#if it matters the next step in my routine is to wash all the conditioner out

[algolagniaa]

the first part of my hair washing routine is coating my dry hair with conditioning detangler and brushing all the mats out. it usually takes me an hour to do this, I finger brush as well as regular brushing so that I really get everything, and once it’s done I brush everything again and again to be really sure I didn’t miss any tangles. then I get in the shower and use a curl-friendly dandruff control shampoo to wash my hair, wash that out, apply copious amounts of (again curl-friendly) conditioner to my hair, do all the parts of my shower routine that don’t have to do with hair, and then use a wide toothed comb to comb my hair out. tell me why at this point my hair is ALWAYS matted again because my only theory is faeries hate me

[irisintheafterglow]

Polish Up Real Nice! (bnha boys x you)

summary: hcs about taking care of yourself and taking care of the boys (with bakugo, shoto, izuku, kirishima, and denki)

cw/tags: swearing cuz bakugo is here, sickeningly cheesy fluff, the tiniest little bit of angst, pet names (love, babe, baby, sweetheart, lovey)

note: this is your reminder to take good fucking care of yourself because you deserve to feel loved !!!

likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated <3

Bakugo Katsuki

he has a longer skincare routine than you

does not matter if your routine is 2 steps or 10

he absolutely has a more complex regimen

will hide your body wash/shampoo to force you to use his instead

he likes it when you smell like him because he doesn't know how to voice his fuckin emotions any other way

it's ok !!! we love him anyway !!!

will automatically assume you're using his stuff if he starts running out

"babe, do you know what the fuck happened to my serums?"

"no, love, i'm sorry"

"you're not using them behind my back, are you?"

"i can't read half of the instructions on that tiny-ass bottle."

"it's self-explanatory-"

"it's also $100 for literally 2 milliliters, kats."

"that's a no, then."

it was denki lmao he was over at your house trying to figure out which bottle was soap

also has a haircare routine but not as strict as skincare

he'll just put leave-in conditioner if he wants it to look extra fluffy

MELTS when you massage oil into his scalp

he would rather die than wear one of those cutesy face masks

but he's over here putting fucking cucumbers on his eyes

you have a photo of him with a clay mask on and cucumbers over his eyes that he doesn't know you took

immediately sent it to his friends and now every single contact photo is of that picture

his love language is most definitely not words of affirmation but i think quality time is a strong contender

so when you're both getting ready in the morning he'll wordlessly hand you bottles of products without you asking because he's memorized your habits too <3

Todoroki Shoto

has like????? no skincare routine??????

man is just effortlessly pretty

for a long time he'd just use whatever momo or his mom recommended to him

when he started dating you and you asked about his skincare routine, he was the definition of confused

he was like

"i wash it??"

"no, but like with what product, sweetheart?"

"soap??"

despite not having much of a routine for himself, he will buy you WHATEVER you want

does not matter if the product costs more than the fucking moon

he'll have at least two bottles of it in your house at all times so you never run out

whenever he visits the store or has an assistant out shopping for him, he'll ask if you need anything (applies to basically everything but especially selfcare items)

when you do a facemask with him your favorite part is tying back his hair and giving him a tiny little sprout on the top of his head

also melts when you massage hair oil into his scalp

but he likes to give you massages more

could be with lotion or body wash, doesn't matter

will heat and/or cool his body depending on what you need

he likes running his hands over your skin until you're on the verge of falling asleep

and then he'll just lie down next to you and press his body against yours

Midoriya Izuku

doesn't really know much about skincare but is very eager to learn!!

adores doing facemasks with you

will pick up silly little animal masks from the store while he's on patrol

"look, it's a penguin."

"zuku, my love, where did you get these?"

"on patrol today."

"you're supposed to be stopping villains, babe."

"to be fair, i did kick the hell out of some thieves before buying them."

"ah, so you rewarded yourself."

"by being able to spend time with you, yes."

when he comes home late from a mission or from patrol and he's too tired to take care of his curls, you do it for him

just taking care of him in general when his body is physically unable to do it

which is quite often because you know, he's fucking deku

you'll lead him to the bath and make sure the water is warm beforehand

after he's settled and you clean any pressing wounds, you start working on his hair

he almost falls asleep right there, with your fingers gently rubbing product into his curls

you have to gently wake him to remind him to rinse

will sleepily watch you put on lip balm and then ask to try it

when you hand it out to him, he shakes his head

you smile and he kisses it off your lips

"that's pretty good. keep wearing it, please."

Kirishima Eijiro

probably uses a simple face wash and moisturizer

sometimes uses toner if you remind him but he doesn't really need it since his skin doesn't get super oily

he has a hand care routine

does that even exist??

it does now !

one of your nightly routines with him is rubbing lotion into his palms

because of his quirk, they can get really, really rough and dry

his skin in general gets beat up the most

he tries to remember to put lotion on but he's so busy that he forgets often

he also likes it better when you're sitting across from him and dotingly running your thumb along his palms

despite having a lot of callouses, it's one of the more sensitive spots on his body

"what is it, eiji?"

"that tickles."

he also asks you if you can help him take care of his nails, too

they tend to get roughed up during battles and he also sometimes picks at his cuticles absentmindedly

you help him clean up the nailbeds and scrub dirt from under the fingernails

he watches you like you painted the stars in the sky

when he comes out of the shower and his hair is down, he'll shake his head like a dog if you're in close proximity

effectively hitting you with water like a lawn sprinkler

the absolute KING of physical affection self-care

if you've had a hard day sometimes the one thing you need is just for him to lay his entire body weight on you

"can i ask a favor, babe?"

"anything, lovey."

"work was shit today, could you-"

he's already throwing himself at you and burying you both into the couch cushions

Kaminari Denki

definitely used hand soap to wash his face before dating you

instead of hiding your body wash to make you smell like him, he likes to use your products instead to make him smell like you

because of the videos you send him, most of his social media feed is influencers doing product reviews

he'll send you those product reviews and ask if it's legit or not

if you say it's legit, he'll buy it for you even if you didn't ask for it

"the fuck is this?"

"looks like some crystal roller thing, i don't know."

"baby, you're the one that bought it."

"to be fair, i black out every time i press 'proceed to cart,' so i don't remember doing it."

LOVES taking pictures and videos while you're doing self-care together

he's a sucker for the domestic life what can i say

will play music while you're trying to do your routine and take videos of him just spinning you around your bathroom

his skin also tends to dry out because of his quirk and sometimes he just needs a nice, long soak

will adamantly try to convince you to join him

not in a sexual way but in a matter of he has a small water gun hiding below the surface of the bubbles

instead of doing deep pressure therapy for you, sometimes he needs it from you

it gets hard for him, being a conduit of such a volatile quirk, and he needs you to remind him that his body isn't just a weapon

therefore he likes to just walk up behind you and ask to put his arms around you or just hold you

because he needs it

and deep down?

you need it too

if you think this was self indulgent then you are absolutely correct;

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[needy-abby]

Conditioner

It had been a long day. Laura sighed and sat down. Rough day at work, and a sudden downpour as she got home. She took a moment to recover herself and think about her next step for the night. Checking her texts, she sees a curious message, forgetting about it a moment later when she realizes what she should do next.

A shower. Those always made her feel better. She went to start the water warming while she got her change of clothes and towel ready.

Nice and steamy, just how she likes it. She slips out of her clothes and steps in. The warm air and water soothing her body. She always found them so relaxing, like she could let go for a bit.

Laura goes through her routine like she always does. She washes her body, her face. She shampoos her hair and washes it out. Laura felt so happy. All the stress of the day fading away. Nothing mattered at that moment, just the warm water and the conditioner in her hair. Her face relaxed, eyes unfocused. It felt nice.

Then Laura needed to condition her hair. Can’t leave it all dry and nasty like plain shampoo would. She pulled out the bottle and put some in her hand. It felt nice in her hand. She lathered up her hair. It’s so calming. It always felt nice to do this

Laura didn’t know how much time passed. She doesn’t know when she started muttering to herself either

“I’m conditioned by conditioner” she mumbled to herself, the deep rooted programming that took over every time. Laura couldn’t tell how wet her push was, not with the shower water falling down her body, but the pleasure roared through her as she gave in

“No think”, the silly girl says to herself, just a husk of what she was. Her mind was squeaky clean, conditioned so well by conditioner. Laura fell to her knees, so totally empty as she recited her mantras and programming.

Laura came, completing her ritual she’s practiced daily for a long time. She’s been conditioned with conditioner. She leaves feeling so happy and warm and calm, not paying much mind to how much time had passed. It didn’t bother her anymore, Laura always loves her showers.

Dried and dressed, she goes back to the text message and replies, “my mind is clean and my head is conditioned”

This little story was inspired by me and @stupid-obedient-laura playing around the other night, with me coming out of trance and immediately made this terrible joke for some ungodly reason. Props to her for putting up with my brains terrible jokes

[nancy-laura-spungen]

Many thanks to Den Browne for an amazing chapter of his book Padlocks recounting going to an X Ray Spex gig with Sid & Nancy.

When Sid and Nancy moved into our place I imagined that our social life would take a dramatic upturn. We’d be clubbing, gigging, ligging, drugging and generally hanging out punk rock style. It soon became clear that on Sid’s meagre allowance from the Pistols, we’d be lucky to manage a night at the pub. They’d experienced threats and harassment when out, and besides, there are few things more conducive to an indoor lifestyle than a heroin habit.

But from time to time we did venture out into the uncomprehending world. One crisp autumn afternoon – to our total surprise – they announced that they wanted to join us on the weekly trip to the launderette down the road. Despite all the arguments and casual violence, there was a “Babes in the Wood” side to Sid and Nancy where they’d go all sentimental, and play out the roles of mainstream Mummies and Daddies, briefly immersing themselves in the mundane routines of living as a couple. Generally Nancy seemed to be the dominant one in the relationship, telling us with relish that Sid had been “practically a virgin” when they met, and that she’d taught him all he knew about sex – not that he seemed to mind. Occasionally he’d object, saying that he’d had plenty of previous girlfriends and sexual encounters, but they’d all been “dogs” compared to Nancy, the first partner to really engage him emotionally and sexually. But sometimes she could sink into a childlike neediness – maybe we’d call it “being high maintenance” now – and out of nowhere there’d be a sudden asthma attack, followed by a series of dramas around finding her inhalers before calm would return.

When we got to the launderette in England’s Lane it was busy, with machines clanking and humming, while the regulars caught up on local gossip. Nancy suddenly developed a great interest in the small details of the laundry, using her Dickensian Cockney Waif voice and discussing the merits of conditioners and water-softeners with one of the customers. No-one took any notice of us, and once we’d loaded our washing – comprising Pistols’ and Heartbreakers’ t-shirts for the most part – into a couple of machines I went and bought some Cokes at the shop next door. As it was stuffy and noisy in the launderette we decided to take our drinks to the bus shelter round the corner while the washing went round. Being mid-afternoon the street was soon swarming with kids coming out of the local schools. In no time they spotted Sid, and after some nervous whispering, they started to come over.

The boldest girl stepped forward, after carefully mussing up her hair,

“My mate reckons you’re Sid Vicious, but I ain’t sure…”

Sid laughed, “Neither am I most of the time….”

His identity established, Sid fielded a deluge of breathless questions

“When you playing live again?”

“What’s the next record mate?”

Soon he was signing every scrap of paper, exercise book or school bag pushed his way. When there was nothing left to sign he ended up taking the badges off his jacket for them. Sid had often talked about how the group’s fans – especially the young ones – were what mattered most to him, more than the music, money or drugs. He was adamant that he’d never succumb to the Star Trip and distance himself from the kids. There was an idealistic side to Sid which he usually kept well hidden, or got lost in the endless piss-taking banter of his day-to-day conversation. It was great to see that he really meant it and totally moving to see how much the kids responded to his openness.

Initially Nancy was delighted by the happy throng milling around us in the shelter, as it lent support to her claim – advanced more and more often now – that Sid was more popular with the kids than Johnny Rotten, and this was because their uncontaminated minds could tell that Sid was “for real”, while the singer had now sold out in his desire for stardom. Soon though it became clear that there was no fame-by-association. Annie and I barely merited a glance, despite our leather jackets and Pistols shirts. Nancy pushed her way into the crowd, thinking they’d soon be wanting her autograph too. After all she was a star now as well, right? But the kids weren’t interested, her embarrassment only saved by a bus coming round the corner. Suddenly the kids were gone, but we weren’t alone for long.

Two local old girls arrived, wheezing and puffing on their fags, clad in hats and coats despite the warm weather, and pushing fearsome wheeled shopping trolleys before them. These were used as battering rams to shunt us down into the far end of the bus shelter. After a while it was impossible to ignore the glares directed at us, followed by a stage-whispered conversation,

“It’s ‘im innit, that Sex Pistol. Vicious or sumfing…”

“Ooh yeah, you’re right. Don’t ‘e look ‘orrible…”

A while later we were snug again down in the basement. Sid was reading the NME between nods, checking out the live section. Suddenly he spotted that X-Ray Spex were playing the Marquee that night, and he wanted to go. A couple of phone calls later, and transport and guest-list had been arranged. This was all a little surprising, as Sid usually had nothing but scorn for most UK punk groups. Clearly X-Ray Spex were among the exceptions. For our part, we’d bought a couple of their singles, and Annie loved Poly Styrene’s hi-concept appearance and don’t-give-a-toss vibe – I wasn’t so sure. There were so many groups around at the time with a good song or two, striking looks and a bit of attitude, but nothing much beyond that. Even at that early stage there was a clear hierarchy emerging on the punk scene – were X-Ray Spex going to rise to the elite or drift along in Division Two with the likes of Generation X or Eddie and the Hot Rods.

Although people like the Ramones always came first for him, Sid was passionately loyal to old mates where groups were concerned. So he loved the Slits, on account of the Flowers of Romance connection via Viv Albertine. There was a kind of grudging respect for the Clash. I was relieved that my own favourites – the Only Ones – merited a nod of approval.

As for the Hot Rods, there’d been friction between them and the Pistols when they’d been on the same live bill – and were bandwagon-jumping pop lightweights in Sid’s opinion, to be cast into oblivion along with such opportunists as the Police or the Vibrators. Generation X were particularly scorned – there seemed to be a very personal animosity towards Billy Idol – as copyists and for looking like “mail order punks” in his words. His loathing of the Damned had a similar edge to it. Elvis Costello wasn’t punk in any way, I was told firmly. The Jam were mere Sixties revivalists, while the Stranglers were so old as to be barely worthy of consideration as “punk” – or as Nancy put it once, their fans were “the kinda people who go to football matches”, much to my chagrin. There was no denying that we had both the Stranglers’ albums and I tried to mount a defence. My turning point in getting into punk – rather than just liking some of the singles because they reminded me of the Who or Small Faces – had come at the Roundhouse in summer ’76. We’d gone to see long term favourite Patti Smith. Since the arrival of “Horses” at the beginning of that year we’d sought out books of hers like “Seventh Heaven”, and then obscure import singles and US magazines. She’d been amazing, and as we’d spent the whole set pressed against the front of the stage we’d been blown away by the sheer physicality and dervish energy of the music as much as the power and intensity of the lyrics. However I’d been just as impressed by how the Stranglers handled a disinterested and increasingly hostile crowd who were only interested in seeing the Big Name they’d paid money for. It was one of the most dramatic and intense gigs I’ve ever seen – or “dialectical”, as Jean-Jacques Burnel had put it at the time – but Sid and Nancy were unmoved. The Stranglers had been marked down as provincial dinosaurs, and there could be no way back, Nancy ending all discussion with a dismissive,

“They’re just too old, you know?” she said, with a slight shudder at the thought.

For once Nancy managed to sort out her clothes, hair, make-up and sprays in time, and all that was left to do was to have a serious hit to set us up for the rest of the evening. The Post Office Tower once again signed the way like a beacon as we drifted down from Camden towards the West End. I recalled how it had lit the way home the night we’d all met, and how distant the summer seemed now.

Going to the Marquee … I drifted back to my first visit in March ’68, going seeing Ten Years After with a bunch of mates from school, carrying our cool clothes round with us all day in anticipation. I’d smoked my first joint during a frantic pre-gig session round at Steve’s house before his folks got in from work. From then on it became a regular hang-out on my weekend live music scene. All those British Blues Boom groups – John Mayall, Jethro Tull, Chicken Shack, Fleetwood Mac – seemed like something from another life time now, less than a decade later.

I pulled out of my reverie as the cab jolted to a halt in Wardour Street. For all the changes in music and fashion since then, the queue for the Marquee huddled on the pavement as ever, stretching down the road and trying to keep out the cold. We disgorged ourselves from the back of the car and stepped out unsteadily. We were spotted straightaway. It seemed like a pretty even split between friendly cries of “Hey Sid – over ‘ere mate” or “Hey, can you get us in?” and some harsher shouts of “Wanker – Bitch – Slag” and, “Oi, got yer drugs ‘ave you?” (yes, we had, since you asked).

Although there were no flashbulbs popping or eager reporters thrusting mics in our faces, one of my mundane guest-list fantasies came true as we walked straight to the head of the line, and with Sid being one of the most recognisable faces in London, we were ushered into the narrow entrance corridor without any problem. It had been a while since I’d been to the Marquee, but the décor was unchanged – those same red and white stripes on the wall – and it didn’t look like they’d had the cleaners in since last time either. The club was struggling to adapt to the punk scene and a different set of groups, fans and customs. Tonight though the audience was probably divided pretty equally between healthy looking blonde Scandinavian students, tourists, and the local punks.

We’d missed the support group, and soon X-Ray Spex came on, Poly Styrene bursting on to the stage in an explosion of synthetic material, acidic colours and trademark teeth-braces. But there was a vulnerable feeling to her alongside the brashness. Alas it wasn’t the original line-up with Lora Logic on sax, but they did have some seriously good songs. Apart from “Oh Bondage”, there was “Identity”, “The Day the World Turned Day Glo”, and “Germ Free Adolescents”, which all sounded great despite problems with the crap PA. The new sax player was probably a bit too keen to show his worth and tended to blast all over everything, not helped by a sound-mix that reduced everything else to a cement-mixer chug. All a great shame, as otherwise they had the tightness that only comes from putting in the hard yards on the road. I looked round at Annie and saw she was beaming with pleasure, eyes rapt on Poly Styrene. The rows of little plastic seats that used to be in front of the stage were long gone, the space now occupied by a heaving mass of Sid’s dreaded “mail order punks”, pogoing and gobbing because that was what you were meant to do at a punk gig, right?

I was just thinking how different it was from the days when almost everyone sat on the floor at gigs, and tried to remember when it had become so totally uncool as it was now, when Sid leant over and yelled into my ear,

“Oi, do you wanna get a beer?”

We pushed our way through the crowd at the back of the club. Eventually we got there only to be ignored by the bar staff who weren’t going to give any special service to someone just because he was a Sex Pistol. Finally we grabbed our bottles of Pils and headed towards a grimy fag-scarred sofa at the back of the room. I’d noticed a few double-takes while we were waiting at the bar, and now word was definitely out about Sid’s presence. Soon people were edging closer all around us.

It was the first time we’d sat down since arriving, and I could feel the lurking smack buzz hit me full force. I looked round at the others, struggling to fight the nod and focus my vision as I did so. Annie was first to go as always, and was soon resting her head on my shoulder in a deep gouch. Sid was sprawled back, mouth ajar, but somehow holding his beer bottle upright with deeply stoned skill. All I could make out of Nancy was the back of her head, hair in disarray, slumped down low between her knees, her breathing hoarse and erratic.

I must have nodded out myself for a few minutes, only coming round when my cigarette burnt down to my fingers. It looked like the scene in an old film where someone wakes up after being knocked out. There was a weird fish-eye lens quality to my field of vision, a bit blurred, and with everything seeming to crowd in towards me from the edges. We were framed by a light I hadn’t noticed before above the sofa, highlighting us in the general gloom of the club. There seemed something almost pre-Raphaelite about the composition of this scene, a strange innocence amid the squalor. I started to drift off again but forced myself back. I looked up and realised that the onlookers had edged closer. Now people were whispering and pointing in our direction, although no-one addressed us directly.

