door ringing. my head shot up and i locked eyes with a beautiful, beautiful man.

i stood up, patting my hands on my ridiculous waitress apron, and approached him with my customer service smile. "hey there, welcome in! just one dining in today?" i greeted him.

"yep.." he spoke awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"would you like to sit at a booth or have a seat at the bar?" i grabbed a menu and a set of silverware from behind the counter.

"the bar is fine, thank you," he took a seat on the spinny stool.

"alrighty then, there's the menu for you, my name is (y/n) if you need anything, and i can go grab you a drink while you take a look at that. what would you like?"

"umm.." he flipped over the laminated sheet. "i'll have a chocolate shake please, extra cherries.

"perfect! i'll be back in a minute" i spun around and headed back to the kitchen, secretly annoyed that i had to pull out the blender, and ice cream, and etc. etc.. but alas, doing something was better than nothing. i hurriedly prepared the milkshake, topping it with whipped cream, then some rainbow sprinkles. i made sure to add five or six cherries on top, then adding some extra whipped cream, just because.

i hurried back to the counter, placing his milkshake before him, and popping a bright pink straw into his drink.

"pink?" he raised an eyebrow at me. i felt a shift in his demeanor.

"yes, pink?" i raised one back.

"do i seem like the kinda guy who likes pink?" he smirked a little.

"it's just pink, doesn't mean anything. i grabbed a random straw sweetie, i'll change it out for you, sorry about that," i reached for the straw.

"no no no," he brought the shake closer to him. "my bad sweetie, i thought you were trying to say something, but that's okay, i actually do like pink."

i gave him a puzzled look. "i'm sorry sir, i didn't mean to offend you, i work in a diner, we call everyone sweetie here, that's how we get old guys to tip big. as for the straw, i'll just let you pick what color you want next time."

he focused on his shake, sipping slowly for a second, before looking up at me, licking his lips.

"i'm not offended sweetie, i kinda like it," he laughs. "i apologize if we got off on the wrong foot, i'm not trying to be rude, or weird or anything, i'm just really bad at flirting."

i let out a sigh "-gosh you scared me! i thought you were gonna murder me or something because i'm all alone in this diner! man, you're terrible you know that?" i giggled.

he looked very amused. "how do you know i'm not a murderer? you can't let people know you're all alone here, as pretty as you are. that's dangerous." focusing back on his shake.

"i'm gonna choose to trust you today, i have nothing better to do. anyways, have you decided what you want to order?"

he pays attention to the laminated sheet once more, then looks up at me. "what's good here?"

i roll my eyes.

"what? did i say something wrong?" he's chewing on his straw.

"that's just like, the most annoying thing you could ever say to a waitress but, again i have nothing better to do." i grab the sheet from his hand and point out a couple things.

"if you're in the mood for breakfast food, the biscuits and gravy are good, if you like that sorta thing, our pancakes too, and my personal favorite is the french toast with a caramelized peach topping, but that takes some time if you're in a rush.." he's staring at me. "sorry I'm rambling, there's so much to choose from!"

"no don't worry about it, I'm enjoying listening to you talk. but no, i'm not in a breakfast kinda mood, sorry. you can keep going, if you'd like,"

i feel a blush creep onto my cheeks.

"..okay let's see here. for dinner, we've got our classic american burger, comes with your choice of fries or onion rings?"

"hmm.. no i'm not feeling a burger at the moment."

"how about a sandwich? we've got grilled cheese, turkey club, BLT, maybe a philly cheesesteak?"

he shakes his head no, so i keep going.

"fried chicken? or a salad? we've also got country fried steak."

"i think it's called chicken fried steak, sweetie." he smirked.

"mmm no actually, it's a country fried steak."

"no it's a chicken fried steak, because it's steak, fried like chicken."

"you know what, i don't even care, that's what you're eating, since you can't make up your mind. alright sweetie?"

"alright." more smirking.

"that comes with a side, what do you want?"

"what are my options?" he licks his lips again, eyeing me up and down.

"eyes up here, sir." i point to my face.

"you can do mashed potatoes, green beans, or a baked mac and cheese."

"i'll get the mashed potatoes, thank you sweetie." he says it without an attitude this time.

"okay great, give me a few minutes and i'll have that right out for you, okay?"

"okay," he replies as i hurry back to the kitchen, pulling out all the ingredients for his meal.

as i'm finishing up, i hear the bell chime again, indicating someone has either left or entered the diner.

i peek out the swinging kitchen door and see the man's seat empty. i hoped he didn't leave just as i was finishing preparing his meal.

i plate up the potatoes, then the steak, and smother it in gravy, then walk out to the counter, carefully setting his plate down where he was sat, then sitting on my stool the opposite side.

suddenly, he walks back in, running a hand through his hair.

"hey sweetie! sorry i didn't mean to make you think i left without paying. my brother was just calling to see where i was, so i stepped outside for a moment."

"that's alright, your foods out, and you know, we don't have to keep calling each other sweetie, you know my name, just tell me yours. "

"no i like it this way, it's nicer.” he takes a seat, grabbing his fork and knife, digging in.

"wow y/n this is amazing! normally i don't like this sort of food but wow, you really outdid yourself."

"oh hush, i just had to throw it in the fryer, don't give me the credit." i beamed at him.

"but i do have to clean up, so i'll see you in a bit, enjoy your meal." i winked at him.

"no, please. stay here, i don't like to eat alone. and i like the conversation."

"i really should go clean up-"

"miss (y/n), just a little company please?"

i can't say no to those eyes. "okay fine, i'll sit with you" i reply to him, returning to my seat on the stool.

"good. thanks, babe."

"so it's babe now?" i raised a brow at him.

"we'll play around with it, see what we like more." he takes another bite.

"you're a dork, you know that?"

"i can be your dork," he smiled at me some more.

"that was so corny, don't do that ever again. please, i'm going to vomit."

"ew, babe i'm eating. you shouldn't talk about vomit. it isn't very ladylike."

"but babe, i can't help that you made me nauseous," i pouted at him.

"i don't make you nauseous. you love me!" he pouted right back.

"babe we just met!"

"but you're calling me babe, babe." he grins up at me.

"you got me there. hey babe, you want another shake?"

"i'd love one,"

"okay, be right back!" i hop off the stool and run to the kitchen, hurriedly preparing another chocolate milkshake, extra cherries and whipped cream.

"here it is," i push out the swinging doors.

"a chocolate shake for you, sir," i giggle as i throw in another pink straw.

"you said i could pick! i wanted orange this time." he frowns at me.

"aw too bad, i forgot. sorry babe. but you get what you get, i can't be wasting straws, now, think of the turtles."

he laughed then proceeded to enjoy his shake.

"i can't believe i've never been here before. quality dinner and entertainment, that's quite hard to come by nowadays," he spoke.

"i didn't consider myself very entertaining, but thank you, we try our best here at Jo's." i beamed at him, sat up straight, then jokingly pointed to the "Jo's Friendliest Face of 2023" pin fastened to my apron.

"i was completely joking babe, but i'm honestly astounded that they gave you a pin for being such a dork! this is a proud boyfriend moment." he teased.

"i'm gonna be honest with you, my dad owns this place and i'm the only one who works here besides the cook. anyways, i stole this pin from my dads office to get more tips," i trailed off.

"so you're a liar and a thief, (y/n)?" he laughed.

"aw no more babe?" i pouted.

"you gotta earn it back," he smirked.

i rolled my eyes slightly.

“okay nevermind, i like it when you roll your eyes like that, babe.” he winked.

my jaw dropped at his comment, it wasn’t outright dirty but it was definitely implied.

“babe at least take me on a date first!” i laughed and lightly smacked his arm.

he chuckled and looked down at his plate, which was now bare.

“as much as i’d love to stay and chat, i’m needed elsewhere, but we can continue this conversation another time.” he grinned cheekily.

“alright sounds good, i’ll be right back with your check,”

“no that’s okay, here’s my card. you can just run it.” he handed me a debit card. i smiled sweetly at him and walked to the computer to charge him.

after running it, i flipped it over to read “CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO” on it.

aw, chris.

i walked back over to him and placed the receipt back on the counter, along with his card and a pink pen with a fluffy pom pom on the end.

“what’s with you and pink, babe?” he smirked at me.

“i just think it’s cute, anyways, have a great night. thank you for stopping in and come back soon. i’ve enjoyed our conversation.”

he poked his cheek with his tongue as he watched me clear the counter of his plate, and walk back into the kitchen. i could feel him staring holes through my skirt.

i placed the dirty dishes in the sink and walked back out, but he was gone.

the receipt on the counter was filled out, and i hoped to see his phone number, because that was a normal thing in this industry, i never cared for it until now though.

unfortunately that was not the case. on his tab of $14.12 he had left fifty-seven cents. totaling to $14.69.

with a winky face by the sixty-nine.

what the fuck?

i ran outside hoping to catch him, and he was there, walking to his car.

“christopher!” i shouted in his direction.

he snapped his head around, and smirked.

“what’s up babe?”

“listen, i don’t normally come after people when they stiff me but what the fuck was all that for? you come in and smooth talk me and now you’re stiffing me, writing down sixty-nines and winky faces? is that how you normally treat service workers?” i got all up in his face.

“and then you made me feel like there was something! i thought i li-“

he grabbed my cheeks and pulled me toward him, kissing me passionately.

“don’t call me christopher please, it’s chris. no actually, babe. i don’t like all that formal shit.”

i didn’t even know how to respond.

i stepped back and smoothed out my apron and cleared my throat.

“um, i-i dont even know what to say.” i stared at the him.

“i was trying to piss you off. i can assure you i’m an excellent tipper. trust, babe. i wanted you to follow me out here, see how much you really liked me.”

he pulled his phone out and opened up a new contact, then handed the phone to me.

i grabbed it and typed in my number, shocked but so intrigued by him.

he grabbed it back and erased where i wrote my name and typed in “babe”.

he gave me another kiss, but just a peck this time.

“see you later babe.” he winked then slapped my ass before walking away.

i stood there dumbfounded, before running back into the diner and pressing my back against the door.

my phone buzzed and i pulled it from my apron pocket.

unknown number sent $69

unknown number: ;)

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ahhhh omg i really like this one! hope u guys like it too 🤍

even though i’m new to this i’m super down for requests just lmk

comment on this post to be added to taglist :)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Wow, I didn't expect the interior of this home. It's an 1848 Greek Revival in Beverly, NJ, (I had to look it up- never heard of it), 11bds, 4.2ba, and has a pending sale for $999K. Check this one out- I heard that it was on the market before with photos the owners took w/a cheap camera and all their stuff in the house. They cleaned it up and hired a professional photographer, so I found the original photos, b/c you know how much I love before & after. I hope you enjoy it.

The entrance hall looks surreal.

But, this was the owner's photo of the entrance hall.

And, this is the photographer's. Can this be the same home? W/o any redo? Which one is really how it looks? I mean didn't the pending buyers notice?

The sitting room emptied to show how spacious it is.

The lounge was completely redone. Which do you like better?

This is the remodel. Look at the new bar. I don't know, it was kind of old Hollywood glamor before. Art deco.

Honestly, the dining room looks much better empty. You see the superb details of the painted floor and that gorgeous piece in the back.

They refreshed the kitchen- painted the cabinets black and got rid of the laminate island, making it brown wood.

They added chandeliers to the pot rack.

They didn't show the everyday dining room, either. Look at the wonderful brick wall.

I don't know why the photographer skipped this room. I like it.

The 2nd. fl. bedrooms. They removed the owners framed pictures and featured the bookcase. The colors are so dfferent.

The primary bedroom was emptied out and photographed to show how large it is.

This is a better representation of the bath than the one above.

The photographer included pics of the attic bedrooms. The owners did not.

He also included another vintage bath photo.

He added this room with the cool ceiling.

And, he took photos of the huge basement.

He took photos of the lovely gardens.

The gazebo, and stairs down to the beautiful boardwalk on the Delaware River. The property is 2.2 acres.

https://www.compass.com/listing/2-walnut-street-beverly-nj-08010/1566832971336951153/

https://www.longandfoster.com/homes-for-sale/2-Walnut-Street-Beverly-NJ-08010-321677278

[the-offside-rule]

Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes AMG) - Snowman

Requested: no

Prompt: Snowman by Sia

Lewis hated fights and what was worse was fights with his friend and roommate Y/n. She was an angel, he could admit that. Whenever he was at races or at the factory, she would take good care of the place and when Lewis needed space to relax after a race weekend, she would understand and give him all the time in the world. The only downside to them being roommates was the arguments and they'd become more and more frequent. Both Lewis and Y/n figured that if the arguing continued, they wouldn't be able to stay as roommates because they'd end up saying something or doing something they would later regret.

This argument in particular started all because of the Christmas tree. The week before the Saudi Arabia Grand Prix, the pair decided to decorate their house, since they probably wouldn't have the time or chance to do it after the double header; they were planning on visiting their families up until boxing day. They'd had everything done, bar the tree and all that needed to be done on the tree was the angel. Y/n grabbed the angel from the box and turned back around, only to see Lewis with a can of fake snow, opened and ready to be sprayed.

"No! Don't spray the fake snow on the tree!" Y/n shrieked. "Why?" Lewis asked, the can still in his hand. "It makes the tree look tacky." She explained. "Just add some ribbon on some of the branches and we're good to go." Lewis stared at her, not even blinking. Y/n knew what he was thinking of doing. "Don't." Lewis lifted his hand and pressed down on the canister. "Whoops." Y/n clenched her jaw and slapped the can from his hand. "It's our tree Lewis."

"Yeah, our tree Y/n. We both decide what goes on it." Y/n rolled her eyes. "But you've already chosen the baubles. The least I can do is choose whether or not the tree will have fake snow on it!" Lewis scoffed and continued to spray the tacky snow onto it. "You can honestly just go and fuck yourself Lewis." Y/n stormed out and slammed the door. Lewis kept looking forward to the tree until he heard an ornament smashing. He turned and saw some glass sprawled out on the floor in shards, then to a piece of paper, colouring a memory of a past Christmas. He walked towards it cautiously and picked what remained up. He looked at the photo inside the ornament. Him and Y/n back in 2014, their first Christmas as roommates. He turned it Iver, remembering they had a note written.

No matter how often we fight, we'll never leave

Because we'll be roommates and friends until we die freezing.

Lewis felt a tear trickle down his cheek. He wasn't one for crying but here he was, crying on the ground beside a shattered Christmas bauble.

Y/n had been in her room. With every second, she grew more and more guilty with storming out on Lewis and after she had heard something smash, it was getting worse. She tried justifying what she did but she couldn't. She felt like an asshole. She gave into her thoughts and decided to go to the living room and apologise. She knocked on the door. "Lewis? I'm so sorry.

"Don't cry. It's Christmas." Y/n said, wiping away the few tears that fell from his cheeks. "I can't give you a hug if you're soaking with tears." She joked, earning a joke from Lewis. "I hate fighting with you." He croaked. "Especially over stupid things like this." Y/n smiled softly and put her arm around him. "Still, it isn't an excuse to go crying now, is it?" Lewis chuckled and wiped his eyes with his jumper. "No, it's not."

"Exactly, so come on Sir Lewis Hamilton, we've got to clean this up." She stood up and held her hand out to help him up. She grunts as she tries to lift him. "Jesus Christ, a week without racing and you're already gone back to being heavy." Lewis laughed and continued to get himself up. "I don't know what to do with this photo now." Lewis showed the laminated picture to his roommate. "Here, just put a hole in it and then feed the string through the hole." She suggested, carefully taking it from him and doing exactly what she said. "See?" she smiled, showing him the new masterpiece. "Much better." Lewis chuckled. "Exactly, now come on Mr Snowman Hamilton. We have to finish this bloody tree."

[iblameashley]

Something to look forward to

Civilian | Male | Gay

2,607 words

Content: Angst, mention / depiction of blood, hospital recovery, mental breakdown, happy ending.

Follow up to: A Night, A Fight and the Price

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | Male/GN Reader

!!!SFW!!!

Price swoops in to save the day and take Simon away for medical attention at the 141 base. Later, you're made an offer you can't - and won't - refuse... after all, Simon is your friend and he needs you, even if he'd rather swear off tea for life than admit it.

Tag List: @a-sleepy-dissapointment

(Thanks to @loneghostwolf for permission to use this image)

It all seemed like a dream; or perhaps a nightmare. Simon had slumped over on his floor bleeding out as you frantically tried to apply pressure to his wound. Captain Price had arrived in what felt like an eternity but also in record time. He burst through the door with two other soldiers – both apparently medics.

They swooped in and took over, pushing you out of the way and stabilizing Simon as Price divided his attention between you and Simon. His gruff, deep voice was a stark contrast to his kind demeanour.

“Simon will be okay.” He stated in an even tone as he guided you to the kitchen sink.

Price helped you clean the blood off your hands as you fell into a deep brain-fog.

“We're ready to head out, Cap.” One of the soldiers called out as Price finished drying your hands.

“Rog, move out.” He commanded them, “I'll be down in a moment.”

Price turned his attention back to you as the soldiers hoisted Simon up and walked him from the flat.

“You did good, pal.” Price reassured you, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving you a firm squeeze. It snapped you back to reality.

“Are... is...” You stuttered to find the first question you wanted to ask.

“You did good.” Price repeats with a nod.

All you could do was nod, looking into his calming brown eyes. “Okay.” You managed to mutter weakly.

“I have to go, take care of Simon.” Price explained softly before walking out of Simon's flat, grabbing his mobile as he left.

You stood there silently for a moment, the blood stain still fresh on the floor, and the lingering smell of cigars filling the room.

You broke down; collapsing to the floor and bawling for hours as your brain tried to process everything that just happened. Your eyes burned and turned a puffy red and your chest heaved until you depleted the last of your energy and passed out on the cold kitchen floor.

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It was hard to say how much time had passed when the buzzing of your phone woke you. Your eyes struggled to open, heavy from the weight of events on your heart and mind.

You groaned as you rolled over and felt around for the phone.

“Shut up.” You rasped as your hand slapped around the laminate floor.

You had no choice but to focus your attention and look around until you spotted the mobile buzzing near the drying pool of blood. Your jaw clenched as you relived the moment again. You swallowed hard and turned away from the sight as you grabbed the phone.

“Unknown Number.” You muttered as you looked at the screen.

“Six missed calls.” You said weakly as the call ended and the home screen popped into place. “All from an unknown number.”

A text message came in.

Unknown: This is Captain Price. Please pick up the phone.

Your heart skipped a beat. How did he get your number? You thought about it for a moment, and then remembered that Price had taken Simon's phone as he left the flat. He must have grabbed your number from Simon's phone. Your heart sank as it feared the worst. You sent him a reply.

You: Sorry... I... It was a bad night.

You: Is Simon okay?

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You were surprised when Price had offered to bring you to the base as a visitor, but jumped at the chance if only to see for yourself that Simon was okay. You played at the 'VISITOR' badge pinned to your chest as you were escorted to the medical wing of the 141 complex.

You stood out like a sore thumb surrounded by soldiers going about their days. Every one of them flashed you a glance as you walked through the corridor and into the medical wing.

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Your heart sank into the depths of your stomach as you saw Simon laying on the bed with machines hooked up to him, beeping steadily away. His breath fogged up the oxygen mask in even succession and you timidly approached the bed.

“He's fine.” Called a familiar deep voice.

You turned to see Captain Price standing in the doorway, his expression and tone was flat and the smell of cigars once again filled your nostrils.

“He's just been sedated.” Price continued as he entered the room to take up position beside you.

“For the pain?” You inquired. It seemed unlikely Simon couldn't handle the pain considering he walked home silently and barely made a peep as he bled out.

“No.” Price replied bluntly. “To keep him in bed. The muppet would walk his arse out of medical claiming he was fine if we didn't.” He explained with a wry smile. “You're welcome to stay as long as you need.” Price continues, turning his attention to you. “I mean it. We'll set you up with quarters if you need.”

You looked at him quizzically, “Why?” you asked rather curtly. Your lips pursed and you looked down as you realized your tone.

“Because you're Simon's only non-141 friend.” Price said with a warm smile.

Your heart skipped a beat, or six, as you took that information in. His only non-141 friend? It felt strange to hear, to know, but it was true. You knew that much.

“I looked into you.” Price stated abruptly. “I know you can work remotely, so you won't miss any work time if you temporarily move on to base.” He gives you a half-smile.

“Totally normal use of military power.” You remark sarcastically, flashing Price a curious look.

“I did it for Simon.” Price replies, his tone oddly soft for a man of his rugged looks.

You let out a throaty grumble. You had mixed feelings about that particular approach, but you pushed all that down to focus on Simon.

“Thank you.” You finally said before making your way to the seat next to the bed.

You sat down in the chair, feeling the cold fabric mould to your shape. He likely had little or no visitors, and your heart sank deeper.

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After Price had left, you sat there in the chair for a while simply looking at Simon sleeping. He looked strangely peaceful and relaxed.

Simon's phone sat face up on the table next to his bed. It was charging and you couldn't help but pick it up and turn the screen on. No messages. No phone calls.

You looked over at Simon and bit the inside of your cheek. He deserves better than to be left alone. He should have something nice to wake up to.

It was decided, you were going to make sure to make Simon smile when he woke up.

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You: I met Price properly today, Simon. He's a nice man, gives off fatherly vibes, though the smell of cigars is a bit off-putting. Oh well. He joined me in your room while you slept. We talked a bit, but he had work to attend to, so he excused himself and said we could talk later.

You: Its been three hours now. You look quite peaceful, its a nice change from your usual gruff personality.

You: By the way, if you really didn't want to see that movie with me, you didn't need to go and get stabbed. lol.

