#post scoop meeting au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thewidowsledger · 9 days ago

Text

Good Luck, Babe

Chapter 4: A Piece Of You | 4.0k

Summary: The once secret, a forbidden love hidden from the world. Those stolen moments together had been thrilling, but ultimately, drove the person you truly love away from you. But when she left, she didn't just leave you; she also left you a part of herself that would constantly remind you of her for the rest of your life. This fragment of her essence became an indelible mark on your soul, shaping the course of your life in ways you never could have imagined.

You know what they say, when someone leaves, someone else will come.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: +18 ANGST, cheating, smoking, smut but it was kind of cut off so it's just smu— pls laugh guys

Author's Note: This is about to get ANGSTIER. Nat's pain is valid but is her actions justifiable? Does r deserve all that? Pls pls pls I want to have y'all's thoughts, leave it in my inbox or in the comments or else I will not continue writing this jk i'm not joking. I removed some parts here that I think would be a better use on the next chapter that will be posted in 3 weeks (I know it's gonna be a long wait, but I've got to update the mob boss au and I've got to serve some angst fics for y'all)

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

You're leaning over the counter, trying to read and sign the slip for Aliah's exams. You're terrible right now, you didn't realize how private schools can be so complicated that you have to sign a permission slip before they let your daughter take an exam. Suddenly, someone peers over your shoulder.

"You don't even know what you're signing, do you?"

This bitch.

You didn't look entirely at the woman but you saw her in your peripheral vision. You returned your focus on filling up whatever paper you are filling up.

But suddenly the woman leans in closer, her musky perfume overwhelming your senses. She effortlessly points out the correct line, her long fingers tapping the paper. "Is your child a transferee?" she asked and you nodded nervously.

"Check that one, then don't write anything down here." You gulped and nodded before shakingly dragging your hands to do whatever she just said.

When everything was signed, you double checked to make sure to get everything right this time. You push it towards the clerk, who scans it quickly. "All done, Mrs. Romanoff," she says with a smile.

"Romanoff." You heard the woman behind you whisper. You finally turn to face her, your heart racing as you meet her gaze.

The woman stands tall, her blonde hair cut short and stylish, framing her square-shaped face. She's dressed in a black leather jacket, paired with jeans and combat boots, giving her an edgy, intimidating look. She holds your gaze for a moment longer before her gaze flickers to the wedding ring still on your finger. Her expression shifts slightly, becoming more calculated. "So, you're the wife of one of the big sponsors of this school? Natasha Romanoff?" She asks the question almost casually, but there's an underlying intensity in her tone. "The transportation tycoon?"

The mention of her name and the title made you feel a pang of discomfort. The word wife and the title of being Mrs. Romanoff suddenly feels like ill-fitting suits. Your marriage, after all, had been little more than a convenient arrangement—for your daughter. So you are not sure whether to confirm or not, so you just let out a small awkward smile hoping that she won't budge further about her question. And the blonde seemed to read between the lines that theories started to formulate in her mind. She was about to formally introduce herself when she saw a kid running towards your direction.

"Mommy!" She watched you scoop up a little girl that clearly is yours, giggling as you attacked her face with kisses.

Behind her was another girl, it was the blonde's niece, catching up. "Auntie!" The little girl waves, her gap-toothed smile wide. "Up!"

Without missing a beat, the blonde reaches down and scoops up the kid, tossing her playfully into the air before catching her. The kid squeals with delight. "Hey, monkey face," she says, ruffling the girl's curly hair. Then her kid glances at Aliah who was in your arms.

She grins, her eyes bright. "Auntie, this is my new friend, Aliah!" she announces proudly. You turned around so you and your daughter could face them together, then Aliah looked at the woman who was carrying her friend, her little hands waving with a grin.

Now, it's your daughter's turn to introduce her newfound friend to you, "Mommy, this is Monica!"

"Hi, Monica."

The blonde watches as you speak to Monica. She's mesmerized by the way you interact with the children, so gentle and natural. Monica giggles at your greeting, "Hi!" she chirps back, climbing down to her aunties grasp.

Aliah wriggles out of your arms, wanting to join Monica on the floor. The two girls run off together, laughing and chattering excitedly. Now, you're left standing alone with the blonde again. She clears her throat nervously, a slight flush creeping up her neck, "I hope I didn't overwhelm you with my question a while back."

You shake your head with a warm smile, waving off her apology with a casual flick of your wrist. "O-oh, no worries." Your voice is sincere, as you pull the strawberry shortcake trolley bag of your daughter towards you.

Over the years, even when Aliah wasn't transferred at this school, you had always been present and active—you're always there, quietly observing, helping when needed, but never seeking the spotlight or engaging in small talk with other parents.

You glance around the hallway, taking in the other parents chatting and laughing in small groups. This is unfamiliar territory for you. Despite your active involvement in Aliah's school life, you've managed to maintain a certain level of privacy, keeping to yourself and avoiding unnecessary interactions with others as much as possible. Especially now, being in this marriage under the convenience of your daughter and being in this new school, it has only reinforced your desire for privacy. You don't want others knowing your personal business.

"So, how is…your daughter adjusting?" her question pulled you out of your trance.

"She's doing well and she seemed to be adjusting quickly." You respond briefly, keeping your answer vague but positive. You don't elaborate further, not wanting to delve deeper into Aliah's personal life or yours and invite more questions. She seems genuinely nice. She's not trying to pry in a malicious way—she's just being friendly. But your private nature won't allow you to relax and chat casually like the others.

"That's good."

After the painfully awkward silence, there was a sudden impact of the ball against the blonde's head that made your lips twitch despite your usual guarded expression. She stumbles slightly from the impact "Oh my..." she mutters, rubbing her head.

"S-sorry…" you bashfully stuttered as she saw you trying to hold your laughter back.

But what you didn't know is that she smiles victoriously, pleased to have finally seen a crack on you. Then, she traps the ball between her feet skillfully, making you raise an eyebrow. She looks your way, catching your surprised expression. She smirks slightly, then kicks the ball high up in the air, sending it back to the students with perfect aim and unexpected strength.

"Show off." You murmured to yourself.

She overhears your quiet comment, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. She adjusts the strap of her niece's bag, feigning ignorance but purposefully stepping closer to you. "Did you say something?" she asks teasingly, obviously enjoying your rare slip of emotion.

"N-no…" You giggled softly, you looked at her and she smiled.

"I should've introduced myself earlier but yeah, I'm Carol. Monica's aunt." She lends her hand over you.

"I-I'm Y/N…Aliah's mommy." Your small, hesitant hand disappears into her larger, calloused one.

She grins widely at your soft-spoken introduction. "Nice to meet you, Y/N." She smiled, gently releasing your hand. "So…I'll see you around?"

You didn't answer, your attention to her was long gone after you saw your daughter running towards your direction. You then fixed her trolley bag and prepared to leave.

Carol can only watch you and your daughter walk away, an unknowing smile playing on her lips. Then, all of a sudden a ball comes flying out of nowhere and hits her square in the back of the head again. She stumbles forward, letting out a loud "Ow!" and a string of curses under her breath.

"I'm not a fucking soccer goal net!"

"Auntie Carol, you said bad words!"

⧗

In the dining room, you and Aliah sit at the table, enjoying a quiet dinner together. Aliah chatters excitedly about her day, telling you all about the kids she played with and the games they played. You listen attentively, smiling at her enthusiasm, occasionally asking follow-up questions. You also made sure to ask her if someone or something is making her feel uncomfortable, it is a small routine you do with her to make sure she is comfortable and safe in school.

Aliah suddenly stops eating, her brow furrowing. She looks down at her plate, pushing her food around with her fork. You watch her carefully, knowing that look. She lifts her big, brown eyes to meet yours. "Where's Mama?"

As if on cue, her Aunt Yelena walked in the dining room. Aliah instantly perks up and slides out of her chair to run to her great-aunt's open arms.

"Yeye!"

"Hey, baby!" She scooped the small child onto her arms and put her back to her chair. "Finish your food, I have a surprise."

"Hi, Yelena. I cooked pasta, I'll get you some."

She couldn't decline as you were already walking to get her a plate, so she sat down beside your daughter kissing her forehead.

You placed the plate of pasta in front of her, "Thank you, Y/N." She smiles at you, her eyes meeting yours briefly before she focuses back on her food. "Mmm, this is really good," she says between bites.

All of a sudden, Aliah pipes up, her voice loud. "Mama!" She whines, looking around the room. Yelena sets her fork down, realizing the absence of her sister during dinner. "Yeah? Where's Natasha?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You immediately recognize the tone in Aliah's voice—that slightly higher pitch whine that signals a tantrum incoming. You kept your voice calm and soothing, "I'll get Natasha. Sounds like someone wants her. Rick told me she just got home an hour ago but he also said that she has an important meeting right now, but I'll check."

Walking out of the kitchen, you run your fingers through your dark hair, glancing sideways at the large picture frame hanging in the hallway. You catch your reflection—you lean in to see if your make up was still on.

As you near her office, you subtly adjust your blouse, smoothing out the wrinkles. Then, you push open the heavy door of Natasha's office carefully, you peeked inside, your eyes immediately drawn to her, seated in her high-back leather chair, facing away from the doorway. There was a head peeking through her desk. Clearly, a woman with wavy red hair was kneeling in front of her. You notice the absence of Natasha's wedding ring on her finger as she's tied the red-haired woman's hair with her tight grip. Natasha moans softly, tilting her head back, exposing her neck.

You were too shocked, too frozen, too numb to feel the tear that slid down your cheek.

Slowly and quietly, you pull the door closed, careful not to make a sound. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand in the hallway, that single tear now joined by others streaming down your face. The shock and pain of the scene you just witnessed hit you like a physical blow. Your stomach churns and you feel the sudden urge to throw up. The room spins and you grab onto the wall to steady yourself, trying not to pass out from the overwhelming dizziness that washes over you. You inhale deeply through your nose, counting to four in your head, then exhale slowly through your mouth, counting to four again, like how your therapist taught you. You repeat this pattern, trying to calm your racing heart and clear your mind, fighting the panic attack that threatens to consume you.

"You're okay, you're okay, Y/N. You're fine. You're okay." You chanted over and over as you wiped the tears off your face.

You manage to pull yourself together and walk back to the dining room, putting on a brave face. Yelena looks at you suspiciously, your puffy eyes didn't go unnoticed by her.

"Baby, m-mama is in a very important meeting. Okay?" The blonde also noticed how your voice almost cracked as you spoke. Your daughter who is oblivious to the turmoil within you, behaves angelically as she finishes her food. The threat to tantrum was long gone. "Yelena? C-can you put Aliah to bed tonight? I've got…some things to do." You asked her hesitantly.

Yelena's eyes soften with worry, obviously noticing how uncharacteristically gentle and strained your voice is. Without a word about your eyes or voice, she simply responds, "Sure," flashing a small smile.

She also made sure to pay a visit on her sister's meeting tonight.

⧗

You retreat to your room, walking towards your large cabinets, you abruptly open your one of the drawers, grabbing the pack of marlboro red. Your fingers hover over them as you wrestle with temptation. Your hand trembles slightly, knowing the instant relief those chemicals could provide right now. The tightness in your chest, the dull ache from holding everything in…

It's an unhealthy habit that you've been using as a coping mechanism at the same time, it is an unhealthy habit you're trying to get yourself out with.

"Fuck," you whisper, unconsciously unrolling the pack's wrapper.

The cigarette trembles slightly between your fingers as you light it. The smoke curls up around your face, mirroring the storm brewing in your eyes. You sit on your bed, staring at nothing, the self-loathing growing heavier with each puff.

You took your wedding ring off your finger, you tried not to let the dam of tears break from your eyes as you examined the ring.

Everything's becoming clear to you now.

A dark voice in your head begins to whisper, planting seeds of self-doubt and guilt. You hurt her, destroyed her. Therefore, you deserve this pain, you deserve every pain she gives you. You're not good enough, never were. Your mind continues to whisper poisonous thoughts. You took a deep drag of the cigarette, the smoke burning your lungs like the guilt burning your soul. "This is karma," you told yourself. "You deserve every bit of her hate…"

A flicker of memory flashes before your eyes—the early days with Natasha, the sneaking together, the way she would sing for you in the middle of the night whenever your heart is heavy after a loss, whatever tournament you had joined. Your heart aches at the bittersweet nostalgia, the knowledge that you threw all that away because you were a fucking coward.

You stood and walked out onto the terrace, the night air enveloping you like a cold blanket. You took a long drag before exhaling slowly, watching the smoke dissipate on the icy breeze. The nicotine buzz barely touches the edges of your pain, but it's something. "She always hated these fucking things," you murmur, half-smile tinged with bitter irony.

You were about to get another cigarette when you saw your daughter, huddled in the doorway, her face streaked with tears, sniffling.

You froze on the spot and cursed yourself, you immediately stubbed out the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, trying to make the smell and the smoke go away, but it's too late—she started wailing loudly, her tiny fists balling up as she cried. You've taken to hiding in the bathroom or stepping outside when you need a cigarette, not letting your daughter see or even inhale the smell of smoke because she hates it and you would never have your daughter breathe it. You genuinely think you're being stealthy. But it seems like every time you would light up a cigarette, your daughter would immediately know.

Seeing how it affects your little one's purity and innocence makes you feel guilty.

"You pwomise you stop smoke!" Aliah cried out loud. You carefully walked towards her, without warning, she ran towards your bed grabbing your pillow and heaved it towards you with all her might, her small arms flailing.

Getting down on your knees so you're at her eye level, you watch her tiny form trembling with emotion as she throws every pillow she can reach in your direction. "Shh, Ali...mommy's sorry..." Your voice trembled, but she continued. You took every hit of the pillow from your daughter.

You hated making Aliah cry, you hated hurting Natasha. You hated yourself causing them this.

Everything's too much, it's too much. You feel every pain physically now.

Suddenly, you crumbled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. "Mommy's…just hurt." Your voice breaks as tears pour down your face and fall on the pillows scattered in front of you. "I'm so sorry baby, please forgive mommy…"

As you break down in sobs, your daughter suddenly stops throwing pillows and stares at you with a frown.

"Hurt, mommy is hurt," you sobbed each word as you pointed to your heart, her little brow furrows even more. She's seen you do this before when you're sad or upset.

She walked towards you, throwing the pillows back on your bed. Then, she climbs onto your lap, wrapping her tiny arms around your neck. "Mommy hurt?" Through your sobs, you nod gently, holding her close. Her soft baby scent fills your nostrils, the smell of cigarettes long gone. And you realize how much you're hurting not just yourself, but this innocent soul who depends entirely on you. She placed her ear on your chest, a thing she grew up doing to ensure your heart is still beating whenever you tell her something hurt.

"Mommy's hurting...bad..."

And you deserve all of it.

⧗

"How many hours have you been sucking her?"

"Fucking hell, Yelena!" Natasha yelled, she pushed her office chair back and zipped her pants up.

"Out. Now." Yelena's voice brooks no argument, and the woman quickly scrambles to her feet, fleeing the room without another word. Natasha could only huff in embarrassment.

"That door is fucking closed for a reason."

"Well, it's unlocked, it seems like you wanted everyone to see the meeting you're doing here."

Natasha rolled her eyes as she moved to the nearby cabinet, pulling out a bottle of expensive red wine and a single glass. She pours herself a generous amount, her hand steady despite the tension in the room.

"Did you at least finish your meeting, sestra?" Yelena emphasizes the word 'finish' with heavy sarcasm. Natasha's jaw clenches visibly at Yelena's insinuation, her hands tightening around the wine glass. Without offering any to Yelena, she takes a long sip, still avoiding her sister's gaze.

"So this is your plan?" Yelena started again but her sister didn't bother to look. "Make her miserable?"

Now she got her sister's attention.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She murmured.

"I should've realized it." Yelena's laughter is sharp and devoid of any warmth, a bitter sound that fills the room.

"Can you…can you go?" Natasha irritatingly spat at Yelena without looking at her.

"Asking her to marry you, I thought you wanted a fresh start, sestra…"

"Watch your mouth." Natasha warned her sister, her pointed finger hanging in the air while the glass of wine was still in her hand.

But Yelena seemed unfazed by her sister's threat. "But I didn't realize…"

"Shut up!"

"That you just want to make her watch as you fuck some communal pussy with her wearing that wedding ring you put on her while you don't wear yours!"

"Fucking shut up!" Natasha hurls the wine glass across the room, missing Yelena by mere inches. The glass shatters against the wall, the sound echoing through the space. Yelena, however, remains eerily calm, not even flinching at the near miss.

She let out a deep sigh, shaking her head disappointingly. "Why are you doing this, Natasha? You've got so many options and money! You could've taken Aliah from her if that's the only thing you want! You can pay for better lawyers than her, you could've won custody!"

Natasha's jaw clenched as she tries to suppress her emotions once again. She takes a shuddering breath, attempting to regain her composure and stave off the spiral of anger and defensiveness threatening to consume her once again.

"But that's not what you really want don't you?" Her sister continues, Natasha finally meets her eye to eye. "Are you happy watching her go miserable? Kneel the ground you walk on just to earn that forgiveness from you?"

"She deserves it."

Yelena huffed about how unbelievably heartless her sister is right now. "I watched you fall apart over her. And now...now you're tearing her apart piece by piece." Yelena's voice breaks slightly. "I understand your pain, Natasha. I truly do, you're my sister. I held you through the darkest parts of it. But this...this is different. This is you actively choosing to hurt her, to break her."

"She deserves it." Natasha repeated coldly under her breath.

"Yeah, sure, Natasha. Whatever you say." Yelena was getting tired. "You're right, Y/N deserves all the pain you give her, sure. But does your daughter deserve that too? Because let's be real, you're not just hurting her, you're hurting your daughter too."

⧗

You tucked Aliah back to sleep. You made sure to change her clothes, making sure the fresh scent of soap and fabric softener replaces the lingering aroma of cigarette that clings to her skin. You smooth Aliah's hair, you wipe away the last of your tears. Her eyes flutter closed finally, her breath evening out into the rhythm of innocent sleep. You gently adjust her blankets, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before stepping back, your own eyes damp with residual emotion.

"I love you my Iyah."

You carefully extract yourself from Aliah's room, then go straight to your room. The first thing you did was take the hidden cigarettes from their usual hiding spots. Cracking open the window for fresh air, you aggressively grind each cigarette beneath your slippers, tossing the broken remnants into the trash.

You're not physically addicted, but cigarettes have become a crutch, a coping mechanism for the pain—when something hurts. The memory where you saw Natasha and a woman who was doing god knows what kneeling under her made your throat itch wanting some relief. But the memory of your daughter's face, her little sniffles seeing you take a long drag and inhale a smoke made your body physically flinch. That will be the last, you will not make your daughter cry again, you will not hurt her with a fucking nicotine stick. She deserves better than a damn smoker of a mom.

You straighten the rumpled bed sheets, placing the pillows Aliah had thrown at you back neatly against the headboard. Suddenly, there was a knock on your door, then, the doorknob aggressively rattled. You were about to get it when suddenly it creaked open and you saw Natasha in her disheveled state.

"N-Natasha…" your voice quivered, she is the last person you would expect to go to your room right now.

She towers over you, her tall frame blocking the light from your room. You step back instinctively, she breathes heavily in your face, the scent of alcohol, the scent of another woman in her skin are burning your nostrils. Her face is completely expressionless, almost scary in its neutrality. The lack of emotion makes her features somehow sharper, more intense.

You're frozen, shock rendering you unable to process the situation. Your mind is reeling, you are still trying to move on and forgive her from what you saw earlier—her and a red haired woman, their intimate pose burned into your retinas. And now, she's here, in your room, drunk and cold.

"Nat…what-what do you want?" She doesn't answer your question, her droopy eyes dropped down to your blouse. Your body trembled as she slowly, deliberately unbuttons each button.

You didn't resist, fear rooting you in place. Your mind is screaming at you to push her away, to run, but your body refuses to cooperate. Tears well up in your eyes as she slowly pushes your blouse off your shoulders, leaving you in just your lacy bra. Natasha leans in close, inhaling deeply at your neck as if trying to consume your scent. You smelled like marlboro red. Her lips brush your skin, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. She shoves you to your bed before crawling on top of you. Then she almost ripped your bra that is solely covering your upper body, exposing your breasts. She's not gentle, not sweet. She's cold, hungry—an animal. She sucks harshly on one nipple while pinching the other. You hissed, your body arching in pleasure.

It is twisted, you just saw her with another woman but now, you're letting her take you like this—no words, no tenderness. She's a force of nature, teeth grazing on your skin, fingers digging into your flesh. She's using you, taking what she needs, and you're letting her. At least it's you that she needs right now, right?

A tear rolls down your cheek, your hands reaching the back of her head as her mouth continues to attack your body.

It's better to have her like this, than none at all.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff au #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow

320 notes · View notes

joequiinn · 2 months ago

Text

And You're Driven Like the Snow | s.h. x mall goth!reader

Summary | Just when you thought Christmas Eve couldn't get any more stressful at Starcourt, that pretty boy from Scoops Ahoy (that you did not have a crush on) walked into your shop and threw your whole night for a loop.

Prompt | You need a last minute gift, but man that sales clerk sure is cute…

Warnings & Notes | fem!reader, mostly fluff, sorta merry little meet-cute (?), mutual pining, post-S3 au in which nothing bad happens, nervous & awkward Steve, reader's appearance not described only parts of her wardrobe are referenced

Author's Note | This was an idea I had started only a couple of days before @littlexdeaths posted the Twelve Days of Promptmas list, so when I saw a prompt that fit the vibes, I made some little adjustments to the story! This is my first go at writing Steve, so I hope I've done him justice.

Recommended Listening | very merry gothmas

WC | 12.5k

[masterlist]

!!! MINORS DNI !!!

Still night, nothing for miles // A white curtain come down Kill the lights in the middle of the road // And take a, take a look around

The guy in that stupid little sailor suit should not have ever caught your eye, not for anything more than a simple laugh at his expense before moving on with your day. And yet - as you entered the mall before hours, running late and knowing that your manager would chew you out for it - you caught yourself doing a double-take, looking from his gorgeous head of hair down to the near dangerous length of his shorts.

It only lasted for perhaps a few seconds, but nonetheless you had to shake yourself from the moment, utter confusion written across your face. Why the hell had you looked for even just that second, eyeing some pretty boy who most certainly wasn’t your type at all?

Once you had entered Spencer’s Gifts through the staff door and gotten the expected scolding from your manager who was on an authority high, you’d all but forgotten about your strange lapse in judgment on your way here. And so your day carried on as usual, your week carried on as usual, and that stupid looking boy from the ice cream shop wasn’t even a blip in your mind.

Until a week or so later, when once again you spotted him from afar as the two of you entered Starcourt for your respective shifts. This time, you couldn’t help but stare a little longer, looking him up and down with an insatiable curiosity as he walked far enough ahead of you that he was most likely unaware of your presence at all.