“What do you reckon?”

“Well, it does look like him”

“Nah, it’s just some look-alike”

 “Yeah, but that looks like her too….”

“Wow, they look really out of it”

“And he’s really fucked…”

It started to feel like being an animal at the zoo. I’d always been scornful of the so-called “pressures of stardom” but being owned and discussed by all-comers wasn’t my idea of fun. As I tried to stir Annie I was aware of flashbulbs popping close by. I’ve often wondered who took those pictures and what became of them, as they’ve never surfaced to my knowledge. Probably long lost, or buried deep in some forgotten Scandinavian scrapbook.

Now Sid came round, his mood changing as soon as he saw the cameras.

“Come on Nance, we’re going”, he said, roughly shaking her awake, before pushing past a couple of French punks wanting autographs. He was in a foul mood all the way home. Once again, being a star had failed to deliver.

[shorkbrian]

Can you write about step bro kirishima getting in the shower with you or something along those lines?

(This was supposed to be a Drabble but it’s like??? a one shot bt also a Drabble idek what's going on anymore)

okay a Thot™️ butokei okei oeki hear me out 

Friday night, you’re taking a shower and washing off all the grime from the day. The hot water is so relaxing and so you take a bit longer than you normally do, relishing in the heat loosening your tense muscles and flowing over you like a warm hug.

Step bro Kiri barges in, fresh from football practice that ran a little late - the school had been locked up so they couldn’t use the locker rooms. He’s sweaty and tired and he just wants to take a shower and pass out, hadn’t even realized you were in there.

Your hands fly to cover yourself, you yell at him to get out. He closes the bathroom door, but he’s on the wrong side, still inside the bathroom as he locks the door. Then he’s stripping out of his clothes, giving you that sweet, goofy grin.

“Aw, c’mon, can I just jump in with you? I’ll be real quick, promise.”

You shriek at him, still trying to cover yourself. “No! Leave, dude!”

But he just shakes his head, shucks off his jockstrap and you’re turning bright red, averting your eyes to the ceiling so you don’t have to see his dick (But holy cow, he’s huge)

And then he’s stepping in with you, putting his big hands on your shoulders to gently move you to the side so he can get under the spray of hot water. You splutter - what does he think he’s doing, you’re siblings!

You try to verbalize this, but Kirishima just shrugs. “I did it with my dad’s family.”

That elicits a frown. You were pretty sure he was an only child, and his dad had never talked about any other kids. But he wasn’t going to leave, and if it didn’t bother him, if it was normal and routine for him to shower and not be shy about his nakedness....

Still, you try your best to cover yourself as you reach for the conditioner. You’re a bit shy about your body, feel weak and chubby next to Kiri, who’s ripped as all fuck.

You’re battling with insecurity as you turn away from him, face the wall to start putting conditioner in your hair. Next thing you know, your stepbrother has his hands in your hair, scritching and scrubbing and helping you rub in the conditioner. 

Body tensing, you make to turn, bat his hands away but then you remember you’re naked, so you stay put. You huff at him as he refuses to let up, hands following you no matter how you move.

“Let me help, it’s the least I can do after intruding on your shower time.”

He washes your hair. Offers to help you scrub down too but you quickly decline. Then he’s handing you the shampoo and conditioner, asks if you wouldn’t mind getting his hair. It always such a pain to wash out all the gel.

His back is turned, you figure it’s not that big of a deal so you agree. 

You’re thorough and clinical, robotic as you scrub in the shampoo, wash it out. Squirt conditioner into your hands, massage that in. He’s sitting on the shower stool so you can reach, make it easier on your arms.

And then he moans.

You freeze up, but his hand catches yours before you can pull away from his head.

“Sorry, keep-keep going.”

You do, hesitantly. Your hand catches on a knot and you pull a little too hard, a few strands of hair come away and your stepbrother is moaning again, and you’re done - this is too weird, you’ll finish showering later.

Before you can turn, step out of the shower, Kirishima is facing you - eyes level with your chest.

“Kiri!” You yelp, covering your chest with your hands. His eyes flick downwards, in between your legs, and you quickly try to cover that part of your body too, but he catches your hand, standing up so he towers over you.

“Hey, hey... you’re beautiful, no need to hide. I don’t.” He winks at you as he grabs your other hand, pulling it away from your chest. You don’t have time to yell at him before he’s opening his mouth again.

“Wow, you’re really pretty, you know that? Prettiest girl I know.”

You’re blushing and trying to pull your hands back, but Kiri won’t let you, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. He looks different like this - hair dark with water, hanging down in his face, eyes hooded and filled with an emotion you don’t dare try to decipher. You know you won’t like putting a name to that look.

“Look, you’re so pretty you made me all hard.”  He chuckles, chuckles.

Horrified, you can’t stop yourself from looking down, getting a full glance of the full dick between his legs, so big and heavy it’s barely pointed upwards. You blanch.

“Kiri let me go.”

“So soon? You haven’t rinsed out your hair yet.”

You’re pulling away from him harder now, but he’s so strong - you don’t even move. 

“It’s okay, I’ll do it later.”

“I wanna do somethin’ with you though, it’ll be fun.”

Your stomach twists and Kiri pulls you to his body with a quick jerk. You collide with his chest, feel his cock touching your stomach. His arms wrap around you, holding you in place. He starts to almost rock you, moving you back and forth with his body in a soothing manner.

“You know how in those cheesy movies the boy and the girl play pretend?”

Struggling is pointless, so you look up at him, confused.

“Y’know, like... pretend girlfriend? I wanna play pretend girlfriend with you.”

And then he’s reaching down with one hand, spreading your cunt, teasing a finger inside. You gasp, the intrusion surprising you, and then he’s pushing in another finger.

He fingers you open, rubbing at your walls, slowly adding more and more fingers and you don’t even know how many he has inside you, three? four? but it’s almost painful. Kirishima’s cooing in your ear the entire time.

“Mm, pretty girl, you’re doing so well.”

“Yeah, you’d be a good girlfriend, so submissive and sweet.”

“Look at you, sucking my fingers in like that. You like this? I do.”

His fingers come out with a squelch, and then he’s sitting down on the shower stool, pulling you into his lap. You don’t even know what to do, what to say. You’re cold and wet and isn’t this wrong? He’s your stepbrother.

His cock is thick, lengthy. It’s the biggest one you’ve ever taken, or even seen for that matter. But he’s relentless as he lowers you onto it, grunting with the effort of holding himself back from ramming into you, rutting like a wild animal.

Kirishima’s cock hits so deep, makes you gasp and pleasure zings up your spine, tummy twisting with how good it feels. When he bottoms out the both of you take big, gulping breaths, pausing. You pause to adjust to the size, Kiri pauses to stop himself from cumming too soon - he wants to enjoy this.

It takes a minute, but then he’s palming at your chest, looking up at your with those big dark eyes, flashing you a grin before sweetly kissing along your jaw, making you moan (moan? shouldn’t you be screaming?).

“Alright pretty baby, think you can help me out now? Feel so good, all wet and hot. You’re the best little girlfriend.”

You aren’t thinking as you get your feet under you, getting purchase on the wet tiles to slowly push yourself up, let his cock come out of you a few inches, before sinking back down. You’re listening to his voice, doing what he tells you to, shame coloring your cheeks.

It feels so good.

Thighs burning, you keep riding him, Kiri dipping down to suck at your tits, squeezing the mounds in his big hands. He’s such a large man, all muscles and hard lines, big enough that it takes him no effort to grab your hips, start moving you along his cock like a little fleshlight.

Immediately your hands fly to his hair, twisting in the wet strands, unintentionally tugging. 

Kiri moans.

His pace speeds up, you can hear the wet slap of your skin, he’s jostling you, treating you like a little rag doll as he spears you on his cock over and over. “Fuck, fuck, you’re-mmhh baby that’s good, do that again. Please do that again.”

You indulge him, grip his hair a little tighter and pull, and Kiri shouts, hips hammering against your ass. His cock is reaching so deep, hitting that special spot inside you without him even trying to. You’re writhing on his lap in pleasure, in disgust at yourself and at him, but you can’t go anywhere with his hands clamped tight around your waist.

“Kiri, Kiri! Gonna-gonna cum!” You warn him.

“Me too, fuck, just a little more baby.”

One of his giant hands slips down, fingers clumsily trying to find your clit. The second he does, you're already so sensitive and close that you cum, muscles clenching, eyes closing as you ride the delicious wave of your orgasm.

Kirishima follows soon after, his head thumping forward against the curve of your shoulder as he pants, wet warmth filling you up.

He helps clean you up after, fingers the cum out of you as he kisses you deep.

After that, Kiri wants to play pretend girlfriend with you every chance he can get, whenever your parents have a date night, late at night when he wakes up from a wet dream and you’re just a few doors away. He takes you out on pretend dates, “practice for when I get a real girlfriend!” he assures you. It doesn’t feel quite right, but he buys you ice cream if you let him feed it to you, and that's usually  the only weird thing that happens on these “pretend dates”. 

They're normal dates, normal when he takes you home and fucks you into the mattress after.

It’s easy to know when he’s in the mood, he says he wants to play your game, pretend girlfriend. He’s still the same old Kiri, the one that helps you with your homework, the one that likes playing Mario kart and loosing just so you’ll grin at him and toss the controller at him cause you know he let you win. 

Kirishima still bickers with you over who gets to sit where at dinner, still ruffles your hair whenever he passes you in the hall. Asks you to help him set up the karaoke machine so the two of you can sing horribly to stupid songs.

But now there’s the addition of him fucking you.

You aren’t sure this “pretend girlfriend” thing is really pretend.

Not like you can do anything about it

[barrysmanbun]

After a Long Day

Description: You take a nice warm bath with Barry

Prompt: Barry + hot bath + "yes... right there"

Warnings: Barry x Reader, sensual behavior, nudity

~~

Barry had a long day at work. You could tell by how he went straight from the front door to the bedroom without stopping. You could hear him drop onto his bed with a groan all the way from your place on the living room couch, over your tv show. 

The sound makes you smile a little, knowing it was specifically done to get your attention, and you decide to indulge him. You shut off the tv, pushing to your feet and walking into the bedroom. You stop in the doorway, leaning on the door frame. 

“How was your day, Bluebarry?” You ask, trying to keep your amused smile out of your voice. 

He mutters something you can’t hear, so you walk over to the bed and sit on the edge next to him. He moves slightly to make space when he feels the bed dip but otherwise doesn’t react to you. You gently begin to rub his back, kneading that spot next to his spine like you know he loves.

He groans softly, leaning into your touch and turning his head so you can finally see his face. 

“Hey, baby.” You murmur, leaning down to lightly kiss his lips. He huffs when you pull away too fast, bringing your hand to the back of his neck and holding your lips to his until he’s satisfied. 

“Hey, baby.” He greets back, identically, and you smile at the sound of his voice. God you love the sound of his voice. 

“What’s wrong?” You prompt, bringing your hand up to between his shoulder blades, drawing small circles on the tense muscles. 

“Just a long day at work.” He sighs, shifting under your hand to scoot closer to you. “I’m achin’ somethin’ fierce.”

You hum to let him know you heard him and ponder the words for a moment. “How about a bath?” 

He scoffs at the suggestion, finally opening his eyes to see if you’re being serious. “A bath? I ain’t no bitch-”

“Barry.” You stop moving your hand. You and him had been working on the toxic masculinity mindset and things like flowery-smelling shampoos and bubble baths and skincare routines were all things you had been working hard to change his view on from being negative, sissy things to being self-care for all genders.

“Sorry, sorry.” he groans, rolling onto his back. “Fine. I’ll take a bath, if you take a bath with me.” 

You take both his hands in yours, pulling him to his feet. “Alright, get your clothes and I’ll go set up the tub.” 

You leave him there, even when he whines as you go, quickly getting to work. 

You plug the tub then turn on the water just right. Then you drop in some of the bubble bath soap you had hidden under his sink, and just as you are pulling out candles to light the bathroom door creaks open. You resist the urge to stop like a deer in headlights, instead moving faster to light the candles so he can’t tell you not to. 

“No.” He shakes his head, setting the clothes on the toilet seat and then grabbing you by the arm. “Uh uh, no way, we ain’t doin’ this romantic girly candle shit. I said yes to bath, not-” And that’s when he sees the massive amounts of bubbles in the tub. 

You set the last candle down, then set the lighter next to it. He begins to shake his head adamantly, and you know he’s going to try and tell you he’s changed his mind, so without a moment of hesitation, you drop your shorts. He stops, watching as you undress with a heated look in his eyes. 

Finally removing the last article of clothing you gingerly step into the shower/tub combo, using his shoulder for support. “You don’t have to join me if you don’t want…” You trail off, and immediately he’s shedding his clothes as quickly as he can. 

You get into the tub first, then spread your legs, motioning to the space between them. “Come here and sit with your back to me.” You command. He raises an eyebrow at the tone of your voice, so you soften your tone and say, “Please?”

He stares at the open space for a moment, before slowly getting into the tub and hesitantly sitting with his back to you. You grab his shoulders, pulling him back so he leans fully against you. You begin to cup water, strategically pouring it on his head without getting any in his eyes. He slowly begins to relax back against your chest, muscles loosening. 

Once his hair is fully wet, you grab the shampoo, squeezing some onto your hand. He turns his head, curiously trying to see what you’re doing. 

“What’re you up to, there?”

Knowing he’d protest to you using your shampoo and not his three in one you place the hand with no shampoo on his head and turn it back to face forward. “Mind your business.” You tell him, sassily. He pinches your thigh under the water in retaliation, and you squeak, jumping.

    He lets out a satisfied chuckle but doesn’t push the matter further, so you rub the shampoo between your hands and get to work. 

You put your hands right into his hair without hesitation, massaging his scalp and pushing the shampoo through every strand as evenly as you can. 

He groans loudly, head falling back against your chest, at the sudden ministrations. His hands tighten where they're holding onto your legs, and you can’t keep back a smirk at his reaction. 

He tilts his head so your hand rubs into a certain spot and he lets out another low groan. “Yeah… right there,” he murmurs, voice low and out of it. 

“If I knew you’d react like this, I would have done this sooner.” You tease and he pinches you again, but this time not as hard. 

“Less talking, more playing with my hair.” He mutters, and with a playful sigh and eye roll you do as he says. 

You rinse his hair with your hands, then repeat it with conditioner, getting a similar reaction out of him. 

Washing his body is more difficult seeing as he decides to deadweight himself to stop you from moving, but you eventually get that done as well. You both dry off but before you can get dressed past your bra, underwear, and shirt Barry scoops you up and carries you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. 

He drops you on the bed, crawling on top of you and snuggling in between your legs, with his arms wrapped around your middle and his head on your chest. 

“I love you.” he whispers, barely loud enough for you to hear. 

You kiss the top of his head, smiling when you feel his wet hair against your lips. 

"So when we're you gonna tell me you had a hair-pulling kink?"

"Shut up."

~~

Tags:

@pogueslandia

[wondersofdreaming]

My curls, your curls

Characters: Captain Syverson x female reader (3rd person, with thick curly hair)

Word count: 1.256

Warnings: There are a few sexy innuendoes mentioned, else it's fluff and cute and sugary sweet.

Author’s note: This is a boring piece of crap, because I haven't written anything good since January, and even then it was still a struggle to write. So I decided it was time to get out of the deep dark writer's block hole I've been buried in. Even though it's badly written and lacking some feeling and emotion, I hope it still conveys a little about how the captain feels about his wife.

Just a reminder to everyone that this is MY curly hair routine. It might not work for your hair type or your curls, but it works for me. My hair type is between 2c and 3a, I think, not sure though because every hair type website says different things. And I use the LCO method because it works for me, and add a curling gel after the cream because I want to give my hair some extra protection under the summer sun.

A list of the products used in this story is under the cut.

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

MY MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated.

It was early morning. The sun was slowly creeping its warm rays over Syverson’s naked back. He yawned and turned around, wanting to cuddle with his gorgeous wife, but she was not where he had left her the night before. Exhausted and satisfied, sleeping in his arms. Instead, his hand landed on something furry, his dog Aika, who moved to lick his face.

“Thanks, girl, I’m awake now,” he grunted but smiled at the loving German Shepherd. He listened to where his gorgeous wife could be and heard the shower going.

The captain walked to the slightly open bathroom door and pushed it open. Dan + Shay’s new single ‘Glad you exist’ was blasting through the waterproof speaker. His wife was currently lathering up her hair with her favourite shampoo for curly-haired women. She used something he had learned was called a ‘shampoo brush’, she massaged her entire scalp with it and washed the soap off her hair, while singing along to the music.

Sy leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the view of his naked wife, while she washed her long curly hair. Next was the detangling process. She used a lot of conditioner and the weird looking big round brush with the many different sizes of bristles.

She hummed to the next song, not noticing the mountain-sized man watching her. Finishing up her shower, she stepped out and nearly screamed as she saw her husband smirking from the door.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she told him breathlessly, as her hand went to her heart that was drumming away beneath her palm.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just couldn’t help myself,” he smiled. The captain stomped into the bathroom to give his wife a long sloppy kiss.

“I need to finish my routine,” she mumbled against his soft lips. He groaned, wanting more, but respected that her hair needed her attention more than he did. Instead, he sat on top of the toilet seat and watched as she flipped her head upside down.

She started with the leave-in-conditioner, slowly raking the creamy substance into her hair, then using a wet brush to comb it through, so every strand of hair would get some of the conditioner. Next in her routine, she squeezed a tiny dollop of hair cream onto her hand and applied it from the middle part of her hair to the ends.

After parting her hair by her temples, she used another brush, a styling brush she called it, to comb the soaking wet hair. Her motions were so soothing to watch, as she brushed through each section of her luscious hair. Next, she applied a frizz control gel. Sy watched as she carefully gathered the clumps of hair in her palms and lifted it towards her scalp before she started scrunching it. He could hear the wetness being squeezed, making the same noise as when she was overly wet and he was ramming uncontrollably into her.

“Why are you doing that?” he asked curiously, wondering how that would help her already beautiful looking hair, and he was trying to control his lustful thoughts.

“It helps define the hair and it creates volume,” she said a little out of breath. “Could you plug in my hairdryer with the diffuser, please?”

“Anything for you, my love,” he smacked her ass on his way to the cabinet, where he knew she stored her hairdryer.

He connected it and sat it down next to the sink. While he did that, she had put her hair in one of his old t-shirts. Sy remembered that he was about to donate a bunch of his old t-shirts when his wife had stopped him and said she could use them for drying her hair. He hadn’t understood why but had gladly given her the shirts. She slept in some of them and the rest were neatly stacked in a cabinet in the bathroom.

It made his heart skip a beat whenever he saw her in one of his shirts, old or new, she looked amazing no matter what.

The captain watched as she went through her skincare routine while waiting for her hair to dry a tiny bit. She was so meticulous about taking care of her skin, hair, Aika, and him too. She forced him to use sunscreen every single day, even on rainy days. Not just that, she had also implemented that he started taking care of his beard, so she had bought him a kit with a beard come, a tiny pair of scissors, beard shampoo and conditioner, and beard oil. His lovely wife had chosen the scent from her knowledge of what he liked, but also something she thought smelled amazing. It was musky with some apple undertones and hints of vanilla.

He was so far in his thoughts he didn’t notice it had been 10 minutes, not until his cheeky wife threw the wet t-shirt in his face.

“Hey!”

“Thought you needed a wake-up call,” she giggled. The soft sound of her happy voice just made his heart soar, and he forgot all about her little prank.

She diffused her hair until it was almost dry, and then turned around to look at her husband, who was sitting, looking scared as she stood with the diffuser like it was a rifle.

“Your turn, captain,” she teased.

“My turn for what?” he looked profoundly confused at his beloved woman, who stood before him in nothing but a bathrobe, her long curly hair cascading down her back.

“It’s time that we start on your curly hair routine too, dear husband.”

Sy looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. He had quit the army a year earlier and had let his hair grow out, not wanting to waste time on cutting it every two weeks. He looked carefully at the dark brown curls sticking out in all directions.

