#I’m going to regret all my life choices in five hours

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

All my coworkers are like “oh I had a rough night and didn’t get any sleep because my children — who I am responsible for as a complete fully formed adult who has followed the socially acceptable milestones in life — required care that I as a parent had to provide” and I’m like “I’m fucking bagged because I was parasocializing with a blonde Amazon of a pop star who emotionally crippled me through a tiny screen on an electronic device, pass the coffee”

[martyfive]

i lay in bed sick for two weeks straight. first there’s body temperature i never knew was possible for a human to have, then there are coughs that feel like they may be the last ones i could ever have in my life, then there’s weakness, then my five year old phone falls down from the bed ending up completely broken, then the bed sheets become something i couldn’t bear to see anymore. then i get up, go outside and unexpectedly find myself at the offer of a somewhat steady part job at this small italian restaurant we’ve been visiting every sunday sharp for the last year and a half except for these two weeks i spent lying sick in bed. we are leaving the bar for the night when R. asks me if i’d like to help her at the bar a couple hours a week.

“i have no experience or anything,” i say, feeling extremely daft. “i’m not even sure i can talk to people properly. i never really could.”

“it’s okay,” she says. “you’ll be polishing the glasses. it’s not hard. i’ll teach you everything.”

on our way home A. says, “it could be good for you, you know. being among people and trying something new,” and i feel like he’s right.

at this point this small restaurant already feels like another home i want to belong to. going there every sunday for so long totally helped with that. they have one of my works i gave them as a present for christmas on the wall. it hangs up above the table me and A. occupied the first time we ever came to eat there. the frame contains pages from a sketchbook i used to draw in while visiting italy five years ago. it feels too personal, but also somehow on it’s place. i hate to hoard the stuff i create. i want to be bolder.

regretting my life choices, i spend all what’s left from my last year’s salary on a new phone. it’s a first phone i bought without anyone’s help. it costs more than i deserve.

i can’t find any will to start drawing again after being sick for two weeks.

a couple days later i go to the restaurant to ask R. about the time i can get to work. she says, “this thursday, 6:30 pm,” and then adds, tugging on my star wars hoodie, “and put on a black shirt, if you have one”.

so i find one that looks like A. has been wearing it during his teenage years when he looked more like a stick than a human and i go for the job that for the first time in my life has nothing to do with any kind of art except the art of making cocktails i still keep messing up. a couple hours a week somehow soon turns into ten as normally as “polishing glasses” turns into “doing everything there is possible to do as quickly as possible”.

“would you like to do thirty hours a week?” R. asks one day looking hopeful as if i hadn’t broken ten of their glasses in the first five days of work.

“my back is gonna die sooner than you expect it to if i agree to that,” i answer. and it really is the only reason i don’t say yes.

i soon notice there is no time to think of anything else except the work to be done while i am behind the bar once again forgetting the difference between prosecco and chardonnay or picking the ice from the ice machine or freezing in the giant fridge while looking for the specific crate of beer everyone in this town drinks more often than water. the countless amount of crates are brought from and to the back room. the ten glasses are crushed, four of them in my own hands just from squeezing too hard on them. i cringe about every single one of them before falling asleep after coming home around midnight with my aching back and more money than i ever earned drawing pictures. i think about that one time my friend told me that once you start working in catering, there’s no way back. i haven’t talked to her in a while and i can’t ask her if she still thinks it’s true.

i still can’t draw. i guess it will pass. i still cough although i’m trying not to be loud when i’m behind the bar.

“you smoke?” R. asks. “i do. i just don’t have time.”

“i’ve been smoking since i was sixteen. but not anymore really,” i say to that. “when my mother calls me, then i smoke. but that doesn’t happen very often.”

M. laughs at that as if he understands what i’m talking about and says, “with this job, i either smoke a cigarette or kill somebody,” and i laugh with him.

M. is the chef and the restaurant is named after him. he cooks so good there is surely nothing better i’ve ever eaten in my entire life. i hear all about it from guests while picking the dishes from the tables, smiling and pretending my hands are not shaking. he and R. speak to each other in loud italian and i like how they sound even if i only understand a couple words from their dialogues.

“what’s allora?” i ask one time.

R. looks at me like i’m the only one who ever asked her a silly question like that, “huh,” she says, “i don’t know. it’s like here we go or something like that,” and she smiles.

i like talking to her. for some reason i like asking her questions and seeing the surprise on her face. she’s five years older than me but i feel like a child around her. she also has her birthday in november.

“all my family are scorpions,” she says after revealing the fact that there’s ten days between our birthdays. she names at least ten of the members of her family and all their november birthday dates in a row.

i say, “the parties must be hilarious when you all gather together.”

more often i feel like she’s my serious boss i keep disappointing with my every move but at the end of the shifts she turns into what feels more like a friend. i secretly hope i can be her friend one day even though it seems like she knows the name of every human being in this town and even some other nearby towns and doesn’t really need any more friends than she already has. but after all, i’m a part of this town now, too.

“what is your favourite thing to do here here at the bar?” i ask the other day.

she looks puzzled for a second, “maybe serving fish,” she says and this time it’s my turn to feel surprised. i saw how it’s done, and i don’t really know what she means.

“i thought it’s talking to people or something,” i say.

“nah,” she waves her hand, “it’s just my job, you know.”

i regret entering this territory but i still ask, “would you better like to do something else? some other job?”

“nah,” she says again, smiling, “i like it.”

and i like it too. horrifyingly, i like it too much. thinking about sitting at home and drawing stuff like i used to do all my life feels like a torture. it surely is one when i pick up my tablet and pencil and stare at the white canvas not knowing who i am anymore. there is nothing in my head i want to say. there is nothing my hands can do. i have no idea why. i want to go back behind the bar and ask R. what her favourite colour is.

“i’m proud of you,” A. says one night while we’re going back home from the restaurant where he got his two beers and one glass of whiskey i poured for him myself. he spent two hours sitting at the bar not far from these three teenage boys who have been drinking an enormous amount of beer and playing cards and then trying to guess where i come from according to my accent. “i’m proud that you’re doing good and you found something that you like so much.”

i buy two black shirts and jeans. i take my old black coat out of the wardrobe. i walk for two minutes from home to the bar and back looking fancier than ever. i feel happier than ever. i don’t look at my social media. i feel like this rotten sadness and loneliness that occupied my head for so long has nothing to do with my life now. i wonder if it’s just a phase. i consider finding a new therapist just to ask them if it’s okay to feel this good or i should be medicated before it’s too late. i want to go to bed at proper hour, wake up earlier, spend the day feeling good and then go to the bar and ask R. stupid questions and be stressed about the things i can control. i look at my workplace at home, at the white canvas that reflects nothingness in my head, at everything i have ever known, and i don’t know what to do.

i go back to work.

“you like it here?” M. asks almost every time. “is everything okay?”

“everything’s okay,” i say, smiling. and i mean it.

someone’s ordering an espresso at 11 pm. R. says, “tell them the coffee machine is already off,” turning it off while saying it. i laugh. i feel happy. i go home knowing there’s gonna be more work to be done tomorrow. i miss drawing stuff. i have nothing to say. i fall asleep thinking of the ten glasses i broke. in the morning, i can’t draw. i used to draw most of my stuff at the evenings and during the nights. now they are full of beer glasses and beer crates and adhd people who want an espresso before bed.

i ask myself if that really is how growing up feels like. i ask myself what i am going to do if i will not be able to draw a single piece of art ever again. i read the email of the person who wants me to draw an artwork for them. i wonder if they should know i’m an imposter who can’t draw anymore. i tell myself to shut up and stop being dramatic.

i go to work.

there’s a wedding at the restaurant. i once again bring what feels like an endless amount of bottle crates from the back room to the bar. i smile. i talk to people. i wipe the tables. i polish the glasses. i pour beer into them.

“my back hurts,” R. says.

“willkommen to the club,” i tell her, although for some reason my back doesn’t really hurt.

someone orders a beer and then changes their mind after the bottle was already opened.

“it’s yours if you want it,” R. says. “your shift is over anyway.”

and i stay. i sit at the bar as if i don’t really work there. i drink my beer, i talk to R. while she puts the new napkins on tables, makes sure everyone from the wedding paid what they had to and lets me ask her my questions. i pay for another beer, taking money from my fresh salary. R. rolls her eyes at that but allows me to pay anyway. she’s not a boss anymore. just… a friend. i tell her i don’t wanna go home.

“i can see that,” she laughs. “do you have friends here in town?” she asks.

i look at the bottom of my glass.

“no,” i say. there’s a lady on our street i sometimes walk our dogs together with. she’s as old as my mother. i always forget the names of her three kids although they’re all around my age. i wonder if i should mention her. “i have friends in other places. you know. not here.”

“i can be your friend here,” she says, smiling.

i feel like it’s the happiest day of my life. i’m also a little drunk on schwarzbier. even if my back would hurt i wouldn’t have noticed.

“if you need someone as me as a friend,” i say, “then. yeah. sure. uh. why not.”

we talk some more. the beer tests my language skills. i tell her i want a new tattoo. she says she got the first one when she was sixteen and it was a horrible butterfly.

“what is your favourite colour?” i finally ask.

she looks really baffled at that, then pulls out her phone. “i guess it’s red,” she says, showing me some of photos from her instagram where she’s younger than me now and is dressed up in red. “see, it looks good on me,” and she’s right. “but white is also good. and pink. and maybe purple. not black though. with my black hair, it doesn’t look good at all.”

we’re both dressed in black for work.

i come to the conclusion that colours are the least important thing in the world to her. that’s okay. i think about all the years i spent trying to make colours work. i wanna say something, but end up saying nothing.

she turns the lights off and locks the restaurant up. we spend a couple minutes walking in the same direction to our houses. i tell her about the name my friends from other places are calling me. i don’t tell her why it’s different from the one she saw on my id card. i’m not that drunk. she says she’s gonna use it from now on. she kisses my cheek before we part. i was at school the last time someone did that.

i go home. i sit at my workplace. i answer to the email of the person that wants me to draw an artwork for them from a new phone i spent enormous amount of money on. for a second i wonder if i should still tell them i’m an imposter and my career will be over by the morning when i wake up sober.

i think about the ten glasses i broke, then let myself forget about them. i tell myself to shut up and stop being dramatic.

i draw.

29/02/2024

[theblueflower05]

Could we get omega lo'ak and alpha fem reader, who's Metkayina, where Lo'ak reacts to her knot for the first time? I love your writing so much!!

So like. Why are you guys trying to make me obsessed with Omega Lo’ak? It’s literally destroying my life. He’s a doll faced sweetheart and I love him.

Smut under the cut

Okay because here’s the difference between Neteyam and Lo’ak-

Neteyam doesn’t want to allow himself to be soft. He’s fighting every single one of his instincts at all times, trying to pretend like he doesn’t need anyone to take care of him. He’s rejecting any and all offers that Alphas throw at him- and that boy gets ALOT of offers.

Lo’ak on the other hand? All he’s ever wanted is the chance to be soft. To be cherished and to have someone who wants to take care of him. He’s not like his brother, he doesn’t get proposals left and right. No one wants to court the five fingered youngest son of Toruk Makto.

He hears the whispers, both back in the forest and here in Awa’atlu. He’s not a suitable mate. He has too much tawtute in him. What kind of demon children would he produce? No one’s willing to find out.

He’s gotten used to pretending it doesn’t bother him. It Absolutely GUTS him.

So when you start courting him he’s like- so confused?

You’re stunning. Waist length dark waves and big powder blue eyes. Your body endless curves. You’re one of the Metkayina’s best weavers- the fishing nets you make are highly sought after.

And you’re a Female Alpha in her prime. You have endless choices for mates so why are you interested I him?

He’s guarded for a while because this all has to be some elaborate joke. He knows your friends with Ao’nung- is this another cruel prank?

But you’re patient and kind to Lo’ak. Spending any free time you have trying to make it clear to the Omega that you’re beyond interested in him.

You make him beautiful intricate nets for his hunts, the other warriors are envious of him as he pulls them out.