You tried to convince yourself that you were staring this time simply to figure out why he caught your attention in the first place - it had to be because of how stupid that Scoops Ahoy uniform was, right? There was no way you were oddly charmed by how well he wore it, or how his hair looked incredibly soft, or how his absentminded expression had an endearing quality to it. Nope, you weren’t staring out of any sort of interest in him at all, it was simply some morbid sense of curiosity about someone so clearly unlike yourself.

It was the third time you were staring, however, that made you kick yourself, because on this occasion the Scoops Ahoy guy caught you.

You’d been walking quite a fair distance behind - hoping that you didn’t look like a total creep watching how his long strides carried him - when his keys fell from his hands. When he turned to pick them up, the two of you met eyes across the expanse of the empty mall; you hadn’t even realized that you stopped walking until that moment.

You were instantly flustered by his brown eyes and the curious furrow of his brow, trying in vain to look around yourself and act as if you totally weren’t staring at all. Of course, you knew even as you did it that the act wasn’t going to work; when you nervously met his eyes again, you thought perhaps you saw something like amusement there. So, panicked and not knowing what else to do, you glared harshly as if to dismiss your staring and briskly continued on towards the escalators without daring to slow or look back at him one last time.

Why you’d been so caught up in him at all was a mystery to you, and so from that point you made a conscious effort to ignore him in the hopes that eventually your intrigue would be forgotten. So, you briefly found some guy cute? Didn’t matter, especially considering that you had no intention of ever speaking to him anyway.

Most days, that stupid Scoops Ahoy guy never even crossed your mind, but when he did, it was nearly an annoyance. If ever you visited the food court for lunch, it was almost aggressive the way you ignored the ice cream parlor, acting as if it wasn’t even there. During some of your morning walks through Starcourt you tried to keep your head down, but more than once the two of you had accidentally fallen in-stride with one another, which would prompt you to practically stomp forward and act as if you didn’t know he was there at all.

Then there was one day when you were convinced that your coworker was conspiring against you, because Shelley all but dragged you down to Scoops Ahoy despite your protests. Evidently, her ice cream craving took precedence over your arguments against accompanying her.

You could feel the tension in your body and across your face as you awkwardly stood there beside Shelley, your eyes trained on the floor as if that would keep you from doing something foolish. If your coworker was aware of your rigid demeanor, she didn’t draw attention to it, far too focused on ordering the most annoyingly intricate sundae you’d ever seen.

As luck would have it, you weren’t invisible simply because you wouldn’t look at the Scoops Ahoy guy, because he turned his attention to you and asked, “Anything for you?”

You looked up with a mean expression, which was somewhat unintentional - your nerves always managed to make you seem bitchy rather than anxious, which was a win depending on who you asked. You could see the exact moment that he recognized you, his expression faltering for a brief moment; you weren’t sure if his surprise was good or bad.

Your eyes bounced around his face for a moment, flicking down towards his name tag just long enough to read that it said “Steve” in bubble letters; shit, having his name made this so much worse somehow. But you found your voice quickly - although it felt like a lifetime - giving him a blunt and mildly rude, “No.”

You could see a bit of tension between his brows at your response, but he was able to mask it quickly, putting on that false customer service smile while turning his attention back to Shelley. That interaction was damn near mortifying for you, and for weeks after you avoided the food court like a damn plague.

Then, of course, there was that one time you were cleaning up shelves near the front of Spencer’s, minding your business and trying to zone out everything around you, when you felt as if there were a pair of eyes on you. So, you looked around quizzically, up and down the wide aisles of Starcourt, when finally you spotted Steve rubber-necking from across the way just so he could stare at you. Beside him was his fellow Scoops Ahoy employee, and under other circumstances, their matching uniforms would have made the sight of them comical to you, but in this instance all you felt was confusion and nervousness.

Now it was your turn to pull a bewildered expression as a flustered look flashed across Steve’s face. He abruptly pulled his gaze away, pretending to look at the mannequins in the shop window next to him, though he practically tripped over himself in his panic.

Despite your utter confusion, something about it made you smile to yourself while turning back towards your work, though you just as quickly shook off the expression. You were not about to get giddy just because some guy was looking at you - for all you knew, his stare was a bad thing. Maybe he was just trying to remember your face so he knew which store to avoid, or maybe - an even worse thought - he was confusing you with someone else. Regardless, you kept your head down until you were finally done with your task, whisking deeper into the store the moment that you were free.

You were a pretty far cry from Steve Harrington’s usual type - the all-black wardrobe, the intricate make-up, and the wild hair of the goth scene had never been of any interest to him before. In fact, a younger, more entitled and rude Steve would have probably mocked your appearance. The only time he would spare a second glance at someone clad in black was usually because their attire was garishly off-trend, but otherwise he’d never once spared any goth chick a second glance.

That is, until that one morning when he dropped his keys and caught you staring at him.

Steve was almost certain that he’d seen you around before, though only sparingly and in his periphery; he could have been confusing you with some of the other mall goths he’d seen lurking about, but he was pretty damn confident that he recognized you specifically.

He was taken aback by the fact that you were watching him so intently, his interest only amplified by the way your expression morphed from curiosity into a glare before you briskly walked off in the direction of your respective workplace. Steve couldn’t help but watch you go, an intrigue planted in his brain as he looked you up and down, perhaps trying to commit your appearance to memory. He wondered why you seemed so focused on him, which quickly morphed into wondering about you in general.

It was almost refreshing to have someone new to be curious about, considering that chicks seemed to abruptly lose interest in Steve over the summer. It bolstered his confidence to catch you staring at him, a confidence that he didn’t realize had wavered so much.

Oftentimes, Steve would go days at a time without thinking about the goth girl who gave him pause, but every time he thought he was free of you, you’d appear again like clockwork. He’d see you in the parking lot as the two of you rushed into work, on a lunch break trying to scarf down your food so you wouldn’t be late, talking with people who were maybe coworkers or friends. And even that brief, stinted interaction when you were in line at Scoops Ahoy managed to intrigue him despite your rudeness.

Again, it was usually only in passing, but Steve was becoming increasingly aware of your presence… and increasingly aware of the fact that he found you very attractive.

He didn’t know a damn thing about you - not your name or what your voice sounded like or your interests - but Steve was beginning to enjoy those random sightings of you around Starcourt, even looking forward to them as if you were a rare lunar eclipse. Watching you walk quickly across the mall and towards the escalators became a guessing game for him, wondering which shop you worked in - though, he didn’t want to be that guy who would swing by your workplace just so he could catch a glimpse of you. He wasn’t sure what it was about you that he was so drawn to, yet he couldn’t resist looking each time you were nearby.

Robin, of course, wasn’t stupid and caught onto the fact that someone was drawing Steve’s attention every now and then, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out who. Although they’d only been friends for a few months at this point, the two of them were practically attached at the hip, so it was strange that Steve wasn’t talking about whoever this new distraction was.

Considering that he all but gave up on flirting with girls at Scoops and hadn’t been on a date in months - so far as Robin was aware - it only made this scenario all the more intriguing to her. Now, Robin was committed to figuring out who had caught Steve’s eye and why he wasn’t saying anything about it.

She finally got her answer one day as the two of them were walking through Starcourt after work, Robin insisting on stopping into a couple of stores before leaving. She noticed Steve clearly focused elsewhere, and so she tried to slyly look around, hoping she’d pinpoint the chick that had Steve’s head turning. Evidently, he must have been caught, because Steve whipped his attention around rapidly, even stumbling over his feet as he tried to play nonchalant.

So, Robin looked back while stifling her laugh, eyes scanning the crowds for anyone who could be the culprit - she was expecting it to be obvious, to see a gorgeous girl in preppy clothes with equally as generic hair and make-up. But when no one instantly stood out, it made her pause, eyes focusing in on each and every face more carefully.

Steve hadn’t realized that she stopped walking until he was a few paces ahead, looking either side of him before turning around towards his best friend. His brows furrowed with confusion as he asked what she was doing, but Robin was too focused to answer; so, he walked back towards her, trying to follow her line of sight, still feeling a touch frazzled by the fact that you’d caught him staring at you so damn openly.

It took a minute, but Robin was still coming up blank - no one looked to be Steve’s type at all. She turned her attention back to him, eyes narrowing with a scrutiny that was making him nervous all over again.

“Who were you looking at?” Robin asked. Steve’s brow rose with worry that he’d been caught before he tried to put on a false show of innocence.

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

“Bullshit.” Robin’s expression became even more scheming, eager to play detective and uncover what Steve wasn’t telling her, “Don’t play dumb, I know you’ve been distracted by someone recently, so who is it?”

Despite it being an uphill battle, Steve still tried to feign confusion, “I haven’t been distracted by anyone.”

“You’re not as subtle as you think.” Robin smiled devilishly, looking around Starcourt again, “So, why are you afraid of just telling me?”

Steve stared dumbly at her for a moment, heart drumming nervously as if he’d committed some kind of crime. With a deep sigh, he shook his head while looking down at the ground in defeat - he figured the worst Robin could do was pick on him a little, so there was no reason to be this secretive about it.

So, Steve looked back towards Spencer’s, half hoping you wouldn’t be at the front of the store, but you were still there directly in his sight. He pointed towards you, praying that you wouldn’t happen to look back up just like you did a couple of minutes ago. Robin followed his finger, her brow knitted together when the only person who fit the bill even slightly was you, the goth chick with the “don’t talk to me” attitude.

She looked between you and Steve, back and forth enough times that it was nearly slapstick; everything she knew about Steve up to this point hadn’t prepared her for the realization that maybe goth could be his type. Is that why he hadn’t mentioned it, why he hadn’t once discussed a new crush he was maybe developing?

Once the shock of it had passed, Robin’s eyes lit up with amusement, which only made Steve sigh in preparation for the inevitable annoyance she was about to be, “How the hell do you know her?”

“I don’t know her.” Steve insisted quickly, “I just started noticing her, that’s all.”

Robin’s expression grew giddier as she bumped her shoulder into his, “Then when are you going to try to get to know her?”

“I’m not.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Why?” Robin couldn’t help but grow invested in the scenario, especially because Steve was being so resistant to it, “What’s the harm in just talking to her?”

“I don’t know if I’m even into her, let alone if she’d give me the time of day.” Steve argued as if it were the most obvious thing.

“Only way to find out is to try.” Robin sing-songed, delighting in her best friend’s torment.

“And be on the receiving end of that glare again? Yeah, no thanks.” Robin shook her head at his stubbornness, prepared to keep up her taunts, but Steve spoke again before she got the chance to, “Look, drop it, I’m not gonna talk to her.”

“But aren’t you at least a little curious? Maybe she’s your soulmate.” Robin teased as Steve began walking again, all too invested in putting as much distance between you and him as possible. She had to jog a few steps just to catch up with him again, “Come on, Steve, just go for it.”

“I’m really not as interested as you think I am.” Steve argued as Robin looked back towards Spencer’s again briefly. She hummed with doubt, clearly not convinced by the disinterested front he put up; as Steve’s best friend, she decided it was her job to just give him the little nudge he needed, she just had to figure out how and when.

As if he could tell that she was scheming, Steve raised his brows with a warning look that was far from intimidating, “Robin, don’t.”

She continued to mull things over, quite intent on her new mission, but to appease Steve, she nodded noncommittally while rolling her eyes, “Sure, whatever, I’ll drop it…”

Eventually, Thanksgiving had come and gone; with the cold weather now a mainstay in Hawkins, you stupidly mourned the fact that Steve (and god how you wish you could just forget that name) was now wearing pants instead of those little shorts. Despite your best efforts not to think about him too much, you could no longer resist letting him cross your mind from time to time.

Around that same time that the shorts were retired for the coming winter, your manager had roped you into a supervisor role that you didn’t even want; it was more thrust upon you once they began hiring seasonal staff to help with the influx of holiday customers. This meant that you were constantly swamped with tasks, overworked and underpaid as you seemed to spend every damn day at Starcourt covering shifts or counting inventory or arguing with the delivery guys over damaged shipments.

And all for a minimum wage position at some gag store like Spencer’s freaking Gifts? You decided that you may have to do some job hunting once the holidays had come to an end.

To top it all off, you were now stuck short staffed for the closing shift on Christmas Eve thanks to two employees calling out “sick;” really, you thought it was ridiculous that Starcourt was even open on the holiday, but nothing was going to stop capitalism America from catering to those last-minute, needy shoppers.

Honestly, you didn’t celebrate the holiday, so it wasn’t as if being at work was keeping you from family or friends or parties - but you really weren’t excited to deal with argumentative customers and theft and the impatient crowds of people who simply couldn’t be bothered to do their shopping any sooner. That was the kind of shit that was bound to make you rip your hair out.

But, alas, here you were, trying to keep it together as shoppers crammed into the small store, ruining displays, asking for price checks, being rude and dismissive with the kids at the registers. It was exactly the kind of chaos you were expecting, and yet somehow it was even more insufferable than you had prepared yourself for.

Considering that you were the keyholder for tonight, you tried your damnedest to keep the ship known as Spencer’s afloat - you were all too happy to get confrontational with rude customers, get your fellow employees off the registers when it was clear shit was becoming too much, ran back and forth from the stockroom to the store floor in your best effort to keep the shelves full. The stress of it all dared to turn you into an addict of some kind, because right now you could definitely use a fix of something that you couldn’t even name.

The shop was only set to be open for another half hour, and although the crowd had thinned, there were still far too many customers here for your liking - at this rate, you’d be stuck at work half the night just trying to get everyone out of here and get the store closed properly. At least the staff looked less stressed than before, at least you had the chance to breathe between shopper complaints and demands, though that did little to alleviate your frustrations.

As you were busy putting out the last few boxes of He-Man figures that had been flying off the shelf all goddamn night, you could sense someone approaching you from the corner of your eye, a question hurriedly leaving their lips before you even had a chance to greet them.

“Would it be a little vulgar if someone gave this as a gift to the person they were interested in?” Your brow furrowed as you met the eyes of a girl about your age, her freckled face cute and friendly as she held out a pillow in the shape of tits. You looked back and forth between the gag pillow and her face a few times; although you were exhausted by the day you had, something about her question dared to amuse you, as if she knew that you needed some kind of pick-me-up.

And it had almost worked, too, until you noticed the man who had followed just a step behind her; he dragged his hand down his face uncomfortably, shaking his head while hissing her name frantically beneath his breath. His posture suggested he was exacerbated - as if he didn’t want to be here or as if they’d already had this conversation or as if he was embarrassed. It then took you another split second to realize who he was, as he wasn’t wearing that familiar uniform that you’d been trying and failing to ignore for months.

It was Steve.

Your expression instantly sobered as he looked between you and the girl, his panicky, apologetic gaze making you nervous instantly. Just like you had done nearly half a dozen times since learning of Steve’s existence, you impulsively glowered at him as if to dismiss your fears, although you immediately cursed yourself for doing something so stupid.

But maybe he didn’t notice, because his attention was already on the girl instead, brows raised with surprise at her behavior, his attitude akin to that of a scolding parent tired of their kid’s shit, “Jesus, Robin, really?”

Robin shrugged defensively, although there seemed to be some kind of knowing amusement in her eyes, a twinkle of mischief, “Well, I wanted a second opinion.”

“Oh yeah, sure you did.”

You looked between the duo awkwardly, not wanting to walk away considering that you were on the clock, but so wishing to be anywhere but here right now, as you could feel your face growing warm simply because Steve was standing right here in front of you.

In a measly attempt to calm your nerves, you returned focus to the box of figures you’d been unloading just a few moments ago. Beside you, the two bickered in hushed tones, just quiet enough that you weren’t really sure what the problem was or what they were saying to one another.

You took a deep breath through your nose, pressing your lips together as you put the last Skeletor up on the shelf; you had to decide if you were going to leave them to their squabbling or try to assist them. And for whatever reason, you chose professionalism over your selfish desire to get the hell out of dodge.

“Depends on how well you know the person.” You said plainly, cutting through their spat and quieting the both of them. You picked up the now empty box while looking from one pretty face to the other, your gaze tired from the long day that you’d had, “If they’re already a friend, hopefully they’ll laugh, but some fake tits probably won’t make someone interested in you.”

Your nose scrunched as you mulled over the girl’s question again, looking down at the stupid pillow that was dangling forgotten in her hand. A silent conversation was clearly happening between Robin and Steve, if their expressive faces were anything to go on. You sighed deeply, closing your eyes for a moment to compose yourself - it was damn near closing time, and the last thing you needed was to be stressing out over the guy that you did not have a crush on. He was just nice to look at, that’s all, though having him here just a few feet in front of you made you antsy as all get-out.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” You asked dully, drawing their attention back to you; you tried not to swallow nervously under the inviting warmth of those deep brown eyes.

Although he looked about ready to say something, Robin spoke first, her tone purposeful to the point that it was suspicious, “Actually, if you don’t mind, Steve here was looking at something behind the counter; could you show it to him?”

Steve shot Robin a look that seemed to be either a threat or a plea, and you continued to look between them with doubt, uncertainty, and trepidation; your shift had already been ridiculous as it is, and whatever shenanigans were clearly going on here was the last thing you wanted to worry about. Once again, you could see some kind of conflict happening even without any words being spoken between them.

So, you sighed decisively, shaking your head a little, “I’ll meet you up at the counter whenever you’re ready.”

You ducked into the storeroom to discard your empty box, taking a moment to breathe and relax before peeking out the door to see if your walking away had prompted Steve and Robin to leave or if they were still lingering around somewhere. A muttered “fuck” passed between your lips as you saw them clearly bickering near the front entrance, as if one wanted to go and one wanted to stay. You rolled your eyes up towards the ceiling because of course this would happen to you tonight, obviously the one person you’d been mildly attracted to recently would show up at your workplace when you were at your most stressed. So damn typical.

Collecting yourself, you walked from the storeroom towards the front counter, curious if they’d actually come up to look at whatever the hell Steve was supposedly interested in; really, you were hoping they’d just give up and leave, it would certainly make your night easier. You tried your damnedest to not look back over in their direction, letting the other customers serve as a much needed distraction, ringing up their purchases and trying to shoo them out and close shop as quickly as possible.

You were starting to think that the rush to lock up the store for the night had dissuaded Steve and Robin, because you couldn’t see either of them from your vantage point at the checkout counter. And by some miracle, you didn’t have any customers in need of assistance - at least for the moment - so you let your shoulders deflate, a relieved sigh escaping you. Less than ten minutes and you’d be able to lock the doors.

But your luck had run out almost immediately, because you saw someone coming up to the counter from the corner of your eye; preparing yourself, you took a deep breath and turned, though your confidence had withered away the moment you met their eyes.

Steve approached you alone, Robin nowhere in sight, which made your nerves even worse than before. His mouth was open as if he was about to speak, but no words were coming out, looking like he was frozen beneath your gaze; you had to resist that impulsive urge to glare, though you were certain you nonetheless didn’t look terribly approachable.

He leaned stiffly against the counter, trying his best to look easy and unbothered despite clearly feeling the opposite. You simply stared for a moment, unsure of yourself, before you managed to pull it together at least briefly.

“What was it that you wanted to look at?” You asked in your monotonous customer service voice, bracing your hands on the counter as if that could keep you calm and steady.

“There wasn’t actually anything,” Steve finally found his voice as he looked nervously between your eyes. Your brow curved up curiously, though a part of you had nearly suspected that answer.

“Yeah, I figured.” Your tone came off colder than you intended, and it caused apprehension to immediately flashed across Steve’s face. Realizing your mistake, you looked around yourself before rounding the counter, walking purposefully as if you had something else you needed to be doing, though all you were really doing was trying to escape. You could feel Steve following, the crowded shelves of merchandise forcing him into nearly too close proximity behind you.

“Sometimes Robin just says things, you know, she can be funny like that.” Steve explained as your expression furrowed, wondering what his deal was. You stopped walking abruptly, causing Steve to bump right into you, ill-prepared for the sudden halt. As he quickly apologized, he steadied his hands on your shoulders for the briefest of seconds, just as suddenly snatching them away as if he’d been burned by you.

You spun around to face Steve, his body so close to yours that you practically bumped noses in the process; your eyes widened nervously, taking in his handsome face as you tried to keep yourself composed. Steve’s string of repeated “sorry”s tapered off, his mouth ajar as his eyes grew larger, too, gaze bouncing around your face rapidly.

“Well,” You started in what you hoped was a confident, disinterested tone, “we close in about five minutes… so if you plan on buying something, you should probably go check out.”

Steve nodded dumbly as he looked between your eyes before he dropped his gaze towards the ground; you realized he had absolutely no merchandise in hand, “Uh huh, yeah, I’ll do that.”

You licked your lip, taking in the pretty way his hair fell in his face and the unsure look in his eyes. For a moment, you became engrossed in him, feeling your own expression soften the longer you stared. But just as quickly, you shook yourself out of it, trying to speak with an air of finality that simply didn’t land, “I… hope you have a good holiday?”

Steve looked up at you through his lashes, though you turned quickly to continue walking away before you could get caught up in his eyes. But apparently he wasn’t ready for the conversation to end just yet, because he followed after you and continued, “Sorry, wait--”

You paused with a deep, nervous sigh, getting more and more edgy as the moments ticked by. What could this clean-cut, vanilla guy possibly want with someone like you?

You spun again, crossing your arms comfortingly in front of you while raising a brow; you realized after you’d done it that you probably looked pissed and defensive rather than nervous. When you didn’t say anything, Steve tripped over himself while trying to find his words, cheeks tinged with pink as he looked anywhere but your eyes.

“Look, I know I’m holding you up and you probably want to get home to your family or a boyfriend or something, I mean, it’s Christmas Eve, of course you’d have plans,” he started quickly, and there was something so damn charming about it that you couldn’t help the way your eyes lit up, gaze softening as you studied him; even still, your heart beat quickly inside your chest, “but I just, uh, I’ve seen you around the mall and thought I’d… introduce myself.”

Steve finally looked between your eyes again, and it appeared that your expression only made him more anxious, because he began yet another spiel, “God, that makes it sound like I just go around introducing myself to every damn person in the mall. I don’t - honestly that would be a lot of work - I mean that I wanted to talk to you specifically, you know.”

You couldn’t help the surprised grin that tugged at the corner of your mouth, absolutely taken aback by the unexpected personality behind the handsome face. Considering that you’d only ever watched Steve from afar and barely interacted with him once before, you let yourself think he was some uninteresting, dull guy. That little assumption made it so much easier to ignore the desire to stare at him, to forget about him more often than not. Now that you were so close and seeing his actual personality come through, he was, unfortunately, winning you over far too easily for your liking.

“Oh, you’re smiling, that’s good,” Steve said, his eyes growing larger as if he hadn’t planned on saying that out loud. Pushing his hair back in a fluid motion, he looked around the store while trying to take a deep breath, “You’re kinda scary, you know that?”

An unexpected laugh escaped you, your rigid posture relaxing a hair more, “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Steve held up his hands as if he were approaching a skittish animal.

“I know.” You responded without thinking; once again, your goddamn nerves were making you come across like a total bitch, “Uh, usually it makes people less interested in talking to me.”

There was something of a frenzied look in Steve’s eyes, and you realized that maybe your blunt attitude was causing him panic. His posture had grown a touch more tense than it already was, and your fear of fucking up was causing a chaos of butterflies in your chest.