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You: I met Kyle today. Or... Gaz I suppose. He's a really nice guy, chatty when he opens up. He came by to see you immediately after he got back from a [Redacted] mission in [Redacted] to obtain [Redacted]. I'm starting to think I don't have clearance for that information. Haha.

Gaz walked in the room, clearly exhausted from doing God-knows what. His eyes fell to Simon first and his expression dropped. It wasn't until he took a few steps forward when he saw you sitting in the chair, typing away on your laptop with the over-bed table lowered to a usable level.

“Hey...” Gaz said curiously as he approached you.

Your ears perked at the sound of his charming voice and you stopped working to look over at him. You could smell gunpowder and sweat, and his eyes looked puffy and tired. “Name's Kyle.” He says, extending a hand. “You can call me Gaz. Price told me Ghost – err – Simon had a friend staying here.” He smiled.

You took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “I didn't believe he had any outside the team.” Kyle joked as he took a seat in the chair beside you.

“Nice to meet you, Gaz.” You replied quietly. You shut the lid to your laptop.

“How's he doing?” Gaz inquired, tilting his head in Simon's direction.

You shrugged a bit, there hadn't been much change in his condition and the nurses wouldn't give you any updates. You were nothing more than a chair warmer and emotional-support human for Simon.

“About the same.” Is all you managed to tell Gaz. “Price says he's sedated to keep him from wandering, and that he should be okay in a week or two.” You explained.

“Brilliant.” Gaz smiles. “Glad to hear he'll be fine, and that gives me time to learn more about his mysterious friend.” He teased. “Care for a tea and a chat?” He asked, motioning for you to join him.

And with that, you two were off to the mess for some tea.

You: Gaz told me a joke, figured you might like it.

You: What sits in the seabed and has anxiety?

You: A nervous wreck.

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You: Got another joke for you.

You: What do you call a bear with no teeth?

You: A gummy bear.

You: I got to meet 'Soap' today. He's... yeah.

Soap had actually sneaked up behind you as you walked from your quarters to the medical wing one morning. You were already used to the sounds to soldiers walking and jogging around the halls, so you paid it no mind until a hand landed on your shoulder and spun you around.

“So you're Simon's wee friend!” He remarked with his perfect smile. “Been lookin' forward to meeting you in person.” He added before releasing your shoulder him its tight grip.

“Let me guess, you thought I was fictional.” You fired back with a mischievous grin.

Soap let out a hearty laugh and shook his head. “Nah, Simon is a good man once you get to know him.” Soap asserted with a nod. “I just needed to see the person who broke through his walls, s'all. Name's Soap, by the way.” He tacked on, giving you a pat and pushing you to walk with him.

“Do I even want to know why you're called 'Soap'?” You inquire, raising a brow.

“Its classified.” Soap joked.

“Of course it is.” You replied with a shake of your head.

“Going to see Simon?”

You nod.

“I'll join you.” Soap decided for you both. “So, tell me about yourself. What do you do? How did you meet Simon? What kept you around Simon?”

Soap fired a barrage of questions as you walked, barely letting you answer one before asking a follow up or new question.

You: He calmed down after a while. But the man can chat, that's for sure. He would even give Gaz a run for his money.

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You: What do you call cheese that isn't yours?

You: Nacho cheese!

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You: What do you call a happy cowboy?

You: A jolly rancher.

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You: What kind of music scares balloons?

You: Pop music.

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You: What did the ocean say to the beach?

You: Nothing, it just waved.

You: Met Laswell today. She was not thrilled to have 'a civilian' on base, but got over it pretty quickly when Price explained who I was. I barely spoke to her, but I've learned to never piss that woman off. Mad respect.

Laswell went outside for a smoke break after her initial irritation and conversation with Price. As she let out the first puff of smoke, you approached a bit causally.

She glanced at you curiously as she sucked at the cigarette between her fingers.

“You're friends with Simon, huh?” She muttered.

“His only civilian friend, I'm told.” You replied with a sigh. You proceeded to take a seat on the concrete half-wall nearby.

“What brings you out here?” Laswell asked as she leaned against the wall beside you.

“Needed to move around. Been sitting beside Simon for almost two weeks now.” Your tone is as weary as your body feels. It was something you couldn't admit to anyone on base, but even just watching over Simon seemed to drain what little reserves of energy you had left. You wouldn't abandon him – never – but it was a lot to handle mentally.

“Understandable.” Laswell sympathized. “How are you doing?” She queried.

She took a long drag from her cigarette.

“Not going to ask how Simon is doing?”

Laswell tossed the butt of the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.

“I know how he's doing.” She fired back. She gave you a kind smile. “You're the fish out of water here.”

“I'll be happy when they stop sedating him and I can talk to him.”

You roll you jaw around and grit your teeth.

“I miss him.” You add solemnly.

“He's lucky to have you, you know.”

“I'm lucky to have him too...” You mumble.

You: Seems you have a lot of people that care about you. Laswell passed on this joke when I told her what I was doing.

You: Why should you never use a dull pencil?

You: Because its pointless.

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You: Why didn't the sun go to college?

You: Because it already had a million degrees.

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Simon woke up slowly, his head was throbbing and his muscles felt weak. He struggled to look around the room in the dim light. Simon slowly became aware of the machines hooked up to him and began to panic. He was vulnerable. At risk.

He strained hard to move, only managing to weakly pull himself into a sitting position on the bed. He let out a low gasp as the pain in the side of his abdomen seared through his body.

He looked down to see himself in a hospital gown. “Hmm.” He grumbled.

Then his eyes noticed you from his peripheral. You were on a curled up in the chair by the bed, head flopped to the side and gently snoring.

Simon couldn't hold back his smile seeing you sleep.

After a moment of his lingering gaze, Simon turned his attention to his surroundings. He quickly figured he was on the 141 base.

He pulled off the oxygen mask and pulled the wires from his body, shutting the beeping machines off.

He found his phone and flicked the screen of.

“Thrity-six text messages.” Simon mumbled in a raspy voice. “All from...” He looked back to you and another smile crossed his lips. He was too exhausted to maintain his usual emotional armour, and just enjoyed the feeling of happiness that washed over him.

Now to find out what you had sent him.

[marvelmymarvel]

Shattered Glass

Orochimaru x Reader

Synopsis: Mitsuki wasn't allowed to be in the lab, more for his safety than anything else. But when he breaks something with you not around, how will his father react instead?

Naruto Masterlist: Here

A crash sounded out in the lab causing Orochimaru to jump. His eyes scanned around the room, trying to figure out what it was that broke. More importantly, how did it break?

"Uh oh," a small voice called out.

Orochimaru relaxed a little knowing that it was his toddler's fault but tensed up when he realized you were nowhere in sight. "Suki. Where's mama?" Orochimaru called out as he walked swiftly to the toddler. He tried his best to sound soft and kind, but he knew his words sounded sharp.

Rounding the corner, he saw Mitsuki standing there with his hands behind his back, pale eyes taking in the way the shards of glass scattered along the laminated tile. His eyes flicked up to his father's and while he knew his father wouldn't yell, he couldn't help but feel his body shake in fear.

Orochimaru tsk'd quietly to himself at the sight of his son shaking, but moved slowly towards him anyway in fear of making him cry. "It's okay. It was an accident" Orochimaru stated, hand coming down to pat softly onto the child's small head. He knelt then to start gathering up the larger pieces, "Can you go get the broom for me?"

Mitsuki nodded before racing off towards the broom in the corner, excited to help his father even if it was for cleaning up the mess he made. "Suki?!" Orochimaru's head shot up as he heard your panicked calls from the hallway.

"He's in here my love"

Within seconds, you appeared in the doorway. Hair messy and face contorted into one of pure panic until your eyes settled on the child. A sigh of relief flew from your lips as you scooped the child up from the floor, letting the broom fall from his hands in the process. It went tumbling down, knocking over a few more glasses in its wake. More shattering sounded out but you didn't care as you cuddled deeper into the toddler.

"Don't you dare run from me like that again! I was worried sick!"

Orochimaru sighed quietly as he took in the 5 beakers that you broke. While the child looked like him, Mitsuki's coordination skills were all you. "You should be more careful" he muttered as he stood and threw away the large pieces of glass. Your cheeks heated up at his statement as you finally looked down at the mess you had made.

Shooting a sheepish smile his way, you set Mitsuki down on the lab table and bent down to pick up the broom. "Sorry about that-"

Orochimaru caught the broom from you as you straightened out. "No need. Are you hurt?" It didn't matter how long you two had been together, when he was this close to you you always lost your cool. He smirked at your flustered face, he figured it was payment for him cleaning up after you.

"No..." your eyes trailed to Mitsuki and landed on the hand that he was hiding. "Mitsu..." you started, sidestepping Orochimaru to get closer to your son. He wouldn't look at you, and you knew why.

"Let me see it" you stated firmly and finally he brought his hand out from behind his back. You hissed at the cut on his palm, it would heal but you knew it had to have hurt like hell.

"Oh, honey" you whispered pitifully before looking at Orochimaru with pleading eyes. While he hasn't used his medical ninjutsu in a long time, this was something he could fix with little to no effort. Orochimaru cocked his head before stepping forward and grabbing the child's hand. Light flew from his fingers and ghosted above the cut which caused Mitsuki to whimper as the skin mended itself. But it was over soon and all that was left to fix were the two messes that you and your son caused.

Orochimaru looked at you before turning back to Mitsuki, now that the boy was old enough Orochimaru figured he could learn to be careful in the lab. "Now Mitsuki-"

"Gentler" you cut in, knowing that the tone he was going to take wouldn't help.

Orochimaru nodded before clearing his throat. "Mitsuki, you have to be careful when you're in here. As you can see, it's very easy to get hurt and I don't want that to happen. Can you promise to be more careful next time?"

Mitsukis eyes were wide at just how gentle his father sounded. He looked at you over his father's shoulder, confusion evident on his face. You nodded in a way that encouraged him to answer, this was indeed his father. It wasn't a trap. "Yes, Father" Mitsuki stated finally.

Orochimaru smiled before pressing a kiss to the top of his forehead. "Now why don't you go play outside with your mother? I hear it's a beautiful day outside?"

Mitsuki agreed and hopped down from the table. He grabbed your hand and began pulling you out, but before he could pull you out of the room entirely, you threw a loving glance over your shoulder. You were so proud of Maru for becoming such a kind person, even if it was just to you and Mitsuki.

The lab door closing left Orochimaru once more in silence and he sighed at the state of his lab. 'It was worth it though' he thought as he bent down to sweet up the glass. Because without the two of you, there would be no mess for him to clean up.

And that is what he loved the most.

[septembersung]

@citadelofthestars You are in luck because I just overhauled our entire chore system for the new school year so this is all fresh on my mind.

Context: this was from the post about making chores fair for kids and not requiring more domestic labor of girls than boys or having sisters clean up after brothers but never vice versa.

The following sounds complicated but it’s not? It evolved organically based on what our house needs and fits into how I organize the rest of my life. And, ymmv based on kids’ ages, temperament, and varieties of neurodivergence. My kids are all under 11 and we homeschool and half of us are probably adhd, so we’re still learning skills and also in our space making messes a lot. I would also like to emphasize that I am so bad about chores. Hence the system. When we follow through… it’s amazing. And then we don’t and we start over again (distant screaming.)

We do chores 2-3 times a day on school weekdays (or… sometimes once… but that’s a rough day for cleanliness) and everybody helps at mealtimes. Everybody gives me an hour or a set number of chores on Saturday. We aim to have the house “Sunday ready” by dinnertime Saturday.

Morning chores: this is their chance to take care of their personal space: bed, desk, laundry tidy, that sort of thing. It’s part of general getting ready. After this, the big 3-4 kids help with animal chores (and gardens when applicable) except when they’ve fractured a bone like kid 4 currently has. In some seasons the big 3 will each have an easy first thing kitchen chore like “empty the dishwasher” but not usually during the first part of school year. Mornings are hard for us so we have to get into school routine fir a whole first.

Afternoon chores: By age and ability. Mostly, one-off jobs like change out laundry, put away your laundry, take out trash, entertain a little for 20 minutes so I can have free hands for a separate task, help make the afternoon snack, etc. (Our lives run in 20 minute increments it feels like. I have a timer for everything. It’s what keeps me on task.) I expect big kids (7+) to do 2-4 tasks in this time depending on what the tasks are and under 7s to do one or two things tops, with me. Laundry is a coveted job but the rule is you have to be able to read the label on the knob and reach the bottom of the washer. We’re always behind so I decide as we go what the next load is, and if it’s your basket you’ll be called to help me load even if you’re not big enough to do it independently. Everybody folds (except the 1yo. Because she thinks it’s a keepaway game.)

We have a basic laminated grid on the wall with a column for each kid and little chore stickers with Velcro buttons on the back. (Well, we will when I print and hang the updated version.) Stuff no one likes doing I assign in 2 month increments or more (for habit and technique building) like scrubbing the bathroom; things everyone wants to do, like dust mop, they trade off each week or so. My oldest is so possessive of his sweeping job it’s possible no one else will ever sweep that bit of floor again. But there’s so much else to sweep I’m not too worried tbh.

I try to reset the chart for changeable chores every weekend. In my new and improved version there’s a section for each chore time, and separate for meals, instead of one long column under your name, and you have two columns!, so you move your little chore sticker from “undone” to “done.” Also contemplating have a little sack of random chores to draw from, like a scrabble tile bag, because “contribute positively to the family” is our go to consequence for misbehavior.

Evening chores: This is when we “get in the zone”. Your zone is one specific area of the house you are responsible for. You can do it on your own as you like to stay on top of it or wait til during the fast zone tidy which comes right before or after dinner. And it is fast, like maximum 20 minutes and 10 is better. Big 3 kids rotate between dining room, living room, and main bathroom. Little kids share the playroom. Everybody helps in their own bedroom at the end for 5-10 minutes. I cycle through and help everybody as needed unless something urgent calls me.

Meal time jobs include: table, chairs, floor, dishes (load up or wash by hand.) We’re working up to include kitchen floor and counters as the big kids take on more responsibility for cooking. Again the big 3 kids rotate among the more skilled jobs, while the little 3 trade out what they help scrub and sweep and carry.

Saturdays the kids will do a more irregular job, like “clean out the van” (which is all hands on deck together) or a periodic job like “mop or vacuum your zone” or “scrub cabinets.” We mostly discuss these jobs each week depending on what seems most needed instead of having a specific thing on the chart. (In my improved version the Velcro buttons say “Saturday chore time” in the little Saturday section at the bottom.)

This is probably way more detail than you ever needed in your life, but here we are. Happy planning!

[ssspideysense]

𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖍 𝖔𝖈𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖊

peter thinks his life is finally turning around after his promotion at stark intel. he's closer than ever to his dream of being a real hero.

you, on the other hand, are crashing and burning. you're closer than ever to losing your shit.

peter parker x f!hero!reader

01: 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔰

4.3k

next

Two years.

Peter stared down at the little laminated badge in his hands. The ceiling lights above washed out his picture on the top left corner, so he let his gaze roll over his printed name again and again instead.

Peter Parker. Peter Parker.

Peter Parker, Junior Dispatch Agent.

He brushed his thumb over the text, a small smile hanging on his face. It only took roughly 730 days of kissing ass and running himself ragged, but he finally did it.

The promotion of a lifetime.

He wasn’t an assistant anymore, getting stuck with the tedious little tasks others simply didn’t want to deal with. As of eleven o’clock that morning, Peter was an official agent at Stark Intel, one of New York’s leading security and investigation companies.

… a junior agent, but still.

The meeting let out half an hour ago, but Peter still sat at his desk, taking his time cleaning it out. It wasn’t technically his anymore. They were moving him up to the 13th floor, where bigger names with bigger responsibilities gathered to drink coffee and… do much more important things than they did down here, he was sure.

Those guys got to see the action outside. They got to save the day, five days a week. They got insurance.

“Damn, did Parker get fired?”

Peter looked up from his shiny new badge.

He had worked with a handful of other assistants (associates, as they were more tactfully and officially called) for most of his time at Stark Intel, but not many of them lasted past their probationary period. There was a sort of turn-and-burn culture among the lower levels of the building, Peter came to realize early on. It wasn’t hard for anyone to miss the big cardboard box sitting at the edge of his desk, and it wasn’t hard for people to make assumptions, either.

It’s funny how that sort of thing worked.

“Nah, the other thing,” someone else chuckled, “he’s heading up to dispatch.”

Peter slipped the lanyard over his head and started peeling the various sticky notes and pictures off of his divider’s walls. Projects he didn’t need to worry about anymore, schedules, reminders and memos. Little trinkets and knick knacks got tossed into the box on top of them. He tucked the polaroids safely into his back pocket.

It was feeling more real by the moment. With as much time as he spent in that stuffy, fluorescent office, he couldn’t wait to skip over it in the elevator the next day.

“Dispatch? Who’s he working with now?”

“Don’t know. There’s only a few openings, though.”

The chatter from around the room didn’t faze him. Maybe, if anything, the fact that they acted like he wasn’t just ten feet away would’ve irritated him on a normal day, but he couldn’t be bothered at the moment. It actually got him thinking as he cleared out two years of junk from his desk drawers.

As a junior dispatch agent, he’d be partnered alongside one of the public faces for the company, which maybe wasn’t too different from his previous position— except this time, he’d be out on the street with them, doing more than just conducting post-mission interviews and collecting data. He’d actually be helping them, helping people.

There was a limited pool of agents available, since most of them already had a partner. He didn’t have room to be picky though. He kept his opinions and speculations to himself— at least until he could get home and unload them onto his friends.

Packing away his laptop was the sweetest maraschino cherry of all, sitting on the peak of his career history, all wrapped up in one cardboard box. Peter stood from the creaky chair. It didn't groan like that two years ago, and he’d always meant to tighten it up, but it seems he didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

A blanket of quiet fell over the office once he stood tall above the cubicle dividers. Several pairs of eyes shifted onto him. He tucked the box under his arm and shot his smile around the room.

“Have a good day everyone.”

He never felt more weightless than when he stepped into the elevator and pressed the shiny little button labeled 13.

Six months.

You stared down at the printed pink paper in your hands. There was aggressive typeface all over it— at least, it felt a little aggressive to you — listing different “occurrences and events” that had taken place over the past quarter.

Failure to maintain control of a company motor vehicle.

Destruction to public property.

Inciting panic.

“Okay, inciting panic? That’s a little much, don’t you think?” You said, leaning forward in the uncomfortable chair you’d internally dubbed the punishment throne. You never got called into this office and got waved to sit down in that stiff plastic nightmare for any other reason.

Bruce glanced up at you from his desk, a somewhat miffed expression on his tired face. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Yeah, y’know, I do think that’s a little much. But that’s exactly what happens when you crash a car into a farmer’s market.”

“That makes it sound way worse than what actually happened—“

“No, actually, that’s putting it pretty lightly. You should’ve heard what Tony had to say. I’m surprised you didn’t, with how… opinionated he was.” Bruce made a bridge with his fingers and spoke in that way that made your skin feel tight. Like a disappointed parent. You almost wished he would just yell at you instead.

You flicked your gaze back down to the ticket and shrunk back slightly.

“Stark and I have different opinions on what happened that day,” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry to say it, but your opinion is starting to lose its weight around here. Tony showed me the security footage,” Bruce leaned back in his seat. He looked worn, tired. “I can’t keep defending you like this, kid. You’re running out of chances. I’m sorry. Six months is the best I could do, and I can’t do it again.”

The room suddenly felt very small for being as big as it was. You rubbed a hand over the side of your neck and read the bottom of the paper again.

Corrective action taken is as follows:

6 Months Watchful Eye Probation

Approved by Tony Stark

What a hellish day, made worse only by his name signed so flashy on the thick black line with red ink. Your stomach already dropped to your feet earlier. It was probably somewhere under the building at this point.

“I can’t do Watchful Eye, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce let out a terse breath. “I’d say it’s a lot better than being unemployed. Look— you do the six months, you don’t miss any check-ins, you fill out your reports… you’ll be back in good graces.” His tone fell a bit softer. A moment of temporary reprieve for your mounting anxiety. “Six months is nothing.”

You watched him from across the desk for a moment. He’d never led you wrong before, but your gut twisted uncomfortably at the idea.

Six months of giving up sugar was nothing— six months of having Tony Stark and all his tech goonies up your asshole was a lot. Still, you relented with a slow sigh.

“I still have my opinions,” you stood from the punishment throne, certainly feeling punished, and crumpled up the paper, tucking it into your jacket pocket, “but, uh, I’ll save ‘em for you, for another day. Maybe some cookies and coffee next lab day.” Bruce watched you scoot the chair forward with your boot, making a short but loud screech. “Thanks, Dr. Banner.”

Defeated. Your gaze stuck to him for just a moment too long as you took a few steps back, before your body finally caught up and turned.

Bruce sighed and weakly raised two fingers from his desk in farewell. “Good luck.”

Fuck luck. You needed a fucking miracle.

Any agent stuck in the Watchful Eye program was inevitably burned, either by the industry or the public itself. It didn’t matter what Stark or Dr. Banner said. You really couldn’t afford that kind of dent in your already rocky reputation, or your rapidly thinning paychecks.

There had to be something you could do. Working overtime, helping out in the lab, fuck… maybe Stark likes cookies?

Who am I kidding? I’m not baking Tony Stark fucking cookies.

The pink ticket was a boulder in your pocket as you stepped onto the elevator, your finger jabbing into the stupid button 13.

It smelled sharply like chemicals and salt water. A strange combination.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a custodian on his knees, scrubbing away at a portion of the tile that’d been marked off with tape. Peter met his exhausted gaze almost instantly.