Blankets. Jewelry. A meticulously hand stitched rug for his family’s Mauri. It has to take endless hours for you to weave your creations into life. So much work and patience in everything you gift to him. He can’t believe you waste all of this talent on him.

After a couple months he finally accepts your courtship.

He’s shaking, his voice trembling as the two of you talk, the beach desolate and the eclipsing sun the only witnesses to the intimate moment.

“I’m not sure why you want to be with me, Y/N. I don’t want- I don’t want you to regret this”

“Lo’ak don’t say that. Can’t you feel it when we’re together? Eywa has blessed this union. Were meant to be together, I know it. You have traveled thousands of miles to be mine- you were brought here so I could have you”

Your words are impassioned, you clutch his hands. Cradling all of his fingers. Not shying away from them the way others had before.

Even then, he’s still scared that someone might jump out from behind the trees. Laughing and confirming that this had all been a ploy.

That never happens of course.

He musters all of his confidence and courage and accepts your proposal.

Your face lights up with pure joy. He’s never seen you smile that big.

You launch yourself into his strong arms and he catches your small, powerful body mid air- before the two of you end up in the sand. Rolling around and clutching eachother tight.

It happens in a daze.

Neither of you can wait any longer.

You don’t go to your families. You don’t wait for a ceremony. You’re mated as soon as possible. Preform Tsaheylu, the sacred bond, at the Spirit Tree.

Under the water it’s still and quiet as Lo’ak let’s you into his soul for the first time.

Payakan and Efayne(your tulkun spirit sister) bare witness to the magical moment, dancing and singing in unforgettable happiness.

When you drag Lo’ak back to your Mauri he’s beyond nervous.

Your space is beautifully decorated; warm and inviting and yet he feels like an outsider in it. Like he’s not meant to inhabit something so comfortable.

All of his sharp edges will ruin the softness, he just knows it.

“Are you okay?” You whisper to him as you lead him over to your bed mat- piled high with bedding you’d woven yourself. You hope he likes the plush pillows and large quilts. That he’ll be able to make his nest here-

“Yeah. I’m alright. I just-“ he looks anywhere but at you, chewing on the inside of his lip.

“What? What’s got you so worried?” You question, sitting down and grabbing his wrist to tug him down beside you. The two of you so close that your plush thigh presses against his firm slim one.

“I’m not a virgin” Lo’ak blurts after the two of you sink down into the bed.

A look of hurt flashes across your face, briefly, before you swallow it down.

You’d saved yourself for your mate. You’d hoped they’d do the same, even though sex outside of mated couples was common. Natural. Not frowned upon. You’d been naive-

“I’ve never been with an Alpha before, but back home, in the forest there was this girl. She was a Beta but still- I just thought you should know. Fuck. I’m sorry” he speaks too fast, words jumbled up by nerves.

He wishes he would’ve saved himself for you but he had just been so lonely.

He’d given his virginity to the first person who’d looked at him twice. Of course the Beta back home hadn’t wanted to be with him after- but in that moment having someone who desired him, even if just briefly, had overwhelmed him.

“It’s okay” you speak after a moment, reassuring the both of you “I don’t care who’s had you before. Your mine now”

Lo’ak melts. Letting out a little whimper as he reaches over. Kissing you hotly and cupping your face in his hands.

He hopes he can pour everything into that kiss. All of the love and adoration he feels for you. How greatful he is for you, for your love and acceptance. He still can’t believe you chose him, he’d spend his life proving to you that he could be a good partner. That he was worthy of you.

“I’m yours, Alpha. Only yours” he whispers into your wet mouth, lips against yours.

Those words do something to you. Scratches a primal itch in your brain that has you swooning. Calling you his Alpha is big. He’d never call anyone else that. Only you.

You shiver and grasp him tighter, pulling him as close to you as possible. Your body’s grinding together almost frantically.

It’s a frenzy of sloppy kisses and wandering hands. Of clumsily discarded clothing and flailing limbs.

He tastes so good. His spit, his cock. His clenching hole. Your gorge yourself on all of it, gluttonous as you make him come over and over.

Until he’s hissing, shaking and begging to be inside of you.

When you sink down onto his hard length you both go still. Wide eyed as you take him to the hilt.

It hurts. He’s so long, his tip kisses your cervix painfully and you struggle to relax. The foreign feeling overwhelming.

“Shh” he comforts you. Massaging your hips, his hands rubbing over your thighs soothingly as you quiver ontop of him “it’s okay, relax”

“I’ve never done this before” you shakily admit what he already knows.

It’s shitty because you’re hurting, his cock is splitting you open, but the beast inside his chest purrs. No other Omega would ever get to be inside of you. Only him.

After a moment you adjust. The pain of being stretched morphs into something different. Dulls down into pleasure. Your hips move in curious little circles and Lo’ak smiles gently. Letting you take your time getting used to him.

You brace yourself, hands on his hard pecs as you discover what feels good.

It quickly turns torturous. You’re all Alpha on top of him. Chasing your own pleasure, using him to get yourself off. Every time he tries to adjust you push him down and continue what you were doing- harder.

You’re killing him. The pace you’ve set, the angle of your hips.

“Y/N” he pleas in a whine “Shit. ease up-“

You snarl in his face warningly. Your canines gleaming in the golden light that pours through the palm window shutters.

You’re in control.

It’s blatantly clear in your body language.

Your hips bouncing harshly stop of him. Your thick thighs caging him. Your core bunching as your rock relentlessly. You’re stunning. Mesmerizing. So strong, yet so feminine. He’s completely transfixed.

He lays back, almost limply. His head lolling to the side, his neck on display. Fully submitting to you.

You can do whatever you want to him.

You fuck him until he’s boneless. Until he’s a shivery mess. His eyes are squeezed close but tears still escape , rolling down his temples and into his dark braids.

You ride him until it hurts-

Lo’ak might not be a virgin, but he’s never been knotted. When yours begins to swell, so tight it feels like it’s cutting off his circulation he screeches. His finger nails digging bloody into your shoulders as you press your chest against his.

Slamming your hips down one last time before you completely lock him inside of you.

Lo’ak is staring at you, is mouth shocked open in a little “o”. He can’t breathe. He can barley think.

All he knows is that the two of you are physically stuck together. Fused into one being. It’s heady and overwhelming and he hugs you bruisingly tight as you milk him for all he’s worth.

The two of you cling to each other for hours. Even after your knots released him and his spent cock slips out of your puffy cunt- he can’t let you go.

He’s needy, whining and nuzzling into your throat. You just stroke his head, comfortingly.

Aaaaand I need to stop. Wow. This was supposed to be a drabble not a whole ass story FUCK. I might need to write Omega Lo’ak his own little series. I love him so so much.

To my A/B/O loving besties @cinetrix @tiredmamaissy and @tanhi-04 Um why is Omega Lo’ak so fucking precious? I can barley take it.

[beybaldes]

my first, my last, my everything

summer sleepover masterlist

roy kent x gn!reader

summary : “i could be your family” requested by the loml @onceuponaoneshotfanfic <33

content warning : readers family are a little mean because they are moving away from home, set pre-ted lasso era.

an : what a cute prompt :(((( domestic roy is something so personal to me :(((( title is based on the song of the same name by barry white !!

It was well known by anyone that had even heard of him that Roy Kent was ‘one tough cookie’ (as Ted had called him in a interview once when he first came to Richmond), and the sentiment had seemed to stick. But back when Roy first asked you out, you knew you were in for a world of romance.

Based on his ‘I don’t like anyone or anything’ aesthetic alone, you figured he’d be a secret softie and the worlds most hopeless romantic - and you’d been totally right. The evening of your first date, he’d shown up with 2 dozen red roses, kept his hand on your thigh the entire car ride, opened every door for you, pulled out every chair for you, and complimented you at every opportunity. When he walked you back to your door, after a night of being a perfect gentleman, he gave you the most searing and passionate kiss of your life, leaving without another word.

After spending half an hour sat in bed debating if his silence after the kiss was his way of letting you down gently, you searched to see if there was any meaning behind the 2 dozen red roses he’d given you.

The traditional romantic message of 24 roses is that of complete devotion, or “I am yours.”

You had no doubt you’d been seeing Roy Kent for a date, and getting kissed by him like that, again.

4 years later, almost each and every day of it spent together, Roy asks you if you’re willing to move across the country with him if the bid from Chelsea goes through and he gets transferred. When he asks, head hung low and his hands in tight fists, you can tell he expects you to say no. Expects you to explain that while you love him, and you’ve loved these last 4 years, that you can’t - won’t - leave Sunderland. He is ready for this to be the biggest heartbreak of his young life and have it ruin every other partner for him.

You say yes in a heartbeat, and seal it with a kiss just a searing as the one he gave you after your first date.

The move down south is long and tiring, but so worth it. You’re closer to Roy’s mum and sister, he gets to play for his childhood team, your work seamlessly transferred you to it’s sister company, and you were living in a beautiful house with the love of your life (who had an incredibly sexy shaggy mullet going on). Life couldn’t have been better.

Except for the fact that your family hadn’t stopped bombarding you with text messages about your move all week. You still had boxes left to unpack and they were already making you regret your decision. Not the decision of moving in with Roy, you’d go fucking anywhere with Roy, but they made it so hard to allow yourself to feel like you’d made the right choice when they were constantly telling you you hadn’t.

Every single one of them was telling you Roy would leave you sooner or later, for some model, footballer, actress or one of the spice girls. One of your uncles even had a bet going with one of his mates from the pub that Roy would fuck all five before then end of his career. To say it made you feel like shit would be an understatement.

“Sunshine, I’m home.” Roy shouted from the front door, kicking it closed behind him and then kicking his shoes off. He’s been doing press about the transfer all day, and he feels terrible having left you in the new house all alone to unpack, but he knows it’s just part of the move, there’s ultimately nothing he can do about it. Still, the only thing he wants to do before he has to go out for another full day of press tomorrow is curl up in your arms, have you run your fingers through his hair, and whisper sweet nothings in his ear about the new life the two of you are going to build together in London. Instead he is met with what seems like a cold and empty house. “Babe? You here?”

You’re sprawled on the couch Roy had insisted was way too big, but looked small now in the middle of the gigantic living room, lazily covered in a throw blanket and only wearing one of Roy’s Sunderland shirts. Even though you’d heard him come in, you didn’t have the strength to call out to him, especially not when your phone was still frantically buzzing against the coffee table every 10 seconds.

“Sunshine? What are you doing in here?” Roy places something down on the kitchen counter and you can hear it thanks to the main rooms open plan, and you can tell he’s getting closer to you because you can hear the soft padding of his feet against the wooden floor. “You okay?”

Even though he wants nothing more then for him to crawl into your arms, he knows you need it more then he does right now. So, before you can resist him, he pulls you into his arms, sitting the two of you upright on the settee with you in his lap, his hand in your hair. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Nothing Roy-o, just tired. Missed you.” You hid your head in the crook of his neck, hoping that if you burrowed deep enough into his mix of warmth and aftershave, you could hide from the constant buzzing of your phone. “It’s a big house, I feel so small without you here to share it.”

“Give me a week, sunshine, then I can be here all day every day until preseason. And then we’ll be on a pretty similar work schedule.” Roy pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, ghosting a kiss against your temple and the another against the shell of your ear. “It’s going to be perfect. You. Me. Here. It’s all going to work out, sunshine.”

For a moment, you believed Roy and it felt like everything was going to be okay, that you’d made that right choice, and that you and Roy were taking the first step towards the rest of your lives. Then your phone buzzed.

“Fucking hell, babe, you got a fan club or what?” When you didn’t laugh, Roy’s concern only grew, leaning forward and picking up your phone to see what all the commotion was. As he scrolled through message after message from family member after family member, his brow grew tense, and a scowl settled on his face. “What a fucking joke.”

“Roy.”

“No, seriously, they can say all they want about me. I don’t give a fuck. I never have. But about you?” Roy scoffed, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you with him as he leant against the back of the sofa. “You’re fucking related to them and this is how they’re talking to you? It’s a fucking joke.”