But in that same moment, you remembered that you were still on the clock and desperate to close the store, your mind going back into work mode as you hissed a small “shit” beneath your breath.

“Look, I gotta close,” You started, catching the way Steve’s face fell in defeat. You quickly added in what you hoped was a more friendly tone than the one you’d been using all night, “but, uh… it was nice talking to you.”

Your expression furrowed with uncertainty, looking between Steve’s eyes as you awaited a possible acceptance or rejection to what you just said. Mirrored back to you was his own trepidation and doubt, as if he hadn’t quite understood what you said.

When he didn’t respond right away, you raised your brows questioningly, “Maybe… we’ll chat sometime?”

The question prompted Steve to nod quickly with a slightly improved look on his face, though he still seemed dumbfounded, “Yeah yeah, totally.”

You stared at each other for a long, awkward minute, neither really knowing what to say or do next. The tension between you filled your head with concern, and you were growing more and more confused the longer that you lingered.

“Well, uh… bye.” You said dumbly before awkwardly turning your back, walking deeper into the store so you could take even just a minute to calm the fuck down. You pulled a critical face at your own stupid behavior, muttering about how crudely you handled that pathetic excuse of a conversation. You tried to shake it off, knowing that you still had to get the rest of the customers moving so you could lock the damn doors, but you feared Steve would be a nagging little distraction in your mind until you finally made it back home.

Despite knowing better, you couldn’t help but look back over your shoulder apprehensively - you weren’t sure if you wanted to meet Steve’s eyes, or if you were hoping he’d already walked away. A jolt of anxiety shot up your spine when you found that he was still watching you, looking to be in deep consideration as if he was trying to make sense of that frazzling interaction. You both startled and turned away from each other at the same time, and all you could wonder is if you had fucked up enough that you’d scared Steve away.

When you finally had Spencer’s closed for the evening, you walked out in a group with your coworkers, everyone bracing themselves for the cold, teeth chattering and arms shivering. The parking lot was still littered with a couple dozen cars as you all moved together - clearly other Starcourt employees were stuck working even later than you.

You were barely listening to the eager conversation happening between the others, who were discussing their plans for the holiday; stupidly, you were still hung up on your conversation with Steve. Your day had already been stressful and shitty, so totally biffing that interaction was yet one more dumb notch in your belt. You really shouldn’t have gotten yourself worked up over it, but your nerves clearly had other plans, because now it was the only thing you could think about whether you liked it or not.

The group eventually all went their separate ways as you continued meandering to your stupid little car, not in any rush to get back home. Packed snow crunched beneath your feet as pretty flakes stuck to your face and hair; although it was cold, the night was still and the temperature almost soothing after the long day you’d had.

Unlocking your car, you carelessly tossed your bag into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, fumbling with the key as you tried to slot it into the ignition. But once you turned the key, all you got was a sad sputtering sound from the engine, which filled you with instantaneous dread. You paused for a moment before trying again, yet once more, the car wouldn’t start.

Really? One more goddamn thing to worry about tonight. Grumbling and huffing, you kicked the door open again and popped the hood of the car, though what you were looking for you had no idea - you knew absolutely nothing about cars, hell, you could barely put air in the tires without it becoming a whole goddamn ordeal.

With your hands braced on the lifted hood, you stared down into the old engine as if you’d miraculously figure out what needed to be done; you tried to take deep, calm breaths so that you wouldn’t freak out unnecessarily, but you could feel that impulse slowly bubbling up inside you.

To let out some of the frustration, you kicked the front bumper, your heavy boot protecting you from feeling any pain on impact. Your arms fell with defeat to your sides, because, unfortunately, simply staring at the engine did nothing to resolve the problem.

Around you, other cars left the parking lot slowly, but no one made an effort to stop and offer you assistance, not that you were really expecting any help to begin with. Headlights reflected off the glistening snowy surfaces, frost and ice crackled under tires, and you stood there like some sad, pathetic ghost of Christmas whatever-the-fuck.

“Need a hand?” A voice called from behind you, taking you by surprise, considering that you assumed the driver was simply going to pass by and ignore you. You sighed deeply to get your stress under control, because without looking you already knew exactly who it was that offered you assistance; at this rate, it was damn near ridiculous and ironic that he’d be the one to show up to your rescue.

You turned slowly to face Steve, hoping you didn’t look too pathetic as a small glare settled in your eyes. He hung out the window of his car, brow knotted with worry as he looked between you and your shitty vehicle; you leaned your rear against the front of your car, crossing your arms to protect yourself from both the cold and Steve.

“You’re not following me, are you?” You jested with little amusement, because what else were you supposed to do after the shitty day you’d had?

“Not on purpose.” Steve answered simply, pulling in next to you and putting his car in park, “Battery?”

You shrugged with a melodramatic sweep of your arms, a defeated, sad laugh escaping you, “Who fucking knows.”

There was a decisiveness to Steve’s expression as he climbed out of his vehicle and popped the hood, opening the trunk and digging out some jumper cables. The focused look on his face helped to ease you despite the way your night was going, and it very nearly made you smile through your frustrations.

“Well, let’s hope this works.” Steve said as he hooked up the cables, double checking his work along the way to make sure he didn’t blow up either engine. Eventually, he pointed towards your driver door, “See if we can get this started up.”

You nodded quickly as the two of you slid into your respective driver's seats, Steve starting his car up first; but after three attempts, your damn car still wouldn’t start, and you slumped back into the seat, groaning loudly while tugging at your hair in frustration; god, what kind of shit luck were you dealt?

Steve came up and leaned in the open door frame, eyes sympathetic as he gazed down at you; you didn’t even have the energy to be nervous about his close proximity or the gentleness of his gaze. A weak laugh escaped you as you shook your head, “As if tonight couldn't get any worse.”

You met Steve’s eyes, looking between them pitifully as the cold of the evening began to seep into your bones. He stared back sympathetically, his expression troubled by the fact that he couldn’t fix the problem for you. Despite all your earlier nerves and awkwardness around him, all you felt right now was amity between you two.

“Thanks for trying.” You sighed, resting your head back and staring absently at the ripped and tattered ceiling. You swallowed down the upset lump in your throat, “I meant what I said earlier - about wanting to chat sometime, I mean.”

A faint smile graced Steve’s lips as he glanced down at his feet a moment, meeting your eyes again kindly, “Bet you weren’t expecting it to go like this, though.”

You shook your head while closing your eyes as a smirk dared to tug at the corner of your mouth, “Not in the slightest…”

Steve wet his lips as his brow furrowed again, looking around at the parking lot that was growing emptier as the minutes ticked by. His face was contemplative for a long beat before he brought his attention back to you while taking a deep breath, “Let me give you a ride.”

You balked at the suggestion, shaking your head quickly, “You really don’t have to do that, I’ve caused you enough trouble--”

“What else am I supposed to do, leave you stranded here?” Steve interrupted, raising his brows for emphasis, waving his hand in a “follow me” motion as he stepped back. You stayed planted in your seat, watching him with uncertainty; Steve gave you another look when you didn’t follow, “Come on; gives us a chance to chat some more, right?”

You hesitated a couple moments longer, but eventually you scooped up your bag and stiffly climbed out of the car; Steve was already in the process of unhooking the cables and closing your hood. As you awkwardly stood there waiting for him to finish, he studied you from the corner of his eye, which prompted your brows to furrow as you went on the defensive.

“You better not be kidnapping me.” Your statement caused Steve to laugh and shake his head at how ridiculous that notion was; he closed the hood of his car next and rounded to the driver’s side.

“You’re scary, remember? I don’t have the balls to kidnap you.” You couldn’t help but smile gaily at his response, which seemed to please Steve, as an equally delighted look crossed his face, “Oh, another smile, good.”

You rolled your eyes, though you were nonetheless still fascinated by how nervous Steve seemed to be around you. As you stared at him for a brief moment, he chewed the inside of his cheek and made another hand gesture before ducking into his car, “Come on, it’s getting cold.”

So, you followed his lead and slid into the passenger seat, though once you closed the door it was like another wave of tension washed over you - stupid as it seemed, you found there to be something so personal about being alone in a car with someone you barely knew. Your posture grew stiff almost instantly, eyes staring straight ahead into the snowy night as Steve cranked up the heat and began a slow crawl across the parking lot.

“Where am I heading?” Steve asked while glancing over at you; you kept your eyes forward as you told him your neighborhood. For a very long minute, the two of you were silent as the strangeness of this scenario dawned on you both. Steve cleared his throat, “Sorry about earlier.”

You glanced over at him with a confused look, trying not to shrink nervously when he turned to face you, “What do you mean?”

“I was bothering you at work,” he started with a shrug, “kinda wasted your time.”

Timidly, you looked back towards him again, thankful that his eyes were back on the road, “You weren’t bothering me.”

Steve made a face as if he didn’t believe you, “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”

You hummed in acknowledgement of your earlier attitude, forcing yourself to be a little more communicative so he couldn’t misinterpret you again, “We didn’t really get the time to talk much… and I was nervous.”

Steve laughed, an inviting sound that drew both an amused and confused look across your face. He glanced at you again, shaking his head humorously, “You, nervous? That’s not the impression I got at all.”

The corner of your mouth tugged up as your eyes looked about his face, “Then what impression did you get?”

Steve took a breath, searching for the right way to phrase this, “That you didn’t want to talk to me in the slightest.”

“Oh.” You answered dumbly; when Steve shot you another look from the corner of his eyes, you tried to find your words, “No, I did want to talk to you… just didn’t know how.”

A far too charming smile spread across his lips as he turned to you again, “Didn’t know how?”

“You’re a little scary, too.” You shrugged with a faint grin, which grew larger at the amused twinkle in Steve’s eyes; again, he laughed, a sound that you could easily get used to.

“Never been told I was scary before…” He focused on the road for a long beat, fingers lightly drumming on the steering wheel as he mulled that thought over. Evidently, it prompted another question, because he gave you another curious glance, “Why were you scared of me?”

Your brows rose as you opened your mouth, but you hesitated before any words could come out. Nerves started to drum in your chest again as you felt heat rising up your neck and into your cheeks; and with the way Steve patiently kept looking over at you, the heat became even worse, “I, uh… no reason.”

Steve’s face twisted with suspicion at your lack of an explanation, narrowed eyes shooting a critical look in your direction. Feeling the intensity of his stare, you kept your unblinking gaze on the road, watching the snow falling gently in front of you.

Steve mulled your answer over, recalling that first day he caught you staring, the time you came to Scoops, and finally your first conversation earlier this evening; of course he could suspect reasons for why you would be nervous or hesitant, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to assume anything about you either.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, drawing on all that confidence he once harbored back when he was still King Steve, when he could land any girl he set his sights on. Though that was a side of him that he hadn’t seen nearly this entire year, he figured he had to shoot his shot eventually, “I can tell you why I was scared…”

The way he trailed off made you curious, although there was something dubious about it. You looked back towards him with a knot between your brows, and now that he had your attention, Steve’s face lit up, his smile almost causing you to drop your guard.

“I’ll tell you, but then you have to tell me why you were scared.” You shook your head with an unamused laugh, knowing that when the other shoe dropped it would be something like this. Despite yourself, you grinned, still falling for Steve’s charm even when he had you backed into a metaphorical corner.

“Oh, you wanna know real bad, huh?” You teased, because really that was your only defense between Steve and the nervousness that was crawling over you again. He gave you a short nod, his expression taunting and challenging.

“I mean, the least you could do is tell me, considering that I’m giving you a ride and all…” Steve’s unexpected playfulness took you aback, causing you to gape for a moment, which only seemed to amuse him even more. You tried to relax your expression, to put up a front of disinterest, but it was far too late for that, “So?”

You rolled your eyes and smirked, even as your heart stuttered; shit, you did not want to tell Steve what you thought of him. Maybe you could come up with a convincing lie, or maybe you could just intimidate him again until he gave up. But admitting to the fact that maybe you were crushing on him, that this ordinary pretty boy was somehow winning you over? Nope, that was something you did not want to do.

And yet… why had he come to talk to you in the first place? Why did he want to introduce himself, why was he so willing to help you on Christmas Eve when he should be off somewhere with family or a partner? Your curiosity was growing by the minute.

“Fine.” The word left your mouth before you could second guess it. Steve looked at you almost in disbelief, as if he had convinced himself you wouldn’t take the bait; you stared back, hoping your eyes didn’t give away your hesitation. Despite the warmth in the car, you shivered with nerves and apprehension.

Steve swallowed while looking back towards the road, nodding faintly to himself as he considered whatever the hell was going on in his head. You waited, impatience making you fidgety as your eyes practically burnt a hole in the side of his head.

“How much further to your place?” Your expression twisted with surprise, anticipation put to an abrupt halt thanks to the whiplash that came with the question. You studied Steve for a moment before realizing that maybe he was trying to buy some time or simply avoid the subject all together. Now, you were growing evermore curious, opening and closing your mouth smally as you considered whether or not you’d play along.

“Um, five minutes up the road.” You answered, trying to shake yourself from your mild stupor. Steve simply nodded, and you couldn’t help the way you leaned towards him just a little as if you were studying a newly discovered species, “What, you scared now?”

“No.” Steve looked back at you, “Just wanna make sure I don’t miss your house.”

Your faint smile and narrowed eyes made it clear that you didn’t believe him, though he tried to remain convincing. Slumping back into your seat a little, you kept your eyes locked on Steve, studying him and looking for evidence of hesitation. Considering it was per his suggestion that you agreed to admit anything, you couldn’t help but suspect that it was nerves that got to him, regardless of what he said.

Realizing that your brief time with Steve was soon to come to a close, you frowned forlornly, gaze dropping from his face. Considering that this whole night had been a little weird, you weren’t sure why you were so disappointed that it would end, but… perhaps that was because it felt like something was only just beginning, cheesy as that sounded. A part of you felt that if shit stopped now, it wouldn’t get to start up again - whether that was true or not didn’t matter.

Your heart picked up speed in your chest as you turned your eyes back towards Steve, words spilling from your lips before you could even realize what you were saying, “Can we just drive for a bit?”

Steve’s brows rose in surprise as he looked back over at you, his lips parting as if he had a question to ask, though no words came out. Suddenly embarrassed by your silly request, you raised your hands up as if in surrender, though your tone ended up being defensive.

“I mean, only if you’ve got nothing going on. Stupid of me to ask considering it’s Christmas Eve, but I’ve got nothing to go home to so I just thought…”

You weren’t sure what you thought, that was the whole problem. The look on Steve’s face was tough to read as he considered what you said, and, feeling foolish, you melted into your seat a little as your face twisted self-consciously.

“Let’s drive.” Steve finally said with a certainty to his tone, taking you aback as he gave you a winning look, “Where to?”

You shrugged dumbly, still trying to fend off your chagrin. Steve took you in for a moment before returning his eyes to the road and driving towards an unknown destination.

Only a minute later, he broke through the silence again, “So, is no one home?”

You shook your head, though you realized he almost certainly didn’t see it, “Dad works nights.”

Steve opened his mouth to add something, but stopped to mull it over first, “My parents are out of town. No one’s waiting for me at home, either.”

Although your brows drooped down, you gave a good humored smile as you two met eyes, “Hm, and they didn’t take you?”

“They never do.” Steve smirked and rolled his eyes, though you suspected that a part of him wasn’t nearly as okay with that as he led you to believe.

For a long beat, you studied him in silence, enjoying his profile as he focused on the road; you took in the thoughtful look in his eyes, the inviting shape of his lips, the downturn of his brows. God, you shouldn’t have been feeling all these butterflies thanks to some guy you only just met, and yet they became harder to ignore the longer you stared at Steve’s pretty face.

He, too, looked towards you when he had the chance and took you in closely, making you squirm as his dark eyes trailed from your eyes to your lips, down your neck and body before jumping back up. Lucky for you, he still had to drive, otherwise you may have melted under his intense, deliberate gaze.

About a minute into the silence that settled between you two, Steve turned up the radio, just enough to have background noise but not too loud to be disruptive. Coming through the speakers was some classic Christmas song that made you cringe; as if he caught your averse reaction, Steve switched stations, though the pop rock that took its place was no relief to you. You tried to ignore the music, not wanting to be sour about something as unimportant as that.

Although you still felt tense given the quiet that was stretching out between you and Steve, there was a certain comfort in the silence; driving down an empty road, snow falling gently, and a cute boy to keep you company wasn’t half bad.

Again, you found yourself studying Steve’s features, questions and inquiries coming to mind as the minutes passed - what were his hobbies? Was he from Hawkins, or was he a transplant like you? What were his friends like? Hell, what even was his last name? So many things you could ask, and you didn’t know where to start.

Well, there was one place to start, if you were feeling a little mischievous, but even the thought of it made you anxious and antsy all over again.

“Why were you scared earlier?” You blurted out, your own brows rising in surprise; maybe you had to get a better hold of your nerves, else you might keep saying things without thinking.

Steve shot you an apprehensive glance, though he tried to mask it with a smile, “Ah, so my distraction didn’t work.”

“Not in the slightest.” You grinned even as your nerves made it appear sheepish and noncommittal, “And don’t just say it’s because of the whole goth thing.”

“Well, not the whole goth thing,” Steve teased, pleased with himself when he caught you fighting back an amused look. After a moment, though, he sighed smally, looking around at the neighborhood he was driving through; apparently knowing where he was, he took a turn with some destination inevitably in mind.

You pulled a curious face when Steve didn’t elaborate, when his face settled into a decided look; you considered asking again for fear that he was going to find a means of distracting you once more from the question. But quickly enough, Steve pulled into the lot next to a park - it’s playground covered in snow - and you started growing nervous all over again.

With the car in park, Steve finally turned his undivided attention to you, causing you to unintentionally shrink back in your seat a little; there was a sort of safety that had come with him being preoccupied by driving, but now that his eyes were locked on you, your confidence began to diminish just a bit.

The look on his face held a sincerity that took you aback, and even in the relative dark of the night you could see the unsure gleam in his eyes. He took a deep breath before admitting plainly and assuredly, “I was scared because you were cute and intimidating.”

You blinked at him a couple of times as you processed his words, though they made your heart drum loudly enough that it was damn near distracting. As the seconds ticked by and you didn’t respond, briefly stuck in a dumbfounded look, Steve’s expression slowly fell into a look of dismay.

Getting antsy, he fumbled to elaborate, “I was interested in you, is what I mean. I wanted to get to know you, maybe flirt and see if we were compatible, you know, that sort of thing.”

Stupidly, you blinked at him again, feeling heat rising in your face - fuck, he thought you were cute, too. That should’ve been a relief, so why the hell did it make you even more nervous than you were before? You forced yourself to look away from his face as your eyes got big, because shit the butterflies in your stomach were going absolutely crazy right about now.

“You… were interested in me…” You muttered like a total idiot, but at least you finally found your voice again. Gazing up at him through your lashes, the look on Steve’s face was damn near worried as if he were preparing himself for rejection. Chewing on the inside of your lip, you finally smiled, bashfully dropping your gaze even as you tried not to sound as nervous as you felt, “I thought you were cute, too. Never had the guts to talk to you, though.”

A relieved little laugh leapt from Steve’s throat, his posture relaxing as he stared at you wide-eyed, almost as if he didn’t entirely believe you. Looking back up at Steve made your face and ears grow even hotter, his excitement at your response unexpected but nonetheless encouraging, even as you picked at your nails nervously.

“Oh, thank god, that makes this so much easier,” Steve breathed out, causing you to giggle, a delighted sound that was so unlike you.

As Steve continued to stare at you with disbelief, you tried to stop fidgeting with your fingernails, tried to relax the nervous energy in your chest because yes, this should be easier like he said, yet your body’s reaction would lead one to assume you were in all-out panic mode.

“You didn’t have the guts?” Steve asked with a laugh, “You saw how nervous I was to talk to you, right?”

You rolled your eyes with a fond shake of your head, “At least you did it; I figured a pretty guy like you wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be interested in me.” Steve found himself staring at your lips, the temptation to lean over and kiss you coming over him abruptly, though he tried to shove it aside and ignore it, “So, I guess maybe I should ask you out now, right?”

You nearly giggled again as you looked between his eyes with a pondering expression, “I mean, we’re already here - alone, getting to know each other…”

Steve laughed smally, his eyes taking you in, “Oh, so this is a date now?”

You raised your hands in a vague, unsure motion, a faint knot between your brow, “Could be?”

Another charming smile crossed Steve’s lips, and you were still astounded at the fact that you could make him grin and laugh so damn easily. The look on his face was sweet as his gaze swept gently over your face, looking between your eyes and your mouth like he was studying you closely; when he finally drew his attention away, it was to stare out the windshield and watch the snow fall.

“You're not what I expected,” he started as you absently began to fiddle with your nails again, “I was worried you’d be mean, or that you’d laugh at me.”

An embarrassed smile drew across your lips as you took the opportunity to enjoy his profile again, “If I didn’t like you, I would’ve been mean… and I did laugh at you, once, when I first saw those stupid shorts you used to wear.”

A chuckle leapt from Steve’s throat as he looked back at you, “Yeah, they’re kinda ridiculous, aren’t they?”

“Your entire uniform is ridiculous.” You laughed gleefully, “But I… liked it.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed teasingly, “Oh, so that’s why you were staring.”

Easily flustered, you diverted your gaze down towards your hands, focusing on the chipped nail polish that you’d been fussing with, your face growing hot yet again,“Well, I just… yeah, okay, that’s why I was staring.”

Steve leaned in close towards you, dipping his head to try and catch your eyes, “If you hadn’t been staring, I wouldn’t have noticed you.”

You glanced up through your lashes, a faint grin on your lips as you met Steve’s attentive stare, “Then I guess we’re both lucky you have nice legs.”

Steve laughed again with utter amusement, something almost like wonder alight in his eyes; you thought he may have leaned in a little bit closer, but you weren’t quite sure. He glanced down at your hands briefly, watching the way you continued to gently scratch at your nail polish before meeting your eyes.

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you’re a little strange.” Your brows rose at the comment, and so Steve continued, “Well, wait, don’t get mad about that. What I’m saying is that your energy is really nervous, but you don’t come across like you’re scared at all, you know what I mean?”

You looked between Steve’s eyes, wondering how he had managed to clock you so damn easily. Your nail picking became a little more aggressive as you came to your own defense, feeling jittery as you spoke quickly, “Yeah, I know I can come across pretty bitchy when I’m nervous, it’s landed me in trouble before. I don’t always think when I speak or I don’t know when to shut up, because my head gets all messy and loud, so it’s impossible to think clearly anyway--”

“Can I kiss you?” Steve blurted out with awe in his voice, disrupting your train of thought and causing you to look back at him with large eyes. He even looked surprised at the question, as if it leapt from his mouth without warning or thought; his expression was much like your own, taken aback and confused. He quickly tried to course correct, raising his hands defensively, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that, that was totally out of left field--”

“Yes.” Steve paused and looked as if he didn’t hear you correctly, brow furrowed while trying to read the look on your face, which was torn between sheepishness and eagerness, “I’d like it if you kissed me, actually.”