His wife was standing in front of him, ready to guide him through it. He smiled at her and let her do her thing. She forced him into the shower, used her shampoo and conditioner. Then while he was sitting down. She used a curl enhancing cream to make his curl pop even more, and a gel so his curls would hold their, well, curl. He then managed to sit through 10 minutes of her hovering over his head with the diffuser.

The captain was rewarded with a kiss when she finished. She picked up a three toothed pick, called a ‘spriggle’ and lifted his curls for volume.

The last part of her hair care routine was to put in some argan oil to lock in the moisture. She handed Sy the spriggle.

“Will you lift my curls for me?”

He would do anything for his wife. Sit through a hair care routine, walk through fire, eat 40 hotdogs to win a teddy bear she had her eyes on, adopt all the dogs, cats, horses, goats, any animal at the shelter because she felt bad for them not having a loving home.

The woman who was not only his very best friend, having known her since kindergarten, but she was truly also the love of his life. The only human he needed to be happy. And she waited for him while he was in Iraq. She deserved everything she wished for and more.

This captain was utterly devoted to the woman who just threw her robe in his face, catching him off guard for the second time that morning, a soft smirk spread on her pink lips.

Products used:

Shea Moisture Coconut & Hibiscus Curl & Shine Shampoo and Conditioner

HEETA Shampoo Brush (Purple)

Michel Mercier hair detangler for thick hair

As I Am leave-in conditioner

Epic Professional Quick Dry Hair Brush

Briogeo Curl Charisma Rice amino Avocado Leave-In Defining Créme

Denman Classic Styling Brush 7 Rows - D3

Briogeo Curl Charisma Frizz Control Gel

Segbeauty Hair Diffuser attachment

The Spriggle

The Beard Struggle (Viking Storm scent)

Aveda be curly curl enhancer

Aveda confixor liquid gel

The Aveda products and the male curly hair routine is inspired by this video from Manes By Mell

[13-reasons-ideas]

Can’t Go Back Part 21

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long. I was having a really hard time writing this chapter. I don't know why but I did. It is done now though. This chapter contains SMUT. DNI IF UNDER 18. IF YOU INTERACT UNDER 18 YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. As always, feedback is appreciated and much love. -Em

I woke up half an hour early Friday morning. Monty groaned at the alarm. “Shh. It’s for me. Go back to sleep.” He grunted in response. I placed a soft kiss to the back of his neck and got out of bed. I picked up one of his shirts from the laundry basket that hadn’t made its way into a drawer yet. In the bathroom, I ran the shower while I brushed my teeth. In the shower, I washed my hair and exfoliated while my conditioner sat. After my face was washed, I set about the arduous task of shaving. There was some spectacularly ungraceful bending and balancing to make sure I hadn’t missed any spots. This is attractive. Bet he wishes he was awake to see this spectacle.

Once I was clean, I finished my skincare routine while my hair towel dried. I used a honey almond moisturizer that I knew Monty liked. I slipped his shirt on. His alarm went off while I was putting product in my hair. Surprisingly, he got up of his own accord. “Morning baby.” He mumbled from the other side of the door.

“Morning babe.”  Knowing his routine like the back of my hand by now, I vacated the bathroom to go make some breakfast. A bowl of apple oatmeal sounded delicious this morning. I poured a bowl of cereal for Monty. While he showered and coffee brewed, I read my newest book.

“Good morning Addison.” Monty smiled and kissed me when he came into the kitchen. His hair was still wet. It dripped on my arm and made me jump slightly.  

“Good morning Monty.”

“You smell nice.” He placed another kiss on my head. I tilted my head up and back to kiss him again. I brought my arm up to wrap around his neck. His arm instinctively found its way to settle just below my chest. I held him in place as I deepened the kiss slightly.

Before it could go any further the coffee machine beeped. Monty pulled away. He rolled his eyes a little. I went back to my book like nothing happened, but not before I caught him adjusting his jeans. I smirked to myself. I might have to text the guys and tell them brunch is cancelled. “It’s supposed to rain today, so I don’t think you should go to school in just my shirt.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate. I was practically already ready to go.” I teased. He turned to look at me. His eyes had darkened a shade or two. I couldn’t be sure if it was from our kiss or my comment.

“And now you have to go put some fucking pants on.”

“Yes, sir.” I mock saluted. He chuckled as he poured us cups of coffee.

“That’s Daddy to you Doll.” He muttered as I walked back to our room. Again, I smirked to myself. Well at least the sex shouldn’t be as big a surprise. I picked up my phone off the nightstand and texted Scott, Charlie, and Justin. Brunch might be cancelled tomorrow. My parents need us to help move some furniture.

Charlie answered me first. You mean they need you to them move furniture. I smiled. As I was deciding on a pair of jeans, Justin texted me. I glanced down at my phone. Supervision duty. Fun. Let me know if something breaks.

Black skinny jeans or the navy with the cuffs?

Navy.

Thanks.

Scott answered a minute later. That’s all the updates I need or want. I tied a knot in front of the shirt, so I wasn’t swimming in it. My hair was beginning to dry by now, so I ran a comb through it quickly and scrunched it in an attempt to give it at least a little shape while it finished drying.

As I was walking out of our room, Justin texted me again. Oh. You don’t actually mean that. Have fun. Still let me know if something breaks.

I do. And I will. See you at school.

I didn’t bother waiting for a response and slipped my phone in my pocket. “Remember we are helping mum and dad with the stupid hutch tomorrow afternoon.”

“I know. If dad hasn’t said anything to either of us before school is done, I’ll text him.”

“Alright.” I stopped in front of Monty and twirled. “See, pants. Better?”

“Much. And watch that tone missy.”

“Okay.” I rolled my eyes. He blinked at me in surprise. I watched as he stepped towards me and leaned in.

“I have no issue being late for school. Feel free to keep this up Doll.” He grumbled.

“Sorry. I’ll be good.” I squeaked.

“Good.” He nodded. I jumped when he swatted my butt as he walked past me to turn on the news. He was right. It was supposed to rain today.

There was a sweater in my spot when I got to lunch. I picked it up and threw it over my bag as I sat down. Monty stopped talking and kissed the side of my head, before going back to arguing with Zach and Charlie about a play for tonight’s game. I tuned them out and turned to Justin. “Moving furniture?” He muttered to me.

“Yeah. Mum is sick of looking at that awful hutch coat rack thing.”

“How are you supposed to help with that?”

“Direct. Probably push it.”

“On the hardwood?”

“We are going to put cloths underneath. It’ll be good. Monty is going to supervise because of his knee. He’s thrilled.”

“He finally gets out of the heavy lifting?”

“Yup. All it took was breaking himself.”

“All.” We chuckled. “I want to know if it breaks. That thing really is awful. Call me if you need more help.”

“It is. I’ll definitely tell you.”

“Good.”

“Tell them I’m right Addison.” Zach said.

“About?”

“No, tell them I’m right.” Monty said.

“About?”

“The play is a stupid play.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“And we are asking the person who doesn’t do sports about sports because…?”

“Just agree.”

“And now I defer to Justin. Talk to your boys please.”

“Oh, so now they’re my boys?”

“Yes.” I nodded and pulled out my salad, effectively removing myself from the conversation. The sweater came in handy. It was absolutely pouring rain on my way to fourth period.

“They don’t need us until at least three tomorrow.” Monty said as I was getting my books from my locker.

“That’s great. I’ll tell the boys brunch is still on.” I picked up my bag and we made our way to the car. My plans for the evening were playing over in my head as we walked.

At home, Monty went to change while I threw a load of laundry in. I got started on some homework with the time we had to kill before making dinner. He squeezed my shoulder as he passed me at the island. I smiled at him briefly before going back to my notes. He grabbed a bag of fruit snacks and pulled out my laptop. I did note that he had already taken off his pants for no pants pizza. We worked quietly for a little while before my stomach started to grumble. Monty chuckled quietly. We turned to each other and grinned. “Dinner?”

“Yes, please.” I laughed. We stood up and took out ingredients. The hour or so we took to cook was so nice. There were stolen glances and stupid jokes passed between the two of us. We slowly moved closer to each other and bumped hips. Everything was so normal. It was amazing. I was elated to be back to how things used to be.

After we finished enjoying our pizzas, I got up to change and get ready for bed. I reapplied my lotion and grabbed my favourite white button up. The white button up. I left the top few buttons undone. Smoothing it out in the mirror, I made my way back to the couch. I sat down cross-legged next to Monty.

“That’s familiar.” He said as he looked up. I shrugged.

“It’s comfortable.”

“Okay.” He smiled. I leaned closer and he pulled me into his side. He shifted and stretched before putting his arm across the back of the couch, and my shoulders. Cliché but adorable. Neither of us commented on the light blue strappy bra I wore. Or the fact that I was wearing a matching set.

The two of us sat in comfortable silence for a while. The Cars That Made America was on. It was very interesting. Soon enough the first episode ended and the second began. Love that History does all three at once. I could feel Monty’s eyes on me. He tried to hide that he was looking, by sneaking quick glances. No matter how hard he tried not to, I knew he was staring down his shirt. My position against his side gave him a prefect view of my cleavage. I tried to hide a smirk as I spoke. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” He averted his gaze and tried to feign more interest in our show.

“Okay.” I adjusted my position again. I hadn’t noticed how aroused I was until I moved, and the cool air hit my core. I inhaled sharply.

“Are you okay Addison?”

“Yeah.” I looked up and caught him smirking.

“You sure about that?”

“Mhmm.”  

“Alright.” I cuddled closer into his side. Tilting my head up slightly, I kissed his jaw softly. We were well into episode two by this point. He turned and kissed me on the forehead.

I sat up a little and kissed his cheek. He smiled to himself.

I took the opportunity to kiss the corner of his mouth.  Then I kissed him properly. He smiled more. I ran my tongue along his bottom lip. He allowed me entrance and eventually, pulled me into his lap. My hands rested at his shoulders. His wrapped around my waist and rested on my hips. He let me lead for a while. My hips ground on their own accord. Until his natural desire for control got the best of him and he broke. Our fight for dominance ended when he grabbed my his with one hand to still me. The other hand slid up my side and came to rest against my throat. I whimpered and tried to buck my hips. His hand squeezed my throat gently. A warning. I pulled away and huffed. He leaned in and nipped my lip. I stuck my tongue out at him. He quirked a brow. I looked down at him apologetically. He shook his head and smiled. I leaned in and kissed him again. He pulled away and started to kiss my neck. It was really soothing. I sighed slightly and adjusted my position. Monty nipped my neck. I whimpered.

His hand travelled back down my body and rested at my panty line. My breath caught as his fingers ran along the line. My hand travelled down his body and tugged at the bottom of his shirt. Monty pulled away and pulled his shirt off. I dragged my nails down his chest again and immediately my hand rested at the waistband of his boxers. He smirked at me. I looked at him with begging eyes. He nodded. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I said, confidently nodding.

“Okay.” He nodded again. I sat back in his lap and pulled his button up off. My hands went back to his waistband and pulled his boxers down a little. He picked me up and placed me on the couch so he could take them off. I jumped back into his lap after pulling my own underwear off.

There was no need to prepare either of us because of all the pent-up tension that had been building in the days and weeks leading up to this. I slowly sank down on his cock, gasping as it entered me. He groaned in my ear and threw his head back. I began to rock my hips back and forth and around in circles, trying to find the best angle and positioning. Once I found it, we both looked at each other with wide eyes. Perfect. He pulled my head towards his and kissed me deeply. “I love you.” He mumbled against my mouth.

“I love you too.” I found my rhythm and placed my hands on his shoulders to get better leverage and balance. Soon enough, I could tell the knot in my stomach was beginning to tighten. Montgomery’s grip on my hip tightened and I could tell his high was coming on fast. Probably a little faster than he would like, but I wasn’t going to complain.

A few minutes, or maybe a few more than a few minutes, I wasn’t counting, my walls tightened around his cock. He groaned. I leaned down and bit into his shoulder. Monty growled. I felt his cock spasm deep inside of me. I gingerly removed myself from his cock and rested in his lap. We both slumped against each other, breathing heavily. Eventually, we both stood and moved to our bedroom. There were a few more rounds. We woke up the next morning groggy, sore, and sated.

[industriallyinsecure]

Comfort drafts collection - Prosciutto

Trigger warning(s): mentions of self mutilation, self esteem issues, depression Very self indulgent and venty, so please take caution

You were surprised you had enough energy for your stand to be summoned. Grateful Dead lounged with your stand, Creep, on the floor of your shared bedroom. Creep’s long, porcelain digits twirled Grateful Dead’s purple tendrils. They were positioned similarly to yourself and your boyfriend, Creep laying on its belly with GD propped up by its arms next to it.

You wished your stand wouldn’t betray your well-hidden emotions with the recently switched tragedy mask it wore. Every benign touch risked transmitting your thoughts to your boyfriend.

Prosciutto was always supportive, but he had been cautious around you recently. And while you appreciated the effort, you weren’t the type of person to just get up and start back over when you’d fallen. It took finding you in the tub with self inflicted wounds for him to realize that maybe it wasn’t just a small bout of sadness. It had been embarrassing to admit those things to him, to let him see you so weak. With the pre-existing stigma against mental health and his rather traditional views, you were pleasantly surprised that he didn’t just leave you right then and there. He was quick to change his tune, being more gentle with you.

Creep scooted closer, wrapping its thin, black arms around Grateful Dead’s torso, causing it to topple over. Your stand clutched on to your boyfriend’s tightly, refusing to let go.

Next to you, Prosciutto turned a page in his magazine. Readers were on the tip of his nose, making him look like the grumpy old man he was. A cute grumpy old man. You turned your head, resting it flat on the bedsheets.

I really need to take a shower.

The warm meat of Prosciutto’s palm covered your hand. He linked his fingers with yours very gingerly.

“If you wanted to shower with me, you could’ve just asked, my sweet.”

You shut your eyes and sighed. Creep was doing it again, relaying your thoughts through Grateful Dead to your boyfriend. While it was easier to articulate how you felt, you wished you could control what could and could not be sent.

If you take one now, you can go back to bed and stop worrying about it.

And you hated that Prosciutto used your stand against you. You hated that he was able to hear your weaknesses and confront you about them.

I don’t want to get up.

Washing myself would be too difficult.

That’s why I’ll shower with you.

That’s embarrassing. Being washed by my boyfriend like a little kid.

And you know I don’t like showing my body.

The bed shifted. He was obviously turning to look at you, probably making a sour face. You didn’t bother moving.

“It’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked before,” he stated matter-of-factly. But he was quick to soften his tone, “if you really don’t want to, then I won’t make you.”

I probably should.

You carefully pushed yourself up, joints creaking from laying in the same position for roughly a day.

Prosciutto led you into the bathroom, helping you strip your clothes off and ushering you into the shower. He quickly stripped himself, setting out towels for the two of you.

As soon as he stepped in with you, you tucked your head into his chest, holding on to him with a tight hug. A hand came to rest on the middle of your back, the other controlling his spaceship of a shower that you had yet to figure out. You jumped when the cold water hit your back, your boyfriend chuckling so sweetly. The water quickly warmed up.

Prosciutto carefully went through your routine, cleaning your face, lathering your hair with your special shampoo, washing your body. The last thing was difficult, what with you holding on to him like a koala, but he was able to do it through some gentle chiding and maneuvering.

In return, you got to untie his adorable gnocchi buns and rinse his hair. He insisted that he clean himself, but you ended up winning that argument. You stroked his scarred arm with the washcloth, the zipper design a stark pink against his milky skin from where he had gotten his arm reattached by Don Buccellati. You didn’t pretend to understand the logistics of how it worked or what happened, you were just happy your handsome, precious boyfriend returned to you in one piece.

You were able to return to your safehaven against his chest while you waited for his conditioner to sit. His hands found the knots in your shoulders, applying light pressure to them

“You know that song I always listen to when I’m really upset and I don’t want you to talk to me?” You asked during the moment of quiet. Your gaze stayed on his chest. If you looked, if you caved in, you’d cry. And crying in front of your boyfriend was the worst thing.

He muttered an affirmation, nudging your forehead. You held on to him like he was the last thing in the world.

“I feel like a monster.”

Prosciutto sighed through his nose, touching the tip of his nose to yours.

“But you’re not a monster,” he murmured, cupping your wet cheek.

You shook your head, gulping back tears.

“I know I’ll never understand, and I won’t pretend that I do, but you’re not a monster,” he emphasized by bumping his forehead against yours. “You want to scratch off your skin because you don’t feel clean. You want to clean yourself from the inside out because nothing feels right. I know, baby, I know it hurts. To feel disgusting in your own skin.”

He paused to find the words. The tears that dribbled down your cheeks were lovingly wiped away, treated as if they were raindrops.

“But you’re you, and you don’t want to be you, but you have no choice. You have to wake up as you, listen to your head, to live as you, and you’re stronger for it. You’re so strong, my dear. Because you’re here with me, even through all of that. I know men who faint at the slightest obstacle, but you, you, you face them and the ones inside. And no monster could do that.”

Before you could cry and protest that you were a monster from hell, your boyfriend, your sweet, sweet boyfriend, brought you in for a passionate, possessive kiss. Warmth, along with the paralyzing block in your chest that stopped you from sobbing, bloomed through your body. Prosciutto kept you tight against his warm, wet body.

His lips were just as soft as they’d always been, tasting of tobacco and his late night drink. Tears poured from your eyes as you cried through his kiss. You loved him, so, so very much.

He seemed reluctant to pull away, but he did. You hesitantly brought your gaze up to look into his smiling face and blue eyes. They were filled with love, admiration, undying devotion. You were sure that your eyes held the same affections.

And in that moment, everything was okay.

[swampofiniquity]

The Luckiest (Chris Redfield x Reader) Part 2

Part Two of Two

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 2,893

Summary: Round two... and three? 

Warnings: sexual content, blowjob, unprotected sex, overstimulation

Read part one here

Cross-posted to AO3

The master bathroom was what originally made you fall in love with the new house. It was huge and open, the kind you used to fantasize about when you would bang your elbow on the tiled wall every time you took a shower at your old apartment. It was technically two rooms, one for the toilet and linen cupboard, and the other housing the large walk-in shower and over-sized bathtub, both of which were more than big enough to accommodate both you and Chris comfortably.

It had been the first thing that crossed your mind when the realtor showed you the room, and you had to excuse yourself for a moment until you could get the image of your then fiance fucking you up against the shower wall out of your head. 

Chris, of course, teased you relentlessly about it on the drive on home. Until you shut him by giving him a preview of your fantasy later that night. 

He insisted on making an offer on the house the next morning. 

Now, there you were, finally a married woman, standing topless in your mostly empty bedroom while you could hear the sounds of your husband showering in the exact location of that fantasy, and you were almost too excited to move. You took a deep breath and discarded your shorts and underwear, tossing them into the careless pile that Chris had left his own clothes. He called out for you when you opened the door and finally stepped inside the already steamy room. 

“I’m starting to feel a little lonely in here all by myself.” 

You laughed. “Poor baby, I’ll be right there.” You paused in front of the mirror for a second to take your hair down, noting that you did indeed get paint in it as well as various other places on your body. You were a complete mess, but your heart clenched as you realized Chris was so enamored with you that he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

The boost of confidence put an extra sway to your hips as you walked to shower door and opened it. Chris’ eyes darkened when you climbed inside. 

“God, look at you, come here,” he beckoned, drawing you into his arms and under the warm spray of the shower head. You draped your arms around his neck, finding his skin slick with soap.

“Look at you,” you responded, moving your body against the impressive erection that now pressed against the softness of your belly. “Someone���s excited.”

"You kidding me? I've been hard since I came home to find you covered in paint and shaking your ass to that godawful music." Chris ran his hands down your back and took two handfuls of your ass, groaning as he kneaded your flesh. 

You scoffed, but it lacked any real ire. His hands on your body felt too good. "Excuse me, but Ace of Base is a treasure and I will fight you."

“Oh yeah, you think you can take me?” He waggled his eyebrows at you and flexed his chest muscles. You snorted.