“They’re my family, Roy-o, they’re just trying to look out for me, that’s all.” One of your hands moved to run up Roy’s chest, tracing around the embroidered material of the Chelsea badge right over his heart. God, did he look good in blue.

“Some fucking family, to treat you like that.” Roy ran a hand over his forehead, pushing his curls of out his eyes. You loved his hair like this, grown out and curly like in the pictures you’d seen of him as a kid. Maybe one day you’d convince him to push it out of his eyes with a headband. He’d look sexy in a headband. “I could be your family.”

Roy’s hand cupped your jaw, turning your head slowly to face him. When your eyes finally met his, he pressed a soft and long kiss to your lips. You melted into it, the stress of the week and of the messages from your family melting away under Roy’s loving touch. “You’re already my family, Roy. It’s like you said, me, you, here. Besides, you have been since you wormed your way into my heart on our first date with those 2 dozen roses.”

“Funny you’d say that.” Roy whispered, nuzzling his nose against yours, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips then pulling away with a smirk. “Thought the new house could do with some greenery.”

As you turned to look at the kitchen counter, you saw what you could only assume was 2 dozen roses already in vases. It must have been what Roy brought home with him, and suddenly you wished you’d been feeling happier and could’ve appreciated them more when he first walked in the door.

“The traditional romantic message of 24 roses is that of complete devotion, or “I am yours.”” You repeated under your breath, a warm smile brightening your whole face. Roy’s eyes widened, as though he hadn’t necessary expected you to know the meaning behind 2 dozen roses, but he loved you even more for it.

“I am yours.” Roy repeated, voice filled with complete and utter earnest. “And one day I’m going to put a ring in your finger to prove it.”

an : Mwah!!!! Love you guys thank you for reading so far <333

[itsliyahhbih]

Ambivalent Love Pt 2.

Sum: You and Hobie are both Spider people who met at HQ, always tend to go on missions together and have been friends with benefits for 6 years. After a victory celebration you’ve started to realize you want more out of him, but Hobie doesn’t necessarily get it till you stood business.

Warnings: None for this part, hope you enjoy ☺️

“...I don’t know Hobie..” Hobie feels as though his heart just sank to his ass and kinda looks at her shocked. “Alright..My bad, have a good rest of ya day luv’.” He goes to kiss her cheek but he stops and just walks out the door. Y/n closes it behind him simultaneously and lets out the biggest gasp for air ever, as if she held her breath the entire time, but really she was just fighting back tears. Soon as she let that gasp go she broke down crying and leaning on her front door. Y/n sits there wallowing in her tears, the numb feeling , the feeling of regret and heartbreak for hours after that.

Five days passed by and no one really got her to move. Not her best friends, not even her mom or dad whom she was really close to...So eventually her sister stopped by too when she finally got the time from her busy lifestyle and after getting so many messages from the others about Y/n.

“Y/n honey, I know you wanted him to make the choice you were hoping he was gonna make..but he didn’t okay?” She rubs her sisters back softly as Y/n laid on her. “And I hate to be so blunt with you during this time of need, but at this point maybe it’s what you need..Y/n you’re an amazing girl. You’re so talented, smart..beautiful inside and out.” She smiles and sits her sister up wiping away her tears. She gets up from the bed and goes to the bathroom to start her little sister a shower and picks out an outfit for her. “My whole point is behind this, if he wanted to he would , okay? And he would’ve by now I can assure you of that! I mean maybeee ! Just mother fucking maybee he is misunderstood and there’s some underlying issue behind this, who knows!” Her sister throws her hands up looking at Y/N then walks over pulling her up. “But he isn’t communicating that with you and fulfilling your needs emotionally and mentally. Are you really gonna keep sulking around over this man who isn’t doing the same about you?” She pulls up Y/n from out of her bed. “Your New York needs you honey, you have a job and a life to live..So start living it for me okay? ” She smiles sweetly at her sister and finally, Y/n cracks a smile back and speaks “you’re right Sis...I think I just, I don’t know. I needed the time to process and sulk. To have that crybaby era. I don’t get it much as Spider woman. ” She stands up “Y/B/F is definitely going to get on my ass once she sees I’m up and functioning again because I let myself be so down” she lets out a heavy sigh with a bit of a laugh “But I deserve it after all the crying and venting she had to hear these past five days

,and here you come, only taking 45 minutes.” Her sister smirks and shrugs looking very proud of herself. “Yeah what can I say, I got the older sister touch.” Y/n looks at her sister unamused , about to give that actual attention and reply, but she doesn’t. “Mmmhm I bet you do!” Y/n speaks sarcastically and takes her stuff heading to the bathroom. “Give me like an hour to get ready!” Her sister blinks rapidly and looks at the time “An hour?! Y/n we’re just gonna go work on the Atom adjuster !” She waits for a reply back , seeing she doesn’t get one she does a silent scream and stomps towards the bathroom door when it closed, then goes to sit in Y/n’s living room to wait. “Fucking hour..who says I got an hour? What the fuck you gotta look good for in a lab..” H/S/N rambles on and turns on the tv sitting in wait.

Later on that day what turned into what was supposed to be a few hours of working on this turned into Y/N deciding to stay in the lab overnight to work. H/S/N hesitated to leave her alone, but she knew this was a bit of a better coping mechanism than what Y/N was doing previously. Couple hours into her work night she starts to yawn a bit “I think ima need more coffee and a snack this time.” She glances up at the time seeing it read ‘3:42’ “Yeahh I’ll ignore that” She walks to the kitchen area, placing her mug under the Keurig and popping in a new K-cup to refill her cup. She sits at the table inside the small kitchen and scrolls through her phone waiting , then suddenly she hears some small bangs in the distance. “Great and I didn’t even have my 5th cup of coffee…” She rolls her eyes and walks out the kitchen down the hall towards the noise. “Alright IF , you’re Y/B/F and I just didn’t notice you asleep in your lab that’s my fault ,but you better speak now or forever be webbed !” She calls out in a sing-song tone, then her spidey senses tingle.

She slightly jumps as she turns her body around and moves back to web the intruder down. As she does so she shoots a web to turn on the hallway light “Hobie..” He looks up and smiles weakly “hey there beautiful, mind putting me down..I just came here to talk, Luv’..please just let me talk.” Y/N crosses her arms and leaves him in the webs. “You have the floor..” Hobie looks at his placement on the wall then looks down at the ground to see his feet aren’t touching the floor “Yeahh, I don’t know bout that one love” She rolls her eyes and walks over using a laser outta her suit cutting him down. “Hobie, start talking before I throw you outta here..” she turns away from him, her arms back to being crossed, trying her best to remain cold with him.

Hobie watches her for a minute and bites at his lip piercing a bit “Lover.. I’m sorry, okay? I’m ah pure idiot and as thick as a brick when It comes to you. Our friendship, our relationship..It means the world to me Doll, you..you mean the world to me darling.” She still doesn’t turn around and hobie looks a bit shocked “Y/n, please could you just fuckin’ look at me mate!” His tone raises and he walks over turning her around “I’m not the one to beg and you know this, but I will sit here and beg for you. I fucked up. I made you feel gross , I’m sure of it.. like you’re just a lump of ass , and you’re not ! You’re gorgeous, I miss your nerdy comments over physics, I miss the fangirling at my concerts...I just miss having you at my side.” His eyes wander around thinking of what to say to her “You’re so optimistic and smart Y/N , I admire you for who you are, and I want you to know.. I was a bloody coward for not being able to say this to you sooner. I miss you at my concerts , I miss seeing you in the morning in my boat! Swallowed in my t-shirt as you make food! " Hobie groans and walks up to her grabbing her face “I’ll break any rule for you, I’ll sound like a gushing idiot right now if I have to, but love I need you back…” She tries not to make much eye to eye contact with Hobie. She’s never seen him like this, so vulnerable and actually expressing his emotions to her..It’s making her insides flutter, her knees go weak. Hobie’s her weakness..She tries to remain cold but she can’t help but muzzle her face into his large warm hands becoming putty in his hands..”Go on..say what you really want to say Hobs..” Hobie rolls his eyes slightly and chuckles “Oh you’re getting ah’ kick outta this aren’t cha’…” A smirk grows on her face and a smile grows on his..

A/N: To be continued…🖤 Pt.3 is the last part and fair warning, there will be Smut. Thank you for all the love, support and your patience! 🫶🏼

Link to part 3 🫶🏼

[cuddlepilefics]

Summer hike

Fandom: P1Harmony

Sickie: Taeyang

Caregiver: Keeho

Taeyang gets lost on a hike...

Taeyang’s POV.:

Considering how busy we had been lately, I had been looking for something relaxing to do the next time we’d be on a break. I loved fishing hut hadn’t be able to do that for an eternity because we were usually too busy and when we weren’t, the weather would ruin my plans. That was why I had to make sure the next time would be perfect. We’d get a one week long break soon and I planned to go on a hike around a lake beforehand, so I could find the perfect spot. Once I knew the spot, I’d have multiple days to choose from, so y chances of having good weather would be better than usual. It simply had to work out for once.

No one’s POV.:

On the first day of their break, Taeyang got his backpack ready, making sure he had a lunchbox and water bottle because he had no idea how long his walk would end up being. It was cloudy, so he only put on a thin layer of sunscreen as part of his morning routine but decided against wearing a hat. After having it styled all the time, he wanted to give his hair and scalp a chance to breathe.

Taeyang put on comfortable shoes and bid his dongsaengs goodbye before heading out for the day. The members had asked him whether he wanted any company as they couldn’t imagine walking around in circles would be any fun, especially not alone but the oldest insisted that it was just what he needed to breathe and clear his head.

He had found a river a little out of town, that would feed into a lake, so he decided to follow the river before circling the lake to make sure he had checked each and every single fishing spot. Sure, he had known that he had quite some distance to pass but he had the time to. About five kilometers into his hike though. Taeyang realized his ‘comfortable’ shoes weren’t all that comfortable. It took another two kilometers for him to stop and pull a pack of blister patches from his backpack. At least he had come prepared.

He was already starting to lose his motivation because his feet hurt and hadn’t seen any good fishing spots yet. To make matters worse, the clouds had vanished the sun now mercilessly beating down on him. The back of his shirt was completely drenched with sweat, where the backpack covered it and the straps of his backpack chaffed against his shoulders. Yeah, he was starting to regret this.

Thinking he’d have better luck if he strayed off the beaten path just a little, Taeyang deviated his planned route and found himself walking and walking and walking, his mood deteriorating. It didn’t take long for Taeyang to completely lose his sense of orientation and just like he couldn’t find his way, he also couldn’t find any shade. Needing to collect himself, he took a seat on the ground and pulled out his lunch box. It helped raise his mood a little to not be hungry anymore but he didn’t have much water left and the food only made him thirstier.

Taeyang tried to refrain from chugging down all of his water and only had a few sips to wash his lunch down. His head was starting to hurt a little, so he relented and pulled out his phone to use GPS. Looking at the distance and time it’d take him to get back, Taeyang gulped and slung his backpack over his shoulder. His back was tense and ached, despite the backpack not even being all that heavy. Just as he went about backtracking his steps with GPS to make sure he wouldn’t get lost again, Taeyang made another frustrating discovery.

“Hey, in case you don’t hear from me for a few more hours, I got lost”, Taeyang explained, recording a voice message to Keeho, “I’m on my way back, so don’t worry, but my phone is dying. Could you maybe put some lotion into the fridge? My arms are burned from the sun and I’ll really need it once I get back. Currently regretting all my life choices, haha. See you later tonight, no promise when.”

With that, Taeyang trudged on, his head pounding. He could feel the skin on his face burn and wiped the sweat off his forehead. This had been a shitty idea. With his throat so painfully dry, Taeyang soon stopped again. This time, he couldn’t stop himself from downing the rest of his water. He could hear it gurgle as he continued on, his stomach already starting to cramp after only a few sips.