Steve, admittedly, had not anticipated your approval of the idea, especially considering how it was asked. He just got so hung up on how damn cute your rambling was that it drew him like a moth to a flame; he wasn’t thinking when the question left his mouth. Shit, you said “yes” and it made his nerves spike, heartbeat eager in his chest as he took in your features a little longer, biding his time so he could calm down.

From where he leaned over the center console, Steve moved in a little closer, looking between your eyes and lips. You mirrored this as if in a trance, body drawing towards him; when you paused, a smile graced his lips as he said firmly but quietly, “Come here.”

You felt a chill up your spine thanks to the simple yet wanton direction, Steve’s delivery of it far more enticing than he probably realized. Despite wanting to kiss him, you felt momentarily frozen as you took him in, hooded eyes becoming enraptured by his lips.

Coming back to yourself, you took a calming breath and moved in closer, and once you were but a few breaths apart, Steve carefully cupped the back of your neck, fingertips grazing through your hair. The touch made you sigh longingly, your body melting in response; a knowing smile graced Steve’s face.

There was a moment’s hesitation between you as Steve’s warm breath brushed across your lips and cheeks; you swallowed down the lump in your throat just before Steve leaned in, closing that short distance between you to capture your lips with his own.

Your body jolted at the feel of his kiss, so soft and tentative, and yet charged with your combined pining for one another. As your body relaxed despite the frantic beating of your heart, your fingertips trailed up Steve’s arm, gently grabbing at his shoulders through the fabric of his coat. His mouth was tender and explorative against yours, touch gentle on the back of your neck as he pressed forth more confidently; you met him with equal need and curiosity, your body growing eager for more as your nerves slowly dissolved away.

When Steve tried to pull back and catch his breath, your grasp became assertive, fingers tightening on his sleeve as your other hand moved to cup his cheek. You felt a small, surprised laugh in his throat, taken aback by your eagerness, though he was just as enamored by it.

He carefully gripped your jaw with both hands, pulling you back just enough for him to take in a gasp of air; you, too, took a deep breath, delighting in the way his lips grazed against yours, the way his thumb lazily trailed along your cheek.

After a beat of consideration, Steve kissed you again needily, fingertips firm along your jawline as a fire lit up inside you. Your lips grew feverish as you leaned in closer, curling your fingers in his soft locks while an eager sound rose in your throat. As you kissed him with zeal, Steve matched your desire, mouth growing urgent against yours, grip becoming increasingly possessive while his tongue trailed along your lower lip. With another hungry sigh, you opened your mouth to him, tongues swirling together impatiently, desperate for one another.

You pushed closer to Steve, though the center console pressed irritatingly into your stomach, causing a faint sound of annoyance to rumble in your chest. Wanting to be so much closer, you broke away from the kiss abruptly, though his lips chased yours, gently nipping at your jawline as goosebumps broke out across your skin.

Finding your voice, you managed to instruct breathily, “Move your seat back.”

A huff of a laugh escaped Steve as he muttered against your neck, “What?”

You gave his hair a tug, directing him to look you in your lusty eye while repeating slowly, “Move the seat.”

He looked between your eyes for a moment before your reasoning dawned on him; he nodded quickly, pulling away so he could slide the seat back, creating enough space between him and the steering wheel for you to slot into. And you did just that, gracelessly crawling over the center console, careful not to crush Steve with wayward limbs or unsteady knees.

Once situated in his lap, you laughed smally at yourself while resting your hands comfortably on either side of his neck. Steve smiled at the way you bit your lip, hands firm as they settled on your hips; his hooded eyes took you in adoringly. Impatiently, your lips crashed onto Steve’s once more, feeling his fingers flex against you, eager little sounds escaping your throat.

Hooking your arms around Steve’s neck, you kissed him yearningly, his hands creating a hot, greedy trail down your back, pressing you flush against him as if he couldn’t get enough. The movement caused your hips to roll against his, making the both of you moan into the other’s mouth from the friction. The way your lips moved together was aching and salacious, tongues explorative and hands grabby as if trying to consume each other whole.

Even as he kissed you and groped at your body lewdly, there was something undeniably tender about Steve’s touch; his lips were endlessly hungry for yours, he held you close as if fearful of letting go. It caused a knot of arousal to twist in your stomach, your body blazing and impassioned after all these months of watching him and wondering what he tasted like.

Steve’s hands roamed your body in a slow, amorous crawl, teasing down your spine and grabbing at your ass, sending an eager shiver through you as if there weren’t all these layers of clothing keeping your skin separate from one another. Your mouths became even sloppier, kisses ravenous as you breathed each other in and tasted each other’s tongues, keen moans passing between your lips to his.

Your own grip at Steve’s neck and hair was growing possessive and domineering, tugging at his locks and scratching his skin enough that he whined shamelessly. Emboldened by the heat scorching between you, your hips rolled once more, slow and deep, making Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your ass as he groaned; the sound was far too encouraging, causing a coil to tighten in your center. You moved to hold his jaw softly in either hand, breaking away from his lips hastily with a big gasp for air.

For a long beat, you stared at one another through lusty, hooded eyes, watching the way Steve licked his lip as he watched the rise and fall of your chest. His lips were so damn inviting, and you wanted to lean right back in for more, yet you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, didn’t want to be greedy for more than you could take. Steve’s hands gently trailed up your back again, finding a comfortable resting place at your waist, where his fingers drew absentminded circles into the back of your coat.

While staring at Steve’s handsome face, an airy laugh fell from your mouth, your eyes lighting up softly; his brow furrowed in response, leaning forward to tease at your lips, nose gently bumping yours.

“What?” You could hear the grin in his whispered question, causing you to laugh again, your smile causing your lips to brush gently; the intimacy of the moment dared to give you butterflies as you nearly shivered.

You bit the inside of your cheek in an effort not to giggle again, pulling back from Steve so you could trail your thumb along his jaw and to his plush lower lip, “You got a little something…”

Steve looked as if he was about to ask you to elaborate, but the gentle way that you cleaned his lip with your thumb stalled him as a captivated sigh left his throat. He realized then what you meant, noticing the way your near-black lipstick had smudged around your mouth; he laughed, too, while trying not to moan from how much he enjoyed your sweet and careful touch. Once you were certain you’d gotten most of your lipstick off of him, you delicately held his chin as if to inspect your work.

“Is making out with you always going to be messy?” He teased, bringing a hand up to help you with a smear of lipstick that was under your nose. Your cheeks warmed as you fondly rolled your eyes, half-tempted to lean back in for another kiss as if to prove a point.

You hummed smally in your throat, “Only if it becomes a regular thing.”

Steve’s brows rose cheekily as a large smile spread across his face, “Oh, I plan for it to.”

Heat rose in your cheeks again as you bit your lip, laughing faintly while looking away from his eyes as if bashful, “Do you?”

He leaned towards you again, trying to catch your eyes with his, “Well, I’d still like to take you on a real date, so, yeah, I’m counting on this becoming a regular thing.”

Another uncharacteristic giggle left you as a swell of excitement filled your chest, “Then maybe I have to do something new with my lipstick so you’re not wearing it by the end of every date.”

Steve shook his head, hands gently sliding down your neck and to your back as he stared at your lips again, “Don’t change it, I like it too much.”

You leaned in close again, lips grazing with Steve’s as you whispered flirtatiously, “Good, because I think I like kissing you.”

Steve’s nose brushed gently against yours, his lashes tickling your skin as you felt a faint smile on his lips, “You think?”

“Might need to do a little more of it just to make sure.” You planted a teasing kiss against his lips before pulling back, which made his hands grip tight on you as if you were something coveted.

“Well,” Steve’s lips were gentle as they grazed against yours, his voice low and sweet as his fingertips trailed along your back, “should we make sure now? You’ve got me all night, if you want.”

You hummed as if you were mulling the suggestion over, hoping that you were making Steve antsy from the wait. You smiled fondly as your hands wove into his hair, tugging gently as your lips hovered just centimeters away from his; when he tried to kiss you, you pulled back tauntingly, causing a faint sound of impatience in Steve’s throat. Unable to resist the laugh that escaped you, you caved to his desire and you pressed your lips longingly to his.

Addt. Author's Note | I'm currently working on a follow-up to this oneshot because I just can't get enough of these two! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for that, please let me know, I hope to get it out soon!

Tags | @doomsdaybby @eddiernunson @k-yurieee @mediocredreams @raven-hawkins

@thecreelhouse @viviennemcgloine

#thetwelvedaysofpromptmas 🎄#thetwelvedaysofpromptmas #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things

280 notes · View notes

moonhoures · 1 year ago

Text

Score

🕷️ kinktober — day 15: dry humping🕸️

pairing: minho (stray kids) + reader (afab/fem)

genre: non-idol!au, college!au, smut, fluff

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, established relationship, football player!minho 🏈, dry humping, mild exhibitionism (sexual activity in a parked car), pet name ‘baby’ is used for both minho & reader, minho calls reader ‘princess’ once, minho cums in his jeans 🫣

word count: ~1.8k

synopsis: you reward your boyfriend for winning the homecoming game

a/n: saw this edit of minho in the super bowl mv and the thought of football player!minho would not leave my head so i felt called to write this

posted: october 15, 2023

kinktober masterlist

Friday nights were your favorite. That was partly because it was the last day of the school week, so you had the weekend to look forward to. And the other part was because Fridays in autumn were football nights. And that meant you got to sit at the very bottom of the bleachers to watch your boyfriend run back and forth on the football field for a couple hours. You hadn’t really been a fan of sports until you met Minho, but since he was the left tackle for the varsity team at your university, he begged you to go to his practices and games when you were free. Slowly you found yourself enjoying the sport and becoming his very own cheerleader, rooting him on from the sidelines where he would shoot you smiles and winks when he could.

Tonight was the homecoming game, and it was against the rival town’s team, so the pressure was on the home team big time. Minho had been stressing over this game for weeks, constantly putting in extra practice to prepare. You had texted him some words of encouragement and promised to treat him afterwords if he won—but honestly, you would treat him even if he lost. He had replied with a heartfelt emoji and told you where to meet him once the game was over.

It was a tense three hours, but eventually the scores were settled at 17-15. Your team had won, and just barely so. The second the winning touchdown had occurred the home side bleachers erupted in a roaring cheer, you included. Your eyes were already on Minho, easily finding his jersey number among the several guys on the field. He jumped up and down excitedly, slapping and congratulating his teammates as they celebrated their win. Your cheeks were consumed by warmth despite the chill in the air that was nipping at them.

You waited patiently where Minho had told you to meet him, just outside of the fence far enough away from the exit that you wouldn’t get swallowed up by the leaving crowd. You occupied yourself by trying to make out the stars among the pitch-black sky that were hard to see with the blinding field lights on. You were so busy looking up that you didn’t notice your boyfriend approaching until he was scooping you up in his arms and pressing a sweaty kiss to your cheek.

You let out a shriek of surprise, “Oh my God, put me down!” You giggled through your words, but he listened, setting you back down.

When his face came into view, a wide smile took up the bottom half of his face, his eyes scrunching up from it, “Did you see how much ass we kicked out there? I was getting so nervous towards the end, but we pulled through!”

“I had full faith in you,” you grinned, eyes twinkling as you took in his bulky figure, his uniform still on. His already-broad shoulders were exaggerated by the shoulder pads he wore, and the ends of his hair were dripping in sweat. Oddly enough, you found this version of him incredibly sexy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to act on any desires until he cleaned up.

“I’m gonna hit the showers, but you’ll wait for me, right? I wanted to take you to that new diner that opened last week. Chan said they’re open until midnight on Fridays,” Minho clutched onto his helmet at his side, a hopeful look on his face as he awaited your reply.

“Of course, if you wanna give me your keys, I’ll just go wait in the car. I need a heater after sitting in the cold.”

The football player was quick to agree, escorting you to the gym. He dipped into the locker room to grab his keys from his bag. He handed them off to you, but not without giving you a quick kiss. Then you two separated, him going back to the locker room and you going to his car. You instantly felt cozy with the heater on blast along with the heated seats (a luxury your own car didn’t have). Only twenty minutes passed with you scrolling through TikTok before Minho arrived, startling you when he pulled the passenger door open and climbed in.

“Alright, I’m squeaky clean now. Lay it on me,” your boyfriend leaned forward, lips puckering a bit, expecting a proper kiss from you.

You chuckled softly, leaning the rest of the way across the console to press a tender kiss to his lips. You could tell he had put on some of the chapstick you had been encouraging him to use; the weather recently had been making his lips chapped. The subtle taste of mint lingered on your mouth, and it was pleasant. In fact, it was enticing—that, plus the way his hand gently held the side of your neck.

The kiss deepened, the two of you becoming enthralled in each other like it was a reunion after months of being apart. You two had literally met up that morning for coffee before class, but that didn’t stop Minho from leaning even more over the console until he was practically in the driver’s seat with you. You felt his tongue running along the seams of your lips, begging for him to take it further than just a heated make out in the front seats of his Honda Civic.

You pulled away for a chance to breathe, and your heart thrummed at the sight of your boyfriend’s reddened, puffy lips and flushed cheeks, “We should start heading to the diner.”

He groaned softly, a small frown etching itself on his lips, “I was so close to getting you in the backseat. We can go tomorrow night?”

“Baby-“

“Come on, ________, I know you want to,” he loved to use that teasing tone and sly smirk on you to get what he wanted, mostly because he knew it worked. No matter how stern you tried to be, you always had a soft spot for him.

“I do, but . . . not in this parking lot,” you tried to reason with him, but his expression didn’t change. You had a feeling you were indeed going to do it in the parking lot.

“We don’t have to go all the way.” Determination could have been Minho’s middle name as far as you were concerned. It was a part of what made him so good at football. It was what got him a date with you during your first semester of college. And it was what got you to straddle him in the backseat of his Civic.

With you right where he wanted you, he smiled into another sweltering kiss, his hands on your hips. Unfortunately for your boyfriend, all of your clothes stayed on, but that didn’t stop him from getting you to thrust your groin against his. Though stuffed under his jeans and briefs, his cock was growing stiff under the stimulation your clothed cunt was giving him. After only a couple minutes, you could feel his erection poking against the fabric of your own jeans.

Minho communicated almost solely through noises, deep moans and heavy breaths sounding between your tangled lips. He let out a whine as you grinded your hips down on him, the friction making his cock even harder. If he had taken out like he wanted to, you would be able to see how red it was and how it throbbed, yearning to be in your pussy. But it was confined to the prison that was his underwear where a wet patch was already forming in the fabric over his tip.

Your own panties were becoming a little uncomfortable, your arousal basically soaking the gusset. The wet fabric was trapped between the sensitive skin of your folds and your rough denim. The sensation wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as it would be if it was his cock you were humping, but this would just have to do for now. You were already in motion, and you knew if you focused hard enough you would eventually cum. And with Minho’s hot breath on the shell of your ear, whispering encouraging words to you, you knew your release would find it’s way to you soon enough.

“Wish I wasn’t so fucking impatient,” he admitted through gritted teeth while his hands assisted your movements over his pelvis, “I should’ve taken you back to my house so we could do this the right way.”

“Yeah, well, you were the one who wanted it so bad,” you smiled down at him, “Now you have it.”

“And I’m definitely not complaining,” he spoke nothing but the truth. Sure, he would have preferred fucking you good in the comfort of his own bed, but he wouldn’t turn down the chance to make out with (and dry hump) you in the back of his car. In his opinion, he would be stupid to do so, “But maybe you could come back to my place, and I can treat you better there, yeah?”

“You better,“ you smiled at the way he laughed at that, then he was bringing your face down to his so he could kiss you again. When he got wound up like this, he had no care, no worry. He would make any noises, not thinking about how whiny or pathetic they sounded. He would let the saliva that got caught up between your lips fall out of the corners of his mouth messily. He would leave hickeys on your skin, acting like he didn’t mean to when really he loved the little bruise that showed the world you were taken. You were his.

“Oh my God, yes. Do that again,” he groaned, head falling back against the seat as he slipped his fingers through the belt loops on your jeans. Your clothed pussy was grinding down on his lap, each buck of your hips squeezing the top half of his cock against his pubic bone. The precum on his underwear was abundant, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. It felt too good. Moans fell from his lips repeatedly telling you to keep going, keep going, don’t stop. He was going to-

“Holy shit.”

Minho’s hands were tight on your waist, commanding you to stop. He had already made a mess of his boxers; he didn’t want to make another one. You frowned, and you didn’t have to a say word. He was already apologizing, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby,” he breathed heavily, too lazy to lift his head up from the back of the seat. He reached up and wiped away a string of spit that was webbing from your mouth onto your cheek (residue from your multiple messy make-outs), “When we get back to mine, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Well, consider this my treat to you for now, for winning tonight. But now you owe me.”

“Of course, princess. Now let’s get out of here, these jeans are getting more uncomfortable by the second.”

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @pedriswrld @wonrangwoo @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @pinklemonadeflav @celestialplatinum @luvkpopp @nlklstan @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @heerinnie @fairygirl18 @cinnikoi @im-ur-calico-cat @unlikelysublimekryptonite @k-drizzle @iguanas-world

1K notes · View notes

4ranghaes · 2 months ago

Note

Helloooooo! First off, I wanna start off by apologizing for stalking your page! It’s just so good I couldn’t stop reading all your posts! Especially gongfourz 3some was probably the best one I’ve ever read on here 😩😩

You mentioned before wanting to write dad au so, if it’s not too much to ask, what do you think bnd members would be like as dads? You don’t have to write about all of them but I’m thinking about Sungho in particular is absolutely a girl dad!! Have a wonderful day love 🫶🏽🫶🏽

ੈ✩‧₊˚ bnd as dads!

ot5 bnd x reader [fluff, fem!mum!reader, dad!bnd]

warnings - post partum!reader in sungho’s, pregnant!reader in leehan’s and woonhak’s (leehan’s has pretty detailed descriptions of feeling the baby so i apologise if that’s not your style)

a/n 1 - NEVER apologise for stalking my account i LOVE it i LOVE receiving notifs🥰🥰🥰 and thank you SO much ahh thats crazy praise❤️❤️💕

a/n 2 - AHHHH okay!!! so these are my headcanons for the kids i already had - so i hope you enjoy!!!! i got SO carried away with this…

sungho🎀 [namgi = 6, changmin = 4, kyunghee = newborn]

“okay,” sungho said nervously, though the two boys holding his hands couldn’t detect the tone, “we’re gonna be quiet when we go in, okay? mummy might be in pain, and the baby will cry if you’re loud, okay boys?”

his two sons nodded diligently, holding on tightly to their dad’s hand as they walked through the hallways of the hospital. changmin was babbling a tune to himself as namgi looked around curiously. sungho took a deep breath; he’d been by your side for days on end as you were hospitalised prior to the birth of your daughter, and he didn’t leave your side for the whole 24 hours after she was born. going home to see his boys, no matter how much he loved them, was painful. now, he was plagued with even more worries of the first meeting.

“do you remember meeting changmin for the first time, namgi?” he asked, squeezing the hand of his eldest.

namgi looked up at his dad, thick glasses sat on his nose and nodded with a cheeky smile. sungho looked questioningly at his son, making him giggle.

changmin whined, “hyung! you were– you were 2! you don’t remember!”

“i do so!”

“boys, boys. quiet, remember?” sungho laughed, cursing himself internally for starting the debate as the three finally reached your room, “we’re here.”

changmin gasped, looking at his dad in excitement. sungho looked between the two boys, seeing almost perfect reflections of himself looking back before pushing the door open without letting go of either of their hands.

“okay…” he whispered, “quietly…”

the two boys giggled at the sight of you; four days being probably the longest they’d gone without you in their very short lives. you waved, beckoning them to your bed – which they happily left their dad’s side to run to.

“mummy!” changmin laughed, dashing over to you and climbing on your bed, but stopping himself before he wrapped his arms around you.

“where’s my hug?” you pouted.

“daddy said you might be hurt!” namgi said, pulling himself onto your bed and playing with the material of your clothes - pyjamas from home, finally no more of a hospital gown.

you glared at your husband, who laughed at your expression; ever the worrier. “boys, i’m okay. you can hug me.”

changmin giggled, flopping onto your body as he wrapped his small arms around you.

“but mummy…” namgi said, prompting you to look at him, “where’s the baby?”

“she’s right here!” you whispered with excitement as you pulled the incubator next to your bed closer so your sons could peak a look.

“little sister,” changmin laughed, enamoured with the bundle, though he was confused all the same.

“why don’t i hold her, and you two can come and say hello?” sungho offered, the two little boys scrambling off the bed to follow their dad as he walked round to the incubator.

he scooped the bundle of blankets out the cot with a slight gasp, sitting down on the side of your bed. he pulled the blankets off, revealing her bear onesie as he repositioned her in his arms.

you sat forward, leaning against sungho’s strong back to peak your own look at your only daughter, your head resting on his wide shoulder.

“she’s pretty,” namgi giggled, poking at her clothes gently to get a better look at her face.

“right?” sungho cooed, looking down at his daughter with a honey-filled gaze. you smiled, kissing his shoulder gently as he looked back at you. “you alright?”

you rolled your eyes with a laugh, rubbing his back gently, “you left me for less than 24 hours, sungho. i’m fine.”

he smiled, kissing your head gently before turning back to his children.

“ooh! what’s her name?!” changmin suddenly exclaimed, looking between you and sungho.

sungho turned to look at you, eyebrows raised expectantly after he left you with a final list of names just 12 hours ago.

“kyunghee,” you smiled at your boys, “park kyunghee.”

riwoo🦦🍡 [yuri = 6, wooseul = 1]

“we’re going to go to hybe for a bit instead, okay?” riwoo said, beckoning yuri to stay close to him as they walked along the streets of yongsan, “mummy will meet us there.”

yuri’s hand stayed on her little sister’s pram even as she jumped up and down, “yay! yay! yay!”

“mummy,” wooseul repeated, her pronunciation still that of a baby.

riwoo smiling and moving the hood of the pram to look down at her proudly. “that’s right, baby.”

“that’s right, baby!” yuri parroted, stroking wooseul’s cheek softly, “ah, we’re here! daddy, we’re here!”

“i know, yuri, i know,” he laughed, beckoning yuri to run into the building first, the body guards and receptionists well aware of the charming little girl; confidence personified, especially when with her introverted dad.

greeting the staff first, he followed after, pushing wooseul’s pram through the halls and elevators to koz’s floor, and finally into the designated bnd practise room.

“the lee family has arrived,” riwoo announced, yuri running into the room and hugging her uncle jaehyun’s legs tightly.

“yuri-ah! wooseul-ah!” he exclaimed, picking up the older lee child before bounding over to greet the younger.

“yes we’re very busy on our daddy-daughter date so if this choreo emergency could hurry along,” riwoo said, looking back at the other members also stood in the practise room.

they laughed, taesan stepping forward to explain. “it’s not much, hyung, but we’ve swapped some parts around and we can’t figure out what to do with the positioning anymore.”

riwoo nodded along, thinking for a moment about the choreography he’d made the day previous and how to change it to suit the new requirements of the song.