He couldn’t think of much to do other than offer a polite smile and short nod to the man, shifting out of the way to avoid his work area.

It was only as Peter walked past that he noticed the burning, sickly smell coming from the stain on the floor. Whatever the custodian was scrubbing into the thick dark liquid was bubbling up fiercely in reaction.

He held his breath and continued on down the hall, leaving the poor man to his job.

Strange things happen all the time in this industry. That’s simply how it is in such an unpredictable slice of life. He wondered what kind of a budget Stark Intel had for things like that— what he assumed it was, anyways. Superpowered mishaps. He never saw any of that in the lower levels. Anything of that nature was hush-hush, company confidentiality, the whole notarized nine yards.

Peter pulled himself from his thoughts once the sleek hallway spit him out into a large rectangle of a room. Several private cubicles lined the walls, looking like little suites instead of corporate-hacked work spaces. Straight ahead, a giant TV stretched from the dark tile to the ceiling, playing over a newscast on low volume.

Peter watched the woman’s blown up face for a while in awe. She recounted some fiasco at a farmer’s market that happened last weekend. What a mess that had been. Thankfully nobody had gotten hurt— they just couldn’t figure out what had happened. The car that had lost control and crashed into the scene was empty when they got to it.

“Hey, man, are you lost or somethin’?”

Peter snapped his head to the side. His stomach flipped involuntarily as a thick, salty, brine-like stench instantly clutched at his throat.

The man was sitting several feet away, kicked back with his feet up in the second cubicle along the wall.

Peter didn’t recognize him, but then again, he rarely saw the dispatch agents outside of their street uniforms.

He adjusted the box in his hands and cleared his throat. “Uh, sort of. I just got transferred up here,” he turned to face him, then paused, unsure if he should go in for a handshake or not. “I’m Peter Parker.”

The agent raised his brows. The light reflected off his wet skin almost blindingly. He leapt from the chair and joined Peter, taking his beachy odor with him. He reached forward and grabbed the badge around Peter’s neck to look at it more closely.

“No shit, eh? Junior Dispatch Agent Parker. I thought you were, like, a food delivery guy.”

He chuckled and let the badge fall back against Peter’s shirt.

“I’m Darian. Also known as Cascade—“ he paused, taking a breath and setting his hands on his hips, “—the name’s… a work in progress. Riptide was already taken.”

Peter nodded dumbly. He tried to focus on Darian’s words, but his sinuses stung, his throat clenched, his eyes watered. A cough forced its way out of his chest and he took a small step backward.

“Yeah, I, uh… no, I’m supposed to meet Dr. Banner, I believe,” Peter said. “Do you know where I could find him?”

Or is there any other way out of this conversation without being rude?

Darian nodded, but sucked his teeth and blew out a sigh. “Banner’s kind of busy right now,” he replied, vaguely tense, but quickly shifted back to the casual tone from moments ago, “c’mon, I’ll show you your desk while you wait.”

He laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder and guided him toward the far wall, where a row of much smaller cubicles sat lined together like a pack of gum. A warm, wet sensation immediately bled through the fabric and made Peter grimace.

“Whoops. Sorry, that’ll come out in the wash, probably,” Darian chuckled and took his hand back. A perfect wet print sat dark over Peter’s clean linen shirt.

Some old saying May used to feed him about windows and opportunities was just out of reach in his memory, but Peter held onto the sentiment regardless with a vice grip. He reluctantly placed his box on top of the empty desk, grateful that in that moment, some other agent bounded over to distract his self-appointed guide.

“Darian! You hear anything yet?”

“No, but—“

“She’s getting canned. No ways about it.”

Darian shot a glance between Peter and this hulking man stuffed into a button-up. “Maybe we shouldn’t ta—“

“Oh, new guy. What’s your thing?”

And then, both sets of eyes were on Peter. He felt himself shrink a bit despite the fire in his stride just moments ago, before encountering any of these agents.

“Uh, me?” Peter quipped and immediately felt stupid. “Oh, yeah. Well, y’know, I’m… strong,” he cleared his throat and stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to look much more casual than he felt. “And… I can run really fast, and… some other stuff…”

A few beats of quiet sludged by before the big guy snorted loudly. “They’re really scraping the barrel these days huh?”

Peter’s heart sank, heat rising up his neck in embarrassment. Darian must’ve felt a spark of pity because he nudged his fellow agent, leaving a little wet mark in his wake. “C’mon, Vic, don’t be like that. My boy Parker hasn’t even had his physical yet.”

The physical— would that be today? Peter wasn’t exactly in a physical performance type of mindset (or outfit). What would he have to do? Surely it wouldn’t just be a standard medical exam…

Clearly more amused than anything, Vic shrugged and took a sip from the thermos in his baseball-glove sized hand. “I guess we’ll see whenever Banner’s done chewing out the spaz.”

“Hey, that’s not cool, man,” Darian mumbled.

“What? Look, kid,” Vic looked pointedly at Peter, “I’m sorry to say it, but you picked the wrong time to follow your dreams. This place has taken a real shit, and it’s messy, and it stinks. It stinks real bad.”

Peter stiffly glanced at Darian, who matched his gaze, then looked back to Vic.

“In fact, this place is full of little shits. Little shits walking around, doing whatever they want, crashing into farmers markets—“

“Allegedly,” Darian intercepted, “but, continue.”

Vic grumbled. “I hate it when you interrupt me. What was I saying?”

There was a ringing low in Peter’s ears. He was in a vacuum in his own head, idly nodding along to whatever Vic was ranting about.

Maybe he made a mistake. Maybe he should’ve gone to trade school instead, become an electrician, something like that. That was a decent living. Something his aunt May could still humbly brag about to her friends at brunch.

No, he didn’t mean that. He couldn’t, when this had been his vision of his future for so long.

It was just the first day.

He hadn’t even had his physical yet.

It took Peter a moment to realize the conversation before him shifted. Vic and Darian both twisted around toward the elevator hall, so Peter tried to shake the cotton out of his ears and pay attention. He needed an out, somehow. He needed some time to clear his head.

Charlie threw up in the hallway again.

You skirted around the taped off tiles and eyed the suspect chemical burn staining the shiny surface. A putrid sort of burn clung to your sinuses as you passed by, making your eyes water up.

It felt like the universe was telling you off at this point.

And maybe it really was, because your stomach soured on the way to your desk, you scrambled to find your keys, and it seems like someone took your lunch from your cubicle. A scowl sat on your face as you shoved your laptop into your bag. Seconds weren’t quick enough as you gathered your things and made a beeline back to the elevator.

Passing through the heart of the 13th floor, your boots squeaked against the tile. You could smell your coworker Darian somewhere but worse than that, your blood pressure spiked once Vic’s familiar chuckle rang out.

“Looks like Banner’s free now, Parker,” his voice always boomed no matter how ‘quiet’ he was being.

You didn’t look their way, even when a set of rapid footsteps trailed behind you to the elevator.

“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar voice was behind you. Soft, but clear. And glancing up at his face, he seemed maybe just as stressed as you at that moment. Maybe. “Could you tell me how to find Dr. Banner?”

Hearing Dr. Banner’s name again pricked you in the moment, salt in a very fresh wound. You pressed the elevator button and sucked in a breath through your nose. “Floor 15, last door on the right.”

“Got it, thank you.” He paused. “I’m Peter Parker.” He blinked a few times and looked off to the side, an air of awkwardness clinging to him.

You flicked your gaze in his direction, adjusted the bag on your shoulder, and replied quietly with your name. The silver doors before you slid open after what felt like an eternity. You walked in, and a beat later, Peter followed, keeping a polite distance in the small space. A second after you pressed the buttons you both needed and the doors closed you in, Peter let out a breath. He coughed into his fist and tugged a little on his collar.

“Sorry. I’m not sick or anything, it’s just… um, allergies,” he said.

“No, it’s Darian. He smells like Sea World,” you replied.

A look of relief flashed over his face. “Okay, so I’m not the only one who…” he sighed, “I didn’t want to say anything. He seems nice.”

“He is nice. But he reeks. And he leaves little puddles everywhere.”

Mechanical whirring filled the tiny room. Peter scratched his nose and looked down, the ghost of a grin on his face. “Is there, um, anything I should know? Y’know, for onboarding stuff?” He asked like he was unsure of what he was saying the whole time.

Your bad mood hung stubbornly over you like storm clouds, but you answered anyway. “The physical is worse than you think.” The doors slid open to yet another sleek hallway, however, this one was remarkably easier to breathe in. “Also, the baby is the bomb,” you added.

Peter shot you a puzzled look, stilled in his spot. “Huh?”

Your finger hovering over the ‘close doors’ button was enough of a hint that you were ready to end this interaction. “Good luck,” you replied flatly, and watched Peter step out onto the 15th floor, looking more confused than reassured.

Finally alone with your thoughts, the elevator hummed softly as it brought you to the ground level. In this fleeting moment of privacy, you took a puff from the modified inhaler Banner had given you, and tucked it back into your bag.

Time to go home and ruminate.

Peter wondered, briefly, if Tony Stark had ever heard of OSHA.

Sweat ran down his temples, already soaked into his hair. His feet smacked against the treadmill over and over like they had for the past however many miles, and he could barely feel his legs anymore, but they kept moving. He was thankful, at the very least, that he didn’t have to do all this in slacks and a button-up. The Stark Intel athletic shorts and sneakers they’d provided him didn’t fit quite right, but he tried not to get too philosophical about it.

Dr. Banner watched Peter, eyeing the wires and machines attached to him as he ran in place. It’d been a long afternoon of gathering data, trying to cover all the superpowered bases.

The agents that came to work at Stark Intel were all unique, with their own… talents. Strength, agility, endurance, extraordinary ability. The physical was not only designed to take record of Peter’s capabilities, but to iron out specifics like required tech or accommodations for suits.

Also, he needed to settle on a name. And a suit design, or something. But he didn’t have space to think about that at the moment.

“Excellent, Peter,” Dr. Banner spoke into the microphone and scribbled something down on the form before him. “Winding down now. This concludes the endurance portion of the exam.”

Peter huffed out labored breaths as the treadmill steadily slowed to a stop. His muscles ached and his lungs burned and the sweat stung in his eyes, but at least it was over.

Turns out your warning in the elevator was blunt but honest. The exam was definitely worse than he thought it’d be. Peter was strong, and Peter was fast, and he thought proving it would be no big deal — but he completely ate his confidence once the simulations started.

The situations ranged wildly from things like helping a lost child find their caregiver, to finding and defusing a bomb (you were right, again — it was strapped to the bottom of a stroller).

The technology available to Stark Intel was beyond impressive, and undoubtedly more than expensive.

A gush of cool air washed over him as the lab door slid open and Banner strolled inside. He offered Peter a bottle of water, which he gulped down almost instantly. “Very promising results. All that’s left is the ending analysis.” Banner smiled politely and tucked Peter’s file under his arm. “You’re free to use our showers. I’ll be waiting in my office for you when you’re ready.”

Peter nodded and thanked him but he felt like jelly on his way to the locker room. The shower helped, hot water doing what it could to his screaming muscles, but Peter was still looking forward to heading home and flopping onto his bed. He changed back into his original office attire, grimacing at the dried-but-still-very-visible handprint still on his shoulder.

Banner’s office was spacious, with potted plants and large windows but a comically small chair pulled up to the front of his desk, like a child was visiting before he came by.

“Have a seat,” Banner gestured vaguely to the chair, his eyes occupied on all of Peter’s paperwork.

Peter raised his brows but sat in the plastic chair anyway. He shifted around a bit uncomfortably and waited quietly for the older man to start.

Banner pointed to some lines of his own handwriting on the page. “Peter Parker. Twenty-four, graduated from Midtown Technical Highschool. Attended one year at NYU. Computer Science.”

Peter’s leg started bouncing while he listened, despite how fatigued he was. Nerves know no limits.

“Superior strength, agility, endurance, and heightened senses. He can also scale vertical surfaces and completely support himself, even upside down.”

“What, so he’s sticky ?” Tony Stark’s voice nearly made Peter jump as it cut into the room. Banner grinned toward his computer screen before looking back to Peter, waiting for him to answer.

Peter blinked a few times. “Uh, well, not generally, sir.”

“But you stick to walls?”

“I, um, I can. If I wanted to.”

Banner held his hand to his chin, amused in the moment. “Continuing, Tony,” he mused, looking back down at the paper, “strong sense of morality and ambition. Average to above average simulation results. Viable for both offensive and defensive procedures.”

“Sounds green to me.” Tony chuckled through the speaker. “Get it, Bruce?”

Banner shook his head, amusement mostly gone now, as he scribbled some more words onto the page. “Very funny, Tony.”

“Didn’t hear the kid laugh, but we’ll work on it. Anyways, you got a name in mind? Some kinda motif you wanna work with?”

He hadn’t gotten that far yet. Not seriously, anyways. He’d spent a few years doodling out different costume designs that came to him in daydreams, but Peter felt creativity wasn’t usually his strong suit.

“Um, not really, sir,” he replied, shifting in the little chair.

“You have time to work on it,” Banner said, signing his name on the bottom of a few forms. “Your next few shifts will be mostly in the lab while we work on a suit for you. Of course, your input and participation is encouraged and valued.”

With the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted, Banner dismissed Peter for the day and sent him on his way with a laminated information booklet and a brief goodbye from Tony’s disembodied voice.

Peter wasted no time getting home. The moment he was inside his door, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed in the middle of his bed. A good few minutes passed full of nothing – just the gentle tick of his ceiling fan, the faint hum of his refrigerator down the hall, and his good-natured attempts at deep breaths.

Underneath the visceral relief of being home and motionless, he was proud of himself for everything he had made it through earlier. He couldn’t be making a mistake when he felt so accomplished at the end of the day, right? Change is usually rough and uncomfortable at first.

Somehow, his mind wandered back to his interaction with you at the elevator.

Vic mentioned you getting fired (and being Little Shit #1), though you didn’t empty out your desk on your way out. He didn’t exactly seem like a reliable source of information anyway.

Sleep took Peter before he could ruminate any further.

[mynameistocool]

-Ask and you will receive-

Richie Jerimovich x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, a gun, suicide, and Richie being a duck but that’s not really new.

Assistance - Chapter 1

The worn bell above the door of The original Beef of Chicagoland jangled, its chime as tired and weary as the shop itself. You, age 28, stood behind the counter, wiping down the laminate surface with a well-used rag. The sandwich shop, nestled in the heart of Chicago's West Side, had seen better days. Its once-bright sign now faded and chipped, much like your own dreams that had dulled over the years.

Born and raised in Chicago, you are a product of the city's gritty charm and resilient spirit. You grew up in a modest apartment a few blocks away with your Pa, where the scent of freshly baked bread from the shop had been a constant in your childhood. Your parents, hard-working and loving, had instilled in you a sense of duty and loyalty that you now applied to your job, though it was not the life you had imagined for herself. At 20, fresh out of high school and full of ambition,You had taken a job at the small sandwich shop as a busser to save up for college. The plan was to stay just a year or two, but life had other ideas. Family responsibilities, financial setbacks, and the comfort of familiarity had somehow kept you there, cleaning table and dishes to then serving sandwiches and smiles to a loyal yet dwindling customer base.

The small sandwich shop had become a second home, it’s dented metal chairs and scuffed linoleum floors as familiar as your own living room. The small, cluttered kitchen where you prepared orders was a place where you could almost move with your eyes closed. The regulars, a mix of blue-collar workers and neighborhood eccentrics, often greeted you with the warmth of old friends. To them, you weren’t just an employee; you were, the girl who knew their orders by heart and listened to their stories with genuine interest. That was four months ago before the owner Micheal or Mikey Berzatto as everyone called him blew his fucking brains out in the crack of night. He was a good man.

And each day, as you wrapped sandwiches in wax paper and rang up sales on the ancient cash register, you couldn't help but wonder what your life might have been like had you taken a different path or if Mikey had not died.

The shop’s worn walls, covered in vintage posters and faded photos, whispered tales of its heyday, a stark contrast to its current state. The overhead lights flickered occasionally, casting fleeting shadows that danced across your tired yet hopeful face. You sighed, pushing an escaped strand of hair behind your ear, and glanced at the clock. You moved with practiced efficiency, slicing tomatoes and arranging fresh lettuce with a precision born of years of repetition. The prep work was a familiar routine, a symphony of motions you performed without conscious thought.

"C'mon, guys, we open in twenty! Let's get it together!" Carmy bellowed from his station at the front of the kitchen. Carmy, the young head chef and now owner, had taken over the shop after his brother Mikey's untimely death. His relentless drive carried the weight of a legacy he was determined to honor. His voice, sharp and urgent, echoed through the room, a reminder of the high standards he upheld.

You glanced over at Marcus, a young man with a bright smile and an infectious enthusiasm. He was busy kneading dough, his hands a blur of motion as he worked on the bread and pastries. Flour dusted his apron giving him the look of a snow-dusted sculpture. He caught your eye and flashed a grin, the kind that made the morning rush a bit more bearable. Ebra, the oldest among them, was meticulously slicing meats with the care of a surgeon. His years of experience showed in the way he handled the knife, each cut precise and perfect. You had learned a lot from Ebra, his quiet wisdom a steadying force in the chaotic kitchen. "Tina, how are those potatoes coming?" Carmy called out, his sharp eyes scanning the room. "Almost done, Jeff !" Tina replied, her hands deftly chopping peppers and onions. She moved with a grace that belied her tough exterior, a no-nonsense woman who kept the team in line with a well-timed glare or a sarcastic comment.

You focused on your task, your hands moving automatically as you prepped for the day. Despite the clamor and chaos, there was a rhythm to the kitchen, a dance they all knew well. It was in these moments, surrounded by you “makeshift family”, that you felt a strange sense of small peace, even if just for a fleeting second. "you got those tomatoes ready?" Carmy's voice snapped you back to reality. "Almost there," you replied, picking up the pace. You knew the drill: speed and precision were the order of the day. The customers would soon be lining up, and everything had to be perfect.

“Behind, behind, behind.” A quiet and new voice could be heard from behind you making your head quickly turn your hands still sliding the chopped vegetables into the small plastic tub. “Who are you ?.” You take note of the new woman your head bobbing up waiting for a response.

“Sydney.” She quickly replied with small smile and you introduced yourself back out of respect and kindness you were new once you know how much of a ball-ache these people are turning back to your work quickly moving along but you did mange to catch Sydney chasing after Tina who only spoke Spanish to her the interaction making smile. “Corner !” And then it quickly disappeared at that voice.

The kitchen door swung open, and Richie strolled in, tall and lean with a buzz cut. At 37, Richie was an enigmatic mix of charm and grit, his presence both a comfort and a complication. He and Carmy were close, calling each other "cousin" though they weren't actually related. Their bond was one forged in shared history and mutual respect.

"Yo, family morning ," Richie called out walking round a fretting every person with a friendly smile and hug apart from you. “Fucking with my program cousin.” He called out to Carmy, who just mumbled back and short answer “program started four hours ago.” barely looking up from his prep station. “Yeah well I had the kid all morning excuse me.” Richie turned meeting Carmy heads half way up “listen what’s happening with Ballbreaker my insta fucking blowing up.” Richie spoke “you got like thirty followers.” Marcus added turning away “yeah, I got… what is that a diss ? Yeah I got thirty six followers you fucking jackass.” Richie bit back his laugh echoing through the kitchen joined by Marcus’s.

“We need business, nerds come in from Rockford to play.” Carmy responded making his way round others “yeah in 1987 when you were still in that deadbeats balls.” Richie reached out for Tina who was reaching up to kiss his cheek “how are you ?” Richie switched to her other cheek leaving a quick kiss “yeah how was the recital ?” She asked meaning Richie daughter “oh god ! She fucking murdered it Tina. Hold on…” Richie quickly followed Carmy moving figure.

Your jaw tightened at the sight of Richie. To put it simple your relationship was a constant friction, sparks flying whenever you two were in the same room. You didn't appreciate his laid-back attitude and constant aggression/ hostility and he found your seriousness grating. You both had mutual dislike which was a poorly kept secret in the small, bustling kitchen.

"You got those preps ready?" Carmy asked sliding past you. “Like I said almost there," you replied, picking up the pace even more. Richie ambled over to the counter, eyeing your work. "You sure those tomatoes are fresh ? They look a little tired, like someone I know." You shot him a withering look. "Just worry about your own shit, Richard. I'll handle mine." Carmy intervened before the exchange could escalate. "Alright, enough. We've got a busy day ahead. Let's focus." You moved along stepping in-front of Carmy and Richie making your way to the walk in the pair of men following you close behind.

“Scuse me.” You slid past Sydney reaching up for the fresh parsnips. “Whoa who the fuck is this ?” That grating voice came again. “Sydney.” You quickly spoke going onto your tip toes. Who the fuck put veg this high ? “this is Sydney. I’m staging today.” The young woman spoke up for herself “Your what-ing today ?” Richie asked his voice confused as he looked between Carmy and her “she staging you dipshit she just fucking said.” You sneered still trying to reach for the veg “At-least I can reach the fucking veg.” Richie hissed back watching the twenty eight year old struggle. “She’s helping us out today.” Carmy intervened “can I use these Bananas ?” Sydney held up the fruit waiting for Carmys approval “cousin you order different mayo ?” Richie asked “no. all you chef.” Carmy responded to Sydney ignoring Richie “yeah all you chef.” Richie spoke up standing tall by the entrance as he threw his hands in the air. “He was using them to make a giant nut muffin.” You rolled her eyes at the comment. What a fucking idiot. “It was a play on a panettone. It would have been beautiful if you’d let me finish it.” Camry quickly defended himself “oh cousin.” Richie smacked his back making Carmy drop some stuff “Fuck you !” He shouted out.