“Mmmhmm, I fight dirty.” To punctuate your point, you leaned forward onto your toes and bit into the thick tendon on his neck. The hands on your ass tightened, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. 

“Shit - I know you do, baby.”

“Only for you,” you whispered against his wet skin. Assisted by the water, you wedged your hand between your bodies and wrapped your fingers around his cock. His hips jerked forward as you moved your slippery hand up and down, applying just enough pressure to tease.

“Fuck.” He slumped forward, resting his head heavily on your shoulder. He was so tense you could practically feel his muscles vibrating. 

You pressed a soothing kiss against his neck. “Shhh it’s my turn to take care of you now.”

Abruptly, you sank to your knees and Chris groaned, his hands traveling up your body as you went down and settling in your messy hair. His cock jumped as you looked up at him through your lashes, his body shielding you from the brunt of the shower spray. 

“I tell you lately that I’m a lucky man?” He asked as he swept your hair back from your face to get a better look at you.

“You may have mentioned it.” You leaned forward and drew his tip ever so slightly inside your mouth. He swore under his breath and gripped your shoulders. 

“Fuck, I uh, I should um probably mention it again, just so it’s clear then. Goddammit,” he groaned through gritted teeth as you started to explore his shaft with your tongue. 

You felt a sudden, familiar rush at turning such a strong, powerful man into a babbling mess. Fighting a smile, you wrapped your lips over your teeth and took him in deep. His shout echoed against the tiled walls. 

Going down on Chris had always been akin to a religious experience to you. It was primal, sure, but beautiful too, the trust and vulnerability behind the action. He wasn’t a man to lose control easily, but when you were on your knees for him, he damn near always did. Shaking and swearing and clawing at you while you worked him in your mouth. At this point, you knew his body just as well as you knew your own, and nothing felt more natural than using that knowledge to make him come undone. 

“God, you’re so p-pretty down there, baby. M-makin’ me feel so good,” he moaned, using an unsteady hand to tangle in your hair and gently urge you to move faster. You obliged, humming around him and relaxing your throat to take him even deeper, your eyes watering from the effort. 

Chris was thick enough to make your jaw ache during longer sessions, but luckily for you, he was already on the edge. You brought your hand up to massage his balls while you gradually increased your speed, letting the fingers of your other hand dig into the firm flesh of his ass. 

“Fuck, baby, please ... I’m gonna come. Can I come in your pretty little mouth?” His deep voice sounded ruined, and it brought a whoosh of heat straight to your core.  

You nodded as best you could, and moaned in encouragement. Looking up at his face, you saw his eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, his neck and chest a beautiful shade of red. You wished you could capture this moment, while he dangled so deliciously on the precipice, so you could take it out on those lonely nights when his work called him away. He was perfect like this. 

Then, the fingers in your hair tightened, the sensation just skirting the edge of pain. You shifted your concentration back on his cock, focusing on the head now, increasing suction until Chris shouted your name and finally released in thick spurts on your tongue. You swallowed it easily with him still in your mouth, the motion making his entire body tremble. 

“I am the luckiest person alive,” Chris panted, as you carefully pulled away. He caught your chin and tilted your face so he could meet your eyes. “I love you.”

You beamed up at him. “I love you too.” 

He hummed in contentment. As he trailed his fingers aimlessly through your wet hair, you leaned forward and pressed a line of kisses from one of his hip bones across his belly to the other. He shuddered, his warm skin oversensitive. 

Laughing, you reached your arms up and Chris immediately got the hint, helping you up in one smooth motion. Once you were back on your feet, he brought you in for a kiss, sliding his tongue past your lips as you opened for him. 

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. 

You patted his scruffy cheek. “Mmhm you mentioned that already, babe.” 

“I think you may have sucked my brain out,” he groaned. 

You laughed, breaking away and side stepping him so you could better reach the shower spray. The hot water would likely be running out soon, and you still desperately needed to wash your hair. Instead of getting out and toweling off, Chris settled himself heavily down on the teak shower stool, his eyes never leaving your body. 

As you started to soak your hair, you asked him - “Expecting a show?”

Chris shook his head. “I just like watching you.”

It was intensely intimate, washing yourself while he watched. Something as routine and boring as lathering shampoo felt so much heavier when you could feel his eyes on your skin, tracking every movement. It was exhilarating. 

Unfortunately, the hot water cut out in the middle of rinsing the conditioner. Your skin broke out in goosebumps as the warm water gradually turned arctic. “Fuck,” you muttered, angling and contorting your body in an attempt to only have you hair under the spray. Your loving husband laughed at you. 

“Want me to see if I can turn the water heater back on?” he asked once he finished. 

“Nah, I got the paint out of my hair. I’ll take a more thorough shower tomorrow.” Finally managing to rinse completely, you turned off the shower. You were shivering as you turned back to face Chris. 

“Come here, let me warm you back up.” He patted his thighs, drawing your eyes towards his groin. He was hard again and the sight made your knees feel like overcooked noodles. 

“Already?” You asked, closing the short distance and sitting on his lap, letting your legs frame his hips. You took a hold of his cock with your cold hands and he hissed through his teeth. 

“Your fault,” he growled into your neck before sucking deeply on the sensitive skin there. He was sure to leave a bruise and the thought of meeting the contractors tomorrow with his mark on your neck thrilled you. 

Chris’ warm, strong arms encircled you, bringing you in against his chest, and the contrast against your own cool skin was heavenly. You moaned and your grip on his cock tightened as you worked him up and down, tilting your hips so you could rub his tip against your swollen clit. His entire body tensed beneath you. 

“God, that feels good, baby. I want to fuck you so bad.” He snaked a hand between you and brushed yours away, taking his cock and rubbing it against you himself. You gasped as he moved down from your clit and pressed in, just barely penetrating you. 

“Chris, please. ” You didn’t have much leverage from your position, your feet unable to reach the floor, but that didn’t matter. He seized your ass in both hands and moved you himself, picking you up and guiding you down onto his cock. You inhaled sharply as he filled you. 

“Fuck, I missed this, missed you. I’m never leaving again, from now on my only job is to fuck you.”  You knew it was just the moment talking, that Chris wasn’t really going to suddenly quit the BSAA, but the thought still warmed you. You loved that he dedicated his life to saving and protecting others, but the selfish part of you wanted nothing more than to keep him safe and by your side at all times. 

You gripped his arms, feeling the muscles contract and release as he continued to bounce you up and down. You were still sensitive from your intense orgasm on the couch and that, coupled with how ridiculously turned you were from giving him a blowjob and the rest of your shower, had you already on edge, almost embarrassingly fast. 

“Please, don’t stop,” you urged, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against his shoulder. Chris responded by increasing his pace, lifting his hips to meet yours now, and forcing little gasps to leave your lips. 

“You gonna come for me? I can feel how tight you’re getting, baby. Fuck, you squeeze me so good,” he panted, turning his head to kiss your exposed neck. 

It only took a few more thrust before your second orgasm of the night hit you. You wailed and threw your head back, your body seizing and writhing in Chris’ grip as he continued to move and thrust up into you, prolonging the intense climax. It was too much. Too good. You were simultaneously fighting him to get away and trying to pull him impossibly closer, one hand flying to the back of his head to press his face to your chest and the other grappling with his fingers on your ass, desperate to get him to stop or slow. 

Chris refused, knowing your body well enough to know that if he kept it up and you submitted, he could get you to come again. So, he shushed you, trailed loving kisses across your chest and breasts, and held on tight as you thrashed, until finally you slumped forward against him with a whimper. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl. I’ve got you, baby. Relax for me.” His voice was calm and soothing, and you latched onto it like a beacon in a storm while he used his body to overwhelm yours. You took a few huge, lungfuls of air and tried to focus on submitting to the insane pleasure instead of fighting it. Your entire being was trembling as something wild built inside you. 

“Think you can come for me again, beautiful? You feel too good, I don’t think I can last.” Chris’ arms were shaking now, but he somehow kept going, relentlessly pounding you on his cock. You could do little other than whine into his neck and try to keep a tenuous grip on your sanity. 

When the final orgasm hit you, you didn’t black out, though it felt close. Your vision tunneled and you were hyper aware of the sound of your own frenetic breath and the involuntary spasms in your muscles, but it was if they were happening to someone else. For a blissful moment, you were outside your body witnessing your own ecstasy, before the powerful wave finally crested and slammed you back. 

You screamed something, whether his name or a curse or some utter nonsense you had no idea. Distantly, you were aware of Chris answering, shouting your name as he stilled. His hands dropped you full on his lap, bringing his cock impossibly deep as he came hot and wet inside you. Tears sprung at the corners of your eyes. 

“Chris,” you sobbed, chest heaving. The physical release had triggered a mental one as well, and all that stress and worry that had been weighing you down while he was away left you in a rush. The relief was palpable. 

He brought two shaky hands up to your face and you felt him place a series of sweet, brief kisses to your face. After a long, gentle kiss against your lips, he spoke. “Look at me, baby.”

You hadn’t even been aware that you had closed them again, and you opened eyes to see your husband looking at you with so much love and adoration that it 

brought on another wave of tears. He laughed softly and wiped them away as they fell. “I take it you needed that as badly as I did?” 

You could only nod and bury your face against his chest. Chris wrapped his arms securely around you, groaning as you shifted slightly, his softening cock still warm inside you. Selfishly, you wanted to keep him there all night, but you knew that the contact would soon swing from oversensitive to painful for him, so you relaxed your inner muscles and let him slip himself out. 

Chris held you for a long moment, stroking your hair and whispering honey sweet words to you as you both calmed your heart rates. It wasn’t until you started shivering again, your skin and hair still wet, that he finally stirred, turning the shower back on to clean you both up before wrapping you up in a fuzzy, warm towel. 

Your legs were still wobbly, so you kept your arms locked around his neck while he dried you both off. “How long do I have you to myself this time?” you asked, enjoying the feeling of the soft towel against your tender skin. 

“Barring another incident, I am officially on leave for the rest of the month. Plenty of time for you to get sick of me, I’m sure.” With that, Chris ditched the towels on the floor and stooped, scoping you up and onto one shoulder. 

You squealed at the sudden shift in altitude. “What are you doing?!”

Chris playfully slapped your ass, walking into the sparsely furnished bedroom. “Taking my wife to bed.” 

You giggled as he tossed you gently onto the mattress. Even without the bed-frame, the memory foam cradled your body perfectly, magnifying your boneless exhaustion. With heavy eyes, you watched Chris turn off the lights and close the door, before joining you and drawing you into his arms. 

You hummed as he kissed you. “You’re wrong though.”

“About what?” he asked around a yawn. He was starting to doze almost immediately, no longer able to fight his dopamine-flooded brain and the warm security of having you snuggled, naked in his arms. 

“I’ll never get enough of you,” you’re able to respond as you both nod off together.

[svnflowervol666]

I was wondering if you could write something where Harry’s wife tells him she doesn’t want him in the delivery room when she gives birth. She figures having maybe Gemma or Anne with her. She comes from a family of women, so she just doesn’t think she needs him. Harry’s left torn between agreeing with her because it’s her choice and absolutely broken up over it, because he wants to witness his first child come into the world. In the end she chooses to have him by her side. 🌻💛🌻

Word Count: 2.5k

Author’s Note: THANK YOU for this dad!Harry request!! It is quite apparent that I can ramble about dad!Harry for ages, so if anyone has anything dad!Harry they’d like to discuss, my inbox is open and I will give it my all! Enjoy! Take care and tpwk.

Harry found her by the pool, her already glowing body veiled by a thin layer of sweat. Her sun-kissed legs were crossed one another, body completely bare sans the skimpy swimsuit that she only wore at home due to her current situation. She was nearly 7 months pregnant with hers and Harry’s first child, having gotten to the point where even the thought of leaving the house exhausted her. Knowing this, it made sense to Harry as to why he found her in such an unusual place when he came home from his workout at the gym. She’d always claimed that the hated the oversized pool that took up room for a potential garden in the backyard of their home, so she was rarely seen dipping her toes in the cool, blue water. Harry supposed her cabin fever had gotten the best of her and she’d had to find new ways to entertain herself whilst they both waited anxiously for their baby to arrive.

He could see her through the large, glass windows that faced the backyard, her cell phone perched in one hand while she rubbed absent-minded circles around her swollen bump with the other. Sounds of her sweet, cherubic laugh trailed in through the cracks of the french doors, immediately warming Harry’s chest and causing him to smile in a way that showed off his cavernous dimples. This pregnancy had brought a lot of emotional turmoil in terms of the way her hormones would render her depressed and misanthropic for weeks at a time in some cases, then bouncy and cheery the next as if nothing had been wrong. Harry supposed today had been one of those good days.

It came as second nature to him to make a double batch of the smoothie he routinely drank after he exercised. He’d found out early on in her pregnancy that she’d always try to sneak sips of the sweet, fruity blend due to her new cravings, so he’d eventually just started making two drinks each time to satisfy them both. As he juggled the two glasses in his large, ringed hands, he slid open the door with the full intention of joining her in her sunbathing escapades to cool down after his intensive workout. Maybe he’d even convince her to stick her feet over the edge while he swam a few laps around her. That was until he’d caught the tail-end of the sentence that she’d muttered to whoever was on the other end of her phone line.

“…I was just thinking maybe you or Anne in the room during the delivery, and then Harry can come in and see the baby right after.”

Harry felt his heart sink into his arse at what he’d overheard, almost in disbelief at what he’d just heard her say. Surely, he’d missed a key part of this conversation and the tidbit he’d just stumbled upon was not her saying that she didn’t want Harry by her side when she gave birth to their first child. They’d never discussed it, but he’d always been under the assumption that he’d be right there next to her, holding her hand as their son or daughter made their appearance into the world. However, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling like that was exactly what she had just said.

“Yeah, totally. And then- Oh! Hi, Harry!” She stopped mid-sentence and perked up upon realizing her husband was home.

Harry smiles cheesily back at her, though there was a hint of disappointment in his expression. She was too entranced in her conversation to notice.

“Brought ye’ a smoothie,” Harry raised the glass towards his face to show off the perspiring glass of blended fruit and protein powder.

She wiggles her toes in excitement, the shiny lilac polish gleaming in the sunlight. Harry had painted them for her last week, her having been too far along in her pregnancy to reach her own toes. He always did little things like this for her so she could feel beautiful no matter how atrocious she was convinced she looked in her state. If it were up to Harry, he’d keep her like this for as long as possible; he had fallen in love with her ten times over since she’d been pregnant. 

“Thank you, lovie. Gemma’s on the line. She says hi. And also that she’s still your mum’s favorite,” she said to Harry as she pulled the phone slightly away from her ear.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at his older sister’s immature banter as he sat the smoothie down next to his wife and leaned down to press a kiss to her damp hair.

He spoke clearly into the speaker so that Gemma was certain to hear him, “Just wait until the baby gets here. Then mum won’t give a shit about either of us.”

Harry didn’t hear Gemma’s snarky response, but he did hear her laugh loudly on the other end mixed with his wife’s own sweet giggles. He gave her bump a few pats with his hand that was cold from holding the glass and silently gestured to her that he was headed back inside. What he had overheard on the phone had killed his desire to lounge in the pool with his wife. He needed to be alone, whether it was to come up with a way to convince her otherwise or simply sulk about in his misery. His wife blew him a kiss which he subsequently pretended to catch and stuff in his hoddie pocket before ducking back into the house.

Whilst Harry was washing off in the shower, his mind was racing. Did she really not want him in the delivery room with her? It was his child, for christ’s sake! Of course he wanted to be there, more than anything, to be there when their baby took their first breaths, when they came out covered in goo and kicking and screaming. All Harry had ever wanted was a family to call his own, and now that it was within arm’s reach, he wanted to experience it all. 

Of course, she was going to be the one quite literally pushing a life force out of her body, therefore Harry had no say in the matter. At the end of the day, even if his future efforts to convince her otherwise were unsuccessful, it was her choice and Harry would have to respect that. It just struck him right through his core to think that his own wife didn’t want him there beside her as she gave birth. 

Amidst his racing thoughts, he’d lost track of time. The water had since run lukewarm, but he didn’t realize this until he heard the creak of the steamy shower door open and saw his pregnant wife step inside, still dressed in the skimpy swimsuit that she wore when she didn’t want any tan lines.

“Stealing all of the hot water now, aren’t you?” she teased as she stripped herself of the sopping wet material, then tossed it halfhazardly into the corner of the large, stand-in shower.

Harry mumbled a quiet, “Sorry,” before stepping out of the way of the faucet to let her rinse off.

“‘S alright. I’m still pretty warm from being outside,” she reassured him as she worked shampoo through her dripping locks, “Everything alright?” 

“Ye’, why wouldn’t it be?” Harry answered his wife’s question, though he knew that wasn’t the truth and he couldn’t hold eye contact with her so he opted to watch as the soap suds ran from her scalp and down around her belly.

“Just seem kinda off is all,” she dismissed her quandaries and reached for the conditioner.

“‘M fine,” Harry lied again, “Wha’ were ye’ talkin’ to Gem about?”

“Oh, just baby stuff. She wanted to know if we’d decided on a theme for the nursery yet so she could start buying us gifts and then we just ended up talking for a while.”

Harry nodded silently as he worked a foaming cleanser into his skin, waiting until she was done rinsing her hair to take his turn back under the running water. He could say something, he really could. He knew that he should, because communication was key and he needed to be prepared for the heartbreak he’d experience when she told him that she didn’t want him in the delivery room with her. But he was nervous, scared almost. It was as if he actually didn’t want to know how she felt and would rather just forget the whole thing happened. However, now was not the time to be cowardly. This was his child and if he wasn’t willing to talk openly with his wife about how they’d approach the situation, maybe he wasn’t really ready to be a father after all.

“Did I overhear you tellin’ Gemma you don’t want me in the delivery room with ye’?”

She stopped running the silky soap through the ends of her hair to look at Harry directly.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard you say somethin’ about mum bein’ in the delivery room with ye’ and then me comin’ in right after. Do ye’ not want me in there?”

Harry’s voice sounded trembled as if he didn’t want to hear her answer his question. She finally picked up on his trepidation, and the look on her face was one of confusion.

“Harry I…I didn’t say that,” she was merely at a loss for words.

“Ye’ kinda did. Heard ye’ say it,” Harry snided. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you in the room, Harry. My family’s always had only the girls in the delivery room. I just figured I’d do the same. Plus, I didn’t know you even wanted to be there.”

“Of course I want to be there,” Harry stressed, “‘s my baby for cryin’ out loud.”

Right then, she felt an intense flutter in her abdomen that caused her to cup her bump with her arm. This baby sure did love the sound of their father’s voice. Nothing was said between them, only awkward, unbearable silence. The water suddenly felt ice cold, raising chillbumps all up and down her arms and legs. Was Harry mad at her? She didn’t know. There was no malice with her intentions to give birth to their child without Harry in the delivery room, she genuinely hadn’t thought twice about it; it’s how she had been raised to believe how a woman should give birth, with strong women by their side. He was looking at her with glassy eyes like she had utterly broken him and caused irrepairable damage and it made her heart feel heavier than the weight of her baby bump that killed her lower back.

“I didn’t know, Harry,” she whispered, barely audible over the hissing of the faucet.

“Kinda common sense, now, innit? ‘S fine. ‘S your body.”

Harry quickly rid himself of any soap residue and left his wife alone in the ice cold shower before she could say another word. He left her the fluffier, more comfortable towel that he’d chosen for himself, because that’s just who he is.

//

He avoided her for the rest of the evening. He shut himself in his office for the better part of nearly three hours, hoping to turn his feelings into art and potentionally crank out a verse or two. The thoughts buzzing in his head were far too loud to concentrate on any chord or key, so he turned to answering emails, still not coming out of the room to resolve the argument he’d had with his wife in the shower. He wasn’t even sure what to say, or if there was anything to say at all.

She’d done the same, cooping herself up in their bedroom and taking a nap instead of finding Harry and demanding that they squash this immediately. She was so startled over the entire thing, having been bombarded with more information than she could handle. It hurt her to know that she’d hurt Harry, but at the same time she believed she hadn’t done anything wrong. This was clearly miscommunication on the most basic level, though it didn’t make her feel any better having realized that. Uneasiness settled deep into her bones as she drifted off into a light, relaxing slumber.