“yuri, wooseul, watch this,” jaehyun whispered, now sat on the bench at the back of the practise room with a lee girl either side of him, “your dad’s about to be really cool.”

yuri giggled at his silly voice as wooseul stared up at jaehyun with big shiny eyes. he laughed, patting her head with a coo.

“you’re so cute, wooseul-ah,” he cooed, pulling her onto his lap and hugging her close. woonhak and sungho came and joined them on the bench, pointing excitedly at riwoo as he started mapping out some of the choreo.

yuri giggled; practise rooms the most comfortable place for her at this point. since birth, she’d assisted sanghyuk to his dance practises, and immediately upon enrolment in school made sure to join any dance academy or club she could. she watched her dad with a twinkle in her eye; wooseul more bothered about jaehyun’s shiny necklace as he giggled at the younger child.

“yuri-ah,” woonhak smiled, tickling the girls waist, “how are your dance lessons going, you think you could do this?” riwoo turned round to face them, smiling at woonhak’s words.

“of course,” he bragged, “yuri’s the best in her class, right?”

yuri giggled, leaping up and running to her dad, as he held her face in his hands pulling a funny face down at her. “aren’t you, yuri? that’s what your teacher said, hmm?”

yuri smiled shyly, burying her face in her dad’s leg as the members started encouraging her.

“show us, yuri,” sungho smiled, “show us your dance!”

riwoo smiled proudly at his daughter, pulling her out his leg and leaning down to whisper in her ear, the little girl nodding excitedly in return.

“okay! a special performance from yuri, then,” he announced, walking over to turn on ‘nice guy’ as taesan and leehan went to the side of the room, riwoo moving to stand behind yuri and watch her intently.

“huh?!” woonhak exclaimed loudly.

“our song?!” jaehyun laughed, joining woonhak’s shock.

“let’s go, yuri!” leehan cheered, the little girl giggling as she started dancing to the chorus. riwoo watched her proudly, knowing her skills like the back of his hand.

after she finished the moves she knew, she ran to her dad, burying her head in his leg again as he laughed, petting her hair.

“and wooseul?” jaehyun asked, standing the girl up on his lap.

riwoo laughed, walking over and picking up his youngest daughter, twirling her round the room as though they were slow dancing, “dance genius too! see?”

jaehyun🪻🐕 [jangmi = 5, nari = 4, dongbaek = 10 months]

“remind me why we had another child?”

jaehyun laughed, pushing your messy bed hair out your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “cause they’re adorable and we love them.”

“but we just got back to normal sleep!”

you heard his laugh echo through the hallway as he collected your youngest daughter from her cot. recently moved from a moses basket beside your bed to her own room, she wasn’t taking the change well - and neither was anyone else in your house for that matter.

“mummy! daddy! dongbaek-ie’s crying again!” jangmi exclaimed, appearing in your bedroom doorway, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands sleepily.

“we know, baby,” you smiled, not bothering to move from where you lay your pillows, instead bringing back jaehyun’s side of the duvet to invite her in. “daddy’s got her, she should stop soon.”

“i do like her…” jangmi trailed off, looking at you cheekily.

you raised your eyebrows, awaiting her next words. “myung jangmi, are you telling me you don’t love your little sister?”

she giggled, laying down beside you and nuzzling into your side, “i like nari.”

laughing loudly, you started tickling her body to tease her, “what?! jangmi! how dare you!”

if the crying from the baby didn’t do it for your middle daughter, laughter certainly did. more and more like your husband each day; nari loved to be where the laughter was.

“mummy,” nari smiled as she appeared in the doorway, teddy gifted by uncle woonhak tucked under her arm.

“come on then,” you smiled, patting the bed beside jangmi as your two daughters got into the warmth beside you.

“uh?!” a loud voice came from the doorway. jaehyun had mock offence on his face, your youngest daughter laying on his shoulder with his protective hand on her back. “my bed’s been overtaken!”

“it’s our bed now!” nari laughed, sticking her tongue out at her dad.

jaehyun pretended to cry, rubbing his face in dongbaek’s tiny body. “dongbaek-ah, save me from your horrible sisters!”

the two girls beside you just laughed, squeezing up to your body so jaehyun could sit on the other side. he raised his knees up, laying the almost-1-year-old on his thighs. she wriggled sleepily as he stared down at her lovingly.

“what do you think dongbaek’s gonna be when she’s older?” he asked, turning to look at jangmi.

both his older daughters were now sat up, staring down at their little sister in wonder.

“an astronaut!” nari cried, jangmi shaking her head defiantly.

“i think an artist.”

“no i’m gonna be an artist!” nari yelled, patting her chest proudly.

“there can be more than one artist, nari!” jangmi scoffed, jaehyun laughing at the interaction, stroking jangmi’s hair to cool her down.

“what do you want to be, jangmi?”

“a singer,” she smiled, settling down beside her dad as he lifted his arm to wrap around her.

“a singer?!” he gasped, a proud smile growing on his face.

“a singer?!” you repeated, “like daddy?”

jangmi nodded, growing shy as she hid her face in her dad’s side.

“woah, you’re so cool, jangmi-ya!” you smiled, brushing her hair affectionately, “and our nari’s going to be an artist too, my girls are so talented!”

“and dongbaek!” nari smiled, peering down at her sister, “even if she’s boring.”

dongbaek was finally starting to settle again, the sight of her dad putting her into comfortable sleep. jaehyun sighed in relief, placing her back on his shoulder.

“right,” he said, voice quiet, “back to bed.”

jangmi and nari whined, protests escaping their mouths immediately. jaehyun silently started signalling wildly to the sleeping baby on his shoulder as his girls started to giggle.

“bed!” he said again, both of them piling out the room as he turned to look at you, rolling his eyes.

you just laughed, “that’s all you.”

taesan🎸🐈‍⬛ [baekho = 8, seulgi = 4, deoksu = 1]

“baekho,” taesan sighed, “you can’t take a bat to school.”

baekho whined, looking to you after his dad seemingly crushed his dreams. you laughed, shaking your head, “he’s right, bud, i’m sorry. you can’t take a bat to school, no matter how much you like baseball.”

the little boy stormed out the room, taesan looking at you and shaking his head with a sigh, “everyday i feel more of a reason to call my mum and apologise for my behaviour as a child.”

you laughed, lifting deoksu out of his high chair and beginning to clean his mouth with a wet wipe, “hmm. and somehow i still think you were worse.”

taesan chuckled, busying himself with cleaning up all the mess from breakfast as baekho came back in the room, full baseball uniform adorning his body instead of the clothes his dad had picked out for him earlier this morning.

“you know what? yeah,” taesan shrugged, “that’s a good halfway point.”

his eldest son sat on the sofa, a serious pout on his face as he crossed his arms. you sat beside him, after placing your youngest on the floor, stroking his cheek softly.

“baekho-ya,” you spoke, “you know if it was up to us, we’d let you take your bat in, right? but both you and us will get in trouble if we let you take it, okay? we’re not trying to ruin your fun, i promise.”

taesan smiled, watching you talk to your son with softness. the beatles continued to play out from the speaker in the kitchen, deoksu toddling over to his dad once he noticed.

“daddy,” he said, taesan bending down to look at his young son with eyebrows raised, “beat-les song right now.”

“yeah!” taesan smiled, kissing his forehead as his heart felt filled to bursting with joy, “do you like it?”

deoksu nodded, giggling as he began dancing (or bobbing up and down). taesan stood up, watching him with a loving gaze. suddenly, he was ripped from the moment suddenly as he glanced at the time.

“god. baekho! seulgi! it’s time to leave!” he yelled, looking at you in confusion, “where’s seulgi?”

“she wanted to pick out her outfit herself this morning,” you shrugged, “and i’m not going to be the one stopping her.”

taesan rolled his eyes, why did his children have to be such mirrors of him?

“seulgi-ya!” he yelled, watching the bottom of the stairs for his daughter to appear. “we’re going to be late!”

“i’ll get the baekho in the car,” you murmured to your husband, kissing his cheek as you placed your dirty coffee cup on the side of the sink. you picked deoksu up, beckoning your eldest son to follow you out. “come on you, shoes and coat.”

taesan sighed as he watched the three of you leave, moving to go up to seulgi’s bedroom to check what she was doing – before he could even reach the bottom of the stairs, however, there she was. her fanciest off-white dress on her body with a soft red cape-style coat over the top. her hair was done in plaits - presumably your only contribution to her outfit, but she’d added a dress-up tiara on her head. he broke out in a smile, heart swelling at the beauty of his only daughter.

“well hello princess,” he chuckled, “going to kindergarten like that today?”

she nodded definitely, smiling up at her dad, “don’t i look pretty?”

he beamed, crouching down and opening his arms for a hug (which she quickly accepted), “you’re the prettiest, darling. put on your shoes quickly, though, we need to leave.”

“yes, daddy!”

he smiled, watching her lovingly as she slipped bright yellow crocs on her feet. he laughed at the new addition to the outfit, shaking his head.

“oh, princess seulgi!” you exclaimed, appearing in the doorway of the house again as your daughter walked out to the car, an air of determination about her, “have a good day at school!”

she giggled, waving goodbye to you and her little brother, climbing up into the car. you looked to taesan who seemed to be in a daze.

“time, taesan,” you said, walking over, deoksu still sat on your hip as you placed your hand on your husband’s face, “i know you’re head over heels for your daughter but you’re gonna be late.”

he snapped back to reality, winking at you as he rushed to the door, “only head over heels for you, my darling. have a good day!”

leehan🪸🐠 [sua = 6, haesu = fetus (6 months)]

“what’s this?”

“what do you mean what’s this?” leehan laughed, his daughter’s small finger trailing over his lips as she looked up at his face from where she lay on his lap, “they’re my lips!”

sua giggled, trailing her finger to poke her dad’s eye, “what’s this?!”

leehan chuckled, taking ahold of her hand and pretending to eat it, sua laughing loudly as his mouth tickled her skin.

“what are you doing?” you giggled, walking into the living room to see your husband and your daughter in their own world as they stared at each other.

“sua’s learning what a face is, apparently,” leehan laughed, tickling his daughter’s stomach as she squirmed on his lap.

“mummy,” sua said suddenly, peering at you. you tilted your head to see her straight on.

“yes, sua baby?”

“can the baby hear us?” she asked, playing with her dad’s hands absentmindedly.

“yes!” you smiled, taking a careful seat on the sofa next to the two, a hand atop your rounded stomach, “why? you want to talk to him?”

sua nodded, suddenly shy as she sat up.

“say whatever!” leehan encouraged, brushing her long brown hair out her face, “i talk to him every night.”

“really?” she giggled.

leehan nodded, a serious expression on his face, “of course! and i spoke to you when you were in mummy’s belly. do you remember?”

sua’s eyes sparkled, exactly the same as her dad’s as they looked at each other - as though trying to gage the other’s reaction. “of course,” she giggled, leehan gasping over dramatically in response.

“you do?!”

she nodded, before turning back to the task in hand as she looked at your stomach. she twisted her head to the side in confusion.

“he’s really in there?” she chuckled, looking up at you.

you smiled, wiping some of whatever she had for breakfast off the side of her mouth as you nodded. you looked down to your stomach, observing for a moment before feeling around. taking sua’s hand, you placed it on the top where your son’s feet were pressing into your skin.

“feel him? right there,” you said, sua’s eyes widening as she sat up suddenly, “he’s kicking me.”

“hey! don’t kick mummy!” sua laughed, placing both her hands on your stomach. she moved closer to the skin, speaking loudly. “hello in there. helllooooo—”

“hello kim sua,” leehan said, putting on a funny voice.

sua turned to glare at her dad, as he just laughed. “dad. i’m 6 now, you can’t trick me.”

“ah, okay, i’m sorry,” he smiled, “go on.”

the little girl turned back to you and the baby, resuming her original position.

“i’m kim sua, can you hear me?” she spoke, watching the surface as though a reply would come, “i’m your sister. and you have to be nice to me because i’m older, okay?”

leehan laughed, burying his face in your shoulder, “where did she get that from?”

you laughed with him, shaking your head, “she’s not allowed to hang out with han seulgi anymore.”

“right?” he said, smiling proudly down at his daughter, “let’s make her hang out with lee yuri. she loves her sister.”

“that’s because she has a little sister, not a little brother,” you said, peering at leehan as he nodded in thought. the two of you were still watching your little girl intently, though she wasn’t listening to a word you were saying; preoccupied with her conversation to her little brother. “i think she’s going to be a good sister though. look at her.”

leehan smiled, nodding, “she loves him already.”

you nodded, leaning your head atop leehan’s as sua suddenly turned to look at you two. you raised your eyebrows in anticipation.

“daddy,” she started, “…can you do the voice again?…”

leehan chuckled, acting confused at the very request. you smiled at him, stroking your daughter’s hair. “speak to your brother again, sua. try one more.”

“can you hear me, baby?” she asked, “answer me!”

“yes hello kim sua,” leehan said in a funny voice, your daughter bursting out in giggles, “i’m your little brother.”

ot6 / woonhak🧸 (this is a bit different cause i felt weird writing him as a dad - takes place FAR in the future!)

“i think this may be the first time in my life i’ve seen him cook,” sungho gasped, watching woonhak carry out the main dish and place it in the middle of the table.

woonhak smiled sarcastically, jaehyun patting him on the back reassuringly.

“it’s okay, baby,” jaehyun cooed, “you’re proving yourself now!”

“ah stop calling me baby, seriously,” woonhak whined, taking his seat next to you at the dinner table. all of the members and their partners were there, woonhak’s heart beating with what could only be described as nerves as you took his hand. “you all have your own children, why am i still the baby?!”

leehan smiled affectionately opposite him, “no matter how old you are, you’re still our baby.”

“yeah!” taesan cheered, raising his glass, “to our baby!”

“to our baby!”

woonhak chuckled off the comment, looking to you nervously as he played with your fingers.

“seriously, though,” sungho spoke, his glass still raised, motioning towards you and woonhak, “thank you for having us, mr. and mrs. kim.”

you smiled, cheersing him back with your own glass (juice, not wine like the others had).

“well actually,” woonhak started, clearing his throat suddenly as looked between his members, “i– we did have something to toast to tonight. a– a reason to force you all to get babysitters and invite you all here.”

“not that we’re not thankful for it,” riwoo laughed, the others joining, but stopping soon after when they saw their maknae’s serious face.

he smiled at his older brothers, the ones who had practically raised him since youth. you squeezed his hand as he spared a glance back at you before looking to his brothers again. the smile on his face was infectious, his heart now pounding with excitement as he grasps the news he’s about to announce.

“y/n’s pregnant,” he beams, the silence thick afterwards as he looks between them, “we’re having a baby!”

jaehyun’s the first to break, a loud cheer escaping his mouth as he bounds out of his seat, pulling woonhak into a hug. the rest of the boys soon follow; some energetic, some seemingly in a daze.

jaehyun turns to you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“seriously,” he smiled, tears welling up in his eyes, “congratulations.”

“why are you crying?!” you exclaimed, slapping his arm as the rest of the members suddenly latched on to their leader’s tears too, teasing him beyond belief.

“i’m just so proud of him,” jaehyun sniffled, pulling woonhak into another hug as the younger boy whined loudly.

“get off me! i’m a dad now,” he teased, the other boys all looking on lovingly, leehan’s hand stroking woonhak’s hair, while a couple of the others were supporting jaehyun.

“wow,” sungho said, as everyone started taking their seats again.

“does this mean we’re old now?” riwoo laughed in disbelief, sharing sungho’s sentiment.

“no!” woonhak cheered, nothing could offset his mood with news this good.

sungho sighed, “speak for yourself. namgi’s already 12.”

190 notes · View notes

tinydefector · 3 months ago

Text

Marine centre 11- merformers AU

Warnings: post smut, fighting

Word count:1.8k

Fic masterlist

_____________________

It's the sound of birds and the mosquitoes that wake them in the morning. The overly loud buzzing against their face as they unconsciously slap at the bug. Groggy as they move, wincing slightly when they twist their hips. A low rumbled chirp leaves right below them, they can feel it against their ear. A large webbed hand and arm is wrapped around their middle. Keeping them held snugly against the oceanides body.

Bluestreak stirs slowly as the morning calls, aware but content to hold his little human nestled close a while longer. Their stirring brings a soft chirr, concern and care woven through it. He's tender with his touches, gently, making sure they are alright, tracing delicate patterns.

Eyes shift to take in the waking of the small grotto. Joy flickering through them at the memories of the night wrapped around his soft one. Never had he dared dream a moment like this, yet here they were, slotted against his body cuddling against him as they tried to shoo away bugs.

Gently nuzzling their soft flesh, a longing croon escapes him. As he pulls them closer. They wiggle and squirm around as they turn over. Bleary eyes meet Bluestreak's as they yawn and stretch. Squealing softly. Bluestreak chirps eagerly at their stirring, nuzzling their face between soft croons.

"Good morning soft one, did you rest well, you don't hurt do you?" His words are quick and it takes him a moment to remember they don't understand. His fins flutter as a yelp leaves him as they slowly pull themself off his spike. Once the shock settles he nuzzles sweet and slow, peppering little lip touches around their skin.

They wiggle away, pushing against him until they are Lying beside Bluesteak on the grassy outcrop. One hand rested over their face while the other continued smacking at mosquitoes.

The reality of the situation finally starts to set in. They had just had intercourse with an Oceanide. "Fuck..." they mumbles before sitting up, eyes locking with Angelfish. The oceanides fins droop slightly as they pulled away. He looks at them with big sad eyes, little chuffs coming from him as he tries to move closer. A webbed hand reaches down to lightly caress their leg, his touch feather-light as he shifts closer, his eyes scanning their body making sure there are no injuries.

They grab their clothes and slowly redress themself despite how uncomfortable it is. The clothing is still rather damp from when Angelfish had pulled them into the water. "Can we go back to the cave, I need to go clean up" they state softly to the mer, still avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment. Angelfish nods, gently scoops them up, cradling their frame close as he swims with them. His movements are slow and careful, mindful of their comfort.

They don't fight as he pulls them back into the water, resting their head on his chest as he continues to glide through the water on his back.

The swim back to the beach is rather peaceful, Angelfish singing a few choice little melodies as he continues to make sure they are alright. The other Oceanides' heads begin to pop out of the water, watching as Angelfish swims with them. A deathly silence seems to form over the pods none of them calling out or singing, it makes a shiver run down their spin. Babybee was the one to swim up. "Hi baby" they call out softly to the pup. He Coos softly only to scrunch his nose up.

"Ew, ew! Bubba stinky, gross Bluey" bumblebee huffs before swimming away from his human carrier who smells like Bluestreak instead of Optimus. Bluestreak's fins droop as the other Oceanides take notice, a heavy silence settling over the pod. He instinctively draws the human closer, protective and wary. "Oh, little one, I'm sorry..." Bluestreak murmurs, his guilt and worry begin to dig a pit in his stomach.

helps them out of the water and onto the dry ledge where they sit. "Take your time. I'll wait here, I don't want you hurting yourself." He settles beside them, ready to provide any assistance they may need. Bluestreak watches anxiously, hoping the pup would come back over, But the little one's reaction is all too telling, he was displeased by the unfamiliar scent.

Prowl swims up to Bluestreak, his fins flared wide in anger. "What have you done, you fool? I told you to stay away from them!" Bluestreak shrinks back. "Sire, I...I did not mean to disobey. The human accepted me, and I-”

"Accepted you?" Prowl hisses, cutting him off. The other Oceanides gather around, their trills and clicks growing louder as tension mounts. Bumblebee cowers behind a rock, confused and scared by the confrontation.

"Optimus has shown the Carer great kindness. How dare you take what is rightfully his?" Prowl jabs a clawed finger at Bluestreak, his eyes blazing with fury. Bluestreak tries to keep his voice level, desperation seeping through. "Sire, Optimus has been avoiding them!”

Prowl's lip peels back in a snarl. " The soft skin is Optimus' mate by our laws, they are being an active Carrier to his Pup!" Bluestreak hunches defensively, his spark racing. He hadn't expected things to escalate to this.

Prowl goes to snarl at the human for accepting Bluestreak but Megatron swims up, his massive frame blocking the human from Prowl's view. He lets out a thunderous snarl, fins flared wide in challenge.

"Stand down, Or ill make you." Megatron growls, large frame in front of the caretaker. Prowl recoils, but does not back down. "This has nothing to do with you, Megatron. Bluestreak has gone against my word!"

Optimus surges forward, calling out in a deep, authoritative tone. "Enough! This fighting serves no purpose." He fixes Prowl with a stern gaze. Bumblebee swims up to Optimus, clinging to his Sire. "Bubba stinky! Smells like Bluey." The little one scrunches his nose in displeasure.

Prowl's growl nearly echoes off the roof of the cave as he turns toward Optimus "But Optimus, our ways-" "Will adapt," Optimus interrupts. Megatron chuffs pulling himself up onto the cave floor, hands moving to check over the human.

The pod falls silent, over the conflict. Bumblebee continues to cling to Optimus, his chirps laced with confusion and unease.

They watch in fear as snarls and hisses are traded between the oceanides. Shaking slightly as The Meg holds them against his powerful frame in protection. Bumblebee swims towards them pushing himself up onto the floor as he crawls toward them, curling up as he begins to cry softly from the fighting as he clings to them.

"STOP THAT IS ENOUGH!" They shout as the cuddle bumblebee to their chest. Cooing softly at the pup. They stare Prowl down and let out their own snarl at him. Before looking at the other mers floating about who had been warbling over the fight. They look back down at bumblebee "shhh baby it's alright" Angelfish watches in awe. He trills softly.

Big blue approaches them, his movements slow and non-threatening. He warbles gently, his tone soothing as he gestures to the distressed Bumblebee. The pup doesn't let go but lets out a collection of unhappy noises. The Meg rumbles low, He eyes the others warily, fins flared in warning, but refrains from further aggression for now.

They scot themself towards the water with Babybee sliding into the water and swimming gently towards Dancer with a little motion that they wanted to leave, not wanting to deal with the snapping and snarling of the oceanides. She trills a soft greeting. As they swim, she casts a wary glance back at the other Oceanides.

Reaching a quieter, more secluded area of the beach, she slows her pace, allowing them to catch their breath. Babybee chirps nervously, his small form trembling against their chest. Dancer warbles softly, They chuckle softly as her webbed hands trace over their face, looking them over like a worried mother. "I'm alright Dancer, not dealing with them snarling and snapping at each other like jealous sharks" they hum.

She nods, her shoulders sagging with relief. "Glad you're safe, little one. Squabbling mechs can be such a handful." She gives a playful eye roll, earning a chirp of agreement from Bumblebee.

The youngling darts around, his earlier distress fading as he senses the calmer atmosphere. "Bubba safe! No more fighting," he chirps happily, nuzzling against the soft one's side.

She reaches out to gently ruffle Bumblebee's fins, earning a delighted squeal. "Come, let's get you both back to shore. I think we could all use a break from the drama for now."