“Richie Jeremovich. Pleasure to meet you sweetheart.” He held out his hand to Sydney who just shook his hand awkwardly “oh Richie really ?” You nearly threw up in your mouth at his sweet words “don’t say sweetheart you fucking wierdo.” Carmy made the same expression as you as he stood between the pair grabbing some more ingredients. “Oh sorry you guys are so woke.” Richie threw his head in air “I meant nothing by it Sydney saying sweetheart is just part of our Italian heritage.” He held his hands up following Sydney as she left the walk in. “That beautiful. Thank you.” She walked away back into the bustling kitchen. “Italian ? I have more fucking Italian in me than you” you walked past him out the walk in “I bet you have.” Richie threw his head up “what the fuck is that meant to mean ?” You turned around staring at the man “you know what it means.” He shrugged his shoulders “you’re a fucking dick.” You spat “we know.” He shrugs once more “Fuck off Richard.” You walk away not in the mood to deal with him “don’t use’s that fucking name.” He held his hand high as you left.

You quickly finished the last of your prep and started organising the ingredients into their designated stations. Ebra, with his usual meticulous care, was laying out the meats in perfect rows, each slice almost a work of art. Tina, now done with the other vegetables while Marcus was pulling out bread. After few loud shouts and bangs from the walk in walked out stopping infront of the spice rack well shelf he was trying to distract himself and by your guess make it look like he was actually doing something for fucking once. His tall frame was making quick work of the high shelves. Searching through the changed inventory his face showing his pissed off emotions more and more as his eyes searched the area.

Maria started cleaning the tops placing the fresh prepared sliced veg near Tina finishing in two minutes flat she made her way round the kitchen for search off any other messes she’d have to fucking clean.

“Was richie always an arsehole ?” Marcus asked Fak as he fiddled with bolts on the mixer “always and forever dude.” Fak turned hearing your footsteps checking it wasn’t the man of hour Richie “just ask her.” Marcus looked to you “I ain’t saying shit about him.” And right you were as Fak began running his mouth again Richie approached “he the worst he’s not a nice guy. He’s just sad inside.” The words left his mouth and the tattooed man felt his presence behind “Fak.” Richie sent a warning look his way before turning to you his brows furrowed to which you just shrugged like he did earlier.

“Yo Family’s up.” Sydney called from the other room and everyone flooded through ready to taste the chefs food. As soon as you walked in the smell hit and fuck it was a delicious smell quickly making your way over to a seat grabbing the small pots Sydney had prepared “this look’s good Sydney.” You smiled at the young woman. The rest of the team took their seats all digging into the prepared meal “alright I’ll start I’m grateful for Philip K Dick. Fak you’re up.” Richie spoke his mouth full. Fucking disgusting. “Me ? Ahhh I’m thankful for my cats Ralph.” Fak sputtered out not expecting him to be included “they both named Ralph ?” Tina tilted her head in a questioning manner. “Yeah it’s just like it’s easier that way.” Ralph explained himself making Tina laugh “alright Tina you’re up.” Richie ushered the attention to the older woman sat at the corner of the table. “I’m grateful for all you.” She flung one hand up before dipping her head down with a warming smile making table erupt in awes and coos “awww look at you softy.” Richie tease over the table. “I guess I’m grateful that Richie didn’t come in here wearing that cologne that he always be wearing you know that smell like a pine tree and shit.” Marcus added his two pence into the lineup making the whole table laugh “Y/N ?” Tina addressed you “ummm I’m grateful for… fuck.” You tried to think “you’re grateful for fuck ?” Richie raised his brows “no you arsehole i am grateful for being here in this sandwich shop with all you fuckers.” You mumbled out digging into your bowl and the table laughed “and for not having knife on me to stab Richard.” You quickly added having more laughs out the table and a jack off gesture from the man himself.

You were too spaced out eating your meal with the chattering background that eased your worries away to realise Carmy had gone outside to deal with the growing crowd or more likely mob of nerds. It wasn’t until Richie scraped his chair across the floor that your attention had came back to present the tall man quickly got up and left marching to the kitchen and you followed already knowing his procedure to dealing with these things.

“what the fuck are you doing ?” You asked following the man making him turn to give you one quick look “what the fuck are you doing ?” He repeated your question annunciating the you “seriously ?” You watched as he searched the kitchen “yes seriously.” He quickly pulled open a pot digging through and grabbing his gun “oh what the fuck.” You threw your hands in the air “shut up.” He held it in his tight grip walking past you. “You gonna shoot them Richard ?” You followed after him again. “Didn’t I tell you to fucking stop with that.” He abruptly stopped making your body smack into his the gun held closer to your face “now fuck off.” He marched outside holding the gun high as he fired one shot nodding his head.

“Merry Christmas lizards.” Richie shouted through the microphone he continued his little speech warning them all of the consequences if they did not follow his rules before bidding them goodbye with one last “fuck you” and ushering Carmy into the shop. The pair argued and it didn’t stop till Richie shoved the tins of spaghetti in Carmy arms “Sydney sorry about the gun babe I had to get real.” He offered a short apology to the new chef walking towards you putting the gun down his stupid spots pants you who still stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining space and before you could even open your mouth and shoot a insult or snide remark his way Richie was very close to your face his long finger which were connected to those large hands of his stunk of tobacco and vanilla “not a fucking word out of you.” You looked to him his face so very very close to yours as his brows furrowed and eyes stared down his large body towering over your and this time you did not push it but instead just waited for him to march away in his hissy fit and flip him off.

[prof-snakewood]

[TW: POKÉMON ABUSE, IMPLIED POKÉMON DEATH, VIOLENCE. HEED THE TWS]

[A video is attached. Rotom looks anxious again. Its eyes dart from side to side, a frown on its face. It knows it shouldn’t be filming this… Despite its dismay, the video keeps rolling.]

Professor Snakewood sat at his second desk, head in hands. Directly In front of him, his prized Pokémon, Art and Aristotle, roam around their large Rattata cage, oblivious to their owners anguish.

A strangely haunting rock ballad emanated from the Professor’s phone. Likely an attempt at calming himself before his dreaded visitor arrived.

“Art, Aristotle,” He spoke through gritted teeth to the Rattata, “Promise you’ll forgive me if she manages to kill us.” Snakewood begged.

The two Pokémon gently hopped forwards to the bars of their enclosure, staring at their trainer with wide, confused eyes.

“You know how perilous the pursuit of knowledge is.” He continued to the rats, “You’ve been there for all my greatest—“

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

A hard knock at the door. Professor Snakewood quickly turned in his chair, eyes fixing on the window on the lab’s automatic door. He quickly draped a blanket over the Rattata cage, hiding his partners from view.

‘Nictoria Lawnzap,’ the famed alter-ego of Victoria Gonzap was peering through the window. She idly scratched at her teeth, looking into the lab expectantly.

She caught sight of Snakewood and grinned. She produced her visitor’s pass, waving it in front of the glass proudly. Despite the soundproofing, she could be seen clearly mouthing: ‘Check it out!’

Professor Snakewood turned back to the covered Rattata cage, taking a deep breath. There was no backing out now. He slowly pushed himself up, turning to the door. He made his way across the laminate floor, ignoring the vicious pounding of his heart telling him to turn back.

Ibrahim finally opened the door, welcoming in his new guest.

“Hello, Victoria.” He said, his tone calm and cool despite his panicked physical demeanor. Talking to her over the internet was all well and good, but facing her in person added a different dimension to the situation. “Please, come in.”

The former poacher strode in, grinning like a madwoman as she looked around the room.

“Pretty clean in here isn’t it? Not at all like the Professors I usually work with.” Victoria elbowed Ibrahim In the side, prompting an uncomfortable cough.

The Professor grimaced and rubbed his side, a single eyebrow raised. Not *like* a madwoman. She *was* a madwoman.

“I prefer to keep things tidy, yes.” He said. “I’m not surprised that’s an alien concept to you, given the… shall we call them vintage— videos I’ve been watching in preparation for our meeting.”

He glanced aside at his computer, unintentionally making eye contact with the camera and the viewers.

“That kind of stuff is mostly behind me, Doc! Promise.” She insisted, still grinning wide. Victoria’s lavender eyes darted around the room, taking note of Professor Snakewood’s equipment.

Her gaze lingered on an open drawer full of huge needles, a twisted expression akin to true love spreading across her sharp features.

“I bet you don’t get to use those gauges often, huh Doc?” She asked, jumping onto the examination table at the center of the room. Vic swung her legs like an excited child on the swing, cackling at Snakewood as he hastily closed and locked the drawer.

“No. I don’t.” He said sternly, turning to face her. He adjusted his labcoat briefly, trying to retain his air of calmness. “They’re for large Pokémon.”

“Or the ones you don’t like?”

Despite the tension, Professor Snakewood caught himself unconsciously smiling at her joke. Considering who she was, it was in terrible taste.

But then again, was taste something that really mattered when world-changing research was on the line?

“You know the real answer.” He replied, a smirk on his face. His shoulders relaxed, the mask he so desperately clung to in his everyday slipping just slightly.

“It’s the reason I’ve even bothered to reach out.” She confirmed. Victoria reached into the laptop bag on her side, producing a handful of papers. She grinned, running her piercing across her teeth with an irritating ‘clink, clink, clink.’

Ibrahim raised an eyebrow at her, unfolding his hands and reaching out for the papers.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“Base Stat Totals of every Natural Shadow I’ve gotten my paws on.” Vic said casually, handing the documents over easily.

“Notice anything about them?”

“Give me a chance to read them first.” He huffed, squinting at the papers. Professor Snakewood turned his back to Victoria, taking a seat in a nearby rolling chair. He scoured the results, a startling pattern emerging. Rotom zoomed in on the numbers, but everything on the paper was nigh indecipherable.

“These can’t be correct.” He suddenly blurted. “All of these are markedly higher than their average counterparts.”

Victoria wandered around the lab, reaching Cloudy’s tank. She grinned sinisterly at the Pokémon behind the glass as it floated forwards. The Castform bumped into the wall, gently pressing its nose to the glass in attempts to reach Vic.

Professor Snakewood trolled his chair up behind Victoria, brow furrowed.

“If these results are to be believed, that would mean that Natural Shadow Pokémon are simply… Superior to regular Pokémon. In every feasible way.” He stated, looking up at his visitor.

Victoria placed her elbow on his head, using him as a sort of armrest.

“The shadows have power, Doc.” She said casually, “You just have to let them in.”

The video feed began to waver, something dark overtaking the screen. Rotom began to panic realizing what the interruption was. A different Rotom with a dark expression clawed its way into the recording, glaring out of the screen with pure hatred.

“INTRUDER, INTRUDER, INTRUDER.”

Professor Snakewood and Victoria both whipped around, making direct eye contact as Rotom was unceremoniously forced from the computer. The Pokémon landed on the floor with a soft ‘tink!’ Too startled to fly himself to safety

The Professor scowled down at the Pokémon, a look of disgust on his face.

“It seems you brought a straggler, Victoria.” He said sourly, kicking the Ghost-Type to his visitor’s feet.

“My bad, Professor!~” She mockingly cupped her hands together, crouching down to the Rotom. “I knew there had to be a fuckin’ Rotom somewhere in my area.” She hastily grabbed the Pokémon, her grip suffocating.

“Good thing you have your mon’s on patrol. I can finally be rid of this pest.” She cackled uncontrollably, gently hitting the side of her forehead.

“You wanna play, little bastard? You want to be a video star?”

“R-ROTOOOOOO!” Rotom screamed and squirmed, trying to escape in vain

“HAH! Nice try bulb-head. Welcome to your end of service party~”

Vic turned her attention to Professor Snakewood, who had returned to his chair and was now going over the BST results for a fourth time.

“You mind if I use some of your machines to have a bit of fun with this?”

“Be my guest, as long as you’re not too loud.” He said. “I find nosy Rotom to be utterly devoid of value.” He waved her off with a distracted hum. “I need to comb these results. Just once more…”

[The last sound before the video ends is the distinct noise of something cracking…]

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Hi Terra! If you’re still accepting requests for the smut prompts… how about #30 for Levihan? ✨

Smut Scribbles (NSFW) 30: “I can’t get enough of you.”

Intoxicated Characters: Levi x Hange Word Count: 957 words

A warm glow sliced through the half-closed door, catching the corners of clean, bathroom tiles where it fell. There was scarcely space to move within the small, semi-lit room; most of it was occupied by a bathtub, over which stooped a low shower head. A small portion of floor remained; the only gap which was not obstructed by either a toilet or standing cabinet or square sink. It was within this basin that Hange reclined, dressed only in a half-buttoned shirt, her bare legs trailing over the side of the porcelain. She clutched the shoulders of the man kneeling before her, uttering a desperate sigh as he pressed his face between her thighs. 

Levi inhaled her. His grip on her tensed as though pained from resisting such temptation. Above him, Hange’s breath left her shakily as his teeth grazed the inside of her leg. The smallest taste was enough to awaken a much deeper craving. Levi nipped at sweat-streaked skin; kissed closer, closer… until he was just above where she wanted him. With the most delicate of motions, Levi’s tongue traced her clit. Fire seared within her abdomen; Hange’s head sank back as a thready moan escaped her. Levi’s movements were delicate, teasing; a slow swirling motion back and forth as he savoured her. Then, with a groan of longing, Levi indulged himself further. Hange’s body melted upon his tongue as he stroked the same sweet spot over and over. Releasing his jacket, Hange’s trembling hands threaded through Levi’s hair, holding his head in place. Hungrily she bucked against his mouth; helpless to the heat building in her core.

Voracious, Levi’s hold on her open thighs tightened. He rolled his tongue; soaked in her; teasing, touching, tasting like a man on the brink of starvation.  He was weak for her; drunk on the feel of her body. How he could delight in her; drink her endlessly; satiate himself upon her and only her. 

Hange’s back arched away from the sink as tension seized her limbs. Her mouth dropped open, at first in silent anguish. Then she was gasping, guttering incoherent pleas as an overpowering sensation ripped through her. Below, Levi drew her to him, swallowed her, drank her down… 

From the very start of that evening, they had known that the night would end like this. Post-work, Friday drinks with the rest of Levi’s office. They had sat around a low table, disregarding laminated menus to order beer and plates of karaage. Then came the bottles of sake, followed by shots. Outside, neon signs had flickered against pinpricks of stars. With Hange’s arm slung over Levi’s shoulder, the pair had staggered towards his apartment. A light rain had begun to fall as they wound amongst groups of stragglers navigating their ways home. Electric lights blurred with the glow of tiny windows and the stars themselves. The walk had felt brief compared to its relative distance. Once they had stood on the other side of Levi’s door, Hange had yanked him towards her by the collar of his coat. And he had kissed as though he had been starved of her; his tongue gliding over the roof of her mouth. Fumbling footsteps took them towards the bathroom where… 

Half-standing, Levi’s hands skimmed over Hange’s legs, prickling a trail of goosebumps beneath his touch. He seized her by the waist, his lips upon her flushed neck. Over his shoulder, Hange noticed her work trousers crumpled in a pile by the door. A pair of black, low slung briefs dangled from her ankle. She shook them off onto the tiles below. 

“Levi -” The syllables of his name left her in a flurry of breath. As he drew back she felt Levi’s cheek warming her own. Slowly, his nose grazed hers. Up close Levi’s features blurred at the corner of her vision. His eyes seemed grey now, in this dim light, like an evening sky threaded with clouds. Moments before the storm devoured all. Ravenous. Her lungs burned. Then Levi hauled her into him, lifting up her body as though she was weightless.

“Huh? Wait!”

Hange wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her out and into the hallway. At the end, an open door led to a small bedroom, darkened by drawn shades. With a flump he flung her down onto a neat bedspread. Without restraint Levi’s hands were clenched at the roots of her hair, his lips tasting her jawline. He was enjoying every inch of her; lapping the hot skin of her neck; pressing his tongue to her clavicle.  Dipping lower, Levi kissed her small chest, brought his open mouth over the hardened buds of her nipples. Like a man intoxicated, an addict only quenched by the shape and sensation of her body, Levi could not hope to stifle the low, guttural sounds which escaped him. 

Levi lingered over her abdomen, so close to where she wanted him all over again, hot breath stirring shivers across burning skin. Fingertips stroked at her skin before lifting her legs up onto his shoulders. He savoured the inside of her thigh. Hange’s chest rose and fell as his mouth inched closer.  

“Again? Levi… ah, Levi…”

At his touch, Hange’s voice thinned out to a mere sigh. 

“Fuck…”  Levi groaned weakly, “Oh fuck… oh God, I can’t get enough of you…” 

She felt him draw in a slow, agonised breath, and then his tongue flattened against her once more. Hange’s head writhed against the pillow, beads of sweat clinging to her face. Fists clenched at the bedsheets; Hange’s chest heaved. She felt she could come right there and then. Over-sensitised, each touch was amplified. Only Levi could drive such divine sensations as his tongue caressed her… ... Thanks Flo! And Anon - I recognise you from other asks. Come hit me up, I'd love to know who you are! :)

[teddyeyeseddie]

The Bugs and the Alphabet

eddie munson x reader

songspiraton: we're going to be friends

Fall is here, hear the yell

Back to school, ring the bell

Brand new shoes, walking blues

Climb the fence, books and pens

I can tell that we are going to be friends

Yes, I can tell that we are going to be friends

“Mommy, I don’t want to go!” you yelled, clutching onto your dad’s pant leg, hiding behind it in hopes he would scoop you up and take you back home and away from here. 

“Darling, You have to. You’re going to make such good friends, I promise you it is going to be fine,” your mother breathed out as she coaxed you towards the threshold of the classroom. 

You clutched your lunchbox close to you, trying your best to hide behind it. The room was littered with what felt like hundreds of kids in your mind. You wanted nothing more than to turn around and go straight home where all your toys and pets were waiting for you. 

Before the tears threatening to fall out of your eyes could start running, a middle aged woman you didn’t recognize knelt down in front of you. 

“You must be Y/N, I’m your teacher for the year, Ms. Richards. Can I show you to your seat?” The woman asked as she gently took your lunchbox from your hands and placed it in the cubby labeled for you. You waited patiently and followed the lady to a small desk towards the back of the class. 

You looked down at the table and found your name delicately written on a piece of laminated paper taped to the front of the desk.

“Here you are sweetie, you can put your backpack over the back of your chair. Do you need any help?” You shook your head as you casted your gaze away from Ms. Richards, opting to stay silent due to your nerves. 

Ms. Richards walked away as more parents and children filtered into the classroom, you shrugged your backpack off your shoulders and attempted to sling the oversized bag over the back of your chair. After the third attempt, the tears you had been holding back were brimming the edges of your eyes.

“Want me to help you?” A small voice let out, you looked up through watery eyes and caught a glimpse of a kind little boy, a toothy grin plastered across his face. You simply nodded as you used the back of your hand to wipe your eyes.

The little boy grabbed your bag from the floor and easily placed it on the back of your chair, he took his spot next to you and offered you another smile. 

“I’m Eddie”

“Y/N” 

Walk with me, Suzy Lee

Through the park and by the tree

We can rest upon the ground

And look at all the bugs we've found

Safely walk to school without a sound

We safely walk to school without a sound

“Eddie! Slow down!” you yelled as you made your way through the park. 

“Come on! We don’t have much time! Our parents will kill us if we are late to school again.. But, you have to learn how to do this Y/N,” Eddie breathed out once they reached the playground. 

“Eddie..” you whined out as you pouted.

“Y/N, what 5th grader can’t jump off the swing while it’s going, babies. I will not be best friends with someone who is a baby,” Eddie let out, a playful tone lingering in his voice. You rolled your eyes at him, hopping on the swing quickly. 

Eddie pushed at your back, helping you gain momentum before you started to kick your own feet, each kick sending you higher. 

“Okay now you can’t be afraid, just do it Y/N,” Eddie encouraged you. You gnawed at the inside of your cheek as you looked down at the moving ground below you. 

“What if I get hurt Eddie?” You questioned as your heart began to race. You looked to the side of the swing down at Eddie who had a proud look on his face. 

“I wouldn’t let you do anything that would hurt you Y/N/,” Eddie said as he attempted to calm your nerves. 

“Okay, are you ready? 1..2..3.. Jump!” 

We walk to school all by ourselves

There's dirt on our uniforms

From chasing all the ants and worms

We clean up and now it's time to learn

You coughed as you let herself out of the passenger side of his van. 

“Eds- Where the hell did you get that stuff?” You questioned as you slung your backpack over your shoulder. 

“I got it from Rick, you know him, can get anything from anyone, but he had to buy from a new guy this week, his other guy was dry,” Eddie Wheezed out as he pulled on his leather jacket, his shoulders finally filling it out

“Well it sucked, and smells like shit,” you huffed as Eddie rounded the front of his car. You stopped him as you reached into your bag to pull out some cologne you nicked from your dad. 

“Where the hell did you get that?” Eddie questioned as you sprayed a few spritz across his body. 

“Stole it from my dad a few months ago. Always keep it on me for cases like this big guy.” You smiled at him as he let out a little laugh. 

The two of you made your way towards the front of the school, trying to avoid the school principal that normally stood outfront of the main entrance. 

“Ditch the last period to go get milkshakes?” Eddie questioned once you reached your locker, he slowly backed away and down the hall as he awaited your answer.

“Duh..” 

Numbers letters learn to spell

Nouns and books and show and tell

Play time we will throw the ball

Then back to class through the hall

“Eddie! No way. You are joking right?” You questioned as you stood across the kitchen in Eddie's trailer. 