//

Harry tossed the garlic around in the pan with a wooden spoon blindly, only cooking to fill his stomach and not to enjoy it. It was her favorite meal, so he’d figured she’d enjoy the leftovers, at least. His mind kept drifting off to two months down the road, when his baby would be arriving in the sterile, chilly delivery room whilst he, on the other hand, wouldn’t be there to see it.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt two arms wrap around his middle and a protruding bump poke him in the small of his back.

“‘M sorry,” her voice sounded muffled from where she was talking into his shirt.

Harry reduced the heat on the stove and turned around in her grasp to face her. He took her head in both of his hands, forcing her to look at him when she spoke. 

“‘S okay. It’s your choice. I didn’t mean t’ upset ye’.”

“No, H. It’s not okay,” she couldn’t stop the hormonal tears from pooling in her eyes and running down her cheeks that were still warm from the nap she’d taken, “I should have asked you what you wanted. It’s your baby too. I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t you to be mad at me.”

Harry wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs, hating to see her cry like this.

“I’m not mad at ye’, love. Just caught me off guard. I’m fine now. I’ll wait outside the delivery room if that’s what ye’ want.”

He really hoped that wasn’t what she wanted, but he knew it was the right thing to do. After a long pause of her collecting her breath and nuzzling into Harry’s soothing touch, she found her words once more.

“It’s not what I want. I want you there. Beside me. Holding my hand when our baby gets here.”

This time it was Harry that started to cry, though he didn’t let her see the salty tears fall becaues he burried his head into the crook of her neck and held her in the dimly lit kitchen they stood in. All she could hear were his sniffles and his rapidly beating heart through is chest.

“I love you,” Harry mumbled into her neck, tickling her sensitive skin.

“I love you, too. So fucking much, Harry,” she gave his abdomen a tight embrace before pulling back. 

“But promise me you’ll still want me after you see the baby come out of me. I’ve seen it before and it is not pretty.”

Harry choked on his remaining tears as a laugh roared through his chest. He wiped the wetness from his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“’M only gonna want ye’ more after that. Promise,” Harry then raised his left pinky towards her in sincerity, the wedding band on his ring glimmering in the stovetop light.

[pinnithin]

invited home

This started as a “haha funnie gman eat a pizza” fic and turned into a soft little story about family. 3406 words.

Remembering etiquette was, perhaps, the hardest part of this.

The “hardest part of this” changed pretty frequently — often associated with whatever he was dealing with at the time. The week that took Gordon’s hand and very nearly his life was several months behind him, but he still heard the echoes of the Resonance Cascade in little things as the days passed. He heard it in the low hum of the air conditioner in his window and the backfire of a tailpipe outside. He kept the lights on at night and heard the echoes in his sleep.

It would never really go away, he guessed.

The best he could do, dealing with the hardest part of whatever his day brought him, was to simply keep living. A clockwork routine grounded him. He did normal things like buy groceries and hike in the county foothills - sometimes alone, sometimes with Tommy. Black Mesa and all the horrors it held may have broken the two of them, but they were slowly putting the pieces of each other back together.

So it shouldn’t have surprised him when he invited him to dinner with his father, right?

They were... well, they were something. Gordon found it difficult to call Tommy his boyfriend when they’d crash landed straight from acquaintances to partners in Black Mesa. The guy was the only reason Gordon was still alive, and he felt that he’d be repaying that act of kindness for the rest of his days. That sort of unwarranted devotion wasn’t exactly grounds for a normal courtship.

But this is what people did. They bought groceries and went for walks and had dinner with family. Tommy was offering this ritual to Gordon in an attempt to ground him, just like he helped him establish his other routines. It was in his best interest to take it.

The one story adobe in Sandia Heights was far more nondescript than Gordon was expecting, fitted cozily into the neighborhood on a street named Desert Finch Lane. It was evening, and the setting sun washed the walls a soft pink. The front lawn was xeriscaped with a bed of gravel and some strategic placements of yucca and saguaro, and a straight stone path marched right up to the front door. Gordon checked his phone one more time before he exited his vehicle - this house seemed far too normal to belong to someone like Tommy’s father.

No, the address Tommy sent him matched the numbers on the mailbox. Briefly, he glanced over the rest of the conversation as he reached with a free hand to kill the ignition.

T: Only if you want to! I know the last time you spoke was kind of weird... G: its fine it was a weird day haha G: no yeah id love to though G: do i need to bring anything? T: :D T: I guess you can if you want? It’s not going to be fancy or anything - we’ll probably order takeout. T: We just like to get together every month or so to catch up and I wanted to bring you along this time! No pressure. G: oh is this like G: a family thing? T: Well, yeah. Is that okay? G: its great! just checking G: see you then

T: :) T: See you.

A smile touched his mouth. Tommy rarely asked Gordon for anything, so he knew this was important to him even if he downplayed it. Gordon wouldn’t say he was a fan of Tommy’s father, but if Tommy wanted him to smooth things over after the Black Mesa incident, well, he’d try. For him, he’d try.

He didn’t know if Tommy’s father drank, so he passed on the wine, deciding instead that one can never go wrong with garlic bread. His eyes fell to the loaf he’d picked up from Albertson’s on his way over, still warm and wrapped in a foil package in the passenger seat.  He’d done the meet-the-parents dance a few times before - a lifetime ago, it felt - but none of his partners had ever mattered this much to him, and none of their fathers had ever been gods.

Remembering etiquette, he reflected, was the hardest part of this.

He slid out of the car, taking the bread with him, and marched up to the front door. It was painted a bright turquoise with the word Bienvenidos scripted across the middle in white decal letters. This struck him as odd, because Tommy’s father didn’t seem the type to care about suburban design motifs, but he only hesitated a moment before raising a fist to rap his knuckles on the door.

Only a few seconds passed before the door swung open, and relief rolled over Gordon when he saw it was Tommy in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual button up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he smiled like a sunrise. Gordon grinned back. He didn’t think the rush of affection that overtook him every time he laid eyes on the man would ever really fade. 

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Tommy answered, still smiling. “Come on in.”

He stepped back to allow Gordon entry, and his presence somewhat quelled Gordon’s trepidation as he crossed the threshold into Mr. Coolatta’s house. 

“I hope garlic bread is okay,” he said as Tommy shut the door behind him. His eyes caught the neat line of shoes in the entryway, and he began jimmying his sneakers off. “I wasn’t sure what we were having.”

“It’s perfect,” Tommy answered, turning from the door. He watched Gordon attempting to remove his shoes without the help of his hands with a hint of amusement. “Um, do you want me to take that?” he asked, indicating the bread.

“I’ve got it,” Gordon muttered distractedly, finally kicking off one shoe and then the other. “You didn’t grow up here, did you?”

Tommy watched the sneakers go flying down the hall, a laugh in his eyes, but he didn’t comment. “God, no,” he answered. “Dad downsized a couple years ago.” He paused, flicking a brief look around the room, before adding, “He decorated the place himself.”

Gordon followed Tommy’s gaze. It looked like a house, at a glance. There were throw pillows on the leather couch and an artificial plant rested tastefully on the coffee table. Picture frames and various ornaments adorned the mantle, functionally useless objects stuffed between photos of the Coolatta family through the years. His eyes caught a decorative globe, some pillar candles, and a geometric silver figurine before landing on a sunny portrait of a smiling child - Tommy, he guessed. A wall hanging of colorful overlapping rectangles covered the space next to the south window.

All at once, Gordon felt he was in a place that was trying very hard to be a house, without quite knowing what a house’s qualifying factors were. Aside from the photos, the only clue to the owner’s tastes was the record player against the far wall, crackling out music from a time period Gordon didn’t recognize. Something with a strange time signature and a dreamlike melody. It was possible the song was from an era that had not yet happened.

He looked back to Tommy and found him studying his face. “It’s nice,” he offered summarily.

Tommy laughed quietly through his nose. “I think he just went to the home decor section of Target and picked out some stuff he liked,” he said.

“Oh,” Gordon replied. “Y’know, now that you say it - yeah. Yeah, I can see that.” 

Tommy didn’t exactly look uncomfortable with Gordon’s presence in his father’s house, but he didn’t seem wholly relaxed either. The set of his shoulders betrayed him, as did his hands, which fidgeted at the seams of his pockets before extending to take the bread from him.

“Here, let me - we can put this in the kitchen,” he said, gesturing behind him. 

It was possible that etiquette slipped his mind as frequently as it did Gordon’s, and that made him feel a little better about the whole thing. He should have assumed as much - he and Tommy both used the skeleton of routine to prop themselves up, despite the fact that they found social rules tiresome at best. A necessary framework for people like them. Gordon allowed Tommy to take the package from his arms and followed him down the hall. 

The kitchen was a little more homey, if only for the healthy clutter of appliances on the counter. Two boxes from Dion’s Pizza sat on the island, and seeing them pulled an audible sigh of relief from Gordon.

Tommy noticed. “Yeah, we’re not - we don’t cook a lot around here,” he admitted, sliding the package of garlic bread next to the pizza.

“That makes me feel better about bringing over store bought bread,” Gordon chuckled. “Where’s uh,” he darted a glance around the room, as if the man in question would materialize if he mentioned him aloud. “Where’s your dad at, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s...” Tommy finished his sentence with a vague wave of his hand. “He’ll show up sooner or later.”

He didn’t seem concerned, as if his father disappearing to another time and place arbitrarily was something that happened a lot. It made sense - Tommy was self-sufficient to the point of being an outright loner - and Gordon guessed that Mr. Coolatta’s inhuman qualities probably didn’t lend to a very warm upbringing.

Tommy was watching him, observant as always. “He’s not really a bad person,” he said at length. “He just… he sees things differently.”

“Shit, man,” Gordon laughed and shook his head. “Sometimes I think you can read my mind.”

“Oh, I never told you?” Tommy responded, raising his eyebrows impishly. 

He didn’t seem to want to discuss his father any further, so Gordon laughed at Tommy’s joke and didn’t press it. They fell into a comfortable discussion, standing together in the kitchen and waiting on the third member of their little party. This part Gordon knew how to do - speaking with Tommy always felt like coming home, and while they were still learning things about each other, he never felt any pressure to behave in a way that wasn’t his whole, genuine self. He saw the slope of Tommy’s shoulders slowly relaxing while they talked, and felt himself mirroring him as the minutes ticked by.

Tommy’s father materialized in the time it took for Gordon to blink, one moment absent and the next present. Spooked, Gordon jumped slightly at his appearance, while Tommy uttered an unaffected and congenial, “hey, Dad.”

Mister Coolatta stood under the kitchen lights exactly how Gordon remembered him. His suit was as smooth and clean as his hair,  and he wondered if the man even thought about wearing anything else, much less owned a varied wardrobe. Tommy’s father was, in many ways, like Tommy himself. Tall and neat and watchful. Seeing them side by side, it was easier to envision them as family, and Gordon no longer wondered where Tommy picked up his carefully neutral expression from.

The man in the suit fixed his cool gaze on Gordon. “Mister Freeman,” he said. “It is, hm, good to see you again.”

Gordon extended a hand before he could lose his nerve. This was what people did. And while Tommy’s father may not necessarily be a person, that was no reason for Gordon to deny him the courtesy of a handshake.

“You too, sir,” he answered. “Happy to be here.”

Tommy’s father paused for a moment, studying Gordon’s outstretched hand with interest. “I trust the hand hasn’t been giving you trouble since your little incident?”

“Uh,” Gordon faltered only for a moment. “No. It’s been just fine.”

“Dad,” Tommy intoned quietly, passing a glance between his father and Gordon.

This spurred the man in the suit to recall etiquette, himself, and then Gordon was shaking hands with a god.

It was surprisingly normal, all things considered. His grip wasn’t quite as solid as Gordon expected, though that was less a testament to his grip strength than it was to his short-of-corporeal nature. His skin felt like something that was pretending to be skin, and it was the same temperature as the air around them. But he nodded and looked Gordon in the eye like any other man, so he guessed he’d had worse handshakes before in his life. 

Mr. Coolatta released him and angled his head to his son. “Forgive me for my lateness, I… had to take care of some things on the ah, ‘out-side,’ as it were.”

“It’s fine, Dad,”  Tommy answered, then added, “I picked up the pizza.”

His father’s eyes lit on the boxes, seemingly for the first time. “Dion’s,” he observed. “Excellent choice.”

After a short, awkward silence, Gordon blurted, “should we eat?” and Tommy sighed a grateful “yes,” before nudging his father toward the dining room.

As Gordon took a step to gather the pizzas into his arms, he felt Tommy skate his fingers delicately across the inside of his palm. 

“Thank you,” he murmured in his ear, quiet and just for him.

Gordon wasn’t sure what exactly Tommy was thanking him for, but he caught his hand before he could withdraw and gave a reassuring squeeze. He was warm and solid and alive, and it anchored him.

“We got this,” he told Tommy, smiling.

The dining room was another testament to Mr. Coolatta’s decorating tastes. Gordon was not quite successful in withholding a chuckle when he noticed a Live, Laugh, Love sign on the wall, and this earned him a gentle elbow in the ribs from his partner. Tommy was carrying a set of plates and silverware in one hand and some napkins in another.

When Gordon offered to help set the table, Tommy only shook his head mischievously, and the cutlery leapt from his hands on their own.

Right. He was dating a demigod. This was a detail Gordon often forgot about, if only for the fact that Tommy displayed his power in subtle, quiet ways that went unnoticed. Here, however, he had no such reservations.

This was a Tommy Gordon hadn’t gotten to see yet, and he caught himself staring as he set the table without even touching a plate. He handled himself with an ease he didn’t show out in public, manipulating space with a well-practiced comfort that indicated years of doing it this way. A Coolatta ritual, for Coolattas only. Gordon, an outsider, felt his nervousness slowly melt into gratitude at being invited to the table. He understood now - Tommy didn’t want Gordon here just to smooth things over with his father. He wanted to share his life with him, every jigsawed piece of it. 

Conversation was easier than anticipated. Tommy led the discussion at first, updating his father on his new job at the VLA in Socorro. Working with radios in the quiet desert, listening to the stars, seemed to suit him, and the fondness with which he recalled his nighttime shifts alone was genuine. Gordon tucked into his slice of 505 (pepperoni and green chile) and watched Mr. Coolatta’s facial expression as he absorbed the information.

The man sat perfectly still except to give acknowledging nods here and there, and his pizza remained untouched on his plate. At least, that was Gordon’s first assumption, until he realized the slice was gradually disappearing bite by bite every time he looked away. Mr. Coolatta’s face was impassive as always when Gordon gave him a questioning look, and when Tommy didn’t acknowledge the mystical pizza disappearance, he chose not to say anything about it.

“Mister Freeman,” the man in the suit said after a time, turning his swirling gaze on his guest. “It is my under-standing that you… have a new profession, as well?”

Gordon, figuring he’d picked up the “Mister Freeman” thing  from Tommy, didn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah, I’m teaching physics at NMT,” he answered.

He didn’t think he’d enjoy an academic environment all that much, choosing to teach as a backup while he pursued streaming in the meantime, but he was developing a fondness for it. His students were bright individuals, and some of them were just as weird as he was, which kept his days interesting.

Gordon wasn’t one to discuss his new job at length with anyone. It felt strange, after everything he lived through, to complain about something as trivial as grading papers or writing coursework. But Mr. Coolatta was among a handful of individuals who knew exactly what happened to him during his employment at Black Mesa, so he felt what he said next was entirely understood by everyone at the table.

“It’s a nice change of pace,” he added. “Things are better.”

“Yes,” Tommy’s father answered. “I have… heard the same from Tommy. It is, good to know that the two of you are, hm, recovering well.”

His tone was one step away from apologetic, and Gordon was sure he imagined it, but he was touched by the sentiment nonetheless. Tommy smiled softly down at his plate and didn’t say anything. They were recovering well, weren’t they? Finding a place for themselves. Learning how to be human again.

Gordon wasn’t sure, at first, if it would ever be possible. The Resonance Cascade was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but… Tommy was the best thing that ever happened to him. And even with all the complicated emotions that surrounded the Coolatta family, he was happy to be here. He was happy to see that small, private smile cross Tommy’s face. 

The evening concluded with Gordon and Mr. Coolatta getting into a discussion about whether a hotdog was actually a sandwich, with Tommy joining in as moderator and rewarding imaginary points as they each went over their arguments. They wiped out the pizzas handily between the three of them. When Gordon had to excuse himself to begin the drive back to Socorro, Mr. Coolatta initiated another handshake with him. It was only a little less weird the second time. 

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Tommy offered.

The setting sun bled a soft orange onto the neighborhood as the two of them left the house. Tommy kept his hands in his pockets, just barely brushing shoulders with Gordon as they went.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me,” Gordon responded. “It was nice.”

They pulled to a stop next to the station wagon. “Sorry Dad’s so…” Tommy trailed off and shrugged. “Like that,” he finished.

His eyes were down, studying the sidewalk as he scuffed the sole of his shoe on the concrete. His expression was drawn, but Gordon could see from the crinkle of his eyes that he was happy with how the night turned out. 

“Hey,” Gordon said.

Tommy’s eyes flicked up to meet his. His gaze was sharp and watchful, cutting Gordon in a way he found he liked.

“Don’t feel like you need to apologize for your dad,” Gordon said. “He’s cool. And I’m… Like, I’m glad you wanted me there. I had a good time,” he rambled further, “and it’s - I haven’t been to dinner with someone in a long time, and it was just - like it was really nice to just talk about stuff with family like that.”

Tommy’s mouth split into a smile, face flushing slightly as Gordon said the word ‘family.’ “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was nice. This is - we should do this again.”

The fact that there would be a next time sent a rush of emotion into Gordon’s chest. He loved Tommy, loved how trusting he was to invite him to such a private part of his life. Certainly this was difficult for him to do, but he allowed Gordon Freeman, of all people, to cross the threshold and see inside. He was close enough to be considered family. Sheer affection made him dizzy.

Tommy’s smile was infectious, causing Gordon to grin outright. “I’ll see you back home later?” he asked.

“Mm hm,” Tommy nodded. He leaned in, but stopped short when Gordon held up a hand in protest.

“Uh,” he intoned, pointing. “Your dad is totally watching us from the window.”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder and caught the dark visage of his father beyond the glass. He rolled his eyes, still smiling, and gestured with a hand. The curtains snapped shut at his command. “No, he isn’t,” he said.

They kissed on the curb, Gordon laughing softly into Tommy’s mouth. He was home already.

[songfell-ut]

Happy birthday to:

@venelona! I set out to prove that I could do a gift on time, and even if time zones have come between us, it’s totally the 4th right now for me, dammit. So here you go, stolen directly from your conversation on @lailosh‘s server and based of course on these comics.

(Omfg, I told my daughter I was happy I finished a birthday gift on time and now she’s nattering to her class on Zoom about how today is her mom’s friend’s birthday and the teacher is asking if we’re doing anything)

Anyway

The bedroom was quiet. Not too quiet—the air conditioner hummed and traffic noises filtered in from the busy street outside, as usual. It was just the quiet of an early-evening bedroom with no one in it yet, sleeping or playing on their phone or doing you-know-what…

…Not that the room’s usual occupant ever did much know-what. In fact, she never did any of it. He definitely would’ve noticed. He noticed everything.

For example, he knew the moment the sun’s last rays finally died out and warm, sweet darkness began sinking into the room, pooling under her bed and creating the ideal space for someone – something – like him to emerge.

Nightmare permitted himself a tiny grin, letting his tentacles writhe in anticipation. He’d been resting and gathering his power for over a month, building enough strength to invade the waking world. Let her think he’d grown tired of trying to reach her again after…after that, her shocking indecency, showing him all that soft warm naked skin and touching him with no he had to focus

Yes. She probably thought she’d won and driven him off with her horrible wiles! Well, what would she say when he came for her—no, when he completely platonically attacked her in her own world, where she thought she was safe? There was nowhere to run from him in her nightmares, but she could always wake up. Here, though…

Nightmare took the magical equivalent of a deep breath, running his tentacles along the barrier between his world and the reality inhabited by humans. It was a delicate process, but he used the barest touch of power to find the barrier’s weak spot, nudge the folds of subspace aside and insert his tentacles one at a why did this feel so inappropriate time, until he was through!