Guiding the human and Bumblebee along, Windblade keeps a watchful eye, ready to intervene if any others try to follow. Her priority is ensuring their safety and comfort - the rest can be dealt with later, when tempers have cooled. "Just lean on me. I've got you," she murmurs, As they reach the sand they sit in the shallows, she continued to fuss over the human and keep a watchful eye on the pup who had made himself comfortable in their lap.

Quin spots the trio on the beach and her face lights up in a warm smile. "Well, look who it is! Fancy meeting you all out here." She approaches them leisurely, her gaze sweeping over the scene with an observant eye. "Seems like you've got babybee and babysitter today?" Quin teased towards them.

“Yea, also stay away from the cave think we might have a fight over there, well see how badly who comes out later” they call back, hoping that their words didn't give away anything, they can feel the anxiety crawling on their skin.

Dancer trills a greeting, her fins flicking in a friendly gesture. "Everything alright here?" Quin asks, her voice laced with gentle concern as she takes in her friend's expression. "You look like you've been tossed around."

"Yea I'm all good, just watch out the bulls and others are getting riled up." They reply. "But we are just enjoying ourselves at the moment, think Dancer here is trying to swindle some squid and clams out of me when feeding time comes around " they joke to Quin, hoping that it would make the night before disappear if they pretended it never happened.

Quin chuckles, amused by the human's playful jab at Windblade. "Ah, so Dancer here is trying to work the angles, hmm? Can't say I blame her. Well i'll catch you later, you still coming out to check nets, it's getting close to migration and i don't want to have any whales, sharks or Oceanides getting stuck in them"

“Yea I'll be there, Will probably get out of the water soon and have a shower, can feel the salt sticking to my skin and hair” they shiver, it wasn't they only thing sticking to their skin at that moment.

________________

Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)

Taglist

@angelxcvxc

@wosemoose1

@savvy-the-mad-scientist

@saturnhas82moons

@horizonartist980

@murkyponds

@buddee

@bubblyjoonjoon

@chaihena

@pyreemo

@lovenotcomputed

@mskenway97

@delectableworm

@cheesecaketyrant

@ladyofnegativity

@desertrosesmetaldune

@stellasfallow

@coffee-or-hot-cocoa

@shinseiokami

@tea-loving-frog

@aquaioart

@daniel-meyer-03

@pupap123

@dannyaleksis

@averysillylittlefellow

@rosielecktor

@shurushurubanban

@strawberrydutchling

@azuragalaxya

@dumpster-fae

@simp-sentral

@smallestapplin

@starscreamloverfr

@doodle-dongs

@natchayaphorn

@askcookieanon

@aerisvirtue

@horizonartist980

@soulless-nocturnal-raccoon

@gracebear

@lilliaslonghair

@rabies10

@alextheknight707

@chershire23

@goretechnician

@witchygod

@therealholyloaf

#transformers #transformers idw #mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers x human #mermaid au #merformers #mermaid transformers #transformers lost light

185 notes · View notes

angie-likes-to-art · 6 months ago

Text

Fic Recs (Stranger Things Edition VI)

All fics are fem!reader

Marvel One Two Three Harry Potter One Two Three Stranger Things One Two Three Four Five Specific Characters Tangerine Masterlist

Bad For Business (Series, Completed) by @upsidedownwithsteve (18+ Only)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “An enemies to lovers AU. Join the team at the Upside Down Arcade, where the machines eat your quarters and the staff have some personal issues.”

hey. (Series, Completed) by @stevesharrlngtons

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “he was such a staple piece in your life, that as a child and young teen, you never saw your life without him. late night promises and pinky swears were made in blanket forts that you two would be friends until the day the sun burned out in the sky. it was just a given that’d he be there, that you never worried about the two of you drifting apart or being separated. he promised he’d always be there, and you had believed him. you now corrected yourself, foolishly believed him.”

Disappointed Revalations by @ahsokaismyqueen

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader Summary: “ After working on a school project together, you had actually started to believe that there was more to Steve Harrington than meets the eye. All of that changes after an interaction with Jonathan Byers.”

Indifferent by @stevesherdaddynowlover (18+ Only)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “you and steve are coworkers and while you try (and fail) to act like he doesn’t exist, he’s a little obsessed with you and would do anything to have your attention ”

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACCIÓN by @eddiesghxst (18+ Only)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Pornstar!Reader Summary: “eddie is short on rent this month and needs quick cash, luckily he stumbles upon an ad for casting in an adult film and finds himself shooting a porno with you”

Noisy Neighbors by @eddiesxangel (18+ Only)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader’s Girlfriend x Reader Summary: “Eddie has no idea what he’s getting into with the two new girls next door.”

Absolutly Smitten by @starryeyedstories

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “ There’s a new crew member at Scoops Ahoy and Steve might have a crush.”

the swindling of steve harrington’s heart by @stevebabey

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “you write for the advice column in the hawkins post, under the pen name gabby. you get a letter asking for advice about a first date and there’s no way it’s the same guy you’ve just landed a first date with, right? steve harrington doesn’t need help with his dates… right?”

That Guy by @appocalipse

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “After he's been to yet another failed date with yet another random pretty girl, Steve Harrington, your best friend, stops by at the diner your family owns for a late-night chat, same as he'd done a thousand times before. Steve is totally unaware of how much he's hurting you with his endless parade of dates, because after all — the two of you are only friends and nothing more, right? It's not like you have any secret feelings for him…”

Eyes Half Shut by @crappymixtape

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “hawkins high alumni always run the end of year carnival to help raise funds for the school and steve is always in charge of the alumni basketball game, but this year they’re trying out a kissing booth and who better to headline than steve harrington?”

179 notes · View notes

hxlda-hxlda · 1 year ago

Text

“Of course not, Sirius, we’ve been married for years.”

famous interview au oneshot thingy inspired by @sebbianas post which you can find here!!!! read the idea and could NOT get it out of my head until she was sitting in a google doc, and now here. enjoy:

“Now, since you came out in that viral Instagram post…”

Sirius sighs, doing nothing to hide his exhaustion for what he knows is to come.

The original intention behind the whole fucking thing was to stop the constant questions. The:

‘Sirius, you wore a skirt to that event so who are you dating because, clearly, the two have to be correlated?’, ‘Sirius, you’ve always been a bit different’, ‘Sirius!’, Sirius–’, ‘Sirius…’

He’d hoped—stupidly, naively—that to get rid of the ambiguity would get rid of the incessant wondering. Sure, he fucked men, yes, he wore eyeliner and skirts, no the two weren’t really related, now can we please move the fuck on?

No. No, we apparently cannot move the fuck on. The questions and the speculation and, and, and; it’s all still fucking there.

“Sirius, there’s been talk of a relationship with bass player Remus Lupin for a while now. New rumours are sparking since the two of you have been spotted together a lot lately.”

They’re both thinking of those pap pictures leaving the bar last month.

“We were wondering if you could give us the inside scoop?” Greg is staring at him like he’s asking something new, like Sirius is actually very eager to share with the world the complexities of his relationships, as if it has anything to do with his modelling. It doesn’t, if you were wondering. Fucking men has nothing to do with a runway, either, actually. “Really, what is going on between the two of you?”

Sirius has been given press training many, many times, to field these kinds of questions. His agent, Gideon, had him memorise all the correct responses back to front, upside down. Curveball questions, sneaky implications, you name it; Sirius knows how he should respond to this. Hell, it’s on a fucking flash card.

His gut response, the thing Sirius is suddenly incredibly eager to do, is definitely not on a flash card.

However. But, but, and hear him out:

By fucking god, he was bored.

Greg had asked the same ten questions every other interviewer of the last year had asked with the same glint in his eyes as every other interviewer of the last year. Fame was great, but nobody told him it would be this goddamn boring. Repetitive. So many 'yes's and 'no's and 'wouldn't you like to know's.

So, Sirius proceeds, entirely disobeying those oh-so-holy flash cards.

“It would be an honour to give you the scoop, Greg, my dear,” Sirius says with a grin, shoving his hand into his back pocket.

The interviewer’s eyes light up over his mic.

“So-” When Sirius pulls out his phone, the glint is dimmed by confusion. “What-”

“Why don’t we ask him right now?”

There were strict rules about this, phones when live, phones during interviews, etcetera, etcetera, blah, blah. Sirius knew them all as well (see: a different set of flash cards). Sorry Gideon, Sirius thinks as he goes straight to his Favourites. He isn’t sorry.

“Ask… who?”

Sirius just winks. The call is already on its second ring.

On the fourth, Sirius is almost worried Remus won’t actually pick up, but not really. Remus always picks up.

Well, he always picks up when Sirius rings. Once, Marlene had called fifteen times in five minutes before Remus had responded two hours later with a ‘what?’ text. The man stuck true to his self-proclaimed Luddism, after all.

On the fifth ring Greg is looking sceptical. Sirius knows Remus is also working right now. He’d mentioned a meeting with some producer. He remains confident nonethless.

On the sixth ring, the call clicks as it is answered. A beat. And then:

“What?”

Remus sounds entirely unenthused to be answering a call at this moment, voice sullen. Sirius grins anyway, thrilled he’s picked up at all. As if he wouldn’t. As if he doesn’t always.

“And hello to you, too.”

“Aren’t you meant to be on that radio thing right now?”

“We are, in fact, live at this very moment.” Sirius glances back to Greg who, despite being the host, has immediately lost all of his perceived-control. He’s watching Sirius blankly, only vaguely piecing together the fact that it is famed, award winning, world’s greatest (not that Sirius is at all biassed) bass player Remus Lupin’s voice coming through Sirius’ phone. Sirius smirks amusedly at Greg before turning back to the conversation at hand. One that finally fucking matters. “Good to know you’re listening in and supporting me, as always.”

“Believe it or not, I have better things to do right now.”

“You wound me, Moons.”

That nickname did wonders on Twitter when it first became known, Sirius having slipped and referred to Remus as Moony in some other interview some other time. There's a ship name now. There are fanfictions. Sirius reads them aloud as dramatically as he can muster (which is, believe him, very) at the most inopportune times. Usually when Remus is busy, just to watch that cute little frown line in his forehead appear.

“Is there a point to you interrupting my work, and also national radio, with this call?”

“What if I just wanted to speak to you?”

“I will hang up right now.”

A lie. He never hangs up first.

Sirius sighs again, another exhausted thing. “They want to know if we’re dating.”

“Who?”

“They. Everyone. The world. Greg.”

Sirius shoots the host another look, whose look of momentary shock has dissolved into interest. Hunger. This is the scoop, apparently. Like the both of them, Sirius and Remus, haven’t already been asked this question to death.

“Greg?”

“Y’know, the guy with the grating voice on the station that plays the same five pop songs on repeat.” Gideon is going to kill him for that one. Sirius sends another silent apology he does not mean.

“Ah, Greg.”

Greg is frowning now. Sirius grins again.

“So? C’mon Moons, tell us. They’re all waiting eagerly. They want to know,” he repeats.

“They always want to know,” Remus replies bluntly.

“They’re in an extra persistent mood today.”

When Sirius cuts his third look at Greg, he has the audacity to look entirely unapologetic, as if Sirius’ public life as a model translates to that of his private life. As if it makes total sense to badger him for months—no, scratch that, years—on who Sirius is and isn’t fucking, and whether or not, god forbid, they aren’t a female.

“You can’t tell them yourself?” Remus’ voice distracts him from his angry spiral of thoughts.

He could, of course. He has, a million fucking times, given an answer. Sirius even has his flash cards, for fuck’s sake. But this is much more fun.

“Just answer the damn question, Lupin.”

“You didn’t ask a question, Black.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, incredibly aware this is dragging through the interview’s very minimal time slot. Good.

“Are we dating, Remus?” he asks seriously (ha).

A moment of silence. Sirius holds the phone closer to the mic, closer to his own ear. He can’t help himself, he wants to know how Moony will handle this as well. Then:

“Of course not, Sirius, we’ve been married for years.”

Greg’s eyes widen to saucers. Sirius keeps his face neutral, an impressive feat that would rival even Regulus’ own acting skills, if he says so himself, and Reg won a Tony last year.

“Ah, how could I forget?” Sirius says instead of breaking into the laughter that he so desperately wants to roll into a heap with. “My husband.”

“Truly, how could you? Should we consider divorce now?” Remus replies, voice as indistinguishably sullen as always. Sirius knows he’s smiling with his eyes, he can hear it.

“Now that would make the papers.”

“Certainly… Is that all?”

“Yes, yes, go do your music-y things now.”

Sirius can hear the eye roll as well. “Fine.”

Sirius hangs up. He tucks the phone back into his pocket, taking his time. Then, then, he looks back up at Greg. The interviewer is a picture of shock, maybe a touch of confusion; wide eyes, jaw loose with a mouth that hangs, equally wide.

“Well, Greg, how was that for a scoop?” Sirius raises a single, manicured eyebrow.

“Wa– Was he being serious?” the man all but splutters.

“What? No, of course not, I’m Sirius, silly.”

“That’s not–”

“Greg! I’m offended! Do you forget the names of all your guests? We’ve been talking for almost an hour now!”

The longest fucking hour of Sirius’ life, mind you. But the rest of it goes by much faster and much more pleasantly, as Greg struggles to move on from that little show. It makes the dressing down from Gid all the more worth it.

And by the time Sirius manages to check his phone again, emerging from hell (or Studio C, call it what you want) hours later, #wolfstar is already trending on Twitter. He screenshots it, sends it to Remus.

pads !!!!!!!!!

look what uve done u menace

MOONY ❤️‍🔥😍🌕

Fake news. Lily and I are planning to run away together, actually.

Sirius huffs a laugh. Sure, fake news.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #fanfiction #writing #oneshot #wolfstar fanfiction #famous au #writing tag #fic: your ‘lectric eye on me

493 notes · View notes

strawberries-and-summer-days · 9 months ago

Note

hii could you do a fake dating trope with Percy?

FAKE DATING PERCY JACKSON HC'S ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

pairing: percy jackson x unclaimed!fem!reader

warnings: swearing, like one mention of the giggidy + really shitty family members making comments abt weight.

a/n: it actually took me a good three seconds to decide to write this. i love love LOVE the fake dating trope omg. so yes please! im also going on a break tonight and i wanted to post something before i left hence why this is hc and not a fic <33

you had approached percy with the deal of fake dating first

he was convinced you were playing a joke on him and had declined but when you had actually given him a list of pros and cons he was swayed

he agrees really quickly - a little too quickly

when the camp had found out you were dating nobody was shocked cause they'd all been shipping you for years

percy would show up at your cabin every morning to walk you to breakfast no matter what

you would hang out more and more eventually just spending all your free time together

convincing the camp you were dating insisted of hands in back pockets of jeans, random hugs (which you've become quite a fan of), little notes left in each others cabins, and cheek kisses.

you had a "date day" every saturday

that is percy's favourite day of the week.

a whole day hanging out with you? hell yeah

when percy invited you home for the holiday's you agreed but warned him he might have to meet your own family

he agreed and assured you its fine

sally loves you.

like she thinks of you as her daughter and welcomes you with warm hugs and food

when your family demands asks to meet percy you both dress nicely and you brace yourself for an awful night

your family is appalling to you but adoring to percy

they make comments all night "oh, so are you two fucking or what?"

"nope just dating," percy reassures wrapping an arm around you.

he snaps when one of your aunts make a comment about you eating.

"are you sure you wanna eat that y/n? you'll get even more fat."

"shut the fuck up! she has literally eaten nothing all day one fucking cracker isn't going to change that."

he practically drags you out of the house flipping off your family members when the follow you both out.

tears sting at your eyes when you realise how much that meant to you

to cheer you up percy takes you for ice-cream (and you both get double scoops thank you very much) and back home to sally

sally who was warned by percy when you left your house that y/n was in need of some cheering up blue cookies style

you curl up on the couch together and spend the night watching trashy movies and gossiping like teenage girls with sally

percy works up the courage to kiss you the day before you go back to camp on one of your scheduled "date days"

you instantly kiss him back

sally was one hundred percent being told about this from both of you

when you do arrive back percy turns to you and asks why you needed to start fake dating before the holidays

you smile and reveal that you actually didn't need to and you had written it down on your pros and cons list but percy had just started acting boyfriendy

later on that day you realise that somewhere along the way you and percy stopped 'fake dating' and just started acting like yourselves with each other

coincidentally technically 'dating' before you even knew it

a/n pt2: i was so sleep deprived when writing this, so sorry if its crap. i'll be reappearing in a few days after my break (hopefully with two new fics: midnight troubles pt3 and the percy x popstar au)

#percy x you #percy x reader #percy jackson #percy x y/n #percy jackson fic #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fanfic #percy pjo #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #fanfic #fanfiction #pjo fanfic #emma writes ₊˚⊹⋆

288 notes · View notes

steddiemicrofic · 2 months ago

Text

Steddie Microfic November 17th-30th Masterlist

This Magic Moment by @fkinkindagauche | Rated G | no cw

summer job by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | no cw | tags: different first meeting, pre-relationship, lifeguard Steve Harrington, lifeguard Eddie Munson, getting together implied

guard your heart by @katyawriteswhump | Rated G | cw: drug use | tags: idiots to lovers, no upside down au

yes, sir by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated E | cw: alcohol, mildly dubious consent in that eddie is drunk but it's definitely fine | tags: established relationship, rock star Eddie, bodyguard Steve, modern au, dom Steve, sub Eddie, mentions of edging, hint of a handjob

Night Watch by @adverbally | Rated T | no cw | tags: Wayne POV, post-S4 where Eddie doesn’t die, pre-Steddie relationship, hospital, recovery, allusions to post-traumatic nightmares

Love Him Loudly by @novacorpsrecruit | Rated G | no cw

Luck Guardian by @scoops-aboy86 | Rated M | cw: weight gain, belly kink | tags: chubby steve harrington, feeder eddie munson, post-canon by way of eddie munson lives, creative use of a D20

I've got you, sweetheart by @hawkinsbnbg | Rated G | no cw | tags: omegaverse, stranger to lovers, scent mates, omega steve, alpha eddie

you could be bad, but i wanna find out by @thefreakandthehair | Rated M | no cw | tags: goalie!Steve Harrington, fan!Eddie Munson, alternate universe- no upside down, different first meeting, meet ugly (but it's still cute), bars, alcohol mention, description of sexual activity, humor, big mouth!Eddie Munson, long-suffering besties Gareth and Jeff

this man is more to me than you can dream by @onirislanding | Rated T | cw: mentions of violence and death, smoking

Vocation by @berenwrites | Rated G | no cw | tags: Fluff, Upside Down aftermath, future, corroded coffin, famous Eddie

of ogres and omegas by @katyawriteswhump | Rated E | cw: omegaverse, fingering, slick, sexual content, slightly under negotiated but they're totally into it | tags: fairytale omegaverse, alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington, happy ever after

untitled by @hotluncheddie | Rated E | no cw | tags: chubby Steve Harrington, dom/sub dynamic, belly kink, belly button play

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficnovember #stranger things #masterlist #steddie events

59 notes · View notes

redladydeath · 2 months ago

Text

Monthly Proto Vox AU update

For anyone who doesn't know, ever since Prototype Vox was discovered, I've been gradually putting together a backstory for Vox centered around the idea that that's how he originally spawned in Hell. It's gotten to be over 10K words long. Just wanted to make a new masterpost since I've added onto the older one 32 times.

Also, I don't think I ever posted about this, but I put this on Ao3 a few weeks ago.

Alastor goes to speak with another overlord, trying to decide whether or not he should kill them. While there, he notices that said overlord has the most fascinating little toy/pet/jester. Such novel technology… he thinks he’ll take it, whether the overlord wants him to or not!

Alastor keeps Vox around because he’s cute and entertaining. As time passes, a legitimate friendship starts to form as Alastor realizes that Vox is far more than meets the eye— tricksy, devious, and intelligent. He learns that before he arrived in Hell, Vox was a handsome, well-respected adult man, and he isn’t too keen on constantly being mistaken for a child and treated like a joke by other sinners. A pity he has to live like that… but it’s not like there’s anything to be done for it! And Alastor must say, he’s fond of his little picture box the way he is.

With Alastor’s guidance, Vox slowly accumulates knowledge and resources and discovers that he can modify his body. He jumps on the opportunity at once— he doesn’t want to live like this anymore, and he’ll do anything to be respected (or at least taken seriously) by other people again. Alastor disapproves but holds his tongue.

Time passes, and Vox changes more and more things about himself until he’s almost unrecognizable. He and Alastor get into arguments about it. It’s galling to Vox that Alastor keeps insisting he was better off in a form he hated. Mix all this with the modernity and “morality”/standards stuff, and you eventually get Vox and Alastor falling out.

Years later, Vox hates that he was ever that weak and can’t stand being reminded of Alastor, their old relationship, or his early life in Hell. He works hard to destroy/bury any traces of who he used to be, but Alastor is a walking, eternal reminder of the past he’d rather forget. Alastor is loathe to admit it, but he still misses his old friend. Sometimes, he wonders if he ever truly knew him at all.

---

Freshly fallen Vox seeking out an overlord’s protection because, holy shit, if he tries to survive on the streets any longer, he’s gonna get killed, or worse. Most sinners get asked if they can do anything useful when they go to an overlord; Vox gets asked if he can sing, dance, and do comedy routines. He can, so he’s quickly scooped up by the overlord. He supposes he should be grateful that he was able to score a comfortable job doing something not terribly unpleasant, but the dehumanization of being treated like a doll or an adorable purse dog grates on him. He remembers who he really is (or used to be) and would do anything to be seen as a man again rather than a novelty.

---

Imagine feeling so utterly desexed by your body, finding someone you think you can trust to respect you, confessing that you’re in love with them, and they laugh in your face for thinking such a thing was even remotely possible. Alastor doesn’t do a great job clarifying that he’s disinterested in a relationship out of personal preference rather than because he doesn’t respect Vox, and Vox walks away from the encounter seething, believing that Alastor never saw him as anything more than a pet or a clown.

---

Man, this would especially suck for my hc version of Vox, who used to be a small-time Vaudevillian when he was a child. Like. Yaaaayyy, time to dance around and act cutesy for people who have complete power over you… again…… when you’re pushing forty…………

---

Vox was REALLY starting to feel like he'd made an irreversible mistake before Alastor came into his life. He'd been in the employ of his overlord for four years, and he could count the number of times he'd been allowed to leave their compound on two (four-fingered) hands. They weren't cruel to him per se, but they really did seem to see him as a pet– something to trail after them all day, do tricks on demand, and show off to colleagues at parties. Any plans he had for carving out a dignified, powerful life for himself were going up in smoke. He knew a lot of things from constantly overhearing conversations about the overlord's business, but he didn't have anyone to trade that information to because of his restricted mobility. He understood that he had some pretty unique powers, but he'd never gotten the chance to use them in combat, only to perform. It was becoming clear to Vox that the only way he was going to escape this doltish, embarrassing life was if someone killed his overlord (something he couldn't do himself due to the deal they struck).

And then the Radio Demon came walking through the door.

---

Vox really has no idea what Alastor's deal is when they first meet. Like. He kidnaps him but also says Vox can leave whenever he wants. But like. where is he supposed to go??? Alastor just killed his overlord, which, yeah, Vox wanted to happen, but now he's homeless and isn't sure how to proceed. Is it safe to stay with Alastor, or is he just going to kill him next?