Every step was torture, his stomach churning and his head thudding. It didn’t take long for Taeyang to double over on the side of the path, painfully retching up the precious water he had saved for so long. Losing his balance for a second, he had to crouch and brace his hand on the hot gravel to keep from falling into his own sick. He didn’t want to worry anyone, so he refrained from calling anyone. Besides, he should really save his phone battery, so he could look at the map.

To be entirely honest, Taeyang had started to doubt he’d make it home at some point, so he almost cried with relief when he arrived back at a bus station. He had to wait for quite a while till the right bus came but he didn’t care, as long as he didn’t have to walk anymore. It did mean more time in the sun though but he figured the damage was already done anyway.

Keeho gasped when the oldest stumbled through the door, his face bright red, hair dripping with sweat. Sluggishly dropping his back pack, Taeyang shuffled over to the fridge to get some water. “There’s some soda at the bottom”, Keeho informed, figuring the older would prefer something carbonated. To be frank, Taeyang didn’t have a preference anymore at this point. He just needed a drink.

“Take it slow! You’re going to make yourself sick”, Keeho warned as he watched Taeyang chug his drink. It didn’t seem like the older had heard him, so he made his way over and grabbed his wrist. Taeyang’s head spun as he breathlessly gulped down more water until his stomach lurched. Leaning over the sink, the oldest shuddered as the water gushed right back up. Keeho wrapped his arm around the other’s waist to steady him against the increasing dizziness. “Shit. I told you this would happen”, the leader scolded, though his tone was more concerned than anything else. Weakly clutching the kitchen counter, Taeyang panted: “Need to s-sit. Gosh, ‘m so dizzy.”

After easing the older to the floor, Keeho frowned: “Don’t pass out on me, okay?” Taeyang nodded, cradling his head in his hands. “Did you get sunstroke? I listened to your message…”, the leader hummed, brushing the damp hair out of his friend’s face to get a proper look at him. Taking a shaky breath, Taeyang winced: “I don’t think so but I definitely got pretty close to that.” His voice was hoarse from being sick and his throat ached. “Think I just need to cool down and get rehydrated”, the oldest muttered, massaging his temples, “Fuck, I feel awful.”

Though Keeho worried the other might need a trip to the hospital, he let his hyung make his own decision. He could still intervene later if he got any worse. “Since your stomach can’t seen to handle a drink right now, how about I run you a cool bath”, the leader offered. Grimacing, Taeyang mumbled: “I can take a cold bath myself.” – “Exactly, you’ll take a cold bath and make yourself much worse because you cool your body down too fast”, Keeho sighed, offering the older a hand to pull him to his feet, “We need to take this slowly, okay?”

Taeyang eventually let the other take over and sat on the closed toilet lid while the tub filled. When it was full, Keeho left so the older could get in. The leader returned with a bottle of sports drink, explaining: “You don’t only need water, you need electrolytes too. Try sipping this but take it easy, yeah? No chugging. I mean it.” Taeyang gave a weak nod and complied, only taking small sips to not overwhelm his stomach again. “I’ll go and turn the AC lower in our room, so don’t drown. Yell when you’re done and I’ll bring you the lotion from the fridge and a pair of shorts”, Keeho instructed, leaving the older to soak in the bath.

Keeho sighed, he should’ve inquired about the circumstances when he got Taeyang’s message and not just laugh it off. Maybe someone could’ve come to get him. He placed another bottle of sports drink onto Taeyang’s nightstand before adjusting the AC. Opening the other’s closet, Keeho took his time to pick a pair of shorts. He figured Taeyang’s skin would be incredibly sensitive with a sunburn like that, so the material would have to be really soft.

When Taeyang called for Keeho, he sounded absolutely exhausted, his voice so quiet the leader barely heard him. At least he had finished his drink at a slow pace and it seemed to settle alright so far. “Here’s your stuff. How do you feel now?”, Keeho hummed, placing the shorts and lotion onto the sink. The older shrugged, rasping: “My stomach is still cramping but I’m not nauseous anymore. Aside from that my head hurts and yeah, so do my feet and skin. You have no idea how much I regret this walk.” – “True, I can’t imagine”, Keeho agreed softly, “Take care of your skin and come lay down, yeah? You look like you really need the rest.”

Taeyang did just that, sluggishly lathering his burned skin with lotion before putting on his shorts. Dragging his aching body to his room, the oldest collapsed on his bed and grimaced when the impact snet shockwaves through his skull. Keeho winced in sympathy as the other lay down properly and whispered: “There’s more sports drink on your nightstand in vase your still thirsty. Can I get you anything?”

Since the older didn’t reply, Keeho decided to take matters into his own hands. He fetched an icepack for Taeyang’s head and returned with badaids and blister patches to take care of his sore feet. Keeping his eyes closed, the oldest sighed in relief when the icepack touched his forehead. “Thank you”, Taeyang breathed, his throat still aching after finishing the second bottle of sports drink. Whispering that it was fine, Keeho set about patching up his friend’s feet.

“Could you get me more, please?”, Taeyang rasped when the leader was done patching him up. Taking the empty bottle from the older, Keeho hesitated for a moment before frowning: “I think, you should wait a little. I’ll get you another bottle, of course, but you should wait a little before you drink it. How about I also get you a popsicle? It’ll soothe the dryness in your throat for the time being because I don’t think it’ll go away, no matter how much you drink now.”

He placed the fresh drink onto the nightstand while Taeyang tiredly sat up. Handing the older the popsicle, Keeho quickly atacked up the pillows because it didn’t look like the other had the strength to sit on his own. He was completely spent.

Taeyang’s hand trembled as he lifted the popsicle to his chapped lips. Sighing in relief, he closed his eyes and breathed: “You’re right. It helps more than the drink did.” – “Glad it’s helping”, Keeho smiled, taking a seat next to the older, “If you want, you can rest your head on my shoulder. By the way, did you at least find the proper fishing spot you were looking for?”

The hoarse huff of frustration was enough for Keeho to know not to ask.

[twobigears]

2023 New Year Goals and Reviews and Stuff

I usually do goal and review posts every year just like everyone else, but if I did this for 2022 I sure can’t find it. Maybe I was too lazy, which would surprise no one.

2022

This felt like a fairly chill year overall, which is probably a good thing.

We did some hiking and camping. As always, we could have done more.

Chandra made good progress in her iliospoas rehab that started at the end of 2021 (def a reason we didn’t hike as much, especially in the first half of the year). She is cautiously returning to agility and we’ll see how that goes.

Chandra did some more obedience training and also made good progress there. We didn’t trial other than some at-home WRCL runs.

Blizzard really picked up her agility trialing! She had her first full year of trialing after a slow start largely due to covid.

Between virtual runs and real trials, Blizzard made her way up to Masters in USDAA and Level 5 in CPE. She earned her MPD (Masters level title in USDAA) and is about halfway to her PDCH (championship title)

I finished 3/4 of my schooling for my GIS certificate and transition away from dog training to a new career. There is still a lot of anxiety going on with that, but the mental relief of getting away from agility-as-a-job has been soooo worth it.

I put more effort into self-improvement mentally and physically! After years of yo-yoing and steadily creeping weight gain, I revamped habits, made better choices, and lost about 25lbs. I admit this came after hitting a mental low point (and high weight point) early in the year when I was sitting in a hotel room eating grocery store chocolate cake with my fingers because I ‘needed’ it. The cake wasn’t even that good.

I also reined in my internet and social media habits, especially Facebook as recently mentioned. But also things like not scrolling my phone in bed at night, and not checking it first thing in the morning either. I think a lot of people these days have some sort of social media addiction, or at least way too much there, and Facebook was mine. For a long time I knew how bad it was making me feel for a hundred different reasons, but it was still a struggle to quit or cut back. I finally managed it in the last couple months of 2022 and I really do feel soooo much better just ignoring my friends feed and going on primarily to check some hobby groups. It is so much easier to spend less than 5-10 minutes a day there versus the hours I used to spend. Unfortunately I’ve kind of replaced the FB addiction with a Reddit addiction, which is something to work on in 2023....

I got myself spayed and off of hormonal birth control! It’s only been about five weeks but I can already feel the mental benefits and I’m so glad I did it. Only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner. I look forward to seeing how my brain and body continue to change and hopefully for the better. HBC is great for so many reasons (esp the No Babies part, so I have no regrets for that), but it’s also got shitty baggage.

Seems like a lot of 2022 was about me, which was probably more than a little overdue. As they say, put on your own oxygen mask before helping others. ~self care~ and all that!

What’s up for 2023?

Continue monitoring Chandra’s rehab and see how it goes and how she does with some agility again. I have a pipe dream goal of finishing her PDCH (she needs 8 Qs, even less than Blizzard) but I don’t want to be selfish about it. So we’ll see.

Obedience...idk. We’ll keep doing some training but at this point I’m not sure about trialing. The obedience community really does it make hard to love. Maybe later on I’ll feel interested again. I don’t want to regret not doing it, like I regret not finishing Ryker’s CD before he died.

Blizzard, I would love to finish her PDCH! It might be tough to do given the lack of USDAA trials here but I think it is still a possibility.

At this point I’ve put thoughts of Next Dog on hold for a while again. I’m currently enjoying the two dog life, backing away from dog sports again, and doing more non-dog things (even though a lot of it still involves them anyway, like hiking and camping). Plus with us likely moving, me hopefully getting a new job, I think it’s good to just not add another dog to the mix until all that has settled. I won’t say Next Dog is totally out of the question for 2023, but right now it’s unlikely and not something I’m planning to actively pursue.

At some point this year we’re planning to move to Minnesota. No specific timeline yet, but probably summer-ish. It will be incredibly sad to leave Colorado...

I’ll finish school this spring, hopefully find a real adult job in that field (yay..) and not have this schooling be for nothing.

Continue reinforcing and improving my habits for mental and physical health. I’ve been considering getting into bouldering for something different in the physical activity realm, so I’ll probably check that out. Plus the usual hiking and camping. Gotta get out and see some places before we leave! Then have new places to check out when we move.

Hmmm yeah I think that’s it so far. 😂

[magevivika]

Touch

A Short Story by Vivika.

Consciousness came reluctantly after hours of turning over to ignore the sunlight intruding through the gap between curtain and window frame. The blankets barely covered one leg at this point but it still felt like a trial to push it off. Not because the effort required much exertion but because the act was a precursor to forcing yourself to leave the comfort of bed. But you did. You got up and ignored the discarded food wrappers and cans as you fished up a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt to slough on in case the neighbours saw through the window. It wasn’t for the benefit of anyone else, of course, because you lived alone. Very alone.

The hallway is as you had left it, in similar disarray, with abandoned laundry and an empty can that was carelessly kicked from somewhere. Your hand slapped the door for balance and to open it as you stumbled across the short few steps from bedroom to bathroom. Once relieved you paused before the sink to wash your hands and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Instant regret set in when you saw your unkempt self and you physically cringed at your own image. You turned away in disgust as you wiped your hands on the thighs of your PJs rather than on the crusty feeling hand towel.

You staggered into the kitchen to make for the fridge and then remembered, once you’d already opened it, that there’s nothing in there but some condiments. With a grunt of annoyance and a gurgle of protest from your empty stomach you turned to the cupboard next to the fridge to find that the peanut butter jar had already been wiped clean. Not even a streak remained. The jar clattered into the sink as you sighed and glanced toward the front door as though your scowl was intended to punish the world for forcing you to venture into it. But wait…there was always…

Your eyes turned to the phone left charging on the counter. Your fingers grasped it quickly and snatched out the cable to free it for your swiping thumb. In seconds, you had a menu of delivery places. Ah, but what to choose? You didn’t feel like any of it. It all just tasted like greasy, soggy, salty mush.

But your thumb kept scrolling the list, swiping up for more options, as you were in the habit of doing. And something caught your attention that you had never seen before. A smiling woman’s face. What was this? Why would a restaurant or fast food place have a face instead of a dish icon? Curiosity made your thumb tap before you could even decide to tell it to. Your eyes searched the words, few though they were, over and over to figure out their meaning. It read: 'Whatever you need, I will bring to you, all you need to do is to ask.'