“No sweetheart, whole record deal and everything” You squealed at his revelation, quickly crossing the room in order to fling yourself into his arms. 

“Eddie, I am so proud of you,” you breathed out with your face pressed against his chest. 

“You’re gonna come watch me play right? Not gonna forget me once you go away to New York?” Eddie questioned as a fake little pout adorned his face. 

“I'd never forget you big guy,” you let out as your chin rested against his chest as you looked up at him. 

Tonight I'll dream in my bed

While silly thoughts run through my head

Of the bugs and alphabet

And when I wake tomorrow I'll bet

That you and I will walk together again

Eddie situated the bowtie that was wrapped around his neck, running his hands down his chest in order to straighten out the pristine white button up. His head shot up at the sound of knuckles wrapping against the door of the small suite he was waiting in. 

“Are you ready, brother?” Gareth questioned as he opened the door. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

Eddie made his way out of the room, minutes later he walked down an aisle surrounded by every person important to him in his life. He came to a halt at the end of the aisle, his heart racing as he watched for you to appear at the other end. 

As soon as your song started, his heart began to race. 

But once he saw you, the tears threatening to fall just like yours that first day of Kindergarten were freely falling down his face. 

Your white dress flowing softly behind you, the smile plastered on your face made his heart swell, the colorful bouquet in front of you not even comparable to the beauty you were radiating. 

In that moment, Eddie knew that of all the times you had walked together, through everything,  this was going to be his favorite one yet. 

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Eleven

fun fact this was like 18k yesterday. i took out the smut scene (its going into the next chapter) and was left with 15k…. and then i do this…

this chapter is 19,085 mcfreakin words

anyways as usual super insecure about posting this, i'm probably gonna hate it until the reviews come in and give me serotonin so yeah i love you guys thank you for reading im sorry this chapter probably sucks

Word count: 19,085

Ao3

Masterlist

Previous Part

Next Part

For a while, Vessel merely floats in an expanse of stars, awareness ebbing and flowing with the swirling galaxies around him. He is at peace, and that time is precious to him.

The peace is shattered in time, as the stars start blinking out one by one, a void opening up beneath Vessel. He sinks into it, inch by inch, as it swallows him whole.

Vessel didn't quite understand what was happening, at first. He didn't realize he was dreaming, didn't realize that none of what happened after he closed his eyes wasn't real. This realm felt just as much his reality as the waking world.

One moment he had been staring in horror as the galaxies around him exploded, the stars winking out above as he sunk into the abyss, the next he was blinking tired eyes open in his old apartment he shared with his third partner.

His single pair of eyes take in the dim lighting and the shadows in the corners that Vessel had grown used to being able to see with perfect vision. Where were his other eyes? His hands are holding his notebook open with a pen between pale fingers. The familiar pitch black with golden cracks is replaced with the pale, human skin he had Before. Panic sets in, a tremble shaking the pen pressed to a page of his notebook, smearing navy blue ink.

Vessel looks up again, forcing himself to look around as banging sounds from the kitchen, cabinets slamming shut loudly as he flinches with every harsh noise. The action is familiar. The walls are bare and the yellow paint faded. The dirty floors are chipped and covered in trash no matter how much he cleaned, laminated fake wood long since lost its shine. His panicked, wandering gaze catches on the line of cocaine on the coffee table in front of him. It was a small flat, only one bedroom, one bath. The kitchen and living room were attached, and there was barely any space for furniture. What little space there was, was taken up by her belongings. Vessel's old busted keyboard was in the corner, piled up with clothes that weren't his. It had been broken when his girlfriend had taken a hammer to it as he was playing, barely missing his fingers. There was no warning, no hesitation. Vessel couldn't even blame it on some drunken or drugged stupor. Her mind was perfectly clear when she yelled at him, screamed that his music was taking up all of his attention, that she had saved him and deserved better than this, as she smashed the ivory keys in and broke the buttons.

Vessel remembered sobbing so hard he threw up, dry heaving as he tried desperately to gather all the broken pieces and salvage the instrument. She'd been so pleased with herself, like she hadn't just destroyed the one thing, the only thing left, that made Vessel happy, until she got annoyed with him for crying over it. Not only was he in pain internally, after that, but his cheeks and ribs ached, bruised and battered after she was done with him. Then, she used him afterwards, and it hurt. She'd made sure. The bruises on his jaw and neck had lasted for weeks. There had been no point in hiding them, either. Vessel had no friends, no reason to leave the apartment. The wounds on his body eventually healed but a piece of him was shattered with his piano that day.

It was one of the worst days he'd ever had with her, and there were many bad days. Being with II and III has taught him that much... It was one of the only times she'd ever hurt him so severely, as she preferred ruining him with her words while his first girlfriend preferred her fists.

He tried to kill himself that night, once he was sure she was asleep. He couldn't handle being alive as it was, but for his last hope, his music, to be taken from him? Vessel couldn't remember a time where he had wanted to die more. He needed to erase himself from existence, no matter what it took. He'd limped to the bathroom across the hall and shut the door as quietly as he could. Held his breath deep in his chest as he waited, listened for any signs of movement from the bed. The door wouldn't lock, not after the first time she had pounded on it when he was cutting into his thighs and he couldn't bring himself to open it out of fear. She'd gone to the store the next day and bought a new doorknob, one without a lock. Grabbing the razor he kept on top of the mirror was easy. There was no real point in hiding it, she never cared to take them from him or say anything against his bloody habit. She was only a little shorter than himself, so she could have found it easily, too. Already naked, he had no need to be mindful of any of his clothes, and climbed right into the tub. It was too small for him, forcing him to bend his limbs at awkward angles to fit. Digging the blade into his arm deep enough to sever the vein had been painful but so easy at the same time. He'd slowly gotten colder as time stretched on infinitely, black spots gradually blotting out his vision as he wondered desperately if this was finally the attempt that would end all attempts and set him free. It wasn't.

Vessel had woken up in the tub, spilling out over its side like the blood in his arms, the shadows in the corners seeming to stretch endlessly into an infinite void. Vacant eyes couldn't seem to produce any more tears to shed, numb inside like he wished he was outside. He methodically cleaned up the blood on his arms, barely taking note of the scabbing already forming all along the vertical wound. Next had been wherever blood had slipped down his arms to the rest of his body, then the tub, and finally the floor.

He'd climbed back into bed, shivering from unnatural cold and the pain of his bruised bones as his mind wandered. Vessel vaguely remembered seeking any sort of comfort, pressing up to his girlfriend as she slept. The movement had woken her, then, and she placed a gentle kiss to his brow, barely awake, and then shoved him away to the other side of the bed. Rolling over to face away from him, she took the last bit of comforter he'd been afforded, and Vessel had felt so alone. She didn't question his puffy eyes or blotchy face that next morning, and didn't even care that Vessel had fallen into complete silence. She didn't care how he was or if he was hurt, as long as he was hers. A familiar possessiveness.

It felt nothing like II and III. He wouldn't mind being their possession. He was already Sleep's. When III had bitten him, in return for Vessel doing so when they'd had sex for the first time, they'd said it was to claim Vessel. That they liked the possessiveness it showed, and wanted to be possessive in return. Vessel's soul sang with yearning, and still his fear chained him down. They'd both treated him like he was worth something, loved him, cared for him, made him... made him want, to want, to-

Vessel forces his mind out of the pit its fallen into lest he travel down a road he's not sure he can stomach following. Not now.

He doesn't think II and III would ever destroy his piano because he wasn't paying enough attention to them. Sleep... perhaps if it was something aside from music taking his time, but there would be no need. Sleep could just bring Vessel to his realm on a whim.

Vessel hates this apartment and everything in it, he decides, himself most of all. But why is he back here? Why does everything feel so real? Was... Everything couldn't have been a dream. Vessel could never conjure up II and III on his own. They were too kind, so different from anyone Vessel had ever known that there was no possible way he could have dreamt them up.

"_! Did you break my favorite fucking glass? Are you fucking serious?!" Footsteps stomp towards him, like a death march.

Vessel finds he can't move, either from stiffening fear or something else keeping him in place. She called his name... didn't she? No, that's not his name anymore. Is it? No, no, he is Vessel. He chose it for himself, whatever name she called him isn't him. Not anymore.

Vessel shrinks back into the cracked leather couch, trying to disappear between the cushions at his back. He closes his notebook silently, stuffing it behind him between the cushions so his girlfriend doesn't find it.

She's in front of him between blinks as she screams unintelligible words through the ringing in Vessel's ears. Her face is a blur, the only feature he can see is her mouth, still moving as she speaks to him. There's a bit of white dust on her top lip, trailing down from where her nose would be. Her perfume is cloying, a strong scent that Vessel can't name as she grips Vessel's arm, nails digging into his bicep as she drags him up. He lets her, resistance long beaten out of him by those before her. She's still yelling, right into his ear now, it seems, as she pulls him along to the kitchen. The waste bin has been dumped all over the ground, glass scattered alongside the trash. There isn't much trash in the first place, since he took it out the day before and he'd only broken her mug this morning, but it doesn't matter as she shoves him harshly, weak knees buckling beneath him.

His palms land directly in the shattered remains of the glass he'd accidentally broken. He misses the smile that pulls one side of her lips up when he hisses at the pain, trying to keep the sound quiet.

"You broke my favorite glass and didn't tell me?" She spits, stepping close as she leans down into his face.

Vessel whimpers quietly as she digs her foot into the back of his hand, shoving more glass into his skin.

"I- I was going to get you a new one. They have it at the store all the time." His breaking voice is barely above a whisper, gaze locked on the floor in submission.

She laughs, a rose pink lipstick stain peeking out on her teeth, a well manicured hand coming to grip his jaw, "You? Go to the store? Don't make me laugh, ___. You know you can't go anywhere alone. I always have to go with you or in your stead since you're too pathetic to talk to people, let alone buy groceries on your own. I was going to find out eventually, and still you tried to hide it."

Her nails, the same color as her lipstick, dig into his cheek and jaw painfully. Vessel knows not to utter a sound, even as the sharp points feel like little, dull knives. He remains silent, knowing she won't want an answer.

Everything happening feels familiar. Did he live this before? Is this real? Is he back before Sleep, before II and III? If Vessel could move of his own free will, he'd take one of these glass shards to his neck to test it. He can only let things play out, even as fear makes him tremble. He hates being here. He wants II and III, wants them to hold him, so he feels safe again.

"Pick it up. With your hands, understand?" She orders, and when Vessel does not answer, can't answer when she's practically holding his mouth shut with how tightly she's gripping his face, she shakes his head side to side harshly as if he were nothing more than a doll to be played with until he's no longer wanted, "_, look at me, do you understand?"

Vessel's mind races as he tries to get his body to move, tries to answer her. Whether it was him or her who had broken the glass, she would always make him clean it up with his hands.

He tries to nod but her grip only grows tighter, nails digging harshly until Vessel swears blood is trickling down his jaw. Finally, she shoves him away, releasing his hand from underneath her shoe. He lifts it up, cradling it close as blood dribbles down his wrist.

"Can't even answer a simple fucking question. Clean it, _. I will not say it again."

Blood splatters on the tile as he does as ordered, starting with the biggest pieces that he puts in the trash bin. It had still been knocked over, and Vessel wipes his tears away with a forearm while he sets it upright. His tears do not stain his clothes, completely clear, human. Vessel hates it.

The smaller pieces start getting stuck in his fingers, getting shoved deeper into his skin as he picks up more glass shards. It hurts, but pain is a familiar friend.

Vessel cries anyway, on the verge of sobbing but he does not let a single sound escape his lips. He knows better. The tears fall regardless of his wishes, dripping onto his hands and the floor, blurring his vision so badly he can barely see to continue cleaning.

His girlfriend taps her foot relentlessly, just out of the corner of his eye, and he twitches with every movement, afraid that same foot will soon meet his skin.

"Faster, _. I don't have all day." Vessel tries, he really does, splitting more skin on the sharp pieces in his haste to do as ordered.

Nothing good comes from not doing as told.

Vessel thinks that there are more pieces to clean than before. Did he break more of the cup than he thought when he'd knocked it off the counter? He was almost certain there had only been a couple of large pieces to- Oh. She must have broken more of it when she dumped the trash all over the ground.

"God, fucking worthless, _. Stop fucking crying, its so goddamn annoying! All you ever do is cry, cry, cry. I'm fucking sick of it! Can't even do as told." She shouts, leaning down as sharp nails dig into his face again, "Am I not good enough for you? Is that why you never listen? I love you! Is that not enough?! Is my love not enough for you, _?!"

"If it weren't for me, you'd still be with your ex! I saved you from her, from the pain she caused you. I love you, more than she ever did! I deserve better than you being a whiny, pathetic, miserable man who can't do anything by himself! Who can't clean up his messes or tell the truth!"

With every word, Vessel feels himself slipping away further and further. A fog settling over his mind. Its happened before, not often, but enough for him to be familiar with the lack of memories after he comes back to himself. The shadows around him always seemed darker as he drifted away from his body, the distinct feeling of being watched so easy to brush aside.

His hands continue cleaning on autopilot, the repeated motions allowing his mind to slip away. Things get hazy, here. He doesn't remember finishing cleaning up the mess, and only vague pieces of being left to sit against the cabinets once she finally let him be, flicker through the fog of his mind.

He sits there, the world drifting in and out of focus, static in his ears, fingers tingling as he holds his knees to his chest.

"You know I love you, right, _?"

Vessel looks up and finds his girlfriend standing over him, dressed up in one of her nicer outfits that accentuated her curves. Her smile is kind, lipstick having been reapplied, as she reaches down to cup his jaw. Slowly, he nods with a smile of his own, wilted like his soul, feeling her grip tighten into something more familiar.

"Do you love me, too?" She asks, and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, "Of course, you're my everything."

"Good, that's good, _. You'd be all alone if it weren't for me, stuck with that bitch who didn't know how to keep you in line properly. You're so much easier to love when you behave, so don't break any more of my things, okay? Now, clean up all this blood, you've made such a mess again." Her smile remains sweet as she leans down to kiss him.

The kiss sends Vessel reeling, unused to affection like this. Vessel kisses her back, unable to stop himself. He wants to stop. He doesn't want her anywhere near him. He wants to go ho- He wants to be back at the manor, with II and III. He wants to die, right here, right now, permanently, if it means escaping the nausea that churns his stomach. It feels like seconds, or hours, later but she finally detaches her lips from his, patting his bruising cheek, so lovingly Vessel leans into it without a thought, and leaving again. The door to the apartment slams shut after her, and Vessel is left alone.

The silence is all he needs, the breath caught in his chest leaving him in a whoosh of air and taking a broken whimper with it.

Vessel sobs and sobs, silent, hitching breaths as his chest constricts, bloody fingers clawing into his arms as he hugs himself. His heart beats rapidly, a heavy thumping in his ears as he starts to hyperventilate, breaths coming in shorter and shorter pants, then wheezes, all while he whispers three little words desperately. He wishes he could stop saying them, questions their validity, now, as he chokes on the words through his sobbing.

"I love you, I love you, I love you-"

Vessel wakes up, choking on another sob he'd been about to let loose. Beside him, cuddled up into his side, is his plague doctor plushie. Sitting up is an arduous task, a weight pressing him down like a veil had been cast over his head and with every inch towards sitting up properly, its like it slips away. He's too distraught to truly take note of it, though.

He doesn't love her, he doesn't- not anymore. Not anymore.

He shakes with the force of his cries, muffled into the bloody hand he shoves over his mouth. Vessel doesn't trust himself to keep quiet right now, to be able to keep his sobbing as silent as it needs to be. He is shaken, rattled by the nightmare he has just woken up from, and yet his body, his mind is completely in perfect health. If you ignore the wounds he dug himself. If you ignore his panicked mind.

But he is not tired. The realization brings new tears to his eyes, ones of relief. Vessel couldn't remember the last time he wasn't utterly exhausted, even Before. He was always weighed down, but now its like a weight, one of many, has been lifted from his shoulders.

Stomping footsteps run towards him, echoing down the hall, and he turns to the door quickly, wide eyed as his mouth clicks shut. His body is shoved to the corner of the bed, his plushie stuffed half under a pillow and behind him, hidden from view. The blanket is pulled up over his chest as he hides his face between his knees to make himself as small as possible.

The door is slammed open, and Vessel expects to see his ex-girlfriend in the doorway. Instead, it is II, followed closely by III, and Vessel is struggling to get out from under the sheets so he can get to them. They both launch themselves at him before Vessel can manage to escape the covers, an exclamation from II the only warning he receives, "You're awake!"

They're warm against him, solid beneath his touch as he clutches each of their shirts with grey knuckled fingers. He didn't dream them up, he isn't back in that apartment with his ex.

He's safe, here.

"You're... real." Vessel murmurs, and the admission causes II and III to share a concerned glance.

It only makes him cry harder, for his fears to be abated. They have never hurt him like she did, like his other partners. To be shown it so starkly, the difference between the people of Vessel's past and those of his present is apparent... Vessel hates how afraid he was. Always such a fucking coward.

II presses kisses into his hair as Vessel claws at the back of II's shirt like he will disappear if he lets go, soaking II's shirt with his tears. III is silent at his side but holding him just as tightly. Vessel is thankful for the blanket he couldn't get out from under still covering him. He fears any day now that they will realize that he has no heartbeat. It terrifies him almost as much as the notion that they will eventually leave him, no matter how much they love him.

"You were asleep for an entire week, Vessel." II says as he finally pulls away, soft eyes widened in concern.

He keeps some part of his body touching Vessel regardless of the distance he puts between their torso's. III still says nothing, nor do they pull away, still holding tightly to Vessel, who squirms in apprehension despite craving the touch.

"Asleep?" Vessel murmurs, giving in and leaning into III pressed close at Vessel's other side, reassured by III moving away from Vessel's chest area.

"I- I don't have a headache." Vessel's quiet murmur is filled with muted awe.

"What happened to your face?" II asks, apologizing quietly when Vessel flinches back as he brushes a thumb over the bloody and bruised nail indents all along Vessel's cheek and jaw, smearing golden tears, too.

"I... Had a dream. It... It was more of a nightmare. My- My second girlfriend- She'd gripped my face with her acrylic nails as she yelled at me after I broke her cup. These were common, Before." Vessel explains, cupping his own cheek and feeling the indents underneath his fingers. "She made me pick up the broken pieces with my hands when I hid it from her. Did not care that I was going to get her a new one. I- I knew she would be angry with me, and I was afraid."

III eyes widen minutely, the scenario familiar. It was no wonder Vessel had looked so terrified when he'd broken III's mug. They want to ask for more details, to know what has befallen Vessel so III can't make sure never to repeat it, but his mouth is still shut. Vessel moves on before II can find the words to say, still running a finger over the indents in his cheek, "... This is a consequence of my rest."

'Sleep said something might happen.' III types out on their phone glumly, handed over for II to read out.

Vessel expects to hear III.

Wants to hear them. Needs them to say something. Why aren't they speaking? Vessel's memories are a mess, did he say or do something to anger them?

Vessel is suddenly bombarded with the fuzzy memories of what happened the night he last layed down.

"What did you do?"

III won't meet Vessel's eyes, he doesn't pull away either.

"Three, please, what did you do?" Vessel asks again, eyes wide in growing concern and horror.

III looks over to II, panic blatant over the bond as they silently converse with their eyes alone. II's lips thin in reluctant acceptance before speaking, "Sleep took his voice, temporarily... at least, we think its temporary. We'd- We'd both had enough of seeing you wither away from a lack of sleep, so- Three went to Sleep and demanded He let you rest."

"Demanded?" Vessel squeaks, a sob getting caught in his throat.

III demanded something of Sleep?

"He threw you out of the altar room! He- You- You could have been hurt! He took your voice!" Vessel raises his voice, distressed, pulling away to shove himself back in the corner.

His hands come to scratch at his arms as he holds himself. II looks around quickly, noticing Vessel's plushie right away and moving to grab it, to hand it over to Vessel. He had hoped something else to hold on to would make Vessel let go of his arms.

"Don't-!" Vessel blurts, crying harder, breath hitching in his chest as his throat aches with his fear.

II pauses, confused, but lets Vessel get his words out, "Don't destroy it. I'll- I'll do anything you want, just don't rip it. Don't throw it away."

Vessel digs his nails in harder, but can't force himself to grab his plushie to save it from its fate.

Slowly, II grabs the plushie with the gentlest grasp he can, handing it over to Vessel who takes it with trembling fingers, "I'm not going to hurt it, Ves. Why do you think I would do that?"

Vessel's lips pinch shut as he holds his plushie close to his chest, fingers trailing rhythmically over the plush material of its coat as he continues crying, "She would destroy my things. For loving them more than I loved her, she would say. My keyboard, my lyric notebooks. My 'Alpha Wolf' hoodie... it isn't the original. I had to save up for months to replace it."

III shakes with his anger, reaching out towards Vessel with arms opened invitingly. Vessel reaches back, crawling into III's lap and curling his head up against their stomach, tears never once ceasing. III runs a hand through Vessel's hair, uncaring how dirty it is.

"She should never have done that. She had no right, no reason-" II sucks in a deep breath to calm himself, clenching his fists in his lap.

"I'm sorry. I- I do not think you would do that, I just- That dream felt more like my reality. I thought- I thought I had been dreaming all of this up and that she had never abandoned me... that I was still stuck there where she hurt me, staying because I loved her and terrified to be alone. I realize, now, faced with what she was like... You two could be no more different from anyone else I have ever loved."

"I'm sorry, Vessel. I'm- I'm so sorry-" II isn't sure what to say, can't seem to find the words to express his thoughts.