Vox keeps up the "silly little cartoon" persona for a while because Alastor seems to find it amusing, but things gradually slip through the cracks. He's scared Alastor will abandon or kill him if he grows bored or dissatisfied with him, but... Alastor seems to like the real him? He actually lets him speak freely and talk about whatever he wants? He uses his tech powers to turn off the in-built censors that keep Vox from swearing?? When he realizes that Vox is actually really cunning, he wants to hear his feedback on things??? Sure, he still kinda talks down to him, but Alastor's like that with everyone. This... maybe this could be more than just trading one master for another.

---

Random thoughts about Vox’s overlord

She was enamored with him from the first moment she saw him. He was just so precious! And he was willing to do anything to receive her protection!

Her industry had nothing to do with entertainment; she took Vox in purely to be her own personal jester.

Not sure if she owned his soul or just had a deal with him to give him a safe place to live in exchange for his services.

Loved treating him like a doll. Would dress him in cute, oversized outfits, carry him around in her arms, and occasionally bring him to bed and cuddle him like some sort of plushie.

There were occasions, especially towards the beginning, when Vox would snap at her or reveal elements of his real personality. Those incidents would only lead to her doubling down on the demeaning treatment. She’d experienced mistreatment at the hands of men like him when she was alive and saw asserting her power over him as cathartic and karmic.

Usually brought him with her everywhere, but would sometimes leave him locked in her office/room by himself if she had something important scheduled. Vox had initially thought he could leave or at least walk around when she didn’t need him, but no. Besides, why would he want to leave? The streets of Hell were no place for a tiny, fragile thing like him!

Vox fucking hated her and was glad to see Alastor bash her brains in and feature her on his show.

---

Mainverse Vox died by being electrocuted by an ungrounded mic at work right before they went live. This Vox died by being electrocuted while trying to fix the family TV. His kids had been begging him to at least try to fix it since the repairman couldn’t come until the next day, and they didn’t want to miss their favorite cartoon. He was feeling indulgent that day and felt that, as the man of the house, he should be able to fix things without always calling someone else to do it for him. It didn’t end well.

---

Thinking about Vox and Alastor’s first encounter.

Alastor might have seen Vox before at an overlord event, being shown off by his boss or performing for her friends. He may have seen him for the first time when he walked into Vox’s overlord’s office and saw her toying with him. Either way, Alastor was immediately intrigued. He hadn’t seen many sinners like Vox, with his screen head and cartoony body, and could instantly tell he was a highly skilled performer. His eyes followed him, even as Vox’s overlord put him aside and ordered him to get her and Alastor drinks. Vox could tell Alastor was watching him but wasn’t sure what to do about it. It’s probably not a good sign when the infamous Radio Demon is eying you like you’re his next meal.

Eventually, the overlord noticed that Alastor was not paying full attention to their conversation and was preoccupied with Vox. The topic briefly switched to him before Alastor inquired if she’d be willing to bargain for him. Vox was horrified. The overlord attempted to politely decline; she couldn’t bear to part with her precious little poppet. He was hers, and it would be cruel to separate them— they adored each other so much, after all. Alastor just smiled blithely and clarified: he wasn’t asking.

All hell broke loose in an instant. One moment, Vox was observing a conversation between his boss and her colleague; the next, the office was crawling with shadows, and his overlord was pinned to the wall, impaled on a tentacle. Vox panicked and tried to flee, but there was no escaping that room. There are two options for what happens next: either Vox is seized by Alastor and teleported out of the building, or Vox’s boss screams at him to help her, only for him to glance between her and Alastor and fix her with an icy stare.

No matter what happened, the outcome was the same: Vox found himself teleported onto the streets of Hell with Alastor looming over him. He frantically attempted to talk Alastor out of killing him, but Al just laughed jovially and told Vox that he had no intention of harming him. Vox was free to leave whenever he wanted, but Alastor would like to see just how entertaining he truly was.

---

As they're walking, Alastor notices a weird clicking sound coming from Vox. He asks what it is, and Vox awkwardly explains that he's wearing tap shoes and starts trying to take them off as he walks. Alastor is amused and tells him not to bother. He'd love to see him dance sometime.

---

Val: Baby? What were things like before you met me? Vox: Awesome. I had- I had women all over me, they just couldn’t get enough. Everyone was always dying to see my shows. I was voted the hottest person in Hell. It was great. Vox’s actual early career in Hell:

---

Thinking about one of the times Vox “mouthed off” to his overlord. He may be a performer, but there’s only so long he can stay in character, especially when said character is so undignified. He refused to play along with one of her little games and snapped at her that he was a man, not a fucking show dog.

Next thing Vox knew, he was nearly blinded by pain as his boss twisted his antenna almost to its breaking point. Her voice sickeningly sweet, she told him she knew exactly what kind of man he had been— Earth’s crawling with them. But those days are over now. Respect has to be earned in Hell; it’s not just going to be handed to him like when he was alive. The afterlife has made him a joke, and the sooner he accepts that the happier he'll be. That’s what he signed up for when they made their little arrangement, after all. She asked if she was understood and kept twisting his antenna until she got a loud-and-clear “Yes, ma’am” out of him. With that, she snapped back to normal and either cheerfully ushered him towards [whatever she was forcing him to do] or dismissed him in her typical patronizing manner.

Vox broke half the items in his room that night in a rage. He tried to leave gouges on his skin and dents in his head, but he couldn’t manage it, what with his stupid, soft little hands.

---

It doesn’t really fit with my headcanon that Alastor was super white-passing when he was alive and spent most of his life pretending to be white in order to have more opportunities, but I feel like he may have felt a kinship with Proto-Vox due to them both being “outsiders”— people who are/were constantly dismissed by those in power and have to work twice as hard in order to be taken seriously, even though they’re more skilled and competent than everyone else in the room. And so it hurt all the more when Vox leapt at the first opportunity to change who he was in order to join the class of people who had once looked down on him. It didn’t fully click with Alastor that Vox wasn’t always like this– that he was trying to return to who he once was rather than abandoning who he’d always been.

---

Vox wasn’t exactly doing himself any favors in terms of connecting with the other sinners who worked under his overlord. He was so desperate to reestablish at least some control over his situation that, on the rare occasion he got to interact with people without his boss looming over them, he was insufferable, acting as though his position as their overlord's constant companion made him superior to regular employees. It never actually made him feel any better though, since most people either just rolled their eyes or testily reminded him that his oh-so-important job was to make a fool of himself all day and be doted on by his "owner."

---

To most outside observers, it really looked as though the relationship between Vox and his overlord was genuinely loving. She was just so affectionate with him. There was never a moment when she wasn’t tittering away at his jokes, or playing with his antennas or plug tail, or scooping him up into her arms or lap, or hugging or tickling or cuddling him, or covering him in kisses, or coming up with adorable pet names, or showing him off to others as though he were the rarest gem she’d ever come across. No one ever seemed to notice that Vox was never the one to initiate these kind of interactions. Depending on who you asked, it was either the most adoring master-servant arrangement Hell had ever seen, a (possibly biological?) mother-son dynamic, or just an INCREDIBLY kinky relationship. Vox played his part well, laughing along and hardly ever letting the smiling mask slip. No one ever could’ve guessed just how much he loathed her and the entire humiliating situation or how cruel she could be whenever he dared drop the act.

Well, no one except Alastor, that is.

---

Imo, Proto Vox would just sound like normal Vox slightly pitched up, but man, Hell giving him a lisp or some other "funny" way of speaking on top of everything else would be such a gut punch for him. His good looks and his charismatic manner of speech were key to his success when he was alive, and now both of those lifelines have been severed.

---

Personal, headcanon-specific thoughts:

Proto Vox’s outfit is very similar to a costume he wore during his childhood on Vaudeville.

Alternate option: While I hc that sinners spawn naked, if they don’t, then Vox spawned in the exact 1920s sailor suit he used to wear during most of his childhood performances.

His Hell form is a punishment not only because it robs him of all dignity, but because it’s a constant reminder of a part of his life when he had no power over his situation and was treated like an object meant only to entertain.

---

Thinking about how Alastor’s “a smile is a means of maintaining control” philosophy might strike a chord with Proto Vox. When he was alive (and later, in his career as an overlord), putting on a smile was a way for him to project the person he wanted others to perceive him as. If he looked the part, then people would believe he was the confident, steady, trustworthy man he presented as. After he arrived in Hell, though, a smile became a mask he could not take off. Hell had chosen a role for him, and if he failed to play it well enough, he risked permanent death or worse. He resented having to keep that mindless grin on his face at all times. This wasn’t who he wanted to be. This wasn’t who he was. The idea that he could use that iron mask to regain control over his life was foreign to him, but it made sense. Now that he was no longer chained to a master who kept him locked into that hated role at all times, he had a choice in how he wanted to use it— for day-to-day survival or to further his true ambitions?

---

Vox and Alastor’s first encounter was at an overlord party like something out of a Regency romance, except Vox was three feet tall and didn’t notice Alastor was watching him because he was too busy performing for his boss’ overlord friends. Alastor appreciated the skill on display in Vox’s routine and was intrigued by the unusual way his “owner” treated him. Sure, some overlords treat those under them as pets, but she was so overly cutesy and “loving” with him that it stood out, especially given the way Vox feigned reciprocation. Interesting.

---

A scene/story idea: Vox is sitting at a desk in a grand, spacious office. It’s late, and he’s just killing time, wishing he had a cigar (and a mouth to smoke it with) and occasionally scribbling down notes for future reference. The stationary he’s using has the date printed at the top, though. It’s his daughter’s tenth birthday. He reflects on how it’s been three years since he last saw her and the rest of his family and how he’ll likely never see them again. He hopes his wife is throwing her an appropriately extravagant party, at least. They’d gone all-out for their son’s tenth birthday; half the neighborhood was there, even one or two of the ladies from work who had blown him in exchange for putting in a good word with the producers. It was a great time.

And then his boss comes walking in, complaining about what a stressful day she’s had, and the illusion that this is Vox’s office shatters. He hops down to the floor, taking his dance/comedy routine notes with him. His boss is busy getting herself a drink, so he hopes she didn’t notice him sitting in her chair. He starts trying to engage her in conversation, switching to his work persona (cheerful, cutesy, and childish). She did notice him, but she just smiles indulgently and says he always knows just what to do to cheer her up— he looked so silly sitting at her big, important desk. Now, she needs a bit of comfort; they’ll be going to bed now. She scoops Vox up as easily as if he were a doll and carries him off to serve as her (very angular) teddy bear. Vox keeps the adoring smile plastered on his face and tries to put aside the burning shame and rage that this is what the afterlife has reduced him to: a child, a pet, a toy meant to entertain those who wield the actual power.

---

You know, come to think of it, there’s actually some basis to Alastor feeling a bit of a kinship with Vox. Aside from the obvious shared trait of them both being communications/entertainment demons, Alastor’s demonic form is a prey animal. Al never had to deal with the consequences of having that kind of form since he spawned so powerful (unless we’re going with the theory that he made his mystery deal right when he got to Hell and draws the majority of his power from it (which would be pretty interesting in this context…)), but still.

---

Made Vox's room in the Sims

---

Vox tried to walk out of his job once. His boss pushed him too far, and he snapped, yelling at her to find someone else to play this fucked up game with; he’d rather take his chances on the streets. Next thing he knew, he was bound, muted, and blindfolded, being crammed into a tiny suitcase. His overlord told him to reflect on what he’d said. There’s no life after second death, only nothingness. Is that really a risk he wants to take?

Vox was in “storage” for the next week. He didn’t try to leave again after that.

---

When Vox’s boss finally decided he’d had enough time to reflect, she opened the trunk to find Vox barely able to move under his own power. He was trembling like a freezing cat, having spent seven whole days bound in the fetal position, unable to move, speak, hear, or see. He couldn’t even unfurl himself from said position without her help. When she took him into her arms, he clung to her, any thoughts of hate or anger gone, replaced with a desperate desire for human connection after a week of nothingness. She cradled him in her arms— sweet as a lamb and without a shred of that odious pride she’d been working so hard to stamp out of him. Whispering kind, soothing words, she stroked his shaking, silent body as she carried him back to her bedroom. She dozed off with him in her arms, secure in the knowledge that her darling little doll had learned his lesson: being her toy is a privilege, and the only possible alternative for him is oblivion.

---

Thinking about Proto Vox and body dysmorphia

Vox hated everything about his body.

He hated being so small, not even half the size of most other sinners.

He hated his face, cute and goofy-looking. He hated his “missing tooth,” which only added to his childish appearance.

He hated his head, oversized and heavy. He hated how clumsy it made him before he became accustomed to it.

He hated not having a physical mouth and being unable to eat.

He hated his voice, higher pitched than it had been when he was alive. He hated the childish-sounding lisp he had been afflicted with.

He hated how he couldn’t swear or talk about adult topics without his voice being drowned out by an in-built censor.

He hated his body and its strange combination of wood and metal, both of which bent in ways that shouldn’t’ve been possible.

He hated his hands, soft and rounded and nailless.

He hated how he had spawned without genitals, completely smooth and sexless, like a doll.

He hated how no one perceived him as anything even remotely resembling a sexual being, even though he was a fully grown man who had once had his pick of beautiful women when he was alive.

He hated how he weighed almost nothing, making him easy for others to pick up or restrain.

He hated the way nothing in Hell was built to accommodate sinners his size, forcing him to climb (or be lifted onto) things as simple as chairs.

He hated the way his boss made him dress: in baggy outfits that made his smallness even more apparent, in children’s clothes, in silly, oh-so adorable costumes. He especially hated when she insisted on dressing him herself as though he were her doll.

He hated how often people mistook him for a child or deliberately talked down to him as though he was stupid just because of his ridiculous body.

He hated how people laughed at him and how he had no choice but to make them laugh in order to keep himself alive.

He hated how, in one fell swoop, Hell had robbed him of everything that had made him him. His good looks, his charisma, his respectability— everything. Never in a million years would he have anticipated that this would be his punishment for his misdeeds on Earth, for looking down on others and treating them like objects to be pushed around, but he had to admit, it was a pretty potent punishment nonetheless. And he would do anything to escape it.

---

Vox’s boss was kind of massively projecting her own resentments and trauma onto him. She didn’t actually know that much about him. It was pure luck that her impression of him as an arrogant chauvinist who had treated the people in his life poorly was… you know… accurate.

---

Vox realized that he had a voyeurism kink the third time his boss had sex with someone while he was still in the room. Probably not the outcome she intended, but it wasn’t like Vox could do anything about it anyway. He still felt sexual desire, but he’d spawned in Hell without genitals so that energy had nowhere to go. Just another lovely part of Vox’s Wonderful Afterlife.

---

Most sinners are horrified when they see their new forms for the first time. Vox was just devastated.

He was horrified when he first woke up, of course– transported to a strange new place, surrounded by giant monsters, and barely able to keep from swaying under the weight of his oversized head. No one paid him or his panic any mind save for a few smirks and chuckles. Vox found himself pressed up against a wall, out of the way of the flow of pedestrians, trying to process what was going on. Once he realized something was wrong with his body, he ducked into a nearby store, desperate to find a mirror (and get away from the crowds of fellow sinners). The store clerk let him in; they weren’t supposed to let newlydead into the shop since they usually just cause a scene, but Vox looked harmless, and they felt a little bad for such a tiny, fearful sinner. Vox made a beeline for the nearest mirror.

When his reflection finally came into view, Vox… he was lost for words. Seeing his childlike proportions, it finally registered that the world hadn’t gotten bigger; he’d gotten smaller. His body… there was something wrong with it. It was made of wood and metal like a puppet; only the materials seemed to bend like rubber. Worse than that, it was completely smooth and featureless; his genitals were simply gone. His hands were soft, rounded, and nailless, more like stuffed gloves than human hands. His head was encased— no, not encased, replaced with a television set that looked like it made up the majority of his body weight. Displayed on its screen was a face like something out of a cartoon: large, shiny, googly eyes, a wide mouth, and one conspicuously absent tooth. All topped off with a pair of floppy, overly long antennas that made him resemble some kind of insect.

Vox was speechless, staring at his new body. He felt tears bubbling up as he examined each part of it. He wasn’t sure how, but some part of him knew this wasn’t a dream and that this form would not be temporary. No tears fell though, trapped behind the glass of the— his screen. He couldn’t recall the moment of his death, but the realization of where he must be began to dawn on him. A soft, despairing sound escaped him, and Vox realized his voice, too, had been changed. He was not himself anymore, just this tiny, adorable thing, right out of one of the cartoons he’d been trying to repair the TV so his children could watch. A joke.

Suddenly, Vox felt someone grab him by the arm, dragging him away from the mirror, his feet barely brushing the floor. The owner had noticed a newlydead had snuck in and was having the prerequisite “What have I become?” freakout in their store. Carelessly, they shoved/threw Vox back onto the street and slammed the door behind them. Reeling, trying to wrap his mind around the gravity of the situation, Vox stumbled and collapsed on the sidewalk, surrounded by sinners who either stepped around him like he was nothing or paused for a moment to chuckle at the clumsy newlydead struggling to regain his balance under the weight of his massive head.

---

Vox's own shitty beliefs ended up being used against him during his early years in Hell.

In life, he'd treated his wife and son poorly because they complained about being unhappy with the way things were. Vox believed that if all your physical needs were met and you were able to live comfortably, you had no right to complain. He provided them with everything, and all he asked for in return was for them to be the happy, perfect wife and son he expected them to be. What was so hard about that?!

In death, the tables were turned. Vox was able to live comfortably in a safe environment, doing a job that most sinners would describe as incredibly cushy, but he was desperately unhappy. He was forced to play an inauthentic, demeaning role 24/7 and couldn't complain about it unless he wanted to be punished. Just sit there quietly and smile while the "grownups" are talking. No one wants to hear your silly little opinions. You should be grateful that you're even allowed to be here.

---

Words were Vox's boss' preferred weapon when it came to surreptitiously tormenting him, but she wasn't above using physical violence as a means of "discipline" either. Aside from the antenna and "storage" incidents, she'd occasionally employ "percussive maintenance" at the beginning of his time with her in response to breaks in character or sullen comments. Once or twice, she burnt him with cigarettes in response to particularly "bad" offenses.

---

Vox's boss would give him gifts sometimes. Little presents wrapped up all pretty with a bow. Sometimes, they were for special occasions, like the anniversary of his "coming to live with her"; sometimes, they were "rewards for good behavior." Vox would accept the presents graciously and then never open them, leaving them to collect dust in his room. There were a few occasions when she made him open them in front of her, though. Usually, they were just quaint little trinkets or clothes, but once, she gifted him a goldfish (or the Hellish equivalent) in a tiny bowl. It was the closest she'd gotten to something he'd actually want, yet it still felt like a veiled taunt. It didn't take long for the fish to die; its bowl was simply too small.

---

Vox does his absolute best to keep his past a secret from everyone, particularly Valentino. He knows on some level that it wouldn’t really change anything other than give Val and Vel something else to tease him about, but Vox’s ego is so fragile that he feels like he’d die if they found out. Unfortunately for him, Valentino is incredibly observant when he wants to be. He doesn’t know the specifics, but based on various little things from throughout the years and the pointed insults he’s heard Alastor throw at Vox, he can guess that Vox’s early days in Hell were... less than auspicious. However, he assumes Vox was just some corporate toady, and he would be just as shocked as anyone else to learn how Vox actually began his afterlife.

---

Playing with the idea that Vox’s boss hired him with no ulterior motives; she simply thought he was cute and would be an easy source of entertainment. However, as time went on and she got a better sense of what kind of person Vox was, she began deliberately tormenting him. The abuse and humiliation started off under the pretext that she was only doing it to “correct an attitude problem,” but it soon became clear that her real issue with Vox had nothing to do with his abilities as a performer.

---

It doesn’t really fit with the “lore” I’ve been putting together for this AU, but the idea of Vox trying to go in for various media/performance auditions and either being laughed out of them or told to look into less dignified roles is compelling to me. He looks and sounds so much like a goofy little child; why on Earth would anyone even consider him, especially when there are countless other sinners looking for work whose forms aren’t so distractingly cutesy?

I’ll be honest: Babydoll from Batman TAS is a significant influence on how I conceptualize Proto Vox.

---

Reminds me of fakeannafromthebox's Caterpillar Val AU. Vox is so miserable. He wants to be back in his modified body NOW, but it's going to take a while for them to rebuild it. Val and Vel tease him about it at first... until they realize that Vox is genuinely really hurt by it. He never wanted them to see him like this.

The denizens of Hell are confused as to why Vox is suddenly on a month-long hiatus when he's literally never taken a break from the media before.

---

Been considering whether it should just be happenstance that brings Vox and Alastor together or if Vox should hit his breaking point, go behind his boss' back, and send Alastor a false message in her name, hoping that it will provoke him into killing her.

---

Had a mental image today of Vox sitting in on one of his boss’ conversations with a colleague, as per usual. He’s bored and miserable until the two overlords start discussing the Radio Demon. Vox has heard stories— might’ve even caught one or two of Alastor’s broadcasts— but he’s never heard him discussed like an actual person rather than an urban legend. Vox’s boss starts shittalking Alastor, and Vox suddenly gets an idea. He begins secretly recording her, capturing all her private complaints about him on tape. Vox is terrified of what she might do if she discovered what he was doing, but at this point, he's so good at masking his true emotions that she doesn’t even notice anything is off. Vox held onto that recording until he gained access to a communications device. He hesitated for a moment, thinking of all the ways this plan could go wrong and result in his permanent death, but… he couldn’t pass up this opportunity. He couldn’t bear to stay here any longer.

Alastor figured out it was Vox who sent him that message a couple years into their friendship, but he didn’t hold it against him. In fact, he was impressed with Vox’s determination, taking his fate back into his hands regardless of the risks. He eventually told Vox so himself when the topic came up years later.

---

Vox once made the mistake of snapping that he was not a child at one of his boss’ colleagues who had been talking about him like he was too stupid to understand what they were saying. Honestly, the momentary shock on the colleague’s face was not worth the ensuing, agonizing conversation where his boss muted him, apologized to the other overlord, then prompted them to try to guess his real age, and took far too much pleasure in explaining to them that despite Vox’s appearance, he was actually 41.

---

Thinking about Proto Vox sitting in on his boss' overlord meetings like the Egg Bois in episode 3. Most of the time, his boss would hold him in her lap like a doll, but sometimes, she'd leave him sitting on the ground until the meeting ended. He wished he had a way to put the information he was “eavesdropping” on to good use, but he wasn't allowed to leave the stupid compound without being accompanied by his boss.

---

One particularly dehumanizing experience Vox remembers far more vividly than he would like was the first time his overlord stripped him naked without his consent so she could redress him in a new outfit she’d picked out. This became a semi-frequent occurrence, but it never stopped making his skin crawl. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to someone like him, and yet here he was, robbed not only of the freedom to choose his own clothes but even to dress himself if his boss so willed it.