This had to be a scam, right? You thought about just closing the listing and ordering pizza again. Pizza was a safe choice. You can never go very wrong with pizza. Even bad pizza is still pizza. But you scrolled a little further out of habit and there were reviews. Five-star reviews. You read the first one: 'It seems weird but I’m happy I chose to try it out. If you’re curious then do it.' The next review was equally unhelpful in explaining what service was being offered. 'Changed my life. 5 stars.' These were paid reviews, right? A third review read: 'Everyone should try this. She’s really great.' You felt an uncomfortable smirk curl your lips but at the same time a building anticipation in your stomach. “Fine. Why not?” You found yourself saying aloud as you tap the button to order. Your details are already saved in the app so there’s no more to do than confirm your CCV number and hit ‘confirm’. You laughed out loud and tossed the phone, which clattered across the counter in its protective case, before slouching down on a chair at the dining table.

You don’t know when you drifted off again but you lifted your head from your arms on the table at the sound of someone knocking on the door. And you wondered for a second who it was before you remembered the strange order. You smirked again at the thought that you were either about to be robbed or have your ‘life changed’. You pushed up from the table and your feet barely felt the crust in the carpet or the sticky area in the linoleum any more on your way to the door. When you looked through the peep-hole you saw the same face from the icon in the app: a pale, round yet feminine face with a gentle smile framed by short black chin-length hair and a pair of wide green eyes. She waited, while you watched her, patiently as though the delay was of no concern at all. You couldn’t see what she was holding but her hands seemed to be by her sides.

You stand back and frown even as your hand was moving to unlatch the door as if your body had already made the decision for you. You found yourself opening the door and speaking in a voice hoarse with disuse. “Uh, hey. Are you from…?” Your mind blanks on the name of the listing but the woman’s smile brightens and lights up her jade eyes.

She spoke your name as though you were an old and precious friend then explained. “Yes, I have come to help. May I come in?”

You found manners automating your actions as you stood aside to beckon her in then closed the door behind her. The woman looked around briefly, her attention not lingering on any of the clutter or dirty surfaces, then she nodded to you. “May I serve your meal here?” She nodded toward the table. It was relatively bare and you found yourself nodding in agreement. It was at this point that you noticed her bags. She had one over her shoulder, a big tote bad about as wide as two of her, and a smaller case with a zip closure. She set the large tote on the table and withdrew an insulated case. You watched as she laid out a tall insulated container along with some boxes the size of restaurant take home containers. She poured out a cup of something from the beverage container then picked it up to offer it to you. “Here. This will help.”

Her smile warms your whole body from the chest outward and your hands lifted to accept the cup without thinking. The steam rose from the surface of the greenish clear liquid and you almost hesitated to ask what it was but something in her gently encouraging smile reminded you of how thirsty you felt. The drink was just hot enough to soothe your throat without burning at all. The flavour was balanced, a little sweet with a deep savoury component, without being too rich. You found yourself finishing the small cup in one go and offering it back to her with the hope she would refill it. She accepted the cup and gestured to the chair. “Please.” She invited you to seat yourself, in your own home, and a flush rose in your cheeks. But your feet moved regardless. This was so strange, you thought, but it wasn’t bad. It was actually kind of nice.

You received more of the drink and then the meal was revealed. You could not say you had eaten anything like it before, not exactly, but it reminded you of something. It was more of a feeling than a flavour. If you had to describe it you would have said hearty and nourishing but not heavy. Nutrition was not something you would normally have cared about but you felt so much better after eating it that you could only explain it that way.

You were so consumed with your meal that you didn’t notice she had left the room. Once you were done eating and had finished off the drink as well she approached the table again. “I have prepared a bath. Please.” She gestured toward the hallway that led to your bathroom. The colour drained from your face at the thought of this stranger seeing the undiscovered varieties of mould and mildew in your filthy bathroom. Out of a sense of mortified silence you got yourself to your feet and marched down the short hallway to see what you had to face.

This wasn’t the same room you had seen earlier today. The foul smells were replaced by a light citrus and vanilla scent. Every surface was clear and shined cleanly in the candlelight. She had made up for the burnt-out bulb by setting out a half dozen candles in jars around the small space. The bubbles in the bath glistened as they reflected the light. You turned back to see her in the hallway smiling as she had since she arrived. “There are toiletries and towels for you here.” She gestured to a small folding stool that you knew wasn’t yours that held an open case of items and on the towel rack above the bath were white fluffy looking towels. She had even hung a clean hand towel on the rail by the sink. “Please take your time to enjoy the bath. I will be out here.” You could only nod and watch as she closed the door quietly to leave you with your bath.

Alone, in this foreign looking yet familiar room, you stared at the bath for a moment as your mind attempted to catch up to everything that had just happened. After a few moments you have given up and you instead chose to indulge your curiosity by picking up one of the bottles from the open case. Your eyes scan the words briefly, hypo-allergenic and unscented, and you thought that made sense if she hadn’t known if you have any sensitivities. You found yourself feeling itchy, your hand went to your scalp to scratch, and you felt a sudden urge to clean your body thoroughly in a way you hadn’t felt in a long while.

You dropped the bottle back into the case with the others then pulled your t-shirt over your head only to stop. You looked around the room for somewhere to put your dirty laundry, you never bothered to get a basket for that purpose, and you felt almost as though you would be making the freshly cleaned floor dirty by dropping your stinky t-shirt on it. A half second of mental struggle later you decided just to put your clothes on the floor by the door so you’d have to see them when you left. That would work, right? The rest of your clothes quickly followed and your attention turned to the bubble bath that had been drawn.

A smirk curled your lips as the thought that you hadn’t had a bubble bath for a very long time popped up. Was it childish? Well, maybe, but you felt for a moment that you didn’t care. You wanted to be clean. You lifted your foot to step in and found the water hot but not scalding. When you put your other foot into the water you felt the temperature was perfect and you lowered yourself into the bath without further delay. The bubbles were very lightly scented but not in an overpowering way. The heat of the water melted the tension in your muscles. First your legs relaxed and then you felt yourself sink down to the chin. You hadn’t noticed before but there was a little rolled towel on the end of the bath and you were able to easily tuck that behind your neck for extra comfort. It did not occur to you how tight your muscles were. It felt, weirdly, like it was actually pleasant just to be in your body and to be alive. It was a surprising feeling in how unexpected it was but it wasn’t unwelcome. In fact, you welcomed it without hesitation that you would have expected of yourself. The relief was heady. Your eyes closed and you breathed into the feeling.

When you opened your eyes again you were still in the quiet of the bathroom, the candles flickering gently and reflecting off the bubbles and the water, and you felt as though there was nothing else in the world you needed to be doing at that moment. Your task was here, in this bath, to enjoy and to get clean. The itch returned and your hand lifted to scratch your scalp. You could do something about this, you decided, and reached for the case right next to the bath.

Shampoo was easy to find and you did not even think of the hesitation or heaviness you would usually have felt in your limbs at the idea of washing your hair. You simply wet your hair, lathered up with the shampoo, and rinsed before the effort registered in your mind. You decided on a second lather and rinse, since it had been a while, though this time you took the time to massage your scalp with your fingertips. It felt like your frayed nerves were being soothed by the action. After the second rinse you added some conditioner and let it sit like the instructions suggested.

Various aches and pains you had been ignoring were slowly easing themselves. Pain from improperly kept toenails, strain from repetitive movement, and muscle tension from sitting or lying in the same positions for hours were all melting seemingly like magic. You felt so good that a laugh suddenly burst from your mouth, a sound of pure joy, and you hummed happily as you relaxed back again for a moment. You splashed water on your face and the bubble bath didn’t even sting your eyes. After another few moments of enjoying the feeling of deep relaxation you felt curious to check the case for more products. A body wash caught your eye and you found yourself sitting up to take it and wash thoroughly with the gentle gel.

Once the conditioner was rinsed out it seemed like a good time to complete the bath. As nice as it was, the water was finally starting to cool off, it wouldn’t stay so comfortable for much longer. When you stood up to reach for the towel there was almost a surprising sense of equilibrium, you felt balanced, and you didn’t slip or sway as you felt you had often been doing of late. It felt odd, unfamiliar, but also good to stand firmly on your feet that way. The towel was as soft as it had appeared to be, you realized when you grasped it, and just as fluffy too. Drying off felt as good as getting clean. Even better was the fact that you had a whole other dry towel to wrap yourself in afterwards.

You seated yourself on the edge of the bath and peered into the case again. There were a surprising number of items in there: nail clippers and files, toners and moisturisers, even little clear ache patches. The idea of grooming this way often felt pointless - who would even see you? You don’t leave your home much at all and the cashier at the corner store doesn’t care what you look like. But today you felt able to tackle these tasks. You find further relief from discomfort once your nails are trimmed. Your skin is soothed by a light moisturizer that doesn’t leave it feeling oily. Even that stubborn red patch on your chin you had been poking waiting for it to surface is addressed with a patch. You didn’t know if it would do anything but at least it reminded you to stop poking it and making it worse.

The conditioner you had used on your hair made combing it a breeze and when you set the comb down on the counter after finishing you looked into the mirror. The person who looked back at you wasn’t the one who had shied away earlier that day. Was it the candlelight? They say that candlelight is pretty flattering. But, for some reason, it doesn’t hurt to look at yourself in that moment.

Whatever the case, you were clean and wanted to keep that toasty feeling from the bath so the next step was to get dressed again. You opened the door and stepped out into the hallway to take a few steps into your bedroom. It was only upon entering your room that you noticed something and had to glance back into the hallway to do a double take. There were no cans or wrappers, no dirty laundry, the hallway was cleared of clutter. You realised, belatedly, that there weren’t sharp bits in the carpet poking your bare feet. A temptation to peer down the hallway into the living room and kitchen area was tempered by reminding yourself you weren’t alone. It was probably better to get dressed first.

Back in your bedroom there’s a pair of pajamas and socks folded neatly on your freshly made bed. The clutter was gone from this room too and your belongings had been dusted, the carpet vacuumed too, and nothing looked out of place. You felt a frown crease your brow as you wondered why it didn’t bother you that someone had been in here without you. But it was a relief. Overwhelming tasks that had seemed insurmountable, too big to tackle alone, had piled up over time into a complete disaster. All that weight was lifted. It felt like a clean slate.

As you had dressed you found that the socks were very soft without being too thin or too warm. The pajamas were a little bit big, she couldn’t have known your size, but they were surprisingly comfortable despite a little extra room. Without thinking you found yourself scooping up the used towels and your dirty clothes from the bathroom then carrying them into the living area.

Somehow this part of the apartment was also free of clutter and the carpet looked freshly vacuumed too from the way the carpet pile was showing streaks. Your head turned automatically to the door as it opened and the woman from earlier stepped through with a big tote bag on her shoulder. “How are you feeling?” Her voice and expression seemed to hold genuine warmth as though she was glad to see you. There was none of the fretting worry that tied a knot in your stomach.

Your head bobs agreeably as a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Good. Thanks. Thank you-” You remembered she was carrying a big bag and moved forward. “Can I hel-” But you had forgotten your arms were full of dirty laundry.

Her smile brightened and she gently shut the door behind herself with her foot then nodded to another big tote on the floor beside the table. “Laundry to be cleaned can go in there. This isn’t heavy. You can sit down, if you like, and I’ll make you a drink. Just tell me what you’d like.”

Your instinct to resist rose for a moment before you nodded then walked over to put the dirty laundry in the bag where she had instructed. It felt odd to take a seat at your table, freshly cleaned though it was, when a perfect stranger was filling your cabinets and fridge with food. She moved without hesitation, though, as though she had lived here for years and knew where everything went. You found your mind wandering as you wondered about this person who you had just let inside your home and was now taking over. Did she do this often? How did she do all this? Wasn’t she getting tired? She’d done a lot of work in a short time. Time. You looked at the clock on the oven which normally blinked all zeroes since you hadn’t bothered to set it since the last power outage. It was set and it showed six in the evening. A whole afternoon had passed since she had arrived.