The space under her bed was…not spacious. In fact, if he hadn’t been so viscous, Nightmare could well have found himself stuck. It was enough to make him contemplate giving up and slipping back into his own world, where an eldritch being could stretch properly and not think terrible, untoward things from something as innocuous as penetrating into her wo—

No! As a being of infinite cosmic horror who fed on the suffering of lesser creatures, Nightmare had no intention of backing out now…not the least because he couldn’t back up any further without hitting the wall. What kind of pathetically undersized dwelling was this?

At least he knew her routine, and that she’d be in here soon enough: she was doing the dishes, and then it was time for her shower. Should he strike while she was rummaging in her closet for her favorite cotton robe, the one with the stupid pink flowers? Or lie in wait until she came in afterward, threw her towel off, and eventually got into her pajamas? …Assuming she bothered wearing any. He never watched that part, no matter how much he…well…

Nightmare squeezed his eye shut. Things would be different after tonight, he vowed. Once he’d given her another glimpse of real terror, she’d never taunt him again! He would unleash his most hideous abominations upon his not-scantily-clad victim, and her fear would make him strong enough to finally see—

—a set of dainty black paws wandering in through the half-open door. The skeletal creature froze, slipping a little further back under the bed. Since when did Frisk have a damned cat? And where was it going?! Surely the beast wasn’t stupid enough to approach him?

The cat took a few hesitant steps, then stopped and growled under its breath, tail lashing. Good! Let it make all the noise it wanted. If it got close enough to grab, he’d—

Nightmare was so busy thinking of ways to make the cat sorry for existing that he didn’t notice one of his tentacles eagerly creeping out from under the bed, reaching to grab the little animal…until the cat’s paw went whapwhapwhap and smacked him with needle-sharp claws. “Oww!” he snarled. “You…!”

The kitchen was just down the hall; to his alarm, Frisk had turned the water off. “Nero?” she called. Her footsteps drifted toward the bedroom, and Nightmare crammed himself back against the wall. “Ne—geez!” she yelped as the cat came rocketing out of her room. “What’s wrong with you?” the young woman demanded, her voice trailing after him. “Come back here and answer me, you little…!”

That was too close. Nightmare breathed a sigh of relief, and considered reaching across the room to shut the door; his powers of telekinesis had all but vanished as his…other talents developed. But no, she was an intelligent young lady, and she’d wonder why it was suddenly closed. Besides, the substance coating his limbs would leave telltale greenish-black traces. He just had to hope she wouldn’t notice the flecks of it on the carpet that had been whacked off—that had been forcibly removed by the cat clawing his tentacle.

So the skeletal abomination settled himself to wait, very patiently, as befitted a creature of his age and magical stature. He was always happy to pass the time devising new tortures to inflict upon his victims. Frisk never failed to disappoint him, provided she had clothes on, and once he’d had his way with—once he was finished platonically terrorizing her, she’d never say any ridiculous things about naked or marriage ever again!

Only a minute later, Frisk came back down the hall. “I know, Mom,” she was saying, presumably on the phone. The hall light came on; Nightmare steeled himself for the bedroom light, but to his intense relief, she went to the bathroom instead. “Yeah, I’m gonna go to bed early tonight. I’ve got new contacts, and they’re giving me a headache.” There was a rummage through her medicine cabinet, then some vaguely cloth-sounding noises. “Of course Nero’s doing fine. He just got his wet food, and…he’s already heading to the litter box again. Goody.” Sigh. “Are you guys having fun on your amazing cruise that you wouldn’t take me on?”

Ah. That explained the cat’s presence. And it was also excellent nightmare fuel: he could make her see her parents out on the ocean, having a wonderful time until, say, the walls of the ship split open and grew teeth to begin devouring the passengers, or some kind of disease started spreading that made people turn inside out…Frisk was always susceptible to body horror. Oh, yes, he knew how he could take advantage of her. …Platonically!

“Thanks, Mom,” she said loudly, breaking in on his definitely-not-filthy thoughts. “Have fun. Love you.” He heard her set something down in the kitchen, then sigh, padding back down the hall.

Nightmare settled down to wait again, only to flinch at the sound of sudden, rapid footsteps: Frisk burst into her room and leapt onto her bed with a little “Whee!” The mattress flattened beneath her weight, mashing into his skull; he cursed silently in the tongues of a thousand mortal worlds as Frisk flopped onto her back. “Oh, man, what a day,” she muttered. “Stupid contacts.” Yawn. “Don’t care about the shower, do it in the mornin’…”

That was…remarkably cute, Nightmare thought, then tried to un-think it as she rolled onto her side, relieving some of the pressure. If only they were in his realm! Her mind would be an open book, and he could effortlessly seize her subconscious and steer it in any direction he chose. In this world, he had to wait till her breathing slowed, then grip the carpet and glide out from under the bed on a layer of the noxious stuff coating his body.

Once his torso was free, he silently eased his legs out and rose to his knees. His tentacles quivered with eagerness as he started to turn toward the b—

“Gotcha!”

…If Nightmare had had any friends, and one of them had asked him the likelihood of his next victim not just taking him by surprise, but grabbing him by the neck with rubber kitchen gloves? He would have laughed, and then killed them, because they were clearly insane and he didn’t have any friends.

But by all that was unholy, his theoretical dead friend was not insane. Instead of giving Frisk a (perfectly chaste) glimpse into her own personal Hell, Nightmare found himself being scruffed like an indignant kitten and hauled toward the light switch; instead of latching onto her and ripping her flesh from her bones, his tentacles had just enough time to form a protective seal over his eye before the room was flooded with foul, searing light.

“Oh my God, shut up!” Frisk shouted over his wails of pain. “It’s just one lightbulb!” She shouldered the door open and began dragging him down the hall. “You’re not melting or anything! But if you want to, go for it—it’d probably be an improvement!”

“How dare you!” The eldritch skeleton flailed with both arms and kicked at random, to no avail. “Release me now!”

“Why?” she snapped. Nightmare made another series of agonized noises as she pulled him all the way into the brightly lit bathroom. “I’m not letting you go till you apologize and we get everything cleaned up!” She slammed the door shut and locked it for emphasis. “Got it?!”

He still couldn’t bring himself to uncover his eye. “How? How did you know—”

“The cat had a bunch of gross slime all over his paw! Who do I know that gets gunk everywhere and smells like a hot dumpster? Gee, let me think!” Frisk still had an iron grip on his neck, fingers digging between the vertebrae. With her other rubber-gloved hand, she banged open the linen closet and began pulling things out, piling them on the toilet lid. “I had to scrub it off him so he wouldn’t eat it and die or something. So then I thought to myself, Wow, Self! I already had to wash one dumb thing I didn’t want here! Why not go for a double?”

The implication hit him as she yanked a knob and started the shower full-blast. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed.

Frisk stopped dead. For a moment, Nightmare entertained hopes of mustering enough strength to break loose and reach the light switch. When one tentacle eased free, though, she pivoted until he was fully facing the vanity lights, holding firm as he writhed in agony. It felt like miniature suns burning into his slime and bone…

…but only for a moment. The next thing he knew, Frisk had turned him away again, leaning over to shield him from the light. “Believe it or not, I don’t like hurting you,” she said severely. “But you’re in my world now, literally, and you’re not Mr. Big Scary Hentai Monster. You’re more like a vampire in a crappy horror game—all I have to do is turn the lights on. So, you’d better behave. Got it?” Her grip somehow tightened. “Here we go. Hold your breath!”

Nightmare didn’t have time to request any further details, because she was already ripping back the shower curtain and stepping into the tub with him, holding him under the water as she pulled the curtain shut. “There! I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” she said cheerfully, patting his topmost tentacle. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

It did not feel nice. The hot water felt like…like…it was bad and he hated it. Yes. It was terrible, and not oddly pleasant or soothing once he got used to it, not at all like being massaged by a thousand tiny hands. In fact, he hated it so much that he relaxed, telling himself he was tricking her into dropping her guard.

Behind him, Frisk hummed in satisfaction and reached out of the curtain. Nightmare’s tentacles began to loosen almost imperceptibly, but constricted again as the human tapped on them. “Hold still. I don’t even know if this stuff hurts when it gets in your eyes…well, eye. But like I said, I don’t get off on torturing people.” Something – probably a bottle – made a sploot sound as she squeezed it. “You just smell really bad.”

Nightmare couldn’t help flinching at the first cold, rough touch of the shower loofa. “I do not ‘get off’ on it,” he informed her. “I can’t help what I am, can I?”

“Hmmm. Yeah,” she said absently. “Yeah, you absolutely can. At least, you can control what you do.” A strange floral scent filled the room as she began a brisk, gentle scrub-down, removing most of his protective slime; he unconsciously folded his legs to sit forward more comfortably, letting her angle the showerhead so that more water streamed over him. “Would you die if you went too long without scaring the crap out of someone?”

The skeletal monster had to suppress a shudder as her fingers slipped between two of the tentacles. No one had touched him like this in…ever, or at least as far back as he could remember. “Probably,” he muttered, telling himself to calm down. It was perfectly innocent, just a wretched human daring to lay hands on him, earning the most terrible punishment imaginable— “Would you die if you went for too long without eating?” he added.

Scrub. Scrub. “Well, duh. But if I want a burger, I don’t sneak into the cow’s house to taunt it first.”

Nightmare did shudder this time as her hand glided over the same spot over and over again, leaving a very sensitive layer of ectoplasmic flesh. His tentacles were stirring with interest, and the more firmly he told them to stop it, the more they all wanted to be washed. One was actually angling itself to let her rub it harder. “I…fine! Just hurry it up.”

“Aww, see? It’s not so bad,” she chirped. The tentacle stretched luxuriously, and Nightmare fought to keep another one from rising to demand the same treatment. “At this rate, you’ll be nice and clean in just a few hours!”

Hours?! He did his best to open his eye, raising one hand to protect him from the light. “You’re joking. Right?” She made an indifferent noise, and he tried to grab at the loofa with his other hand. “Let me do it, then!”

“Nope,” said Frisk, giving the shower curtain a threatening nudge with her elbow; he twitched as the light flickered around its edge. “Just relax, okay? Let your loving wife take care of you~”

He felt his entire skull flush bright green. “You are not my wife!”

The human made a pouty sound. “How can you say that, honey? After all we’ve been through together!” The scrubbing intensified. “I know you wanted more romance. Is that why you came all the way here to see me?” The scrubbing paused. “How did you get into the real world, anyway?” she asked, much more seriously.

Nightmare willed more of his tentacles to peel themselves off his skull, and to behave themselves. “With magic. Don’t waste my time with stupid questions.” The light was just a bit dimmer in here through the shower curtain – enough for the pain to start receding – and he needed to adjust to it; no point formulating an escape plan if he couldn’t see what he was doing.

Frisk slowly removed her grip from around his neck. “Okay, then. I see how it is.” She heaved a sigh, then picked up the bottle again.

This was his chance—Frisk was distracted, with both hands occupied, and his vision was clear. Nightmare grinned in silent malice, flexing his bony fingers as they lay in his lap. Most of his power was still depleted from entering this world, but he had more physical strength in one tentacle than ten mortal men. And this was one slim, soft, pliant young woman! He could take her—he could overpower her with virtually no effort!

It would be ridiculously simple: turn around, grab her, and force her to turn the lights off, for starters. Then they could talk about how she had treated him like a misbehaving cat, and—

She chose that moment to drop the body wash and make him jump. “Crap! Sorry,” Frisk said.

The monster made what he hoped was an agreeable noise and picked up the bottle, which was pretty slippery. “Here,” he murmured. “If you’re going to—”

Without warning, Nightmare sprang to his feet and whirled around, backing the startled human against the shower wall. “Now,” he snarled, “you daaaaaaaaaaaaaugh”

Frisk watched, disbelieving, as the dripping-wet monstrosity jerked backward, arms flung up to shield his eye, as though she had turned a spotlight on him and also thrown some holy water. “I was wondering if you’d noticed,” she remarked. “Did you think I was actually talking with my mom that whole time? I just didn’t want you to know I was taking my clothes off.”

“Why?!” he nearly shrieked. “Why would you do that?”

“‘Cause I didn’t want them to get gunked up! That stuff doesn’t look like it washes out. You’d better help me get it off the carpet, by the way.” Frisk chuckled, and that teasing note crept back into her voice, the one he’d heard so many times in his own nightmares: “If I lose my security deposit, it’ll be your fault. How do you plan to compensate me for that, I wonder~”

Nightmare couldn’t speak; he just emitted a stream of “Y-y-y-y-y—”

“Yyyes, I’m naked,” she agreed, retrieving the bottle. Almost against his will, Nightmare’s eye cracked open in time to watch her set down the loofa, peel the gloves off, goop some body wash onto her hand, and begin blithely rubbing it over her skin. “No offense, but I don’t want you all over me yet.”

The monster’s eye bulged so hard that Frisk snorted. “I meant this, dummy!” She indicated the slimy loofa, and leered at him. “What did you think I meant?”

It was tempting to throw himself out of the shower and hope for death’s sweet embrace, but to his steadily increasing horror, the skeleton couldn’t move his feet. As his gaze swept unwillingly up and down her body, the way her skin glistened as her hands squeezed and stroked it, Nightmare’s desire to grab her shifted…and his tentacles agreed.

Frisk was opening her mouth to say something when one appendage snaked up and began petting her shoulder, which was somehow even warmer and smoother than it looked. “Whoa,” she remarked, looking from it to him and back with wide eyes. To his dismay, her mouth quirked a little. “What happened to romance, Nightmare? Didn’t you want to dance in the moonlight, eat Peking duck, or whatever?”

“I’m n-not—” Nightmare tugged at the errant tentacle, first with his hand, then his magic. To his very dismay, Frisk was reaching up to poke at it, giggling as it brushed her cheek. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded of the world at large.

As if mocking him, another tentacle lurched at the young woman, making him stagger forward till he had to catch himself with his hands on either side of her. Frozen in place, Nightmare unwillingly watched a few errant suds trickle down her neck, sliding merrily off her collarbone and along the side of her breast before continuing to the brave new worlds beyond—

“Um,” said Frisk, still sounding more amused than perturbed. Her eyes met his, then flicked to her left meaningfully.

Aaaand of course another tentacle had slid around her wrist and along her arm. “Oh, my,” she said, bemused. Nightmare’s soul did a backflip as the young woman moved forward, the tentacles drawing her closer, till her breasts were nearly touching his soaking-wet jacket. “Are you actually coming on to me, or—eep!”

That was probably due to yet another tentacle worming around behind her and running up and down her back, eliciting a little moan. The skeleton wanted desperately to wrench himself free, or at least tell her to be quiet, but…

Frisk was flushed, her breath coming quick and shallow. Nightmare watched her hands come up to rest on his ribcage, picking off bits of slime. “What now?” she murmured.

Nightmare wanted to tell her that she’d won, and please go put on clothes now so he could leave and never come back. He also wanted to tell her that this wasn’t how he’d envisioned their next encounter, or that young women in his day knew better than to trap extradimensional beings in the shower with them; he wanted to be very stern about doing this kind of thing the right way, because she deserved the right way, not…this.

He wanted to stop himself as his fingers rose to brush her damp hair off her face and his skull drooped to rest on her bare shoulder…but he didn’t.

He didn’t want to give up and let his tentacles wind around Frisk to pull her against him, or to put his arms around her, encasing her entire body. But he did.

“Nightmare?” Frisk whispered.

It wasn’t romantic. But if she didn’t care—

Nightmare summoned his scant reserves of magic, and raised his hand long enough to snap his fingers.

The lights went out.

 ~

 Not long afterward – just a few days after her parents got back and collected Nero, with only a few inquiries as to what that smell was – Frisk went on a shopping trip that raised several eyebrows: she bought several shower curtain liners, a dozen bottles each of Amber Sunrise and Moonlit Jasmine body wash, every single Stain Stick on the shelf, and a steam cleaner.

If that wasn’t strange enough, her neighbors soon started complaining about odd noises in the middle of the night, and at least one of them made rude remarks about how she had to be hoarding trash or something. When the landlord came in for an inspection, though, all he saw was a scrupulously clean apartment with a faint, lingering odor that he couldn’t identify.

It was hard not to see a heap of folded plastic in the corner of her room, but there were no bloodstains – or recent unsolved murders that he knew of – and anything else she chose to use it for was none of his business; Frisk accepted his admonishment to keep it down, whatever it was, and promised to maintain her new cleaning schedule.

Her neighbors didn’t hear much of anything after that. There was nowhere to run from him in her nightmares, but that was fine—she was in no hurry to wake up. After all, she wasn’t the one who’d been caught, was she?

[hoekaashi]

HQ Skincare hcs

a/n: i had too much fun with these hehe, hope you enjoy! onto my next series which will be longer than the skincare ones characters: kageyama, kenma, kuroo, oikawa, iwachan, atsumu, osamu warnings: none other than my language lol taglist: @babydabi @suckersuki @bakugoustanaccount @animoozies @haiikyuuns @depths-of-your-soul @differentballooncollection @waitforitillwritemywayout​

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⇾ growing up as in going to middle school with oikawa, he picked up some stuff ⇾ small things, like which cleanser is better for his skin, what type of skin he has, the difference between toner and essence, what daytime moisturizer he should use and what nighttime one ⇾ things like that ⇾ and even once he was no longer around oikawa, skincare became something that he enjoyed doing ⇾ he would look up new products on his own and he was always willing to try new products too ⇾ his teammates are always so awestruck by his dedication just to his skin ⇾ wouldn’t mind splurging every once in a while on a holy grail product, but everything else is pretty much drugstore stuff ⇾ until he started getting products sent to him in pr packages once bokuto and atsumu let it slip in an interview that kags has a dedicated routine ⇾ his 4 step routine turned into 12 very fast and unfortunately for him, half the time he doesn’t know what he’s doing and ends up bothering oikawa about it

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⇾ he’s a rich bitch and it shows ⇾ he gets a facial two to three times a month, doesn’t care that he shouldn’t get them too frequently ⇾ his mentality is that if he’s not washing his face every day, it’s okay for him to get facials more frequently ⇾ he just really enjoys the massages they give him, but after learning that he doesn’t do anything at home to take care of his skin, they make him a list of products to use and create an entire daytime and nighttime routine for him ⇾ and because he can, he buys the fancy shmancy products that are overpriced ⇾ his favorite part of the routine is putting a cold sheet mask on his face and letting it marinate on his skin ⇾ he ends up buying a beauty fridge and stocking it up with mostly sheet masks ⇾ but because he doesn’t want to be wasteful, he ends up learning how to recycle them properly along with how to make his own sheet masks ⇾ his facialist starts crying when she finds out that he’s actually taking care of his skin now

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⇾ literally didn’t do shit for his face ⇾ but as he got older, he would look into ingredients more - not only with what he was putting in his body, but also on it ⇾ around his last year of high school, he decided to start a routine but it wasn’t anything too fancy ⇾ proper face wash and a moisturizer ⇾ slowly he started to build it more looking into the benefits of using toners and the difference between fermented products and regular ones ⇾ you can pry nerdy science kuroo from my cold dead hands but rigor mortis will make that even harder for you to do haha ⇾ once he got his fancy schmancy job, he had the money to splurge on skincare so not only did he get products that were good for him, he also got the expensive ass ones that typical people would save up for and make it last way past the expiration date ⇾ kenma got him hooked on sheet masks ⇾ he has a mini fridge in his office and whenever he’s stressed or just super tired, he’ll pop one on with some eye patches and just take a 10-20 minute nap in his chair ⇾ even though he’s not very active on social media (most of his followers are people who found him through kenma), he will still email companies and ask them to add him to his pr list ⇾ will bug kenma whenever he isn’t added to the pr list