Even over half a century later, Vox still needs to be coaxed and convinced by Valentino to surrender control during sex. He has no intention of ever telling Val why having someone else undress him puts him on edge.

---

cw sexual assault

The first time Vox’s overlord stripped him naked was also when she discovered that he had no genitals. Of course, she couldn’t let that fact go uncommented on and groped between his legs to confirm, cooing all the while about how perfect Vox was. Vox didn’t even have time to dissociate during the experience; it all happened so fast. Before he had time to process what happened, he was already being redressed in whatever stupid outfit she’d picked out for him that time. The dissociation came later.

In hindsight, Vox thinks it’s sort of darkly funny how he felt as though he’d been sexually assaulted despite not having any sex organs at the time. It’s really not.

---

Thank you!!!

Yeah, Vox is extremely uncomfortable with thinking of himself as a victim. It's easier to just compartmentalize the experience and tell himself that of course he wasn't sexually assaulted– sex wasn't even involved!

At the time, he had no idea how to feel about it. Before he even had time to process the event, he was expected to just move on with the day like nothing happened. Vox wished he could've just forgotten about it– it only lasted for a few seconds, it "didn't count" because he didn't have any genitals to grope, and, in his successful-white-1950s-man brain, groping wasn't even that bad anyway– but the feeling of violation lingered, no matter how hard he tried to dismiss it or distract himself. He eventually managed to push those feelings away, but the memory will still pop up on occasion and he'll have to convince himself all over again that it wasn't any different than all the other times his boss manhandled him.

---

Oh, I'm glad you liked the post!

Yeah, I can see Alastor giving that roach speech to Vox when he's trying to convince him to stop modifying himself. Vox is just like "You think I'm a bug???" He never noticed; he was too focused on the cartoon/TV thing. Message not received.

Alastor probably has weird feelings about the way Vox's old boss treated him. On one hand, it's kind of funny, and Alastor's clearly not opposed to treating people like pets, given his later relationship with Husk. On the other... he feels a weird sort of kinship with Vox in so many regards, and his relationship with his overlord... [leak discussion] it's uncomfortably similar to Alastor's with his contract holder– tricked into a bad deal, treated with condescension, and forced to pretend to adore them in public [end leak discussion]. Alastor likes the idea of helping Vox gain power and rise above his station, but not him changing himself in order to accomplish that goal– he sees too much of himself in Vox to stand that.

Vox doing ad reads/voiceovers for Alastor's show is a great idea. Perfect way to get back into the industry without opening himself up to mockery; plus, he's got a wonderful voice. Would also give him another reason to hate radio once he and Al split: audio-only work will always be a reminder of a time when he couldn't bear to be seen.

---

Might incorporate how long it’s taking me to come up with a name for Vox’s boss by making it so he’s only allowed to call her “Ma’am”/“Madam”/“Miss” instead of her actual sinner name.

---

Thoughts on Proto Vox in the RAM verse

Proto Vox thoughts that heavily feature my OCs

---

Once he finally gained the ability to project a functioning mouth onto his screen, Vox got himself into some… interesting situations trying to keep up with Alastor whenever they went out for drinks. He didn’t care that he was half Alastor’s size; he’s drinking just as much as he is! Maybe even more!!

Those were some of the funniest nights Alastor had (and still has) ever experienced.

---

Thinking about Vox, dead for a week or so, with cracks in his screen and dressed only in a button-up shirt he'd stripped off a corpse double his size, pitching himself to his soon-to-be overlord and trying not to come across as desperate as he truly was. The streets of Hell aren't kind to anyone, but especially not to defenseless-looking, newly arrived sinners with body parts that could potentially be resold. In his short time in Hell, Vox had already had multiple people try to strip him for parts and had only escaped them by the skin of his teeth. He'd barely been able to sleep since he arrived, constantly on guard for more attackers. He looked a fucking wreck, but that only added to his charm, in his boss' opinion. He looked like a starving Victorian orphan trying to give a serious business pitch– so cute!

---

Vox wishes he could feel comfortable in his bedroom at the compound. Being in there means he’s away from his overlord— that he can finally drop the act and just breathe. It’s a nice room, too, especially compared to the living quarters of most other employees. Vox feels as though the privacy and comfort should be enough. But… it isn’t really his room, is it?

His overlord chose the decor: soft and twee and old-fashioned. She can start pounding on the door, ordering him to come out and join her at any moment. The fact she’s too tall to fit in the room is small comfort. It feels like living in a dollhouse; there’s the illusion of privacy, but one wall is missing, allowing the owner to move things around or snatch up the doll inside at a moment’s notice.

---

Honestly, Vox's boss definitely got her "money's" worth out of Vox. He wasn't lying about being a multi-talented performer; he had a wide array of skills.

He had extensive training and experience with dance and comedy (although he was 25 years out of practice) from his childhood on Vaudeville. He was a consummate singer, good at improv, and familiar with a handful of instruments, particularly the piano. He could act fairly well (although he was always more convincing when he came up with stuff on the spot) and had even become a perfect mimic due to his demonic form.

Vox's overlord couldn't have asked for a better entertainer, and she counted herself lucky that he just happened to wander into her building one day looking for work– she didn't even need to place an ad!

Vox was proud of his various skills– he sure as hell hadn't spent years working himself to the bone to hone them for nothing, after all– but he missed being the host rather than the entertainment. He hadn't had to perform like this since he was a child, and it was just as exhausting as he remembered.

---

Vox's primary job was to be a jester for his overlord, but he was also somewhat of an assistant to her. He'd make or serve her and her guests drinks (alcohol, coffee, whatever), carry things for her (which would often be embarrassingly difficult, given his size), and run very minor errands for her (usually just delivering messages to employees a few doors down). Additionally, once she discovered that he could record audio, she started using him as a living tape recorder. She'd bring him to meetings, have him record the conversation without the other party knowing, and then play the audio back once they were in private so she could take note of the exact phrasing and use it against them later on. This last use for Vox ended up being her downfall; she kept him so cloistered that she never thought that he'd be able to use her own words against her one day.

---

Up until the incident where he tried to quit, Vox’s boss would sometimes casually threaten to replace him if he didn’t immediately bend to her will. There were countless other sinners and Hellborn that were perfectly capable of doing his job without an attitude problem; why shouldn’t she just trade him in for one of them? Or perhaps she should employ another entertainer to work alongside him (i.e. compete with him). If Vox thought he was too good for this job, then he could go back to the streets whenever he liked. These threats almost always succeeded in getting him to comply, and she was a bit disappointed when she realized they were no longer as effective as they’d once been.

---

Honestly, Vox’s boss getting another “pet” would be a whole shitshow. When Vox was alive, he once outed a coworker as gay because he was getting more airtime than him, which led to the coworker’s family institutionalizing him. And that was when the stakes were just career success. Vox may hate his job, but it’s what keeps him safe and alive. He’d feel so threatened by the new person that he’d probably end up getting them killed just to protect his position. His overlord is 100% aware of what's going on, but she gets a kick out of watching Vox do whatever it takes to stay in her favor.

---

Vox actually starts initiating affectionate interactions with her out of desperation not to be replaced. His boss (who lowkey only wanted make sure he didn’t grow complacent in his position) is delighted. The poor imp she hired has no idea what they’ve been sucked into. Vox is cold and hostile when they’re in private but then will turn on a dime the second he sees their overlord. Their boss is constantly doing subtle little things to pit them against each other, but the imp feels like they never truly had a chance of surpassing and replacing Vox. All the imp wants to do is make enough to feed their family, but in the end, all they get is being ripped in two by vines when Vox snitches on them for taking a few extra bucks from his boss’ desk.

---

In the modern day, Vox and Alastor disagree about how they met. Alastor will say that he rescued Vox from his overlord and took him in afterward. Vox will say (or rather, would say, since he never speaks about his past) that he rescued his damn self and chose to stick with Alastor because it was the best possible option at the time. Neither of them are wrong, but their mutual bitterness skews their perception of the situation; Vox, the "helpless charity case," and Alastor, the "means to an end."

---

velvette seeing the kind of clothes vox used to have to wear for work and just. vomiting on his behalf

---

Vox thought he was at a bit of an advantage when his soon-to-be boss offered him a simple deal sealed with a handshake: serve as an entertainer for her and she'll give him a safe place to live. Verbal agreements aren't as enforceable as written ones, and the vagueness of the deal left him plenty of room to wriggle his way out if need be!

What Vox didn't realize was that things in Hell don't work like they do on Earth. Sure, vague deals have loopholes, but it's the person with more power who's usually able to take advantage of them as opposed to the "victim." Additionally, written contracts have clauses– specific stipulations that must be abided by. If he'd negotiated things a bit more closely, he could've demanded that she allow him freedom of mobility or had to accept any attempts at a resignation. As is, she was able to keep him at her side at all times and threaten him into staying because there wasn't anything in the deal that said she couldn't do those things; as long as she was giving him a place to stay, she was upholding her end of the bargain.

Vox definitely remembered this lesson when he started drawing up contracts/deals of his own during his later endeavors. Deals can be just as binding as soul contracts. Vagueness is an invaluable tool when it comes to tricking people into bad deals, although granular specificity certainly has a place too, so long as you can get the sucker not to read the fine print.

---

Out of all the things Vox had to do to entertain his overlord, slapstick was his least favorite. It was just so undignified. He already hated having to play dumb and childish, but being the butt of the joke was so much worse than simply being doted on. He couldn’t stand being laughed at, but he didn’t have another choice; if his boss wanted comedy, he had to give it to her, otherwise he’d be punished. For as much baggage he had regarding dance, he would chose it over pretending to hurt himself (or genuinely hurting himself) for his boss’ amusement every time.

This hatred of being laughed at persisted even after he escaped his overlord’s clutches. Vox eventually learned to use his unthreatening appearance to his advantage, but back in the day, a good way to get your shit rocked by the Radio Demon’s tiny apprentice was to laugh at him when he wasn’t trying to be funny.

---

As of right now, Vox's sinner name has always been "Vox." He's eternally grateful that he'd already picked out his sinner name by the time he approached his overlord, because who knows what ridiculous name she would've saddled him with otherwise. However, if Vivziepop ever talks about Cockroach Vox and it turns out he didn't used to be named "Vox," then that name would've been the one he went by up until he met Alastor.

---

Vox was not an overly foul-mouthed person when he was alive, although he certainly wasn't afraid to swear if the situation called for it. However, that casual relationship with tasteful speech went completely out the window after he died. Aside from the in-built censor that kept him from audibly cursing or talking about subjects like sex, he now had a very restrictive persona that he needed to play into. Having to say shit like "Gee whiz" or "Golly" in order to keep up the "cute little cartoon" act was maddening. It was such a relief when Alastor figured out a way to shut off the censor; Vox finally had complete freedom in how he chose to speak again. Honestly, he may have gone a bit too far in the other direction, but given the culture of Hell, it's more unusual to be excessively clean with your speech than it is to swear every other sentence.

---

I wonder if any of the other, older overlords remember Vox from his early days. His boss had a habit of bringing him to meetings and having him perform at parties, so someone like Zestial would’ve probably encountered him at least a couple of times.

On one hand, Vox is beyond grateful that none of the old-timers recognize him as “Lantana’s little lapdog.” On the other, he’s slightly offended that no one paid him enough mind back then to remember him.

Zestial 100% knows who Vox used to be, he’s just choosing to keep that information to himself for the time being.

---

Thinking about a scenario where Vox gets stuck in a hopelessness spiral that causes him to break character in front of his boss. He asks her why she’s doing this to him; what does she get out of all this? Lantana is annoyed by his self-pity and asks him if he has any idea how lucky he is.

Oh, poor Vox, forced to live in the lap of luxury. Condemned to perform wholesome little routines for one of the most powerful overlords in the city while other sinners (female and male) have to prostitute themselves to survive. What an awful fate, having to let her spoil him, love him. Countless sinners would kill to have half of what he has, and here he is complaining because his ego is too fragile to handle not being “in charge” anymore. She’s shocked he’s so ungrateful that he can’t appreciate the gift she’s given him; childhood is a beautiful thing, after all.

Vox knows it’s all lies— she enjoys humiliating him, forcing him to smile through gritted teeth as he plays the demeaning role she’s picked out for him— but after years in her clutches, a small, animal part of his brain wonders if she’s right. Is she being honest when she says she only hurts him to correct him? Does she actually believe that taking away his freedom and keeping him in a gilded cage is love? Is he really better off here than he would be out in the world, struggling to force people to see him as the man he really was used to be?

No. No, he can’t let her get in his head like this. He’s had to give up so much of himself to her; she can’t have his thoughts too. Just don’t say anything. Let her think she’s made him second-guess himself. Don’t allow her to wrestle what little control he has left from his grasp.

---

Vox’s slogan, “Trust us!” started off as “Trust me!” After a while with Alastor, Vox learned to start playing into his harmless appearance in order to gain people’s trust, only to lead them to their deaths or otherwise betray them later on. Most people thought he was either a literal child, stupid, or so weak that they could easily overpower him if need be, so it was easy for him to convince them to let their guards down. Vox managed to get his first few contracts using this method. Trust him! He couldn’t hurt a fly, honest!

Alastor loved this routine, not only because it was hilarious to watch people unknowingly dig their own graves, but because it was useful to him as well. Alastor’s reputation had become so fearsome that it was difficult to get people to stick around long enough to ensnare unless they were truly desperate. It was helpful to have Vox around to lure people in, or to just run errands that would’ve otherwise been a pain due to people’s annoying habit of fleeing at the sight of him. They were a good team, he and Vox; Alastor couldn’t understand why he would choose to give that up in order to become an off-brand copy of him. Yes, it wasn’t the most dignified niche, but it was an important one! And one that very few could pull off even half as well as Vox!

---

Random thought: Vox’s original voice made it impossible for others to tell whether he was a child or an adult. He didn’t quite sound like a real child, but his voice was pitched in such a way that he didn’t read as an adult either— sort of like when adult voice actors play kids. Vox could still hear Himself in certain inflections and in moments when he was allowed to drop the act, but it was extremely alienating, never truly feeling like himself even when he was doing something as simple as speaking.

---

I don’t subscribe to the “Valentino started off with his own abusive pimp” theory (not because I think it’s implausible, it’s just that my HC version of him only worked under the previous overlord of the sex trade for like a year before killing them), plus I think Vox and Val met after Vox was already somewhat established, but whoo-boy, the two of them meeting while they’re both still under the thumbs of their respective abusive bosses would be fun.

---

Two concepts:

Vox’s boss brings him along to an overlord party that Val happens to be performing at. Some drunk dumbass picks him up and shoves him onto the platform where Val was pole dancing— they thought it’d be funny to make the sexless little clown interact with the dirty whore. That was Vox and Val’s first meeting. (Loosely inspired by some of kibbles-bits’ art)

Vox and Val’s respective bosses start up a casual relationship, resulting in the two of them visiting each other’s bases semi-frequently. They get to talking and eventually come to realize that, holy shit, the other guy is an actual person?? And a fun/interesting/clever person too???

---

Vox: Yeah, my #%$!@ of a boss makes me sleep with her sometimes. Val: Ohhhh, me too! Well, at least Mantis Bitch is sexy~ Vox: What? No, I mean she literally makes me sleep in the same bed as her. Like kids do with stuffed dolls. Val: …Huh. Well, I guess that must be somebody’s kink. Vox: $?*@&€# %*¥=…

---

Self-indulgent 4 am whump thought (cw involuntary surgery)

what if proto vox spawned with his childhood leg injury intact? it’s usually not an issue as long as he doesn’t exert himself, but his new job requires him to spend most of the day standing and perform physically intense routines for his boss. for the first several weeks, he doesn’t let on that he’s in pain since he’s terrified of being thrown back out on the streets, but eventually, either his boss confronts him about why he’s suddenly developing a limp or he makes the mistake of mentioning it to her himself, hoping he can convince her to be a bit more restrained with her orders. either way, when vox explains that he’s had this issue since he was a child and that there’s no way to get rid of it, lantana just casually says that she’ll see to it, no problem. vox is concerned by her self-assured tone, but when he asks her what she meant, she abruptly changes the subject with a finality that tells him this is not a matter to be debated.

for the next week, vox is left wondering what she intends on doing. just as he was starts to forget about it, he gets his answer. one day, vox wakes up to find himself in an operating room-turned workshop, held to the table by a few flimsy straps and a nurse(?) gently restraining him. there’s no need to be frightened! they’re just going to see if there’s anything they can do to fix his leg, that’s all. vox tries to reign in his panic as the head doctor examines his leg, but it soon reaches a fever pitch when it’s determined they can repair the damage! by replacing the “bone.”

it’s painful, having someone saw through several layers of his wires, but not as painful as vox imagined it would be. the horror of watching it happen, though, makes it all so much worse. watching someone reach into the mess of his leg and slowly pull out a long, metal rod is like something out of a nightmare. the “surgeons” measure and examine the rod (his bone), then cut a replacement to his size and insert it back into his leg. his wires (his flesh) quickly knit back together with only a bit of help from the doctors, and suddenly vox is back on his feet, being told to return to work as though he didn’t just watch his own leg “bone” be forcibly cut out and replaced.

it taught him that his body could be modified. he never had to deal with his old injury again. vox chooses to focus on these things rather than the absolute terror he felt watching them operate on his leg. he doesn’t need (doesn’t want) to think about the experience itself, only the outcome.

---

3am thought: Vox at the beginning of his employment, trying to figure out what his boss’ limits are and what he can get away with. He’s not thrilled that her idea of “entertainment” seems to mostly consist of song, dance, and comedy, so he starts trying to engage her in conversation instead. Vox is a great conversationalist, and he knows it. His plan is to pull her in, convince her that they have some kind of genuine connection, and then use that to his advantage. That plan is dashed though when, after two or three attempts at engaging her in substantial, adult conversation, she cuts him off and briskly tells him that she didn’t hire him for his conversational skills, she hired him to entertain. If she wanted to hear him speak, she would tell him, but right now, it’d be prudent of him to shut up and do as he’d been told.

---

Random wondering: What would it take for Vox to finally snap? Or would he just become so good at staying in-character that he appears to have snapped/given up to everyone around him?

Idea: Alastor acquiring Vox after he’s cracked and fully given into his boss after decades in her service. It’s only with Alastor that Vox slowly starts pulling himself back together, allowing elements of his original/real personality to re-emerge. Alastor doesn’t even mean to do this; he just treats Vox with a modicum more respect than he’s used to and gives him positive feedback when he acts more like himself. Vox idolizes Alastor for “saving him from madness,” so of course he flies off the handle when they have their falling out.

---

Vox was lucky his body operated on rubber hose physics. The size difference between him and his boss was so extreme that if it didn’t, she could’ve easily shattered his bones (if he had any) or dislocated his limbs, simply by handling him too roughly. All the better. She was usually fairly gentle, but since she knew she could treat him like a rag doll, occasionally, she did. It hurts, dangling in the air by the arm while the person holding you gives you whiplash every time they move too suddenly, but not as much as it would for an organic demon.

---

Three random thoughts:

1) I checked, and the height-difference between Proto Vox and his boss (and Valentino) is directly proportional to that of the tallest and smallest women in the world.

2) Shirley Temple would probably be a good inspiration for Proto Vox’s style of performance.

3) It could be interesting to play with the way Vox’s innocent and wholesome persona would interact with Hell’s general culture. Lantana kept him pretty desexed and infantilized while at “home,” but when she made him perform for groups, the comedy of the routine would be derived from contrast. Most demons wouldn’t get the appeal of his usual schtick played straight, but contrast that cutesy shit with Hell’s usual fixations (sex, profanity, and violence)? Now there’s something worth laughing about. It’s like teasing a fallen cherub.

---

the mental image of lantana telling vox to “go play” at a party will not leave me

“darling” “baby” “sweetheart” “dear”

i am slowly giving in to the whump urges

---

random fact: the way vox is treated by his boss in this au is heavily inspired by the way some imps (particularly the smaller ones) seem to be treated in the hellaverse

---

thinking about the first time lantana struck vox.

it was just so unexpected. vox could hardly even remember the last time someone had hit him— maybe when he was a rowdy young twenty-something? his parents had occasionally struck him as a child, but that was rare.

a week or two before, he’d made a comment that was a bit too sullen for her liking and she’d suddenly grabbed his arm, striking it once with an object like a schoolteacher with a misbehaving student. it’d caught vox off guard, but it was more shocking than painful, and lantana instantly moved on like nothing had happened. he didn’t expect things to escalate so quickly.

he spoke out of turn— that’s what prompted it. he’d been listening to his boss discuss business matters with an associate, and he’d tried throwing in his two cents. it was still early on; vox was testing what he could and couldn’t get away with and had thought the two of them might find his feedback worthwhile. he was wrong. he’d only gotten a couple words out before he was suddenly knocked to the floor by a blow from one of his boss’ lower arms. she didn’t even say anything, just returning to her conversation while he was left stunned on the ground.

when the colleague finally left, lantana picked vox up, sat him on her desk so they were at least somewhat closer to eye level, and laid out exactly what she expected from him from now on. he would not speak unless spoken to when in the company of others; she brought him along to these meetings to be visual stress relief, not to participate. on that note, he would not talk to her about business at all. she had no interest in his opinions, and going forward, she would not hesitate to discipline him if he kept trying to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. finally, and most importantly, he needed to remember his role. he was there to entertain her— to be a sweet, silly little distraction from the stresses of overlordship, and she expected him to act like it. it didn’t matter if she wasn’t playing with him right at that very moment, he was still “on the clock.” amuse her when she wasn’t busy, sit quietly and look cute when she was, and above all, stay in character. she would strike him as many times as was necessary in order to get that through his head, and would throw him out if he still refused to comply.

lantana asked if she was understood, and vox, terrified of returning to the streets, agreed. he left the room hating her, but also felt a strange, unwanted sense of embarrassment that he had overstepped to the point where she decided she “needed to” hit him. he should’ve known better. this woman was not to be “trusted” any more than she was to be manipulated.

---

Random thought: Proto Vox's unofficial theme would be "Make 'Em Laugh" from Singin' in the Rain

---

was thinking about female or trans male proto vox recently and got to wondering what lantana would be like in that scenario since i've made gender dynamics such a big part of her character. came up with a few different options.

---

#Just infuriating things about being three feet tall in a world where the average height is 6’6: door knobs.

Vox had three options when encountering a closed door back in his early days: knock and hope someone on the other side heard him, ask a nearby person to open it for him (which always made his skin crawl), or try to figure out a way to reach it on his own. The worst was when someone saw him struggling to reach the door knob, took pity on him, and opened the door for him, usually with a condescending comment tacked on at the end. It was such a blessing once he finally unlocked his electricity/teleportation powers and didn't have to deal with that crap anymore.

---

Random cheesy idea: Three moments in Vox’s life when the phrase “children should be seen and not heard” was relevant. The first is a time his parents applied it to him, the second is a time he said it about his own children, and the third is his boss using it against him in Hell.

#redlady speaks #proto vox au #hazbin hotel #vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #vox hazbin #vox the tv demon #2013 vox #cockroach vox #alastor #radiosilence #radiostatic

81 notes · View notes