But before this realization could settle in you found your favourite hot beverage set in front of you on the table. She sat across from you with a cup of her own. “Enjoy.” She said, softly, with a gentle smile then nodded to your drink. You felt yourself nod in return and picked up the cup. There was a brief silence as you both enjoyed your drinks. Then she caught your eye again. “The last item for me will be to bring your clean laundry back, it is currently drying, and then you will return to your life. You deserve to have an environment that is comfortable to live in. When I have left you will be the one to provide this for yourself. Do you agree?”

Her tone made the words sound like an invitation rather than a lecture. Your head nodded quickly as you felt a desire to keep things the way that they were now. Even when you looked around it was as if your eyes went on and on with all the clear space and it was a mental burden relieved. “I agree.” Your eyes shifted back to her face as you gave another earnest nod. “I feel like I can do it, now. Thank you. I, uh, don’t know how much all this costs…?”

Her lips formed an easy smile as she shook her head. “You are only charged for the meal, which was the amount in the app, as all else is complimentary.”

Tension that had returned to your shoulders thinking about cost melted at her honest reassurance. Even though the kindness was appreciated you let the question come out regardless: “Why did you do all this?”

Her lips parted to show her teeth as she breathed a laugh then she simply shrugged. “Was it not needed?” Her hand rested gently over your own and you felt a tingle up your spine. It had been a long time since someone had touched you. “You need not answer that.” Her soft skin was warm and she squeezed your hand gently before releasing it to wrap around her own cup once more. You nodded to her comment then continued to savour your drink. You were curious about her, about this whole situation or service, but a feeling of contentment made you decide not to voice any further curiosity.

Once the cups were empty she stood and gathered her big bag. “The items I left in the bathroom are yours to keep. I have stocked your fridge and pantry with some basic items that are simple to make with the means available to you. I will return shortly with your laundry as it should all be clean and dry now.”

You stood and nodded to her explanation. Your eyes draw to the cabinets and fridge, despite them being closed, as she mentioned the food. When you looked back to her, she was turning to leave, and your hand lifted. “Wait!” She turned back to look at you and your call to her felt overly dramatic so you lowered your hand and gave an awkward smile. “If I need you again, if I really need help, can I order again?” You didn’t want to think about how your face looked in that moment, what expression you must have been wearing, but her own gentle smile did not waver for a moment.

“You won’t. You won’t need me. But, yes, you can always ask for help again. Everyone needs help from time to time.” She bows her head briefly in a gesture that conveyed to you respect, acknowledgement, and encouragement in equal measure when coupled with her smile. Then she turned to leave and you did not stop her.

When you heard a knock at the door and went to answer you found only the clean and folded bags of your own laundry. However, once you had carried the bags to your room and unpacked them into your drawers and closet you would find a note. It reads simply: ‘Thank you for letting me help.’

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[taetaespeaches]

Hello lovely Liv! Luckily I write these out in my notes first, because lets be real, what I send you is nothing short of a novel. Ok, so, Jimin and Dear:

Honestly Liv I’m convinced you wrote Jimin and Dear to heal some part of me that really needed help fixing. I have really bad, but really high functioning, social anxiety, so there are some FRESH truths in these fics that I can relate to. Both sides of their story speak to me so deeply that I’m kinda regretting saying that I’m Daisy, because I’m actually both Jimin and Dear rolled into one (also side note, I’m actually convinced Jimin is my twin - we’re both Libra’s and we have the same personality type…. and last year I sat on a bus for 20 hours just to surprise my friend on their birthday for one day… and I’d happily do it again in a heart beat, but is this not big Jimin energy or what??)

Feeling like you’re not enough, feeling insecure, feeling so deeply and passionately, I just love these two with my everything. The doubts, the distance, the respective reassurances, the break up and the makeup that followed, and the eventual all encompassing love, it taps in to a very deep crack in my soul - it both breaks and completes my heart every time I read it. I can’t wait to find someone that accepts me like they do for each other… and I couldn’t love these two more :(( This was probably my hardest list!! In all honesty, it’s a bit of a weak effort with how poorly I’ve been able to slim down my choices, but here we go anyways:

Absolute absolute absolute faves (that I’ve sneakily grouped together so that the list seems shorter than it really is lmao):

I might have to kiss you right now >> Did I really get to shag you last night? >> I think we should avoid overthinking

The way they got together was just so cute and fun and sexy and I’m just in love with this lil progression

I’m already lost without him >> Yeah, I’m drunk. And you’re wearing my t-shirt and I fucking love you >> I don’t know where we go from here, Dear >> I can’t think of a life that doesn’t have you in it >> You can’t keep punishing yourself

UGH. THIS SEQUENCE >>>>> They just fucking love each other so much and you write it so well. Like I can feel their frustration with themselves for getting in the way of letting them love each other. It JUMPS off the page (or in this case my phone lol) at me and DAMN CAN I RELATE

Aren’t promise rings kind of a big step in a relationship? We should probably consummate this >> Do you remember my promise?

To be reassured like this. That’s it. Thats the goal.

Are you sure you want to take a nap right now, Dear? >> What a way to to start the New Year >> Don’t act innocent you had me pinned underneath you five minutes ago >> You’re distracting, I have things to do today

SMUT NAATION RIIIISE. You’re so good at writing smut love, and this is no exception. Gah, I’m blushing.

How could you hide something from me? I’m the love of your life

Yep, after everything these two have been through this is by far my fave proposal. It’s like a breath of fresh air seeing these two finally get their happily ever after. It gives me so much hope and happiness I could cry.

Honourable mentions that I also adore with all my heart:

- Don’t worry about me, Dear

- No, in the afternoon

- You just want to get me out of my snow pants

- Your tattoos are hot

ALSO, with everything going on in my life atm (what a hectic past month it has been oh my) I’ve decided to take some anons and your advice and I’ve decided to start writing! I don’t think I’ll do bts fics, I’m not too sure yet, but I definitely think I want to spill out some of my domestic goodness ideas onto the page. Think its about time I start actively doing more things to make me happy. I originally wanted to get back in to shooting film on my uncles medium format camera but I feel like writing will 1. hurt my wallet less (because medium format is $$$) and 2. be a good challenge given that I literally write copy for a living, but have never tried fictional writing outside of my one creative writing paper I took at uni. I’ll let you know if it ends up being shit or not!

All my love! Drunk anon x

Ok first of all, how are you doing?? You give the impression that you're kind of the tough friend that takes care of everyone else so I hope people are checking in with you. And I hope you're doing ok considering all the fuckery you've been through recently :(

Now onto responding to your ask lol. I definitely did get this at some point, I don't know where the hell it went but thank you so much for sending it in again <3 I both love and hate that you can relate to this couple so much bc they literally go through so much hell sometimes :( but I'm seriously so happy that they have felt healing to you in any sort of way. (Also you being the jimin friend is the cutest and also least shocking thing I've ever heard, it just fits, it feels right. And you're an absolute angel, lovely)

You will find someone who loves you and accepts you btw. I just know it <3

I literally LOVE the amount of fics you put in here lmaoooo as I was reading this I was like ok are there any fics left in the masterlist?? this makes me so unbelievably happy. Idk sometimes I feel Jimin and Dear are one of the more overlooked couples?? so to see that you love them so dearly is just so great.

YOURE WRITING!!!!! AAHHHHH!! I know you want to stay anon but like if there's anyway I can help with literally anything, let me know. This is so exciting!!! Doing things that make you happy >>>>>> that's the reason I want to get more into 3D art. I can't really do pottery bc like I need the mass amounts of clay and the wheel and the fucking kiln :/ but I can make little coil pots and little sculptures and like idk WE SHOULD JUST DO WHAT MAKES US HAPPY!!! I'm very excited for you, you're going to be great at whatever you decide to write. Get that domestic goodness out there! <3

[thekimspoblog]

Sheepdog Chapter 6: "Eyes Wide Open"

Jimmy wakes up, and rolls over to look at the clock. 4:30 AM. It was still pitch black out the window. In the darkness, he can hear whimpering.

“Kim?”

“I’m awake,” she replied between shallow breaths.

“Are you okay?”

“No! My back has been killing me for the past hour. I was waiting for it to go away… but it’s just gotten worse. I’ve tried sleeping on my side, I’ve tried laying flat on my back. Nothing helps. I can barely move!”

“I mean it’s not exactly rocket science,” Jimmy chortled to himself, “I can guess if I had a bowling ball strapped to myself for a full day…”

She found his hand under the covers, “Jimmy! Now’s really not a good time!”

“Right. Sorry. You know how I am. I’m trying to make light of things. Cus I’m nervous…”

After a long silence she sighed, embarrassed and begrudged, “I have to go to the bathroom. I need you to help me up”

“What are friends for?”

Jimmy helped Kim to her feet and braced her arm around him. It was only a short distance to walk, but his smell was novelly revolting. Or maybe it wasn’t his fault; maybe this house was revolting, or this whole situation was revolting. Or maybe she felt like revolting.

Once the toilet took on her heaviness and her husband had backed off, there was a little bit of relief from the sense of claustrophobia, but not much. No matter what posture Kim took, a muscle spasm was still wrenching her spine like a fist.

“What time was it, when we left the convenience store?” she asked.

“Around 5?”

“So roughly 36 hours ago. Okay…” she nodded, struggling to let it sink in herself, “In that case… I’m pretty sure I’m in labor…”

“So what do we do now?”

“Go warm the car up. I guess we’re going to the hospital at the crack of dawn”

Jimmy’s footsteps disappeared down the staircase. What she was just now realizing was a contraction went on for another small eternity. In a daze, she fiddled with a corner of the bathroom wallpaper that had peeled in on itself. When rolled flat, in crimson marker in rather large print, an unexplained note: “1/5 - 1/4“ She had to still be dreaming; her stomach was making some loud noises, but this emerging disquiet, this primordial groaning and rumbling, felt like it was shaking the walls. The auditory hallucination even came with clear voices.

“Sickness! Sickness! Death! Death! I want her to die! Die! She must vanish! She must die! Sickness!”

A contraction wracked her again, this time badly enough to get a suppressed scream. Already so weary, she was going over in her mind practically every life decision she’d made up to this point, and through the lens of this awful mood, pretty much every choice was one she now regretted. What was it she even wanted? All of that paragon-of-human-ideals junk seemed so pointless in this moment! She didn’t need intellectualism, no amount of words could justify her presence to someone who had already decided otherwise, she didn’t need love, she didn’t even really need Jimmy! She only needed her own permission to take up space in this world, and the next time she found herself chasing someone else’s validation, she’d remember to tell them to kiss her ass! All she really wanted…

Her eyes kept drifting over to the bathtub. She needed to feel the warm water on her skin. It was suddenly just an axiomatic fact that this would be the only way to get comfortable. She looked over to find the white marble countertop bare of anything, save for one stray safety pin. There had to be one somewhere nearby… the damn things had taken over the house like shiny little beetles… Kim pulled open the drawer closest to her. Aha! There were five mobile phones in there.

“Saul Goodman; Speedy-Justice-4-U. Sorry, but could you please call back during office hours? I’m dealing with a bit of a personal emergency at present”

The weight of the world was on her eyelids. “Do you have your shoes on yet?”

“I’m putting them on right now…”

“Well you can take them off… There’s been a change of plans. I’m going to call an ambulance. I don’t think I’m gonna make it”

“Geez, alright… I can call the ambulance…”

“Whatever!” she snapped, “Just get up here!”

Jimmy raced up the stairs. His hand was on the doorknob when there was a howl of pain from the other side. He didn’t expect this to hit him as hard as it did, like an icicle in his back. The thought crossed his mind, however improbable; what if she died here? Complications had been known to happen, and this was far from a normal case. After all this bullshit? … Where was that damn ambulance already?! The dispatcher said fifteen minutes, and it felt like it had been at least that already! Desperate, he pulled the door open.