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⇾ this bitch has a full 12 step routine that he perfected at a young age because he wanted to preserve his youth ⇾ ”why do you wait until you start aging to use anti-aging products? if i start at a young age, i’ll never get wrinkles and people will forever think i’m 20 years old” ⇾ rotates out one product whenever it finishes so his skin doesn’t get used to it ⇾ takes pride in his looks so he would never hesitate to drop money on a product that he knows works ⇾ but on the other side, he also doesn’t mind drugstore products if they do a bomb ass job too ⇾ tried to change the other seijoh third years to have better routines and they all either ignored him or assaulted him with body wash bottles or anything else laying around ⇾ everything is displayed in his bathroom in an aesthetic way ⇾ easily notices if even one product is off ⇾ has a travel sized version of his entire routine and it doesn’t matter if he’s away from his place for even one day/night, he will take the entire thing with him wherever he’s going ⇾ has never missed a single day of his routine which is why iwa went through his acne phase through puberty and oikawa didn’t he still holds it against him to this day

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⇾ literally uses bar soap to wash his face and moisturizes with coco butter BODY LOTION ⇾ oikawa has a heart attack whenever he sees him do this and proceeds with his cardiac arrest when iwa tells him to fuck off ⇾ wanted to punch oikawa in the face whenever he teased him about not having breakouts since he took care of his skin while they were growing up, but once puberty was done and his hormones were balanced, he never saw another pimple on his face again ⇾ will go to grave without a soul knowing, but his acne pissed him off so much he actually bought products to treat it ⇾ advocate for Proactiv MD ⇾ eventually grew out of his bad habits with skincare but still doesn’t do anything more than face wash, toner, and moisturizer ⇾ will never spend more than 25 bucks on a single product. ever. ⇾ enjoys how oikawa gets jealous knowing that he does the bare minimum and his skin looks as great as it does ⇾ quietly thanks his parents for their good genes

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⇾ aha ha ha he’s awful ⇾ rinses his face with water after practice, and if he’s showering, he’ll use his 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner to wash his face ⇾ complains about the weird coating it leaves on his face and when osamu tells him it’s because hair products aren’t for his face, he just says it’s extra moisturizing and walks away ⇾ wanna know why he copied osamu’s hairstyle in high school? it’s because his greasy ass forehead was covered in acne from the sweat, clogged pores, and lack of proper hygiene ⇾ in desperation, he stole osamu’s skincare products and used it to clear up his forehead their last year of high school ⇾ for once in his life, osamu let him get away with it because he was tired of hearing his brother complain about his skin ⇾ his patience ran out when he saw his brother using coconut oil on his skin - the kind you use for cooking ⇾ atsumu sat through three hours of his brother telling him what was good for his skin and what was bad - coconut oil was bad especially for his oily face ⇾ as an adult though, he has the money to spare to get facials and visit a dermatologist regularly ⇾ ironically became the face of a new skincare line and osamu never laughed harder when he saw the ads

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⇾ not super involved as a teenager but knows what products work for him and what don’t ⇾ definitely reads the ingredients and knows the good stuff from the bad stuff ⇾ doesn’t mind splurging on a product or two in high school, but nothing more than that he’d rather spend his money on food ⇾ as an adult it’s up to his mood on whether he would drop money for skincare or not ⇾ he enjoys getting microdermabrasion facials and gets one every 6-8 weeks to help his skin cell turnover rate ⇾ never misses his nighttime routine but not because he’s dedicated to his skin, but because he uses the time to relax before bed and just unwind ⇾ will have either relaxing music playing or complete silence as he does his routine - do NOT talk to him while he’s doing this though it’s his ‘me’ time just like when he works in the kitchen but that’s neither here nor there he needs a lot of ‘me’ time ⇾ if he can’t go to his facial, he will be working in the kitchen with a headband pushing his hair back and sheet mask on ⇾ has an anonymous blog where he rates and reviews new skincare products that’s pretty popular

[roselen-mylady]

In Another Life

Bucky Barnes x reader ° part eight

Summary: Waiting 88 years to find your soulmate? It was cruel. But it was a cruel fate Bucky would have to face whether he accepted it or not. Bucky was a tortured man all his life and he wasn't even granted the solace of having his soulmate at his side. All he had was the promise of one in another life. They were separated by two different times.

But the pain in their lives were connected.

Y/n had been alone ever since she could remember. All she could depend on was the soulmate that was destined to be at her side. Yet when the snap occurred she lost him.

And Bucky never got to meet her.

After the rather unsuccessful trial, Y/n asked Nat to help her find the showers, figuring the routine act of showering couldn't hurt in easing her busy mind. Y/n dropped the bag off in a room Nat told her was free to use and once grabbing a new set of clothes, they headed off making friendly chatter as they went. But Nat was quieter than usual, an unconscious frown settling in her lips. 

"Wow, if I had known the showers here were so nice I wouldn't have insisted on going home after training." Y/n marveled at the spotless shower room, ogling at the appeasing design. 

Nat let herself be removed from her thoughts, a small smile escaping as she stepped further into the room. Like most gym showers they were separated by small stalls, a clouded door cutting off the occupant from view. It was well lit and simplistic, the only noticeable decoration outside of the marbled tiles being the Avengers logo. 

"Yeah, the showers are pretty nice. There’s towels and toiletries in any of those cabinets over there.” Nat explained, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the row of neat and out of the way cabinets. Y/n nodded quietly, looking around as Nat moved to sit on one of the benches in the center of the room. 

Y/n tried to ignore the tension that seemed to build around Nat. Her eyes focused on the floor not even noticing as Y/n walked past her making her way to the cabinet. A familiar sense of worry crept into her bones as she shot another glance at Nat. 

Even the towels were pleasing to the eye, all stacked in beautiful rolls on the shelf. Y/n grabbed one, pondering if being one of the heroes was really such a bad thing. A painful feeling bubbled in her chest at the thought and she shut the cabinet with a silent exhale. The responsibilities that came with being a hero certainly weren't worth nice towels. But maybe her friends were. 

"You know in Steve's defense, he tried to tell them to wait for you." Nat vouched, looking up from her hands as Y/n moved to the showers. Y/n scoffed a little, relieved that Nat was talking again. She switched on the water, grateful for the sound it created to fill the silence between their statements. 

"Yeah, well, for Steve that was a pathetic attempt. He could talk someone into robbing a bank if he wanted to, you know." Y/n replied, sending Nat a jesting look. She received a half hearted laugh from Nat as the door closed behind her. 

She tugged off her clothes letting them pile onto the floor before tossing them onto the bench next to her clean set. Both were silent for a moment or two as Y/n stepped into the water, telling herself she was only a little jealous of the water pressure. The warmth that flushed against her skin was soothing and a soft breath slipped past her lips as she allowed herself to relax. 

However, her relief didn't last much longer than a couple of fleeting seconds before Nat spoke up again, her tone establishing a more serious mood. "Why do you still belittle yourself?" Her voice rang out clear as a bell, making sure Y/n couldn't pretend she didn't hear. 

Y/n's bare shoulders slumped and she inhaled deeply, pushing forward her palms to the falling water. Apparently her past hadn't been as concealed as she hoped. 

"What do you mean?" Y/n questioned, trying her best to keep an innocent feel to her words. But Nat wasn't having any of her games. 

"Your whole, 'I'm just a psychiatrist' thing. I'm surprised Steve hasn't figured out that it's not true." Nat remarked. Y/n knew it was an accusation but the way in which Nat spoke was calm like she was making an observation. 

"He hasn't had reason to suspect otherwise. I thought the same about you but I was wrong, I guess." Y/n confessed, any defensiveness toward being exposed washing away with the sweat on her body. It was only a matter of time before one of the Avengers found out and she was glad it was just Nat. 

A strained laugh echoed through the room and Y/n could practically see Nat's offended expression. "I used to be a spy and assassin, you really think I didn't find out everything about you when Steve brought you here the first time?" She questioned. Y/n hummed in response, grabbing the shampoo bottle next to her towel. 

"I was going to tell Steve too but, ever the gentleman, he wanted to respect your privacy." Nat explained. She shifted her legs, letting them cross as her eyes landed on the signature 'A' on the wall. 

"And you didn't?"

Nat dropped her gaze to her folded hands, picking at her fingers more out of habit than distress. "I couldn't. When you started to come around, we were receiving the backlash of the snap. There were hundreds more death threats than ever before, which I didn't even think was possible. I couldn't take the chance of Steve getting hurt because he's too trusting." 

Y/n remained silent, understanding Nat's actions. Though it irked her that the secret of her history was no longer her own, she reasoned with her irrational side to let it go. 

"Imagine my surprise when I found out you'd actually been scouted by S.H.I.E.L.D for years." Nat continued. The slick feeling lingered in Y/n's hair as she struggled to get the conditioner to wash out, her focus deviating from the routine toward Nat. 

"Why did you never accept? They'd been hunting you down since you were 13." The question sounded desperate and hurt as if the refusal was directed at Nat herself.  

Y/n sighed wringing out her hair and shutting off the water. "You don't know everything." She mumbled. "I did accept." She tucked the towel around herself before stepping out, meeting Nat's confused gaze. "S.H.I.E.L.D had been trying to get me to join since they had found out about me and once I was 14, I ran away and joined." She continued. 

A darkness settled in her eyes and she directed her eyes away from Nat, instead glaring at the floor. "Why didn't you stay?" Nat asked, her voice more tender once noticing the pain in Y/n's expression. 

"I realized S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't what I thought it was." A sick feeling settled in Nat's core as she quickly put a timeline together. 

HYDRA. 

Nat stayed silent even as Y/n moved to sit next to her. "Look, I'm sorry for not telling you. Believe it or not I have trust issues too. But by the time I got to know you guys, I thought telling you the truth would do more harm than good." Y/n admitted, lifting her eyes to meet Nat's. 

"It's okay." Nat offered her support, glancing over at Y/n. The brisk air nipped at her damp skin making her almost shiver when droplets fell from her hair and ran down her back. "I just wish you'd stop pretending you don't belong here." 

"I don't belong here." Y/n fought, her brows furrowing in frustration. "I'm not a hero. I'm not an Avenger. Everything I said back there was true." She insisted, trying to cling to the life she'd created for herself. 

"But you worked for S.H.I.E.L.D." Nat tried to emphasize as though it would change Y/n's mind. She shook her head looking away from Nat. She should've never stayed. 

"I don't want to talk about it, Nat." Y/n pleaded. The desperation in her tone overpowered any need to question further and Nat nodded, putting a gentle hand on her friend's forearm. 

"Alright, we don't have to talk about it." Her words trailed on and Y/n dreaded what she sensed Nat wanted to say. "But you have to tell Steve. The longer you wait, the more it'll hurt him." She warned.

Y/n dragged herself up to her feet offering a reluctant nod. She knew telling Steve would either change nothing or everything about their relationship and she feared the moment when she would have to find out which. 

"I will. But you can't say anything to him about this until I do. This stays between us." Y/n urged. Nat gave a small nod of agreement but Y/n could tell she would go back on her word if it meant keeping Steve safe. 

Though it hurt a little that Nat believed she'd hurt Steve, she understood her weariness. Her past had been the one thing Y/n had protected for so long and Nat wasn't sure how she would react to having to share it. But what Nat didn't know was that Steve and her came first to Y/n even before herself. 

"So, what exactly did they recruit you for? It didn't say in the report." Nat asked cautiously, trying to ease some of the tension between them. Y/n felt a hint of a smile creep onto her face, figuring Fury must've had some kind of contingency plan to protect her even after his death. 

"Well, I'm kind of a certified genius." Y/n answered, slightly amused by her explanation and the look of surprise it earned. "Graduated early and stayed at SHIELD for a year as their personal genius." Y/n elaborated looking back at Nat with an offended gawk. "What did you think I was recruited for?"

"I'm not sure." Nat replied, trying to apply this new piece of information to her memories with Y/n. All this time she was a genius? It didn't seem real with some of the stupid things she'd done.

"After my time with S.H.I.E.L.D I joined a high school for some normalcy until I transferred to college. Thankfully I'd be moved around enough classes to avoid suspicion. You must've seen all the classes on my record." Y/n explained, tugging on a t-shirt. 

Nat's brow furrowed and she scoffed, letting her shoulders slump in disbelief. "I thought you were just indecisive." Nat let out a breathless laugh. Y/n chuckled, pulling her jeans up and opening the door. Bringing her belongings out with her, she sat next to Nat to slip on her shoes. 

"Maybe that played into it. Everything was too easy for me but psychology kept my attention." Y/n turned to Nat, studying her thoughtful gaze. "Come on, I'm sure Steve is looking for us." She nudged her friend's arm, drawing her to her feet. 

"You know, for being ex-S.H.I.E.L.D, I thought you'd be easier to train." Nat teased earning a harsh glare from Y/n. 

"They wanted me for my brain, I only had to pass basic training." Y/n defended, jabbing her elbow into Nat's side. The woman laughed in reply, enjoying the pout that had settled on Y/n's lips. 

•••

As if the universe decided to have pity on them, Tony changed his mind, arriving at the compound with what he affectionately called a Time-Space GPS. Bruce seemed almost relieved now that Tony had joined, knowing the whole operation no longer rested on him. 

Or so he thought. Surely, he must've noticed Y/n adjusting his calculations and making suggestions that he would've never thought of. Maybe he just wanted to respect her secret? She gazed at said man with a suspicious glint in her eyes, not even noticing as Tony turned to her.  

"Hey, Doc. What are you doing here?" Tony asked suddenly, turning to Y/n's strangely familiar face. Her eyes flicked toward him, her face flushing in embarrassment as she readied herself for his disapproval. 

"I-I..." She stammered timidly under the gaze of her idol. Something in his eyes seemed knowing, a look that Nat gave her only minutes before and she began to crack with fear of her past being out in the open. It was out of character for her to be so anxious and Steve quickly stepped in sensing her unease.  

"She's with me." He said, his tone firm as Tony turned to him. Tony raised an eyebrow at this, confused by Steve's defensiveness. She was at risk being there but Steve didn't seem to care. 

Y/n had already gone this far with them and that made her a part of the team in his book. She may not have had superpowers or been in battles like they had but she was a hero for years by simply helping those their failure had hurt. She did what they had hoped to do but in the end never really did. She made the world better. 

"Alright…and since when did we bring civilians into this?" Tony argued. Y/n could hear a bit of concern in his tone and her brows furrowed wondering why on Earth he'd care if she got caught in the crossfire. She was a nobody to him.

"Since now." Steve fought. Tony sighed knowing fighting with Steve was pointless. He had spent years resenting the man and he didn't have the energy to fight him anymore. 

"Okay, awesome." Tony said sarcastically. Y/n watched as he held his hand next to his mouth leaning over to her. "Blink twice if you're being held here against your will." He whispered, loud enough for Steve to hear. 

Y/n's nerves dissipated and a soft smile came to her face as Steve frowned. She turned to Tony shaking her head, her suppressed laugh bringing his own smile forward. 

"I like you." She told him. He looked at her with an amused glimmer in his eye as he put an arm around her shoulders. He didn't know why but there was something familiar about her, a joy from his presence that only came from one that admired him. 

"Y'know what, I kinda like you too." He said gently, trying to figure out why he seemed to recognize the feeling. "Well, let's at least get you some kind of gear since you're gonna be stuck with us. Jeez, are we just gonna send her out there with a little clipboard? You guys are insane." Tony taunted, pulling himself away and turning a playful glare to Steve. 

"I wasn't planning on sending her into a fight." Steve tried to defend, not picking up on Tony's joke. Tony's mood changed with Steve's and he sighed, starting to lead Y/n off to the lab.  

"Yeah, well, I learned the hard way that anyone who's involved with us always ends up in the fight." Tony told him, not waiting around for a response. Y/n gave Steve a tender look as she followed Tony, her heart aching at the sight of Steve's guilty expression. As much as he hated to admit it Tony wasn't wrong. 

Was he doing the right thing? 

"What school did you go to?" Tony asked suddenly. She opened her mouth to question why he was asking but he beat her to it with a short shrug. "I saw the work you did. Lemme guess, some kind of tech school?" He inferred. 

She nodded slowly, trying to hide the stupid grin on her face at his subtle compliment. If only he'd known. They entered the lab and she stopped walking as Tony paced forward, trying to find some bracelets like Natasha had once used. 

"Midtown. I was really interested in making new technology." She explained. The mention of the school made him pause an intense feeling of grief washing over him as Peter came to his mind. He sighed trying to force the memories away. He was doing this for Peter and everyone else. 

"Why'd you stop?" He asked. Y/n shook her head, coming to stand next to the table to his right. 

"I guess other opportunities came around." She replied hoping he wouldn't question further. "But after that didn't pan out I went to college, learned anything and everything I could. I wanted to do it all and couldn't stick to one topic. Don't get me wrong, I still love science, hell, I even have the old arc reactor and repulsors I made back in the day. Just psychology was the only thing that could meet my ambition." She sighed, leaning against the table. 

Tony was silent for a moment realizing why he took such a liking to her. She reminded him of Peter. He sighed knowing he was going to do something stupid as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small earpiece. 

"Were they any good?" He asked. She laughed giving a little nod as she thought of all the cuts and bruises she got from using them. 

"Well, I could fly a few yards in the air and I'm sure those poor soda cans had seen better days but they weren't exactly Iron Man quality." She confessed. He nodded, putting out his hand to her. Her eyes fell on the piece, her brow creasing in confusion. 

"Come on, before I change my mind." He urged. She quickly took it, studying the earpiece as he looked away. Tony never really had handled touching moments like those well. It had something to do with his own self hatred, he just couldn't understand why someone would look up to him. 

"What is it?" She asked curiously, tracing over the small button behind the ear hook. He moved to lean against the table beside her, using his finger to point out the button. 

"Uh, a gift for my wife but she didn't much care for the color. It's just a prototype anyways but it should work the same. Put it on and press that." He instructed watching as she pushed off the table and took a couple steps in front of him. She slipped on the earpiece, pressing the button like he told her. 

Bits of metal began to expand from the piece and it flushed over her body covering her from head to toe. A display lit up in front of her and she gasped as a voice greeted her, introducing itself as F.R.I.D.A.Y and welcoming Y/n. She quickly retracted the helmet staring at Tony with wide eyes, completely speechless. He smirked, trying not to show how entertained he was by her awestruck expression. 

"I don't understand…" Y/n said quietly. She was overjoyed to be given a suit, something she had spent most of her teenage years trying to recreate, by her hero nonetheless. But also confused. Why would he give her something so valuable? 

"How old are you?" Tony asked. Y/n's mouth hung open trying to find the relevance of the question before looking away. 

"24, almost 25." She answered slowly. Tony nodded. She was still so young yet so smart for someone who hadn't even reached thirty. Yet, she still had the ignorance that came with innocence. She hadn't seen what most of those on the team had and he wished to protect that like he had intended for Morgan. 

"I lost a kid because of Thanos. Though it wasn't just Thanos's fault I guess, we were too busy fighting one another to get our heads out of our asses and pay attention to the real threat." He crossed his arms, staring at the wall. 

"I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how that must've felt." She said. He offered her a half hearted chuckle looking up at her. 

"You really are a psychiatrist." He said, trying to mask the sorrow that filled his heart and gaze. But Y/n had seen enough people to know exactly what diverting looked like. Tony had been right about her not experiencing horrible things and she knew she'd never understand what they felt. The only trauma she'd experienced was the loss of her family but it was nothing compared to half the universe's blood on your hands. 

But while she didn't experience it first hand, she did through the people she'd become close to. She saw not only every tragedy that affected them but every reaction to it. She saw the brightest in them but also the dark that no one should ever have to see. She saw the aftermath of what they did and had experienced. And in that way she was just as wise.  

"He would've been around your age. He was like you, bright and hopeful. He was going to be better than me, better than any of us." Tony said softly and Y/n listened carefully. It was strange seeing the man that once appeared godlike in her eyes to have flaws or breakdowns for that matter but she had to remind herself he was human too. 

"Well, maybe after all of this, you can give him this suit instead." She suggested. He looked up to her, his expression insecure but his eyes grateful as he chuckled. 