"Do not apologize. It is not your fault." Vessel tries to reassure, still wiping away tears that are replaced quickly.

III simply holds him as he continues crying, II keeping a hand on his hip. Eventually, Vessel manages to calm down enough to speak again, small hiccups interrupting his words.

"Three... You risked the ire of our God... for me?" Vessel asks, so quietly its as though he thinks anything louder than a whisper will shatter the fragile atmosphere and everything he knows will be lost.

Vessel had never been a happy man, even in love. Not until II and III. They made him happy. Made him want to do better, be better.

His time After is still tainted with a pain of its own, but it is Before that lingers. Vessel... he wants to be rid of the past. He doesn't know how to start.

"You... You did not have to do that. I'm not worth it- Sleep, He took your voice for it, Three. You shouldn't have- I'm not worth it." Vessel's voice sounds defeated, a fresh wave of tears spilling over his cheeks, staining III's pajamas with gold.

"You are worth it! You will always be worth it!" II protests, falling silent with a miserable expression when Vessel shakes his head in silent refusal.

III holds Vessel to himself tightly, face screwed up in agony at the inability to reassure Vessel. III can't handle not being able to see Vessel's face properly, needing some way to communicate while still holding him. III pulls Vessel up by his shoulders, desperately grasping the others clothes before moving their hands to his face to cup it in a tender hold.

Shaking his head, III pleads with their eyes for Vessel to understand that they disagree with what Vessel has said. They have never hated Sleep taking their voice from them more than in that moment, feeling golden tears slip over III's thumbs.

"Do not ever do anything like that again." Vessel demands between his hitching, quiet sobs, hands coming up to hold onto III's, "I- I do not want to lose you. Please, Three, please! Promise me. Promise me, promise, promise-"

III looks to II for help, begging with their eyes for II to understand that III can promise no such thing as they shake their head profusely.

"Three can't promise you that, Vessel. I would do the same for either of you. You would do the same for us. We love you, at the risk of ourselves. We believe you worthy of our love, and so you will have it." II says, always so gentle with Vessel when he does not deserve it, does not feel worthy of it.

"I do not want either of you to get hurt because of me." Vessel whimpers, one hand falling down to clutch at II's on his thigh. "I want to protect you. I need you safe and unharmed, for my own sanity."

Vessel knows he must be a pathetic sight. Still, they do not shove him away. They do not hit him or scold him for his tears.

They love him, and Vessel believes it when they say so, when they press more kisses on whatever part of his body is in reach. No boundaries are crossed, his most closely kept secret remains just that, and Vessel is safe.

Despite knowing this, Vessel is... a little afraid of the next time he inevitably sleeps. Dreaming has brought forth things he had tried his hardest to forget, things Sleep had tried to bury without taking away who he was. Without his pain, Vessel would have been an empty shell.

Perhaps Sleep should have made Vessel forget everything, should not have left his pain, or any bits and pieces of who he was Before. Maybe he wouldn't be so damaged, now. He- He could have been a fresh slate, easier to love, easier to be loved.

This journey would have been so much easier... but would it have been the same...?

::

Once Vessel is fully calmed down, II and III reluctantly leave him to shower and change into different clothes, the tension that had been so high the past week loosening. Thinking nothing of the front door opening and closing, III lets Vessel wander off without his shoes again, peeking their head into the foyer to still see them by the door. III shrugs despite the errant thought that the other had just showered, going back to watering his plants in the house while II took a much needed nap, Elvira weaving between his feet as he wandered around. II didn't manage to sleep very well, worried over Vessel as he had been, so III isn't surprised he's trying to catch up on some much needed rest to try and relieve the pent up stress. They're in the middle of trimming up some damaged stems and leaves on the plants in the upstairs sitting room, unsure how much time has passed since Vessel left, when there is a pulling in III's chest, a tug on the bond he shares with the vessels. At first, they think it is II, since Vessel does not get their attention this way often. II is confused when III finds him up in his room, groggy from where III had woken him from his nap.

III apologizes quickly with a gentle pat to II's head, turning around to leave. They turn back quickly at II's slurred request for a kiss. II has nodded off again before III even reaches the door, and the sight threatens to bring a smile to III's face, though his sealed mouth stops it. III goes to find Vessel next, putting their shoes on at the door as the tugging persists. It does not lead in any particular direction, unlike the bond with Vessel that III can feel leads off faintly into the forest.

Stepping outside, III immediately notices something different, a change that strikes fear into their heart. One of the large trees by the house that lends a decent chunk of shade to the walkway leading to III's garden, has turned red. Its leaves, trunk, and branches are all a startling crimson color, like blood.

III doesn't think it was like this just this morning, but aside from taking care of their garden, neither II or III had left the shelter of the manor while they waited for Vessel to wake.

Vessel's probing, concerned bond leads off into the forest, and III will have to brave seeing so much red if he wants to find him, seeing down their own reassurance to relieve Vessel's worry. First, III needs to finish watering their plants, the task only half completed when he and II had felt the beginnings of Vessel's bond stirring as the other woke up slowly. The warm weather lends to the sweat trailing down III's back, and they know they will need a shower later, regardless of the dirt they're accumulating on their knees and hands while they water their plants.

Too soon, or perhaps not soon enough, that task is done, and its time to find Vessel. Steeling himself, III takes a deep, shaky breath. Walking further into the forest, III tugs questioningly on his bond with Vessel. There is a brief stint of sudden panic from him before its schooled into false calm and Vessel tugs back, leading III towards him. III sends down gentle affection, trying to soothe whatever made Vessel so panicked. Vessel's responding affection, quieter and more gentle than III's overwhelming love (no matter how subdued they had tried to make it) is treasured. They wonder if Vessel has realized it is their love that III sends him so often.

As III goes, he notices small little bits of flora have turned that same crimson as the tree by the house. A mushroom here, a patch of moss there, all red like blood. Any trees, their trunks like stained crimson bone, cast red light into the ground through the leaves. The sun beats down on III from above, but the thick canopies provide ample shade for most of the walk.

Vessel meets III at the edge of what seems a large expanse of red behind even III's enhanced eyesight, an unusual bounce in his step. Small band-aids have been placed over the nail marks torn into Vessel's cheek and jaw, and III is glad Vessel had clearly taken time to bandage them at all, after his shower. Vessel looks full of energy, bouncing on his feet with an eagerness III doesn't usually see from him. The rest has done him well. His demeanor now is such a stark contrast to what it was when he had woken up earlier that is almost sends III reeling.

The tugging in III's chest does not loosen, nor does it tighten, only persists in no particular direction. Following closely behind the First is a white stag, the same that Vessel had described to them. It towers over both of them, remaining a few steps behind Vessel as he walks. III eyes the beautiful, morbid creature warily as Vessel hesitantly reaches out for III's hand, a nervous, hopeful smile making his eyes all scrunch cutely.

"Three! This is the stag I told you about." Vessel says as III nods along, already having guessed it.

His modern English accent is more pronounced with his more energetic movements, as Vessel brings III's hand up to kiss his knuckles, "It will not hurt you, I promise."

III takes out his phone, typing a little slower than usual as he only has one hand available. Vessel waits patiently, a sad sheen overcoming the happiness in his eyes at seeing III.

?¿?: i believe you. whats in there?

"It is... Sleep's realm, here, in its earthly counterpart. I think it is a consequence of my rest. It is potentially dangerous, there are many of Sleep's creatures now residing there alongside this stag." Vessel explains, weary, "Promise me you'll stay away? Please, it is all I ask for." Vessel pleads, desperate for the other to agree.

III wants to protest, wants to assure Vessel that they can protect themself just fine, but Vessel is asking something of him... And III can find no discernible reason to disagree.

?¿?: alright ves, I promise

"Thank you, Three. For listening to me." Vessel smiles in relief, turning back to the stag, "You may go, if you wish. I've kept you from your duty long enough."

The stag snorts, shuffling its hoove in the rust red soil before it moves forward. III tries not to stiffen too noticeably as it moves closer to them, taking in the ghoul fungus littering what of its body that is not bleached bone.

"Steady, love, it will not hurt you." Vessel reassures, moving minutely closer to III's side despite his words.

III trusts Vessel, and so does not allow themself to back away like instinct demanded. It is easily a foot or two taller than III when it comes to stand in front of them, and for just a second, III cannot help the smile that pulls at the threading holding their lips shut at the thought of II beside the creature. He would look absolutely tiny beside it.

The stag leans close, large, sharp, branching antlers coming into startling focus as it bows its head before III. Careful not to startle it, III reaches up and places a hand right above where it's snout would be, fingers meeting only bone as empty eye sockets somehow seem to bore into III's very soul.

"Do you think the lovely creature would make Two look smaller than he already is?" Vessel jokes, and III could cry at the ease in which he does it, how he had voiced III's own thoughts.

If III could laugh, he imagines it would be a wet sound with promise of tears, but instead, all he can manage is a wheeze of air out his nose and his shoulders shaking. III nods eagerly in answer, eyes crinkled at the edges, and Vessel thinks they look beautiful. He wasn't sure the joke would land, perhaps even expected it to be met with irritation. Neither II nor III have ever met his negative expectations. They've exceeded every one of them with kindness and- and love, that Vessel feels he will never deserve.

The stag pushes its head further into III's hand, and while III isn't sure the creature can even feel his touch, he still pets above where it's snout should be anyway. Vessel lays a hand on the stag's side, where a patch of crimson moss has covered some of the vertebrae on its spine.

"It likes you." Vessel chuckles, still a quiet thing, but it surprises III nonetheless.

He's come so far since they'd first met. For him to laugh, as quiet as it was... Fuck, III loves him so much. Could not possibly put into words just how much Vessel means to them, but wants to try.

III can't, not right now, and it hurts.

III presses impossibly closer to Vessel's side as they both continue petting the stag. The creature lets them with no outward signs of displeasure. Displaying any sort of emotion may be difficult, though, with a lack of skin and muscles... and eyes.

Vessel turns his head in the direction of the house, tilting his head just so to the side as his petting ceases, "Sleep is calling for us. For you. He says you are not answering him."

III can't quite recall a time where Sleep had called for him, specifically. He's not sure II had ever been summoned either.

?¿?: is that wht this tugging is? It didnt leadt kn any particluar directon

Vessel squints at the phone for a second to decipher what III has written past the spelling errors, frowning. "Yes. I don't recall him ever calling on you before, so it might be different since you're the Third."

?¿?: ididnt mean to ignroe him

"Its alright, He says he's not upset, just that He merely wishes to speak with you." Vessel says, frowning heavily. "I think He is... regretful over what happened but will not speak to you directly, right now. I do not know why."

III puts his phone back in his pocket, bowing his head to the stag. They back away only slightly to avoid the antlers when the stag bows its head in return to both him and Vessel, before turning and walking back from whence it came.

"Do you wish to go speak with Him?" Vessel asks hesitantly as they, too, start walking back towards the manor hand in hand.

If it weren't for Vessel, III is sure they would have gotten lost trying to make their way back from this deep inside of the forest. Vessel seems quite certain of where he's going, though, so III trusts him.

?¿?: of course i do our god is calling gor me why wouldnt i want to speak witu him

"Because he almost hurt you." Vessel whispers, almost lost in the noises of the forest.

?¿?: i made him angy He could have just obliterated mr on the spto

"That... does not make it right." Vessel falls silent after finishing.

The short conversation peters out as they walk, hand in hand. III starts swinging their hands, curious as to what Sleep wishes to speak with them about. Maybe III will finally get his voice back. And use of his mouth in general, they're really quite hungry.

"I miss your voice." Vessel says suddenly, and III turns their head to look at him, finding Vessel already watching them with sad eyes.

III cannot even smile to reassure him, and they hate it.

"I- I miss hearing you talk to your plants while you water them. I miss hearing you call me by my nickname with that thick accent of yours. I miss hearing you laugh, so heartily it shakes your whole body. I miss hearing you." Tears well up in III's eyes as Vessel speaks, and he pulls both of them to a stop.

?¿?: im not too much?

"Never. You have never been too much, and I assure you, you never will be. Not to me." Vessel states with firm resolve, truly believing in every word he says.

III shoves his phone in his pocket and reaches up, grabbing Vessel's face, fingers threading into the others hair as he kisses him. Vessel lets out a noise of surprise, but does not protest the action. It is more of III pressing his lips to Vessel's than it is an actual kiss, but it will have to do. III swamps the bond with all the gooey, warm affection and adoration flooding his veins in the hopes that Vessel will feel it for what it is.

III pulls away, planting gentle kiss after gentle kiss all over Vessel's face until the other is a blushing mess. He looks so fucking pretty, III feels as if his heart is going to burst right out of his chest.

Vessel's blush lingers long after III pulls them forward once more, trusting Vessel to tell him if they start going the wrong direction.

III takes his shoes off at the front door, following Vessel up the staircase. They both try to keep quiet so as to not wake II, who is still resting. A quick glance see's his door open like III had left it, with Elvira laying in the doorway without a care in the world, sprawled across the floor like a particularly chunky pillow tossed aside carelessly.

The altar room is dark except for the single red candle, already lit. Vessel gets to work on lighting the others while Sleep speaks without preamble.

"You may leave us, my First. I wish to speak to the Third in private." Sleep says as III kneels before the altar, hands clasped in front of them on their knees.

Vessel does not say anything for a moment, nor does he move to leave. He lights the last candle and snuffs out the match, coming to stand beside III. A large hand falls to rest on III's head, slowly stroking over III's hair. If the situation weren't quite so serious, III might not have had to shove down the ardent arousal at Vessel standing over them like that, with such a steadfast expression on his visage.

"Can I... trust you with them, now, after what you did? If it were not for my- the manor's vines, you'd have hurt him." Vessel questions, finally raising his head to stare into the sigil on the wall resolutely, his eyes glowing a faint crimson.

There is a profound sadness in the bond, shared with their God, "I will not hurt them, my First. You have my word."

"Keep it, please. Or you will lose me. You've granted my wish... I implore you not to threaten it."

"I will lo...?" Sleep's voices seem to break into something deeply hurt, "Very well. I will not hurt the Third, nor the Second. Now, leave us, my First. I wish to speak with him."

Frustration and fear cloud His words before it is smoothed over into something ice cold to hide the hurt. III feels surprisingly... sympathetic.

"Are you certain you will be alright?" Vessel turns to III before he leaves, six eyes full of question as they scan his face.

III waves him off nonchalantly while they nod. Vessel stares down at him in scrutiny for a moment longer before slowly patting III's head only once. His footsteps make no sound as he glides out of the room and shuts the door behind him.

"A truly bewitching creature." Sleep muses, affection bleeding into their words as easily as breathing, if the God even breathes.

The golden flame flickers, shining brightly in the room as a fog roils around III's stomach, covering the flooring up so thickly III can't see their own legs. A veil seems to settle over III's head, weighing him down, shoulders hunching forward.

"Now, my Third. Your and the Second's insolence stems from your love for the First." Sleep practically spits, tone startling different from mere seconds ago, before all of their voices seem to sigh, the sound of it mismatched and echoing all around III.

The same tendrils keeping III's mouth shut wrap around their legs to keep them in place.

"I wanted vessels who would love him, who would not hurt him. I suppose I've found just what I was looking for, if you're so willing to anger me on his behalf. I told him your love was true, fleeting as it may prove to be." Sleep gripes, keeping III motionless and silent as their knees begin to ache.

"I- I apologize." Sleep spits out the apology like He'd sucked on a lemon.

III isn't sure why they picture a pinched face when they think of what sort of expression Sleep must be making, but he's sure he's right. Sleep continues, "I do not take kindly to demands. I... do not entirely understand humans and how they function. Much of my knowledge stems from my Firsts' experiences."

'Watch us, and learn, then. We are yours, but you are also ours. Learn from us as we learn from you.' III wants to say aloud, wants to scream until Sleep listens to him, but they settle with speaking with the God over the bond, pulling tightly on it so Sleep will listen, 'I love Vessel dearly, but his life has torn him apart from theinside out. He understands human emotion better than you, but he has only ever experienced a skewed version of love. What he has undergone is not love. Those before II and I, did not love him, not truly. We love him.'

"My First's physical state, self-inflicted injuries aside, has shown remarkable improvement in functionality. I have never seen him quite so... lively. Not since he was a young little thing. I thank you, even if we do not know the extent of the consequences his sleep will bring. Already, my earthly realm is changing, pieces of the realm I reside in bleeding over into the other plane. My First has more control over my realm than I had originally thought... My own doing, no doubt."

Sleep continues, "I... I will take care from now on to watch all three of you. Not just my First. Your voice will be returned to you, my Third. Oh, and take these, for the First and Second. Jewelry to disguise themselves around other humans. Use your own divine gift for the same purpose, Third."

Weight settles in III's hands, the appendages feeling distant from his mind and yet their fingers clasp around the items tightly. "Your voice will be returned to you when awareness flows back into your body. As of now, your mind is in a state of rest, on the cusp of sleeping. I hope it will bring us closer, so that next time I call upon you, Third, you will recognize it as myself doing so."

III nods, the action feeling distant, as though it was performed by someone else. Despite his body not feeling like their own, their mind is clear.

'Thank you, Sleep. Can I risk your rage once more? There is something I need to tell you.'

Apprehension colors Sleep's voices but He allows III to say what he will.

'I am not an idiot, Sleep, despite what my human peers thought. Vessel is your favorite, that is clear. But you chose us, too. We worship you just the same. All three of us are meant to be yours. I feel it in my soul, just as I feel it with II and Vessel. I want to be here with you, with them. Do not... I beg of you not to push us away. Don't make Vessel choose between us, or you.'

Sleep does not say anything further, contemplative in His silence, but their presence is cool against III's back, like a hand has come to rest on the sigil painting their lower back. It tingles under the phantom touch, long after that touch is lifted.

Vessel clings to III when the other comes to, still sat on his legs in worship. They blink in mild confusion, immediately getting an armful of Vessel to III's delight. The fog has lifted, no traces of it lingering on the floor, but III isn't surprised. The veil he had felt over his head seems to have lifted, too. III is too disoriented still to register that Vessel had briefly hugged him, such a quick thing that it didn't feel like much of a hug at all. Still, III cherishes the action dearly.

"I'm alright, Ves. Sleep apologized, and said He would try to do better."

"He returned your voice!" Vessel's face lights up with a smile.

"I did." Sleep's voices sounds through the room, "I have called the Second here, stay."

"Of course, Sleep." Vessel answers, arms wrapping around one of III's own, head coming to linger close to III's as though he wants to lean into them further.

"For you, from Sleep. He says you and II can use these to look human, while I will use my magic." III says, handing Vessel the necklace held tightly in III's fist.

"My necklace? Did He enchant it somehow?" Vessel asks rhetorically, taking the necklace gingerly.

The coin necklace looks just the same as Vessel remembers, having seen it just this morning in his bedside drawer, but he supposes a bit of Sleep's magic now swirls through the chain. Vessel thanks III for the necklace, holding it in hand while he leans his head on III's shoulder. He remains close to III even when II comes in, rubbing tired eyes. Sleep must have woken him from his nap.

Vessel and III remain on the floor, so II simply joins them on III's other side, placing a hand on III's thigh.

"Wait no longer. Tell him of your new manager, Second."

II's tired face scrunches in worry, but does as told, Bristol accent thick with sleep, "Sleep got us a manager for our band. We- We have a meeting with him tomorrow, at the record label he works under. I couldn't push it back any further or he was going to let us go regardless of Sleep's influence. We, uh, need to choose a name before we meet with him."

Straight away, Vessel's bond floods with anxiety. He doesn't say anything for a moment, only nods, trying to hide his face in the space between III's neck and shoulder.

Vessel speaks up quietly, surprising II and III who had expected him to remain silent due to his clear panic, "The band is an offering to Sleep, each song a token of our devotion. Sleep Token."

Vessel's six eyes go a little wide in startled apprehension, pulling away from III to look at both of them properly, "I mean, only if neither of you have any better ideas. I- You both probably do have something better than-"

"It's perfect." II states firmly, and it really is perfect.

II may have his strong opinions on the way Sleep handles Vessel's physical health, but II still cares for the God. He brought II from death, saved him, promised him fame and acknowledgement for his hard work in life. He brought him to Vessel, brought him III.

"Yeah, it's a neat name, Sugar. I was gonna offer up Sleep's Eepies. Or The Sleepies."

"The Vessels." II tacks on with an amused smile, tracing a subconscious pattern into III's thigh with a thumb.

Vessel's own amused smile is slow to lift his lips, lopsided and adorable. "You just wanted to name us after our group chat?"

"Why not?" III shrugs with a wide mirthful grin.

"Are you sure you're ready for all of this, Ves? You've barely been able to sing in front of us even with your mask. I know your voice is good, and we have a decent amount of songs written now, I just- I worry for you." II says, concerned.

"As ready as I will ever be. Circumstances have led us to putting this off for too long. It is time we do as we were made to, worship musically and bring in more worshippers. I need to do this. I can- I can force myself to sing if I must. The mask will help. It will be different, too. A proper ritual. Sleep will likely have more to do with it than He does when we practice."

"Yes, my First. You'll most assuredly feel me more strongly. You will do well, I know it. Do not fret. Hand over the Seconds gift, my Third. The coin necklace is a gift from my earthly realm. It deemed fit to bestow you a token of gratitude, First. I have placed a spell on it, to grant you the ability to take on your previous human appearance." Sleep explains as III hands II the necklace clutched in their hand, "The necklace is a gift to the Second from myself, for the same purpose."

"Is there not risk of danger, for us to be perfectly alive when we've all legally died?" III questions, voicing the thoughts of all the vessels.