The steam was so thick it was visible, and the humidity choked the room and slowed the flow of time. Jimmy’s wife was submerged in the vapors of the tub, humming a tune to distract herself. Her legs were spread wide like she was trying to bring her knees to her ears and she was holding her gravid belly with both hands.She opened her eyes and reached an arm out of the bathwater, asking for a hand up. It wasn’t something he had to think about; he stripped his clothes off and got in with her. Amid the splashing and sloshing of getting herself standing, Kim asked, “Why were we even at that convenience store?”

“Hey, sometimes dumb ideas lead to good outcomes”

“I’m serious. Do you remember what we were doing out there? Because I don’t”

“That greeting card, remember? I wanted to find out who sent it”

“Before that. I thought there was a gun in the trunk. But where did we get the gun? I said there was forged evidence, I don’t remember forging that evidence! Why were we talking about framing Tuco?”

“Does it matter? We didn’t go through with it. That’s not what’s important right now”

“Jimmy, I don’t remember any specifics of what we were doing before that parking lot! It’s like it was a dream, or- or Wille E. Coyote being able to run on air as long as he doesn’t look down! What about it do you remember?”

“It was probably some scheme to get out from under Lalo. It’s not like this is the first half-baked plan I’ve cooked”

“Probably…” Kim repeated incredulously “I’m thinking about buying a gun. A real one”

“What?!”

“Tensions have been getting higher and higher” she patiently talked over him, “Now we’re dealing with not just Lalo, but this new threat. I’m fine with it, if I always have to look over my shoulder, but I would feel safer if - should I not be able to talk my way out of something - there was another way to play the game”

“You’re not in the game!”

“I am”

“You’re not!”

“I am! Jimmy I love you! Stop acting like I wouldn’t be just as destroyed if something happened to you, as you would be if something happened to me! I chose to be here; I chose to be in this together. But the most danger you could ever put me in is to keep me in the dark. You know how I hate when someone tries to… FUCK!”

Kim planted her palm against the shower tile with a *Clap*

“Are you okay?” Jimmy knew this was a stupid question, given her other hand was squeezing his tightly enough to break it. Rather than answer, she went on to loudly put the extent of her profane vocabulary to the test.

He pressed his body up against hers as they faced in the same direction. “I love you too” he whispered back, almost apologetic. Saul fumbled for the dial so that the expensive shower head could rain warm water down on them both, and he kicked the muck down the drain with his heel. They stayed like that, rocking their hips back and forth. Even pressed together, skin to skin in this moment of intimacy, there would always be a shadow contouring between the two.

“Do you hear that?” The woman broke from her trance.

“Hear what?”

“Singing. It’s getting closer!” She hissed.

“You know, lots of people hear voices in running water”

“Shh!”

“... Kim, you’re scaring me… Wait… I hear it! What is that?!”

The lights flickered, Kim grunted, and when Jimmy looked down, there it was! A head.

“Okay, so how do we do this? I should catch him like we’re hiking a football?”

“Anything that doesn’t drop her on her head probably works. You know I played for a little bit in Junior High?” she chuckled to herself.

“Oh yeah? Let me guess. You wanted to prove to the boys you were just as tough as they were?”

“It was more about proving to the other girls that I wasn’t a nerd”

“I bet you were pretty good”

“Oh god no! I hated it! I quit as early as I was allowed to. That’s when I had to accept it; I am a nerd”

“At the end of the day? Us nerds will get the last laugh”

“I was the only one Cathy didn’t invite to her party. And then everyone who went got lyme disease. So I’d say I made the right choice”

“It just goes to show…” Jimmy grinned, “... Is she choking?”

He squatted down to get a better look. The angry red little face coughed and spat out fluid with the assistance of gravity. Before she had even completely emerged, the babe forcefully took her first breath and began squawling. Her father caught her, but struggled to keep her in his arms. She was as strong and as slippery as a live trout. After some confusion navigating the legs, the little girl was held to Kim’s chest. Mother and child still conjoined, Kim wearily stumbled out of the shower, across the bathroom towels, and collapsed on top of the bed still soaking wet.

There was still the afterbirth, but all the fight had left her, specifically her knees. Jimmy wrapped more blankets and towels on top of her. He stepped back and took in this unorthodox nativity scene, which reminded him; “Scissors!” he snapped his fingers.

He rushed downstairs and from different rooms, collected a pair of scissors, a binder clip, and a lighter. He tried to sterilize the scissors with the lighter, but this just smudged the blades black, so he hastily gave up on the lighter and started washing the scissors with dish soap. Then there was a knock at the door. Jimmy flung the door open to meet two paramedics.

“Did you stop for doughnuts?” He yelled exasperated and irate, “What the hell took you so long?!”

“Relax, sir. It’s only been half an hour”

Jimmy looked at the clock on the wall to see that - somehow - they were right.

“Well the baby’s here already! But if you want to check her blood pressure, she’s upstairs”

Neither medic was phased by Saul’s attitude. It was just another day for them. The canvas handbag full of equipment jangled as they went up the stairs. Jimmy was left there, holding a pair of sudsy kitchen shears like an idiot. He dropped the scissors on the counter, grabbed his laptop, and followed after them.

“Blood pressure’s normal. No signs of internal bleeding. No signs of eclampsia. Any sharp abdominal pains or elsewhere?”

“Just a headache” Kim answered as they tore off the velcro cuff.

“Any shortness of breath?”

“No”

While one EMT began to pack up, the other reported to our male protagonist, “Baby’s fine. Mother’s fine. I don’t have a scale, but a pediatrician would probably say 7 ½ lbs.? I’m not supposed to say this, but I think going to the hospital would be a waste. If anything changes, call 911 again; it will probably be us who arrives. Outside of the extreme quickness of the delivery (especially if this is your first child) I’d say this was a completely healthy home birth”

“Yeah, no thanks to you” Jimmy groused as they left the room.

Kim was hypnotized, staring at a crack in the plaster wall. She barely registered when her husband picked up their daughter. He was sitting next to her on the bed now, carefully trying to balance the sleeping bundle in the crook of his arm, while navigating the internet with his free hand.

“Did you have a name in mind?” he asked, already finding his way to a “Names for Girls” webpage.

“I honestly hadn’t even considered it” was her distant, monotone answer.

“A rose is a rose” Jimmy sighed, “But some roses are easier to tease on the playground than others”

“Just as long as it isn’t a flower or a gemstone. I think those are kind of unoriginal”

“Amy? Anne? Alice?”

“Are you just going alphabetically?”

“No!” Jimmy lied as he clicked ahead to some random page somewhere in the middle of the list.

He stopped reading the list outloud.

Haley? No.

Hannah? No.

Hazel?

Heather?

Heidi? No…

Not Holly.

Ida? No.

Ingrid…

Irene… Irene…

“What about… Iris?”

Kim’s eyes snapped open. Suddenly, she could remember it so clearly, the mural could have been painted on her own wall. The carved wooden flower could be envisioned sprouting from that crack. How was this possible? How could she so clearly remember the ending of a movie, she had only seen the beginning of? There were a few logical explanations. Maybe she had watched that movie years ago, and not even seeing it again was enough to jolt the memory loose, until right now. Or maybe she never did see this movie, and her imagination was just vividly filling in an ending, but she was never like this before. There were a few rational explanations, but she couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that the true reason was something irrational. Something fantastic.

“I mean okay, you said no flowers. But just between you and me, we can say that she’s not named after a flower. But you know, the part of the eye. Personally I like it”

“Yes!” She stammered. “I like it. Iris. I’ll make an exception”

Jimmy kept talking, but exhaustion was an undertow, and in Kim’s mind’s eye, the waves were pulling at her ankles, overcoming her surefootedness. Three irises; turn the blue one. A secret door popped open, and it led to a winding neon hallway. Deep deep underground.

https://www.deviantart.com/abettranempire/art/Sheepdog-Eyes-Wide-Open-913428274

[lionheartslowstart]

Morning Love Letter

My boyfriend, “Thomas,” has been going through a rough time recently. I won’t elaborate on why that is, but suffice it to say, things aren’t going well for him at the moment. Of course, I can’t help but blame myself, since he literally picked up his entire life and moved five hours to be with me. But Thomas reassures me time and time again that he does not regret his choice, and he would do it all again. It’s just this one thing that’s going on right now, and when it changes (which we’re working on), everything else will get better.

On Monday evening, we were eating dinner and I could tell something was on Thomas’ mind. So I asked him what was bothering him.

He said, “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for??” (Yes, I really talk like that.)

“I know I’ve been really grumpy and stressed out recently, and I feel like I haven’t been as good of a partner as I normally have been. And I know things are going to get better, but that’s going to take time. I want to be sure I’m treating you the way you deserve to be treated all the time, and I don’t feel like I’m doing that.”

I, of course, was floored. Thomas is not a bad partner. Thomas is not even an okay partner. Thomas is an amazing partner. Yes, we fight, we’ve had conflicts, like any other couple. But they are few and far between, and, with only a few exceptions, are resolved very quickly. And yes, Thomas has been grumpy, he has been stressed, and in the worst of times, he’s been distant. But I, not for a single moment, have felt like he has been not as good of a partner, or like he’s somehow “dropping the ball.” He’s still unbelievably considerate. He still makes me feel loved and special and like I’m a priority for him.

I communicated all of this to him, adding, “You’re a human being and you’re going through something. Maybe next year it will be my turn, who knows? We are a TEAM. I am here for you to make your life better and easier however I can.  But I see you and I don’t expect any more than you’re capable of giving me right now, okay? Please don’t feel like you need to push yourself to prove something to me.”

Thomas gave me a weak smile and chuckled, “If you say so,” which is his go to when he isn’t quite convinced by what I’ve said. I kissed him on the forehead, and we went about our evening before Thomas went to bed.

On Tuesday morning, I woke up earlier than normal. Still not as early as Thomas, who has to wake up at a whopping 3 in the morning to get to work on time, but early for me. I had plans to go see my mom that day to deal with some bureaucratic nonsense, and my parents live a ways from me now, hence the earlier start time. My mom called me right when I woke up, to make sure I was awake (moms, lol), and I spent fifteen minutes or so talking to her on the phone, just shoring up our plans for the day. After we got off the phone, I turned  over to start getting out of bed, when something on my night table caught my eye.

There was an envelope. I must not have noticed it when I reached for my phone. But there was no doubt in my mind who it had come from, as the word “Bubby” was written across it in a sprawling handwriting I recognize very well. (“Bubby” is also what Thomas and I call each other.)

Thomas used to write me love letters fairly often, but he stopped a few months ago. Every blue moon I’d get another one, but for the most part they stopped. I figured maybe it was because we had moved in together, and then because of the stress, so it wasn’t something I felt the need to pester him about. As I’ve told Thomas numerous times, he does a wonderful job of making me feel seen and cared for, so it’s not like I was missing out. Don’t get me wrong, I love the letters, I just figured he was dealing with stuff and they’d start up again when he was feeling less mentally cramped.

So imagine my surprise, when I find this thing lying next to me. Like I said, Thomas gets up extremely early for work, but he also is usually pretty business-like in the morning. He doesn’t dillydally. So I have absolutely no idea how he had time to go out, get a card, write a message, seal it up (yes, the envelope was sealed), and place it gently next to me. Did he have the card this whole time? Just waiting for the right moment to give it to me? No idea, and I’m not sure which one is sweeter.

I smiled, picked up the envelope, unsealed it, and pulled out the card. Here’s what it said:

“For all we’ve shared together, for all that’s yet to be...I love you more than ever - you mean the world to me.”

And Thomas wrote:

“My lovely, beautiful, intelligent partner and darling...I love you. -Thomas <3

That was it. That’s all it’s said. And it’s the best card I’ve ever gotten.

I called him immediately (well, after I called my mom back to gush over it), to thank him for the beautiful card. I asked him what it was for and he told me he just wanted to express his love for me, and that he wanted me to know what a great partner I am.