"Keep it. Black never really was his style anyways." Tony remarked. Y/n smiled and he smiled back, realizing just how much he had changed her life by doing that. He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact before pushing off the table and walking off. 

"Well, we better get to work. I promised the old soulmate I'd be back for dinner." He joked. Y/n nodded watching as he went before turning back to the suit. 

It shaped to her frame as if it was fitted for her which was strange for a metal suit. Judging by the way it had moved she figured it had been nanotech, similar to the suit Tony had worn in the New York fight in 2018. It was surprisingly easy to maneuver in and she instantly figured out the concept of the display, getting acquainted with the A.I. F.R.I.D.A.Y. 

She didn't understand why Tony's wife wouldn't just adore the suit even though it was a prototype. The color was amazingly detailed, mostly black with silver accents in the grooves of the metal. She supposed having Tony Stark as a husband meant being able to make specific requests as to high tech.  

Y/n grinned idiotically, letting the suit retract back into the earpiece before going out to meet the others. 

Could she be one of them? 

•••

"That's Thor?" Y/n whispered harshly to Rhodey as the hobo looking man sipped his beer. His prominent beer gut moved with him and his sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose as Y/n stared in distaste.  

"Supposed to be." Rhodey answered shortly. Y/n remembered Thor being the object of every woman's fantasies but the years had not been kind to him and she figured it was no longer the case. 

"I'm gonna go check in with Big Guy. Ask Tony how long this thing's gonna take." Rhodey announced, jerking his thumb back to the time machine behind them. Y/n nodded absently, catching sight of Tony as Rhodey walked away. 

"Hey, Tony! I told Rocket that we need to add more paneling the exterior of this thing or it's going to fall apart but he doesn't think so. You'd think fixing spacecraft and all he'd understand the importance of paneling!" She explained, shouting the last part back at Rocket with a glare. "But whatever." She sighed sarcastically, turning back to Tony with an annoyed expression

Tony came toward her, carrying a bit of tubing over his shoulder as he carefully walked around Thor. He rolled his eyes at both him and her statement, calling over to Rocket. 

"What's the thickness of that exterior?" He questioned. Rocket looked at him from his hanging position giving a nonchalant shrug. 

"Quarter inch. Your girl over here is just paranoid." Rocket argued, making Y/n cross her arms. Tony shook his head, walking over to him and setting down the tubing. 

"You might wanna listen to her, Ratchet. That's like half an inch short of what we need." Tony said. Y/n hummed in agreement, not caring about the annoyed look she earned from the angry raccoon. 

"It's Rocket. Take it easy, you two aren't the only geniuses on Earth." Rocket fought before returning to his task. Tony scoffed, turning to look at Y/n whose face was flushed at the comment. 

"Hey, Couch Doctor. You want me to help you start on the paneling?" He questioned. She waved her hand dismissively, looking around for the metal sheets they would need. 

"Nah, it's ok. I'll handle it. I was the one that mentioned it anyways." She volunteered, tugging off her Midtown sweatshirt and tossing it over a stack of materials they'd been using. Her arms were now exposed in the tank top she wore, allowing Tony to catch sight of her countdown. 

"Well, that's interesting." He commented. Y/n followed his gaze to her wrist. Her face flushed from uncovering her rare countdown but she tried to brush it off but grabbing some welding tools. Thankfully, it was only them and the raccoon, making her relax slightly.

"Yeah, wish I could explain it but I'm at a loss." She mumbled. Tony couldn't bring his gaze from her wrist as she gathered the welding unit and protective gear. He tried not to make it obvious while he calculated the numbers but Y/n caught his stare giving him a quizzical look. 

"That's almost 90 years ago. Isn't that around Cap's time?" He asked. Y/n paused, her gaze dropping to her countdown. She'd made her own calculations before, piecing together that her countdown would put her 88 years in the future.

However, she'd never thought about it the opposite way. There was no reason to.

Tony felt a little at fault for her sorrow and he quickly changed the subject, trying to take her mind off it. 

"I mean there can't be too many hundred year-old men in the world." He mumbled. She shook away the thought, doing her best to disregard any theroies. It made more sense that her countdown was looking into the future rather than the past, as odd as that sounded.

Trying hard to force away the thought of her soulmate, she began welding some of the plating onto the machine. It was a difficult subject for her yet it had been brought up twice in the matter of a day. 

"So, I gave you a suit. Now I gotta give you a name." He announced suddenly. She stopped her hand lifting the welding helmet to rest atop her head. 

"A name?" She repeated, raising a brow. He nodded, putting out his hands in a playful gesture. 

"Yeah, I mean a hero name. Y'know like Iron Man or Captain America, the whole deal." He explained quickly. She was reluctant but figured a simple name couldn't hurt and she finally smiled looking over at him. 

"What'd you have in mind?" She asked him, watching as he stared at the ground thoughtfully. 

"Um, Iron Girl?" He suggested. 

"Wow, I could tell you put a lot of thought into that." Y/n mused. He chuckled coming to stand next to her, leaning against the machine. 

"You're right that's a little sexist. Uh, Iron Star?" He tried. Y/n provided a small shrug in response, reaching up to pull down the welding helmet. 

"I think I'll just stick with Y/n." She laughed. He groaned letting his hands fall against his thighs. 

"Come on, Iron Star's pretty cool." He argued, rather proud of his brainstorming. Y/n shook her head, sending him an amused glance through the visor. 

"If you say so, Stark."

•••

"Do you think it'll work?" Nat questioned gently. Y/n leaned further into the couch under Nat's intent stare, sipping the water bottle she'd been given. 

"Well, with Tony's help I think we have a chance. His algorithm sure as hell makes more sense than mine." Y/n sighed. Sweat had collected on her brow and she wiped at it with the back of her hand as she closed her eyes. 

She silently wondered how she missed something like that before. Asking about soulmates was an unspoken ban. It was risky after the snap just as risky as asking about someone's family. She'd never thought to ask because Y/n kept it covered and Nat had just assumed she'd lost her soulmate to the snap. 

They'd been working for hours and Y/n requested a break, not sure how much longer she could handle Tony and Rocket bickering over loud music. Nat had come to keep her company but also out of her own curiosity about Y/n's past. From Y/n's position she got a clear few of her countdown something she'd realized she had never seen before. Had her numbers always been so odd? 

Nat shifted uncomfortably on the couch opposite to Y/n, thinking about all those who had disappeared that fateful day. She'd been there when they all vanished and she vividly remembered the dread that set in after watching such a horrific display.

Suddenly, Steve's need for Y/n made perfect sense to her. 

The way Steve's fingers numbly fell into the pile that was once his lifelong friend. The words of shock that slipped through his lips in the form of a whisper. Collapsing onto the ground with the most devastated expression she had ever seen. 

He lost Bucky and so many of his other friends. His new family. He'd lost everything  But he had Y/n. 

And now that he had someone left to fight for he couldn't let her go. Not with hope hanging in the air. 

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." Nat looked up, forcing a smile as Y/n took another sip of her water. 

"Just thinking about what's going to happen when we get everyone back." She lied. Y/n swallowed quickly, pointing a playful finger at Nat. 

"I don't know about you but I'm going to take a nap as soon as this is over. Tony's horrible sleeping schedule is rubbing off on me." Y/n laughed. Nat's smile became more genuine as she watched Y/n tap her earpiece letting just the helmet unfold around her head. 

"But first I gotta fix up these protocols a bit. I have no idea what 'Last Ditch Effort Protocol' entails but I really don't wanna find out." Y/n's voice came out sort of muffled and mechanical like Tony's was as Iron Man. 

"Probably something flamboyant." Nat replied. Y/n nodded, her hands swiping at the air before her nonchalantly. 

"Yeah, no one's quite as extra as Tony Stark."

Part nine 

Taglist

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[drariellevalentine]

Medically Inevitable

Chapter 2- Scintillating Second Days

Characters:- Arielle Valentine, Bryce Lahela, Sienna Trinh, Elijah Greene, Landry Olsen, Ethan Ramsey, Ines Delarosa, Naveen Banerji

Arielle’s PoV:-

You wake up to one of your favourite angst songs, “Please Don’t Go”, by Joel Adams. “Hmm, good morning to me!” You stretch your legs and half blindly walk to your suite’s bathroom while slipping on a pair of AirPods- a small gift that Adrian gave. You hum along to the song while stripping off last night’s clothes and slip on your favourite silk robe. Proceeding along with your morning routine which consists of washing your face, brushing and flossing and lastly a cup of green tea with honey and lemon, you head to the balcony to find a mesmerising sunrise. You savour the tangy taste of the tea as it hits your dry throat. You find yourself belting out the last few lines of the song, using the balcony railing as a piano for your skilled fingers. Checking the time, you head into the shower. Steam rolls off the water as it comes cascading down. You step inside the rather luxurious shower, taking off your robe. Pumping your favourite shampoo of vanilla and cinnamon in your hand, you massage it into your scalp and pin it up while you lather and rinse off the rest of your body. Turning on the water, you let your hands sift through your hair, slowly rinsing it. You let yesterday’s events get washed away with the warm water that rinses your whole body. Ringing the excess water from your hair, you dry yourself with a towel, wrapping your head in a towel and your body in a wool robe. You blast a few of your favourite tunes while you do your hair, deciding to pin it up with a braided half-up, after drying and massaging in a leave-in conditioner. You get dressed, an off shoulder lace top with a pair of leggings, walk to the cafe for breakfast and get in your Lexus, grabbing your mini backpack.

General PoV:-

Arielle parks her car and slides out, heading to the staff entrance, where she sees a bunch of interns playing basketball. The ball skitters to her feet. A muscular intern yells, “Are you going pass it back or what? She scoffs. Little do they know, she’s been trained in self-defence and gymnastics her whole life and decides to give them a show. She sprints towards the court, dropping her backpack, jumps up and dunks the ball. The interns whistle and cheer. “How’s that?”, she asks. The same intern who teased her is impressed. “Damn! Was not expecting that! I’m Dr. Bryce Lahela, surgical resident.”

“Scalpel jockey huh! That explains the arrogance. I’m Arielle Valentine, internal medicine.”

“Well Dr. Valentine, would your very skilful self like to join us for a round or two?”, he asks feigning respect. “I would, but my shift starts in a few minutes. See you later, Bryce.” He replies with a wave. Arielle heads to the locker room to find a rather cheerful Sienna and three sleep deprived interns. “Hey Ari! Can I call you Ari?”, Sienna innocently asks.

“Yes you can.”, Arielle replies. “Tone it down!”, Jackie says. “I baked some cookies. Sugar helps combat sleep deprivation.” Sienna hands out the chocolate chip cookies. Everyone praises and thanks Sienna for the cookies. “How do you manage to look like you slept for 10 hours, Arielle?”, asks Elijah. Arielle doesn’t want to lie, at the same time she doesn’t want to boast that she is rich. Before she can reply, “She’s rich you dumbass, but too kind for her own good to rub it in our faces. It’s kind of refreshing actually. Especially with Princess Nepotism.”, says Jackie. Arielle smiles, “Thanks Jackie, and yes I am quite well off. Anyways, I found an apartment that fits our requirements. Wheelchair friendly, near the T, 5 bedrooms. Listing price is 5k. I already spoke with the landlord and visited the place. We can go there, but on one condition. I get the master bedroom. I’ll pay extra if you want.”

“Why do need so much space? I take it back.”, says Jackie. “It’s nothing like that, I already bought a bunch of furniture for my apartment which includes my bedroom and balcony. Plus I have a piano.”, says Arielle.

“Okay then that settles it! Arielle already bought furniture which saves us a lot of time and expenses plus none of us need that much space.”, says Sienna. Jackie apologies saying that she was wrong about Arielle. “We’ll meet up in the parking lot after our shifts. I’ll drive us there.”, says Arielle.

Arielle’s PoV:-

"I hope they are nice. I have heard stories of residents making interns' lives hell," I say as we head towards the atrium.

"That's why you've gotta give as good as you can," Jackie smirks.

"I think that's them," Landry says nodding his in the direction where two doctors are standing.

Dr. Delarosa from the other day spots us standing in a corner. "Oh hi!" She beams,"Over here, with the other interns."

We walk towards them as they start giving their introductory speech.

"Do take your time. We've got all day!" The other doctor yells sarcastically at us and we hurry towards them.

"It's so lovely to see so many new faces ready for exciting adventures! I’m Dr. Delarosa, but to you. I'm just Ines!" Dr. Delarosa says when we approach them.

"And I'm Dr. Zaid Mirani. We've got your cases for the day. Come and get on."

"Do not ask me for something better than what you get. will treat you like you don't exist," He adds. God, this guy has a temper!

As the other intern starts to get their cases from either, I approach Ines to get my case. She seems nice and is way too better than the guy.

"Hi Dr. Valentine! Remember, we met yesterday?" Ines smiles while handing me a file.

"Of course! And you can call me Arielle," I say taking the file from her.

"Zaid and I will be your mentor during your intern year. We'll assign and monitor your closet and help you if you run into any problems," she explains. "Our purpose is to teach and guide you. Think of us as your safety net, okay? No matter what, we'll get through this together."

I smile at her before leaving her to help the other interns. By that time Jackie is finished talking with Dr. Mirani too.

"What was he like?" I ask her while waiting for the others to collect their cases.

"Ass. What about Ines?"

"Bubblegum-rainbows, incarnate," I smile.

"Gross. I'll take the ass." She snorts and I laugh.

By the time Elijah and Landry joins us the residents are done distributing the charts.

"Now that you've all got your cases, go forth and shine bright," Ines says, her infectious smile never leaving.

"What are you waiting for? A red carpet? Move, for god's sake!" Zaid scowls at us.

The interns scramble, moving to their designated patients.

A few hours later, you realise you’ve been paged for rounds a few minutes ago on the 4th floor, and you happen to be on the 14th floor for labs. “Crap! You flee down the flights of stairs and make your way to the fourth floor.

Ethan’s PoV:-

You decide you join this year’s batch of interns’ first rounds. You tell yourself, “It’s just to make sure the intern don’t kill anybody.” But deep down, you know it’s to sneak another glance at an owner of a pair of vivid violet eyes. You take the elevator to the 4th floor, just in time to inform Dr. Delarosa that you’ll be joining rounds. Her eyes flicker with surprise but doesn’t say anything.

You reach the 4th floor and before you can stop yourself, you find your eyes scanning the bunch of interns for a certain intern but she’s not there. You frown in confusion until a strong waft of vanilla and cinnamon hit you. You turn around and there she is, her almond eyes wide, cheeks flushed and lips slightly open, breathless.

“Sorry I’m late, Dr. Delarosa. I was on the 14th floor.” She doesn’t seem to notice me.

“It’s alright, Dr. Valentine. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”, Ines says.

“Gather round interns...” She explains to the interns how rounds work.

“Today, Dr. Ramsey will be joining us!”

“Let’s see who the interns kill today.”, I say.

Arielle scoffs. “Anything you would like to say, Dr. Valentine?” The interns suddenly starts whispering among themselves. You roll your eyes, expecting Arielle to deny.

“Actually yes, Dr. Ramsey. It’s only our second day. You don’t have to joke about our careers to shake our confidence.” You’re surprised. Ines gulps.

“Has your confidence been shaken?”

“No, but I can’t say the same for others.”

“Well, what I say is absolutely nothing compared to what you will face here at Edenbrook.”-

“Haha! Let’s get back to rounds.”, Ines laughs nervously.

“Well, why don’t we start with your patient Dr. Valentine.”

You lead the doctors to a patient’s room. “Are my eyes multiplying?”, the patient asks.

“Good Afternoon, Mr. Knoblauch. They multiply, it’s horrible.”, says Dr. Ramsey with absolutely no remorse. His son plays on the room’s floor, unaware of the sudden crowd. Mike apologies for the noise his son makes and explains that he has ADHD.

“Everyone, this is Mike Knoblauch, age 43, my patient with Dr. Olsen.” You gesture Landry to start presenting. He starts presenting but stammers, you do your best to help him but he doesn’t improve.

“He’ll be forty-four by the time you’re done.”, Dr. Ramsey says.

You quickly swoop in and present the case yourself. “At least one of you knows how to speak. You continue with rounds with the rest of the interns.

“Hey Arielle?”

“Yeah Landry?”

“I know you were trying to help me, but next time just give me a little more time.”

“I did Landry, I also gave you clues but you didn’t say anything. That’s why I stepped in. You can’t expect me to give away our whole presentation. If you don’t say anything, it still affects me.

“You’re right Arielle. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Just make sure you prepare next time. Alright, I have to go, bye!”

You check on some of your other patients until your pager beeps with a result for Mike’s labs.

You consult with Landry and figure out the answer. You inform Ines and Mike, and plan a treatment for him.

After your shift dwindles to an end, you change into your previous outfit and meet up with your friends at the entrance.

General PoV:-

“Ready? Wait here, let me get my car.” Arielle jogs down the parking lot and appears a few minutes later, driving a Lexus. “Damn! Nice car, Arielle.”, says Elijah. “Thanks Elijah, now I can drop you off anytime we have the same shift. Same goes for all of you. There’s no use of being rich if you don’t use it to help other people.” “I call shotgun!”, says Elijah. Jackie helps him into the seat while the rest of them slide in. Arielle turns on the radio and drives. They reach the place in a few minutes. “Looks nice!”, Sienna exclaims. They enter the building and take the elevator to the top floor, where the landlord is waiting.

“Ms. Raines, glad you could make it. Please come in.” Arielle’s friends share a confused look. Arielle flinches and whisperers, “I’ll explain.” Everyone goes in and tours the place. They decided on their bedrooms, Arielle having the master bedroom and bathroom, Landry and Elijah share a bathroom and so does Sienna and Jackie. They finish off the deal, leaving only the gang in the empty hall.

Arielle’s PoV:-

“So..... you going to tell us why you were called Miss Raines?”, asks Landry.

You sigh. “So the truth is...” you tell them about your family and how you used your influence to lower the rent of the top floor apartment. “That’s really sweet Arielle, but I can’t believe The Adrian Raines is your brother!”, exclaims Sienna. “I know, I didn’t want to bring him in but this was the only apartment that was wheelchair friendly and had 5 bedrooms. You guys have been so nice to me I wanted to repay the favour.”, you say. “Group hug!” Sienna brings a recluctant Jackie and everyone else into a hug.

A week later...

You’re setting up your bedroom like everyone else. This past week, you’ve been slowly setting up the furniture and decor in the apartment while letting everyone crash in your suite. “And... that’s the last of it!”, Sienna exclaims while arranging the decor in the living room. “Soft bed... here I come!”, exclaims Landry. Everyone heads off onto their bedrooms. You head into your blush with pearl and gold accent bedroom.

You’re emptying out your bag when you realise that your ID badge is missing. “Shit! I must have left it at the hospital!”, you curse. You explain to Sienna that you don’t want Dr. Ramsey to have another reason to shout at her and head to Edenbrook. You’re digging through the surprisingly neat lost and found when your face catches your name. “Aha! Found it!” You’re about to get up when you hear shouting. Instinctively, you run and hide behind the nurses’ station. You see Dr. Ramsey yelling at someone but can’t see who. You’re about to make a run for the exit when you see him. Your godfather. No, your father, your actual father doesn’t give a damn about you. This man is...was your father since you were a child since your actual father was too busy burying himself in his work. You gasp and quickly clamp a hand over your mouth. You know they’re fighting but you can’t focus on what they’re saying. Your mind is overwhelmed with memories flooding it, you run and don’t look back. You get in your car and slam the door, speeding away. You park a block away to catch your breath. Exhaling, you drive back to the apartment. “Did you find it?” You look up to see Sienna whipping up something in the kitchen. “Yeah, I did. Thank God, or else I would be screwed!”, you say trying to smile as genuinely as possible. She doesn’t sense anything amiss. You wish her good night and enter your bedroom. You reminisce of the happy times as you get ready for bed. Slipping on a silken pajama set, You set an alarm and tuck yourself under the covers. You know you’ll have to face him someday, but you can’t help but wonder if he’ll accept you.