"No, my Third. You came to the manor as your human selves. The only danger is potentially meeting those from your past, but my earthly realm is nowhere near any of them. There should be no real danger. Keep your identities hidden from the world except a trusted few, if you find any humans worthy of that trust. Your previous names will be written on any needed documents but a bit of magic will keep anyone from looking into them."

Vessel is silent throughout the conversation, eyeing II's new necklace as he fingers his own. Two drumsticks crossed over each other, with air streaking off of them like they were being spun. It makes the drumsticks look like scythes. A fitting piece of jewelry for II, Vessel thinks.

"You may all leave, if you wish. I will not be calling upon you today, nor tomorrow, my First. There will be much to do once speaking with that human manager of yours."

"Thank you for returning my voice." III says as they all stand.

None of the vessels move apart from each other, remaining close.

"I took it from you in my anger. It is only right I return it at some point." Sleep brushes off the thanks, but III knows, now, that the God appreciates their words.

He's about as attuned to his own emotions as Vessel is. III lets out a little sigh as everyone makes their way down to the main floor of the manor. From what III garnered, Sleep was about as emotionally intelligent as a rock, except about love, apparently.

And that comment Sleep had made about Vessel... He had implied He knew Vessel when he was a child...

How long did Sleep linger around Vessel before choosing him as the First? Or was Vessel always meant to be the First? The conversation certainly gave III some food for thought, but he would much prefer actual food as their stomach growls loudly.

"I'll cook you something, pretty." II says, not bothering to look back as he moves to the kitchen, III and Vessel following hand in hand without a word.

Vessel and II work together to make III something filling, but light. II refuses to let III help cook, having him sit on the counter while he and Vessel worked. It took more time than it would have if II had done it by himself, but Vessel had quietly asked to help, and II wouldn't refuse him much of anything.

It certainly didn't help that III wouldn't stop grabbing one of them by the shoulder when they passed, pulling them into a soft kiss before letting them continue. II and Vessel had no complaints to give.

III inhales their food voraciously, a man starved. The rest of the day is spent in front of the couch, watching Fairy Tail cuddled close with blankets and pillows covering the floor around them for comfort. Snacks galore are piled up on the coffee table, the last of their stash. None of them watched too much of the show itself, despite their best efforts. II and III were far too busy sharing kisses with each other, and stealing them from Vessel.

One thing became abundantly clear to III over the course of that conversation with Sleep, a multitude of little signs piling up until the picture painted is clear to him.

Sleep is in love with Vessel, in some way or another.

::

The next morning, Vessel is getting ready to leave the manor. He dresses in a plain black long sleeve shirt and a pair of tight jeans, leaving his socks and boots for when they head out the door. Tugging his unruly hair into his preferred half up, half down style, Vessel aims for something a bit non-descript in hopes he won't get stared at as much as if he wore his fancier clothes. Vessel slips his magic infused necklace into his back pocket, its weight heavy, and heads out of his room.

"Won't you be hot in that, Ves?" III asks as Vessel passes by them in the hall, their dirt covered hands a familiar sight.

He must have just left an offering for Sleep.

"I do not wish for anyone to stare at my bandages." Vessel says, leaning into it when III pulls Vessel close with an arm around his shoulder so they can steal a quick kiss.

"If anyone says anything rude, I can just punch them." III offers with a bright grin as though he could think of nothing more fun, or deserving.

Vessel laughs quietly, which causes III to grin even bigger, stealing another kiss. "As much as I think you'd enjoy that, we don't need you getting arrested the very day we meet the manager for our band."

"You guys would bail me out with Sleep's money. Besides, if someone did say something rude, it would be a deserved punishment and I wouldn't even mind the jailtime." III shrugs with one shoulder, still not quite letting Vessel go.

They've completely stopped in the hall now, but Vessel doesn't mind, in no true rush to leave. "I need to go finish getting ready, I'll see you in a bit." III says, placing one last chaste kiss to Vessel's cheek before bounding off.

Vessel heads down to the bathroom to reluctantly see himself as a human again. Its something he knows he must do, out of curiosity or a need to see what had made him so unlovable that only a God cared for him once he'd already perished. He fiddles with the coin necklace in front of him as he walks, passing by II who is sat on the last step clutching Elvira close to his chest, cooing at her like she were a babe. Its endearing, and Vessel brushes his hand over II's head as he passes.

He doesn't bother closing the bathroom door, only stares at himself in the mirror for what feels like forever before his head falls to look at the sink, at his mask placed on the porcelain counter to its side. Slowly, he lifts up the necklace and pulls it over his head. The weight of it settles over his chest and Vessel cannot seem to force himself to look up, to see.

Biting his lip harshly, Vessel does manage it.

He takes one glance in the mirror, at the single set of dull blue eyes speckled faintly with lighter blue shades, the rounded, human ears and the lack of Sleep's markings anywhere on his body, and puts his mask on to deter himself from tearing into the supple flesh of his face with his nails. The necklace slips over his head and is stuffed in his pocket again before even ten seconds have passed. He cannot stand the sight of himself from Before.

There is relief in seeing himself as he is, knowing what he looks like now under his mask. This is who he is, all the otherworldly inhuman parts of himself mixed with who he was Before, ugly, unsightly. A face made for radio, his boyfriend had said, the first time Vessel had played a song for him.

He supposes there is beauty too, in the features he shares with Sleep. The only parts of himself he has grown to appreciate to some extent. Only for his God.

Stepping out of the bathroom, II waits for him, leant against the wall. "Are you alright, my love? I felt how upset you were in the bond. Three was going to ask you about it but I encouraged him to finish getting dressed instead." He says, pushing off the wall to step forward and take Vessel's hands.

They tremble in his tender hold, and Vessel crumbles at the softness of II's sky blue eyes. "I do not like being glamoured, nor without my mask. I.. I do not have a face worth looking at."

II's eyed are sad, but his smile is kind as he contemplates what to say. Vessel lets him think, shuffling forward to be just that little bit closer to him.

"When I first saw you, sobbing with two new sets of eyes... I thought you were the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. When I saw you, moments ago, entirely human without any trace of Sleep's marks, I still thought that exact thing. My breath got caught in my chest and I was awestruck. You're beautiful Vessel, glamoured or not. Without your mask, or with it."

Fresh tears well up in Vessel's eyes, overcome with such strong love, such hope and disbelief. He manages to keep them from falling, but his voice cracks and breaks often, "I do not see what you see. I do not feel beautiful. I do not feel worthy of your affection, your kind words. Your love. I want to, though. You and Three... you're both so... so wonderful. I want to feel worth your love."

"You are worth our love, sweetheart, and we're trying to help you realize that." II says gently, bringing his hands, and subsequently Vessel's own hands, up to cup Vessel's cheeks.

Vessel's hands are cold on his face, warmth from II's hands a stark contrast. His eyes flutter at the affection, staring down at II with such blatant adoration that II feels nearly overcome by it.

"I know. You've helped me so much, in my ways than one. Even before Three got here. It means the world to me that you care enough to try when I don't des- Don't feel like I deserve it."

"I'm proud of you for making the distinction between not deserving something and feeling like you don't deserve something. That's important, Ves." II smiles up at him, and Vessel knows he would lay the world to waste if anything ever happened to the shorter man.

Vessel wants to see II as he is, without the glamor keeping him human. His eyes seem dimmer, not so bright of a blue without the black sclera surrounding the irises. Seeing his usual nose ring and eyebrow piercing is reassuring in ways Vessel didn't think it would be, the familiarity a godsend.

Vessel's answering smile is wobbly, but pleased in a muted, unsure sort of way.

Three little words are on the tip of Vessel's tongue. He wants to say them, doesn't want to let the fear that holds his tongue keep him from telling II he loves him, even if II doesn't say it first.

Vessel opens his mouth to speak, to tell II that he loves him-

"Are you boys ready? We need to be there in a few hours and its at least an hour drive. I want to find a sex shop. Oh, and we need to get that mattress for the living room! And groceries!" III calls, cockney accent thick, footsteps heard as they make their way down the staircase.

Vessel's mouth shuts, but his lips remain curled into a lopsided smile. II huffs out a laugh with an eye roll, standing up on his tippy toes to plant a chaste kiss to Vessel's lips. Vessel leans down a little so II doesn't strain himself trying, pressing his own kiss to II's forehead. He lingers there, foreheads touching, before he pulls away.

One day, Vessel will tell them. When he gathers the courage.

::

The further away from the manor they drive, the less of Sleep the vessels can feel. The tether connecting Vessel with Sleep grows thinner with distance, but at least Vessel can still feel him, faint whispers in his ear that he cannot discern. II and III cannot feel Him like Vessel can, only a faint trickle of His presence in the backs of their minds. No words can be shared with the God, the distance from His realm too great.

Finding a sex shop is a quick Google search and a five minute drive deeper into the city when they arrive not more than an hour and a half later. Vessel feels uncomfortable with the necklace on, but knows he can't go without it. III's own magic keeps him well disguised, a surprise to see for Vessel who had been asleep over the week it took III to master changing their features. Despite how easy looking human has become for them, they still struggle to control the spider limbs while II works on overcoming that fear of his.

Vessel is too embarrassed to ask much about the things he was curiously looking over at the sex shop, but II and III don't fault him for his lack of knowledge, nor the embarrassment. They take time to explain what certain things are, like the cock rings and the leather collars.

"Are you the sort of brat into collars?" II asks while they look at the section containing a small wall of different types of collars.

"I've never actually tried it. Are you the sort of dom into collaring your brats, sir?" III replies with a question of their own, smirking down at II with mirth shining in their eyes.

II carefully averts his gaze back to a bright red one with blunt, spiked silver studding, "I think your slender neck would look even prettier with something around it."

"You could just use your hand as a necklace, Doll."

"Such a naughty boy. I'll keep that in mind. How about this one, then?" II says with a playful gleam in his eye, pulling a baby blue collar from the rack that III had been very blatantly staring at.

III flushes red, "Oh, you were serious?"

"Quite. Were you not?" II queries, perceptive as always while Vessel watches their exchange silently.

"I appreciate you taking me so seriously, sir, but I've never been truly interested in having one. Some of these are just really pretty." III admits, uncharacteristically shy, and II nods in understanding.

"Okay, that's fine, then. If you ever want one, I wouldn't be opposed. Vessel, lovely, come here a second." Vessel startles, having been listening quietly as II and III went back and forth, trying to follow the conversation.

He wanders a little closer, right beside II as the smaller man speaks again, "Do you think you'd be interested in trying these out?"

Vessel looks at the rack stock full of collars of different colors and designs, glancing back at II nervously, then over to III. "What are these for?"

"Its a type of possession thing, Ves. Or a sign of devotion. Ownership, too, I think. There's a few different meanings and it can be different for everyone who wants to wear one. They can be used for breathplay, I think? I'm not entirely certain." II explains, waving his hands for emphasis.

"If you want to get me one you can." Vessel says, instead of offering a clear answer.

"It doesn't seem like you actually want one, Ves, so we'll hold off on the collars." II refuses for him, and Vessel cannot help the instant relief he feels. "Actually, its probably best we hold off on any of that until we've all gotten to know each others bodies and tells better."

"You're probably right, Doll." III agrees, also clocking in on just how relieved Vessel was with II's refusal.

Vessel not being ready for it is why III hasn't asked for lewd photos yet, why II has yet to go to Vessel to have sex, choosing instead to wait for him to come to II. III didn't have quite that much patience, and can't bring himself to regret the sex he'd had with Vessel. Perhaps III pushed him too far, too soon, but Vessel has opened up to them more, and is far more willing to talk about sex than he is his other traumas.

"I'm going to go grab some lube, feel free to stay here or look around." II says, patting III on the arm and wandering off.

III takes Vessel's hand, pulling the other to a different rack in the store, not too far from where they were before. Vessel keeps close, eyeing the whips and canes apprehensively. III makes sure to steer them away from the more pain oriented sections, and towards the shelves of butt plugs and dildos. Vessel is leaning into III, their shoulders pressed close, as III hums, idly scanning the small selection of butt plugs.

"Um... What exactly is lube?" Vessel asks quietly, shying away when III levels a blank stare at him.

"You don't know- Uh, lube is short for lubricant. Its to make sex easier. To be more specific for our needs it makes anal sex easier since your ass doesn't uh, create its own lubricant like a vagina? So you would put it on your dick so it slides better. Less pain and discomfort that way." III tries his best to explain but his brain is caught entirely on the fact that Vessel has no clue what lube is.

Its practically a requirement for anal sex, especially with another man and Vessel doesn't- Holy shit, did Vessel's first partner, the one man Vessel said he ever slept with, not use fucking lube?!

"I mean, you can use spit if you need something quick, but lube is just easier and works far better." III continues to try and stop themselves from traveling down that dark road of thought as Vessel slowly nods, a strange expression on his face.

"Did your first partner... not use lube when you had sex?" III asks carefully, trying to reel in the mounting anger they can feel building under their skin.

If they're not careful, a slip up in control caused by high emotions will cause their magic disguise to blink away, and III absolutely cannot let that happen, not in public like this.

II comes back with a couple large bottles of lube in time for the tail end of III's explanation, a concerned expression on his face. "No... Based on your explanation, I take it he was supposed to?"

"Yes, my dear, he was. Unless he has the world's smallest penis, anal sex requires lube or else its painful. Is this what you meant when you said your ex-boyfriend was rough?" II interjects before III can accidentally say something biting, that would cause Vessel to shy away further even if the anger wasn't directed at him but at his ex.

Vessel nods before quietly explaining further, "My whole jaw would ache for days, in the beginning, when I first started giving him blow jobs. It hurt less than the sex, so I couldn't find it in me to mind that much. He got so mad when I threw up that first time, but I still had a gag reflex then. I- I couldn't breathe and- and my throat- It hurt to talk because the back of my throat was so bruised, and my jaw-"

Vessel cuts himself off when he finally looks up and notices the thunderous expressions on II and III's faces. Those looks always seem to appear whenever Vessel speaks about his past. Has he... done something wrong? Maybe he shouldn't have started off with the bit about his first blow job experience, it had nothing to do with what was asked. II probably wasn't even asking about that, but perhaps the act of sex itself?

"You mentioned before that you- That you didn't bleed when we had sex. You were surprised. You don't know what lube is, and you didn't know what prepping was." III is thankful that the shop is pretty empty aside from the borderline asleep clerk at the counter by the door as he struggles to keep his voice low.

Vessel nods along, nervous about the anger in III's voice, stepping away to wrap his arms around himself. III's expression sours further, hand twitching up as though they want to reach out and pull Vessel back to their side. They stop when the skin on their arm flickers, a half-transformed arm flashing into view for a moment. He's grateful when II steps forward, wrapping an arm around Vessel's waist and pulling him close in III's stead.

"Was it... every time? Did you bleed every time? Did it hurt?" III asks, stilted like they don't think they can stomach the answer Vessel will give.

A short nod is the only answer Vessel offers, and III's face screws up into something agonized. II isn't faring much better, but is well versed in remaining composed in stressful situations if its required of him. With III crumbling in front of them and Vessel silent as a grave, it is required of him.

"That man did more than a disservice to you. He- Fuck, Ves- I'll be right back, I need to calm down before I lose my control." III doesn't wait to hear II protest, already leaving the store entirely.

"He- He can't- Its not safe. We shouldn't split up. Its not safe." Vessel tries to keep the terror out of his voice but all he can think about is that bastard straddling III, the fear in III's eyes even after they'd knocked him off, and the bruise that took so long to heal.

"Its okay, love, Three is fine. He's not too distant in the bond which means they didn't wander far." II tries to reassure, but he's sure it falls short in the face of his own discomfort at III not being at their sides out in a public space.

"Did I... Did I do something wrong? Are they upset with me? I- I didn't mean to make him upset. If- If they get hurt its my fault." Vessel whimpers, burying his face into II's hair.

His arms wrap around himself tighter, wishing he could ask II to hug him instead. He won't.

"No, no, Ves, it wouldn't be your fault at all. Three's fine, just- He's upset at what you've experienced, my love. I'm upset too, trust me, but neither of us are upset with you. Lets buy this and get out of here, we have a couple other places to go before we meet our manager. We all need a breather first."

The clerk rings up their items with barely any pleasantries, tired eyes not even glancing at them more than once. II is grateful for it, getting out of the store quickly. III is leaning on their car when he and Vessel leave the shop, visibly calmer even at a distance. One arm is held out it front of them as III observes the appendage for any traces of Sleep's markings or less human features.

They look up when II and Vessel near, standing up proper at the sight of them. III apologizes quietly, wrapping one arm around II in a hug and bringing them both forward to pull Vessel close by the nape of his neck, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. Vessel leans into it, craving the affection desperately.

"Better now?" II asks, cupping III's jaw lovingly.

"Yes. Sorry to leave, my markings were returning and I was so angry. I still am. I- I don't know what to say, Ves, except you didn't deserve anything that has happened to you. Not a bit of it, and it makes me so upset that I can't take back all that has been done to you."

Vessel looks at III, gaze assessing both their expression and the bond, finding no lie. III means everything he says. Uncharacteristically, Vessel doesn't wilt in the face of their concern.

"I'm not sorry. Everything that happened led me to Sleep. Led me to you and Two. I wouldn't change anything, not at the risk of losing this." Vessel states, uncomfortable at baring his heart so freely, but he knows now that they're different from his past partners in a way that lets him feel a little less shackled by what has happened to him.

Only a little.

Tears well up in III's pretty blue eyes, and he's pulling away from II to cup Vessel's face, mindful of the band-aids. The kiss they plant on Vessel's lips is full of love and pain, leaving no room for Vessel to deny it.

"I love you."

Unbidden, Vessel's mind flashes to his ex girlfriend, how she had looked when she said those words to him. It sounded nothing like this, felt nothing like this.

She'd hurt him and then used her love as an apology. Loving him didn't make the pain she had caused him hurt any less. It didn't fix the wounds in his hands or on his face... or that she was the cause. What was so wrong with him that made the people who loved him want to hurt him so badly?

"I love you too."

Vessel wants their love for him to last.

III places another kiss to Vessel's lips before pulling away, swiping the keys from II's pocket with a wobbly smile. "Where to next? We still have a couple hours until we need to meet our manager."

Blessedly, III's almost imperceptible sigh of relief follows II taking the words for what they were, a means of moving past the stressful few minutes they'd experienced. He ushers III into the passenger seat, who goes with a strained laugh, fiddling with the radio after II starts the car. III puts on one of Vessel's cd's, a Bullet For My Valentine album from his collection. It makes Vessel smile, which in turn causes III to smile, happy to have brought some light back to Vessel's eyes. III watches in the rear view mirror as Vessel mouths along to the lyrics, attention forced back to II when the other settled a hand on their thigh. III's own hand comes down to rest on the appendage, picking it up to kiss each of II's fingers before pushing it away so II can have both hands on the steering wheel.

After the sex shop, they find a mattress store, buying a large king size mattress for the living room. It weighs Vessel's car down comically, but its still drivable. III had gotten into the car and laughed so hard he cried after they saw the look on the workers faces when II picked up the whole mattress by himself and put it up on the car's roof. Everyone was visibly less tense once III had seemed o have gone back to normal, and the guilt that had infested Vessel's bond ever since the sex shop cleared away.

The tranquility didn't last long once it was finally time to meet their manager. Vessel is so overcome with nerves that he can't stop shaking. The necklace feels heavy around his neck, like a too tight second skin. He knows it only feels that way, and that in reality, there is no way to tell he is glamoured at all. He feels sick with his nerves, mask clenched tightly in his hands as he stares down at it in his lap. II sits in the backseat with him, flush against Vessel's side with II's hand on his thigh. He'd climbed back with Vessel once the other started to breathe too heavily to be normal while they waited for their meeting time to come up.

III is braiding a section of his hair beside his ear with the help of the visor mirror, nervous, too. II is trying to go through all of what he knows about what the meeting will entail, the name of their manager, any info he has to lessen Vessel's anxiety over it. It helps, only a little, but Vessel is thankful anyway. Places his hand over II's on his thigh and squeezes gently, just once, to express his gratitude.

Vessel is thankful they brought their masks in, II having already told their manager over the phone that they would be a masked band, completely anonymous.

Introducing himself to their manager is nerve wracking, stumbling over his chosen name. He is glad when II steps in front of him, just slightly, as though the smaller man could shield Vessel from the odd look their new manager was giving all of them, likely for their names and the divine air around them. Vessel expects questions, expects to be asked to sing so the man, Johnny, can properly gage whether he wants to take them on or not. Sleep's influence over him, however that was done, must make it so Johnny doesn't actually care if they're decent or not.

The meeting itself, after introductions, is tense, but perhaps only to Vessel. II and III handle themselves much better, placing themselves on either of Vessel's sides, like human shields. Knowing Johnny's name beforehand helped, as well as smaller details that II had told him. Vessel will have to thank II later. He was more prepared than he thought he was, and its thanks to II's forethought in regards to Vessel's anxiety. Johnny doesn't argue when II and III lay out some rules, but his odd look remains. No recorded interviews unless the band themselves give explicit permission, no face reveals, their "stage" names will be all that is used at all times. II had fought against Johnny's insistence that their crew would need to see who they were, but ultimately only managed to put in place a contract for their crew. Severe legal action would be taken if any crew or venue leaked any personal information or photos.

The vessels hoped it would be enough to deter people from going against their wishes for privacy. Signing the paperwork is the easiest part, all of their past names being written with muscles memory even if none of them can read them. Johnny doesn't spare the signatures a second glance, and Sleep had already reassured them that no one would look into the names enough to find out that they're all legally dead. A touch of magic was over the paper detailing their terms for anonymity, as though the document was not just legally binding, but magically, too.

When all of the paperwork is done, Johnny tells them that he's got a few guitarists picked out already that are around what they'll need, Sleep's presence sparking in interest in Vessel's chest. Its only a matter of choosing the one they want for touring. Vessel is nervous about this, too, wondering if their Fourth will be there. Just because Sleep said it isn't time, it doesn't mean that they won't meet their Fourth prematurely like what happened with III. Granted, Vessel believes III to have been chosen by that point, and Sleep had merely been waiting for them to die.

Johnny sends them off with a scheduled meeting for their potential guitarists and a wave. They pretend not to notice when the man grumbles upon their exit, disgruntled by the meeting. Vessel disappears to write and play his piano once they're back at the manor, mask fitted over his face. II and III leave him to it, sensing his need for time to himself after the days grueling events.

They're all a little disappointed when none of the guitarists that arrive two days later at the set meeting time seem to be the Fourth, but pick one regardless for the ability to play an eight string and what seems to be a good personality.

His name is Nick, short for Nicholas, but he had insisted on the nickname. He's shorter than III and Vessel but taller than II, with a squared face and bright, honey brown eyes. His smile is kind, and yet Vessel is... unsettled by it.

From the moment he introduced himself, shook Vessel's hand, it was like something had crawled under his skin. II and III didn't seem to sense anything amiss with Nick, not like Vessel.

"What's with the bandages?" Nick asks, looking down at Vessel's bandaged arms and hand with a curious grin.

Vessel shrinks away with a nervous smile, unable to go far while Nick still grips his hand. He wants Nick to let go, hates the feeling of bugs on his skin like when he suffered through his transformation. Vessel tugs his sleeve back down, not even having realized it had ridden up.

"I'm sorry, but that doesn't seem to be any of your business." III grins back, friendly but assertive. "Mind letting his hand go now?"

"Oh, sure. My apologies, uh, Three. Just trying to make conversation." Nick says sheepishly, letting Vessel's hand go finally, only to bring it up and rub the nape of his neck.

It feels performative to Vessel, but III seems to relax. Maybe Vessel is looking into things too far. All of his social interaction has stemmed from II, III, and Sleep for so long now, maybe he is just out of touch. Vessel has never been good with people, even Before. It was a wonder he'd managed to get any partners at all.

Vessel holds his hand close to his chest the rest of the meeting as II and III talk to Nick about his previous gigs for touring bands and when he's available for practice. Vague flashes of his time undergoing his transformation torment him, the icky sludge of the memories coating the bond heavily enough for the others to notice, II stepping close and wrapping an arm around Vessel's waist. The soothing touch helps, as II's presence always does. Vessel leans into it, available hand coming down to rest overtop II's on his side, threading their fingers together. The meeting couldn't pass by fast enough, time seeming to drag on as it was eventually decided that Nick would be coming home with them for their first day of practice, unofficially.

Vessel had felt eyes on him the entire time, and wishes the icky feeling over his skin would go away.

The car ride home was filled with the low sound of Ghost on the radio and the idle chatter III had with Nick with II giving his input occasionally. Blessedly, III insisted Vessel sit up front as he crawled in the back seat behind him. Vessel was too thankful to protest much, remaining silent the entire ride back, holding II's hand on his thigh like a lifeline.

"Two, are you and Vessel close? You're awfully touchy." Nick comments, eyeing the two of them in the front seat.

Vessel shrinks into his seat, holding II's hand tighter. "We're together, romantically. All three of us, actually."

Nick smiles, nodding along, "Oh, alright then. Not a problem at all. I was just curious. Suppose I'll be the odd one out then."

No one says anything in reply to that, and Vessel isn't sure what he would have said if he could move past his anxiety, anyway.

"Are you not worried about what will happen to the band when you break up? Sorry, if."

"There are no plans of us ever breaking off our relationship." III insists just as II opens his mouth to say the same thing.

"Well, that's never set in stone. I'm happy for you though." Nick says, starting up the conversation he'd been having with III again, III's brow furrowed just slightly in consternation.

It smoothes out over time, Nick's charming but forward personality setting III at ease the longer they talk.

An unpleasant feeling settles in Vessel's gut when the car passes the boundary line between Sleep's earthly realm and the rest of the world. Sleep's magic thickens, swelling in the car as it settled back into the vessels bones. Nick shivers in his seat, pausing mid-sentence for a moment.

"Did you feel that?" He asks, rubbing his arms to rid them of the goosebumps that had sprouted.

"Felt what, mate?" III asks, an easy smile painted on.

If his canines looked a little sharper, well, Nick was too unsettled to notice them, nor the slight glow to all of their eyes as their God's magic coated their insides again.

"It must have been the air conditioning getting to me. It's cold in here." Nick brushes it off, thankfully, turning in his seat a little to watch out the window as the large trees roll by, view hindered by the mattress on the car.

The feeling was made worse when Nick actually stepped foot into the house.

Elvira, who had come to the foyer as soon as they opened the front door, hisses at Nick when he bends down to pet her. She slaps a clawed paw out, nearly catching Nick's hand with it, who only laughs while II apologizes, horrified.

Vessel watches Elvira bound off, tail raised and fur standing on end, and feels a sense of kinship with the cat.

"So you all live together out in the woods? That's kinda creepy." Nick comments, following II and III in taking his shoes off at the door, "This place is super old too. The outside looks way worse than the inside, though. All those plants climbing the walls, even in here."

Vessel places his boots down beside III's, bristling like the vines Nick next speaks about when he says, "You should probably get the ones inside removed. They're kind of unsightly."

Sleep's displeasure thrums through the bond alongside Vessel's, His presence sweeping into the room and sending shivers down all of their spines. Nick glances around discreetly, as though searching for something, head tilted just so to the side.

"I like them." III interjects before Sleep can do something they couldn't possibly explain to the cops, trying to keep his smile kind even as his eyes glint with steel, "They were here when we arrived and haven't messed up the infrastructure. This place is old, but it is home. I would appreciate any criticism be kept to yourself."

An annoyed expression flashes over Nick's face for only a millisecond before it is smoothed into an apologetic smile. "Alright, sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Where do you guys practice? Will I be called Four from now on?"

Vessel barely stifles an angry hiss, turning his head away when II raises a confused eyebrow in his direction. As III drags Nick off to the practice room, II catches Vessel by the hand before the other can follow.

"You don't like him?"

No, Vessel doesn't like him. Not one bit.

Still, Vessel smiles reassuringly. What he says next isn't quite a lie,  "It's not that. I just... I don't like anyone but us here."

II's confused gaze seems to soften in understanding, "I understand, love. You're safe here, and to have someone encroach on your safe space is uncomfortable. You can go unwind in your room, or any of ours, whenever you need to."

"Thank you. Go ahead to the practice room, I'm going to go find Ellie... Maybe stay in your room for a little while."

"Of course, sweetheart, go on ahead. Don't feel pressured to join us this time, but do remember we need to practice all together soon." II replies, getting up on his tippy toes to kiss Vessel's jaw.

Vessel leans down so II can kiss him proper, smiling into it despite the anxiety still clawing at his empty ribcage.

II goes to grab the mattress off the car, bringing it in while Vessel wanders off to find Elvira. He searches every room in the house twice over before finding her curled under Vessel's bed, hissing at him. Her bright eyes seem to glow in the darkness, the only thing visible to his currently human vision.

When Elvira notices its Vessel, she stops hissing but refuses to come out. If Vessel could crawl under there with her, he would, but he's too tall and stuffed far too many books into the space.

Vessel keeps his voice nice and soft, trying to coax her out from hiding, "Please come out Ellie, don't you want to go lay down in Two's room? Take a nap with me surrounded by all of Two's things? It'll be nice, I promise. No Nick to make us uncomfortable."

Elvira inches forward, just close enough for Vessel to grab her and pull her out from under the bed carefully. Vessel holds her to his chest as soon as she's out, nuzzling into her black fur. She licks once or twice at the band-aids on Vessel's cheek before settling into his arms. Taking this as his cue to get up, Vessel grabs his stuffie from his bed and heads down the hall to II's room. Vessel curls up under II's bedsheets, holding his plague doctor close. The smell of II, something distinct that Vessel can't name, wafts into his nostrils, helping to soothe Vessel's frayed nerves. Elvira rubs her head against Vessel's jaw and down over his shoulder, meowing lowly all the while before settling in at his side. He does eventually fall to sleep like that, slowly petting her soft fur, hidden away in II's dark room.

Nick is there for the rest of the day as II and III go over their music with him so he can get a start on familiarizing himself with his parts. Vessel remains sequestered away in II's room, wrapped up in his bedsheets as he tries to get over the tremble in his frame. Elvira purrs from her spot cuddled up to his chest, kneading into his arm as he holds her close. He can feel II's drums faintly reverberating through the floor, somehow comforted by the sound as he is surrounded by the other man's scent. III's bass is thrumming, too, another comfort to his enhanced hearing.

Nick is playing the guitar notes beautifully. He is truly skilled to have already picked up one of Vessel's songs so soon. It sounds faintly like Thread The Needle, a song deeply connected with Vessel meeting Sleep.

It couldn't be any sooner that Nick decides to head out for the day, II collecting Vessel so they can drive him back into the city. Vessel is reluctant to leave Ellie alone on II's bed but allows II to drag him down the staircase to the foyer. No one wants to let any of them leave the house alone. They all pile back into the car to drive Nick back to where they'd met up for the interviews. Vessel bristles again when III puts them all in a group chat so they can schedule things and talk easier.

He feels silly, childish, for immediately not liking a man that II and III seem perfectly fine with. They're able to handle his forward personality far better than Vessel is. That must be the problem, Vessel reasons. He's... He's just not used to anyone other than the vessels so he's.... struggling to adapt?

He sounds like II or III but somehow far less wise, and more petulant.

Nick hops into his own vehicle with a smile and a wave, driving off when everyone waves back. Vessel relaxes immediately once Four is gone, finding himself exhausted by the events of the past few days. All the anxiety from meeting their manager, telling the other vessels more about his past sexual experiences... meeting Nick, bringing him to the manor in a space that usually made Vessel feel a little at ease...

It all left him drained, but with an excuse to take time for himself and think once they get bac to the manor. There is so much to do, an EP to properly record and put out, planning for future shows, deciding what their image will be... Vessel is wrought with anxiety just thinking about it.

"Are you okay, Sugar?" III asks from the drivers seat.

Vessel expects II to get into the passenger seat now that Nick is gone, but he remains in the back with Vessel.

Vessel hums an agreement, immediately slipping his necklace off. Only then can Vessel take in a deep breath, tight chest loosening. He feels like himself again, six eyes focusing as he blinks profusely. II takes this as his cue to remove his own necklace, and Vessel feels relief as II's true form is revealed. II is beautiful no matter what form he takes, but Vessel knows he will always prefer him with all of his Sleep given markings. III keeps his glamor up since he still has to drive home, but lets their eyes go back to normal, black sclera swallowing the white.

"So pretty no matter how you look." II hums, brushing careful, calloused fingers under one pair of Vessel's eyes, following the curve of his cheekbone up the length of his pointed ear.

Those same ears turn pink with Vessel's blush, mumbling incoherently in disagreement as he leans into the kiss II places by one of his eyes. On the drive back to the house, Vessel feels better than he has all day. The icky, oily feeling over his skin while in Nick's presence seems to have slid away and Vessel is grateful for it. Elvira weaves through Vessel's legs once they're home, following him around the house as everyone readies for bed. Its been a long day for them all.

"Coming to bed with us, Ves?" III asks as II clutches their shirt, already half-asleep leaning on them.

His brow is furrowed in puzzlement, expectant eyes following Vessel hopefully.

Vessel feels guilty to refuse them, but he desperately needs some alone time to bleed, to release some of the itch that had made its home under his skin the moment Nick touched him.

"Okay, that's fine, pretty. Are you going to leave me without a goodnight kiss?"

Grabby hands beckon Vessel forward. Once he's in reach, III holds his face featherlight between their large hands and kisses him, effectively stealing away the breaths Vessel doesn't need.

Instinctually, Vessel chases after him when III pulls away, and instead of getting angry with him, III merely gives him another kiss. Vessel smiles into it, like always, and doesn't follow when III pulls away this time. II is tugging insistently at Vessel's shirt, tired eyes begging for a kiss of his own. Vessel leans down so II can do so, smiling into this kiss, too.

It almost makes him want to just follow them to bed instead of separating in the hall, but Vessel needs to bleed. Needs his blood spilling down his skin, staining it such a pretty crimson over the black.

"I'll join you later." Vessel compromises, a little less guilty for it.

"You will?" II mumbles out, kissing Vessel again, leisurely.

"Yes, it will be a little while though. You may be asleep by then."

"That's fine, Sugar. Do you want us to wait up for you?" III says, resting his head on II's as he leans into his back.

His taller frame swamps II's shorter one,  its cute.

Vessel tilts his head in confusion. Why would they want to stay awake until he got there? He shakes his head in refusal and III hums unintelligibly, squishing II down under him as he takes Vessel's jaw in gentle fingers and kisses him again.

All of the tender kisses are leaving Vessel dizzy with swelling affection. Any more of this and he really will just follow them to bed. He steps away to avoid that outcome, but his remaining smile is genuine.

II groans playfully as III continues smothering him under their weight, forcing II to hold him up easily as they waddle back to II's room. It's endearing, hearing them laugh freely after such a long day.

Vessel adores them so.

He waits until they're in II's room, the door cracked open behind them, to head back to his own. The knife hidden under his mattress is pulled out easily, and Vessel's strips himself of his shirt. He eyes Elvira thoughtfully, wondering if he should set her out of the room, but ultimately doesn't care if she sees. The pretty little creature is only a cat, and II and III already know he self harms.

The blade glides across his flesh like a hot knife through butter, parting a golden crack in his skin and bringing forth crimson and black blood, swirling together but never mixing. He sits and watches as cut after cut is dug into his skin, blood dripping down over the side of his arm and onto his thighs. So focused as he was on finally being able to cut himself, he didn't remember taking off his clothes other than his shirt, but its obvious he stripped down to his boxers.

At some point, Vessel stops cutting, physically feeling the icky sensation he'd struggled with all day leaving him with his lifeblood. He merely watches, eyes growing heavy, as blood trickles out of his veins.

He doesn't remember tipping over to lay on the bed, staring at his closed door with vision spotted with black dots. He doesn't remember falling asleep.

Vessel opens his eyes to his first girlfriend above him, the weight of her keeping him pinned down to the bed. He's sure if he tried, he could get out from under her, but there is no fight in him, only acceptance.

She's kissing him, moans spilling out between her lips as she uses his body for her own pleasure. Its what he was good for, after all. A couple of holes to use and a dick to ride. That thought is quickly shoved aside by the more insistent thought that II and III have never used him like this.

They've never hit him relentlessly, ruthlessly, like she has. Never choked him, never made him feel less than.

Vessel's head falls to the side, gasping in desperate breath after breath, blurry vision struggling to focus as his lungs fill with much needed air.

Human eyes wander the room aimlessly, looking anywhere but up at her, and catch on something- Someone unusual.

There was a man in Vessel's nightmare. Someone who Vessel knows for a fact he's never seen before. There was horror on their face, kind eyes wide as Vessel's body jerked with a slap to the cheek, and they leapt forward as if they could stop what was happening. It made Vessel smile, even as his girlfriend gripped his face, long, fake nails digging into his cheek where she had just hit him, pulling him back to look at her.

For a few minutes, Vessel's vision is filled only with her and the curtain her hair has made around them. Her lips are all he can make out of her facial features, unpainted and shaped like a cupids bow. The entire time, his mind drifts from his body, staring up at her through vacant eyes as his brain struggles to get away from what is happening.

Then, she pauses, a long, drawn out moan falling from parted lips. His head falls to the side when she lets his face go, and the man is still there. He still looks afraid, a little green in the face.

A perfect stranger, and yet Vessel realizes that they know this person. Knows who they will become, that is. Something in his soul positively sings at the sight of them, a name on the tip of his tongue.

"Four..."

Vessel's voice is nothing more than a whispered croak, voice grating against his bruising throat, but the man stumbles back as though Vessel had yelled. If II's eyes were like the sky on a clear day, III's a deep, dark, stormy ocean blue, then Four's were beautiful, crystal blue waters, wide in surprise. As he fell, they seemed to shift into different shades in the strange lighting of this realm. In the next second, the man is gone in a wisp of black smoke, still stumbling backwards with Vessel's six eyes boring into his.

The smile doesn't leave Vessel's face, even as scratches are torn into his arms, nail indents make cuts on his bruising cheeks, and Vessel's ears ring with the sound of her breathy moans above him. 

For the first time since Vessel started dreaming, he was able to perform an action all on his own. He never remembered smiling during any of this, nor was there any reason for him to have been able to say the Fourth's name. An anomaly has occurred, and whether it was due to the Fourth's appearance, or something else, the seed has been planted in Vessel's mind. Perhaps he can do more than lay here and be hurt all over again, like he had never left his own personal hell.

Vessel wakes, the moon shining light into his room as he holds his stuffie close, he feels giddy. Elvira purrs loudly at his back, vibrating the bed a bit with the sound. His cheeks ache, iron spilling over his tastebuds as he sits up with a wide grin on his face. His arm aching fiercely brings Vessel's attention to the blood limb, still leaking crimson onto his sheets. He gets up to wrap it quickly, but his mind remains on the Fourth, enraptured by the color of his eyes, of the pale eyelashes framing such startling bright ocean waters. The man is untouched by Sleep, and yet, Vessel knows with every atom in his body that he is their Fourth. There is not an ounce of doubt in Vessel's mind, nor his heart and soul. That is the Fourth, and Sleep has simply not found him yet. Vessel keeps his smile, even as his lip stings, too, having been busted during his dream, spilling red, human blood down his jaw.

Vessel removes the bloody sheets from his bed, tossing them under the frame to deal with later. He has spare bedclothes if he needs them. Cleaning off the dried blood from his skin is a little harder, and takes more time than Vessel would like to admit as the action strains his slow-forming scabbing. Getting dressed in a set of pajamas is marginally easier.

Perhaps Vessel should be embarrassed that the Fourth had seen him in such a compromising position, held down by the weight of his ex as she rode him, a hand around his throat, but he could only feel pure, unadulterated joy at even that small glimpse of the Fourth.

Any worries Vessel had had about Nick being chosen as the Fourth seem to slip away. Sleep would not choose a vessel that Vessel himself did not like, right? Especially not now that he has seen their Fourth with his own eyes.

Suddenly, though, Vessel isn't so sure. If Vessel were to tell the others that he had found the Fourth, would they believe him? He'd only seen him in a dream. Besides, II and III had already taken to Nick- Four (Vessel needs to start calling him by that name. He'd asked Vessel to, and its only right Vessel does as requested), quite well.

He has no right to get in between their budding friendship with Four, so Vessel will keep quiet until he can ask Sleep about the man in his dreams. He's tempted to do so now, but finds that he just wants to go lay with II and III, if they'll welcome him. Vessel gathers up his clean blanket, stuffie, and Elvira in his arms and makes his way out his door. II is awake when Vessel pushes the door to his room open, sitting up on his phone which he sets down upon seeing Vessel.

"Hey, Ves. I felt you having a bad dream when I woke up to use the restroom. I was going to wake you but you calmed before I could." II explains without prompting, scooting over to squish into III's side as the other remains asleep.

Vessel frowns, guilty for worrying II, but smiles when II reaches out for him invitingly. He crawls into II's arms after setting Elvira down at the foot of the bed, laying his head on II's stomach as an arm slings over II's legs to pin his stuffie between them. II thumbs at Vessel's busted lip carefully, looking down at him in concern, "This happen in your dream?"

Vessel nods without responding verbally, soaking in the affection and the warmth of II's arm over his back as his fingers gently scratch Vessel's scalp soothingly.

He wants to tell II about Four, their Four, so badly, but finds the words caught in his throat. Sensing his creeping unease, II picks up his phone again, holding it up on his knee with the arm wrapped around Vessel. There's an app for watching movies open on the screen, something called Lord of The Rings pulled up.

II stares sadly at the fresh bandages around Vessel's arm, at the small splotch of blood seeping through the white. II wants to ask him to stop. Stop hurting himself, and hurting them in turn. But he is afraid of how Vessel would react. Would he grow angry? Would he shut down? Pull away from them entirely? Would he try and listen to what II said, would he try and stop marring his flesh?

II wants to ask him to stop, but he is afraid.

II wants to ask about the busted lip, too, the bruise glancing over his jaw, but Vessel's bond is back to being excited, happy, and II would hate to ruin that with difficult questions.

"Wanna watch this with me? I'm not tired right now." II says, trying to keep his voice from breaking, and Vessel finds himself nodding before he can think better of it, none the wiser to the turmoil slowly brewing in II's mind.

Neither II nor III are any better than Vessel, sometimes, when it comes to hiding away the emotions they don't want the others to know about.

II grins, the expression a little forced, leaning down to press a kiss into Vessel's hair and restarting the movie. They stay like that until the sun starts peeking through the curtains, only halfway through the extended edition of The Fellowship of the Ring. Neither of them make to move, quite content to bask in each others presence as III breaths softly from beside them, curled into himself as Elvira stretches out over the length of his torso, balanced precariously on their side.

Idly, Vessel wonders if he died. His body doesn't ache like it would if he had died, so he concludes he must've passed out from the blood loss. Its a wonder he didn't die, to be honest,

Vessel will speak with Sleep another time. For now, he wants nothing more than to be here, with them, where he is safe. Cared for.

Loved.