I don’t know what I did to get a partner like him. This man, who is already dealing with so much, felt the need to go out of his way to express his love for me. Even though I told him he didn’t need to do anything more than he was already doing. Even though I told him I understood his need for space, and his not so cheery demeanor. He still wanted to make extra sure I felt loved in that moment.

I gotta say, after dating someone for five years who made me feel like utter trash, who sat on MY couch and played video games all day while berating and insulting me, who made me feel like my asking for even an ounce of affection or attention was selfish, being with someone like Thomas, scratch that, being with THOMAS, has not only shown me what I’m deserving of, but that it’s out there, it exists. He exists. And I’m lucky enough to have him.

I’m so grateful for Thomas. He is the kindest, sweetest man I’ve ever known in my life. I only hope that I am as good to him as he is to me.

[theliterateape]

The Inner Monologue is Making Me Nuts

by Don Hall

I'm having a hard time getting motivated.

Sure, I need to give myself a break—I'm in that specific yet incredibly common place in life when the life I was living turned out to be a fiction and, you know, it takes time to recover. The Japanese proverb (Proverb? Saying? Adage?) that tells me to "Fall down seven times, get up eight" is good and all but I'm finding it difficult to get up.

I listen to podcasts but find that after the conversation I'm hearing ends, I can't recall much of what was said. Abruptly spending far more of my time alone has brought out a few strange behaviors. I turn the television news on and just leave it on so that they sound of voices is just present in the apartment. I talk to myself and tend to refer to the one person in the room as 'we.' As in "We need to get some control on the random snacking," or "Today, we're going to pump out 5,000 words." It isn't really the royal 'we' but more like the 'we' of Charleston Heston in Omega Man or the Wilson of Castaway. Just a few clicks away from the guy standing on the corner jabbering about the mind control coming from the traffic lights and drawing made-up hieroglyphs with his shit on the sidewalk.

Roughly six years ago, I stopped smoking cigarettes and started smoking a pipe. This was less a choice and more a response to the hectoring from the stranger I married but I can't say I regretted it. I like the pipes. I like the reaction I get smoking an old school pipe. It smells like nostalgia. "You smell like my grandpa." As soon as the fiction I had been living was exposed, waking up from a seven year coma like a 2022 version of Rip Van Winkle, I went out and bought a pack of smokes. I suppose in part because I could now smoke in the house as an act of defiance, in part as a "Fuck you" to her. A few months later, I'm still smoking cigarettes. I tell myself "We're smoking to reclaim who we were before all this happened. Sense memory experimentation." As if the act of pulling out a stinky square can bring back the self assurance and confidence I used to wear like a cape.

I'm distracted by the news. Sitting down to write, I find myself writing a sentence, staring at it, then jumping in to check my email which almost always spam, taking a beat to clean out the spam, spending five minutes playing the free Blackjack game in my iPad, then checking the many feeds for any new news. Back to the sentence. I delete it and write another, slightly reworded. Then I check out the Indeed job board for gigs either remote or specific to Denver or Wichita. I get some coffee. I think a moment about the food I'll eat later and how many calories it will attach to my expanding gut. "OK. We maybe need to just crank out 3,000 words today. We'll make up the balance tomorrow."

I check my dwindling bank balance. I do some cursory math to see how long I can manage to keep my bills paid until someone knocks on the door to ask me to join my feces hieroglyphicist on the corner. Back to the sentence. I look up at the iPad and realize that Meghan Daum has been talking for the last hour on her new podcast and I haven't listened to a single word and I debate whether or not to restart it or whether it was important enough to listen to again.

The night before last, I went to bed at a reasonable, adult time, but brought the iPad in with me. I decided to browse Netflix and found Snowflake Mountain. A reality series (I love reality tv) with two hosts who are former military, survivalist types who bring ten Gen Z stereotypes of lazy, sensitive, entitled idiots and teach them through challenges and instruction to be adults. It's funny and salty, lots of fat and sugar, and I binge the entire show until 5am. Thus, my sleep cycle is fucked but I'm flooded with the exact lessons I'm desperately in need of in this period—Responsibility, Self Respect, Motivation. Get up offa your ass and get the routine back in focus.

I take walks most days despite the feeling that Nevada in summer is like living in a giant toaster oven. I've noticed a trend. The first half of the walk has my inner monologue obsessing on the failed marriage, the red flags I ignored, the feeling that she has moved past the divorce so quickly and cleanly, with little to no consequence, that I am nothing more than disposable like a used Starbucks lid or a cached out lighter. The second half becomes a Great Santini speech in my head, barking at me to quit being such a pussy, get the fuck over it, get back into the gym, Gimme fifty pushups NOW!

I always feel better after the second half of the walk but then there's the sentence that isn't gonna write itself, motherfucker!

When I thought I'd perhaps stay in Vegas, I submitted volunteer applications to several causes here. It takes longer than I thought it would because everyone wants a background check before letting you show up and help with abandoned dogs or help in a Food bank. Odd that I could buy a rifle in less time than I can volunteer for a homeless shelter here but these are odd times. I'm less interested in volunteering because I'm leaving. No desire to create new relationships when I'm up and outta here in less than two months.

Yeah, I know I told myself that this whole divorce was something I would just compartmentalize and move on. I’m the sort of person that others see as impenetrable, tough-minded, and, as David called me “a pitbull.” Given my track record, this is objectively true most of the time. I always tend to land on my feet but, gang, this is hard. It may be harder than my previous divorces because of the outrageous circumstances, it may be hard because I was completely convinced we would work. It might be that I’m just getting older and the energy required to just get over it is dwindling. Whatever the case, it’s fucking hard.

No. This is not some cry for help. David also makes a convincing case that getting this sort of stuff off my chest and into the world is a net-positive. I’m not looking for sympathy, empathy, or even a freaking hug. This is simply the inner monologue (which is driving me nuts).

I get the sense I'm simply filling the time. To get through the next few weeks in order to get busy packing. To get as far away from her as possible. I'm biding my time. I don't know if I ever bided time before. Waiting for time to spin itself out so I can start moving forward again. I get the sense that I can't move forward until I'm no longer living 25-feet from her. That's probably sensible.

"We should go to the pool today." "We need to generate 1,000 words today." "We should do some intermittent fasting today." "Jesus—NPR has become insufferable!" "We should read some fiction."

But first, we're going to stare at this sentence some more.

I'm having a hard time getting motivated.

NOTE: Apparently just writing this has me finding the motivation. Go figure.

[rommahh]

{this show was off the walls. He looked so good. And the energy was just??}

You stood uncomfortably at your flights gate with Harry. After being with Harry for five shows, your anxiety had reached a peak leaving you to be faced with one of your worst panic attacks before the St. Louis show. Harry didn’t want you to feel so much mental pressure so he suggested that you go home, he even bought you a ticket without consulting with you.

Your shoulders were tense as you stood rigid next to Harry. You were beyond upset and sad. You felt like a burden who being sent away to make everyone else feel better.

“Love, it will be ok. I’ll see you in two weeks for the Nashville show.” Harry comments watching your face scrunch up withholding the tears. “I just want you to see your therapist for a few days.”

“I don’t wanna go. It was one panic attack. Ive done fine every other night and on the bus.” You huff not making eye contact with Harry. “You’re just sending me away.”

Harry feels his heart break in two. “That’s not-“

“We are now welcoming our first class passengers.” He was cut off by the attendant. You grab your duffle on the ground, opening your phone to the electronic ticket. You moved to get in the line but Harry was quick to grab your arm to stop you. You couldn’t stop the tears from welling in your eyes at the look of hurt on his face.

“You’re not even gonna say goodbye?” He whispers.

“Why should I? You said it for me when you purchased the ticket without even talking to me about it. I’ll call you when I land, I love you and goodbye.” You snatched your arm away, rushing to the slowly growing line of passengers.

Harry watched in defeat as you trudged onto the bridge that boarded onto the plane. You felt those traitorous tears push past the surface, your feet feeling like they were dragging behind you- wanting you to go back to your heart.

The entire flight home was painful. All hours spent on the flight looking lifelessly out of the window. Harry put you in first class but none of the comfortable perks could make you happy.

It was weird to walk back into your home with no one there walking in with you or even waiting for you. The house was dark and quiet and you felt scared to even be in the stupid beach side mansion all alone. Times like this made you regret moving in with Harry. This house only felt like home when he was there, any other time felt like your own personal solitary confinement.

Hey lovie, hope you’re flight went well. Having groceries delivered to the house for you. I love you and miss you. Xxx H.

You scoffed. That anger from before bubbling within you. He misses you? You left him on read, the pettiness easing the anger.

Harry’s eyebrows shot up at the small read notification under his sent message. He waited a few moments thinking maybe you just forgot to press send. Minutes turned to hours and hours turned into the next day.

You sat at the dining room table watching the waves eat up the sand and pull granules away at a time. Your laptop sat in front of you after you finished a telehealth therapy appointment. A ring sounded from the laptop signaling that someone was FaceTiming you.

Harry’s icon popped up in the corner of the screen. You hesitated before answering. You couldn’t bare to look at yourself in the camera knowing you looked a mess. Your eyes swollen from the sobbing during therapy. Harry thought you looked beautiful nonetheless.

“Good morning baby.” He broke the silence.

“Hi.” Was all you could muster. This wasn’t the two of you. You both would normally fill a space with sound and giggles and now it was just silence.

“How did you sleep?” He asks. He looked as disheveled as you. Hair messy, face red and puffy.

“Fine.” You didn’t look at him, playing with the frayed edges of your Live on Tour hoodie. Harry huffed in frustration.

“Is this how it will be from now on?” He snapped. Your head snapped up out of shock.

“You’re getting at me like somethings my fault!” You snapped back.

“Well, we didn’t leave on the right foot.”

“You sent me away!” You retaliate.

“No, I did not. You had a panic attack before I went on stage. I had to come on stage late because I was consoling you.”

You flinched at his comment and tone of voice.

“So it’s my fault? I can’t control the panic attacks. It wasn’t like I conjured one up for attention.” His lack of response broke you. “Really?”

“No, I don’t think you did it for attention but it’s a lot Y/N. I want to take you on tour with me but it’s a lot for me and you know it’s a lot for you.” He tries. His words hurt though. You’ve felt like a burden your entire life and to feel that way because of the love of your life hurts even more.

“Ok. Um, I have to go.” You choke out. Harry shakes his head, the weight of his words catching up with you.

“I didn’t mean it in that way. I love you and I only want to protect you.”

“Yeah, protect me by sending me away when things get tough. I’m sorry for being a burden Harry.” You hang up before he could get the last word in.

Harry sat on his hotel bed shocked. He doesn’t know how things escalated the way they did. He made her feel like a burden. His body racks with sobs as he thinks of how his love must be feeling.

The day of Harry’s Philly show you felt uneasy. You didn’t like not being with Harry. You got so used to your preshow rituals with him. It hurt to be left out after being so involved.

Harry felt the same way. His regret evident in the way that he couldn’t stop blowing up your phone with short apologies and messages. He woke up alone in the hotel room on the day of a show feeling like utter crap.

His stomach was in knots and his heart couldn’t stop pounding. Normally before a show you both would share a light meal and have small discussions about nothing. You both would take silly selfies together or watch tiktoks. But now it was just Harry.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, impulsively clicking your contact to face time.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…” He mutters. He lets out a sigh of relief when your face reveals.

“Hi, Harry.” You murmur, your face squished into a pillow, his pillow because it smells good.

“Hi-hi baby.” He stutters fidgeting in his seat.

“What do you need?”

“I need you. You’re not a burden. I want you here, not there but here. I have a show in a few hours and all I can think about is how you’re not here with me.” He cries. You sit up in the bed, tearing up watching your boyfriend cry. His shoulders shook with the sobs that wracked through his chest.

“Harry, please breathe. Your gonna hurt yourself.” You try to calm him down but can tell it’s not working.

“Come back.” He whimpers.

“I-I think I’m going to stay home until Nashville. We both need a breather from each other and I know I need to see my psychiatrist and probably get some new anxiety medication. Which will take the two weeks to kick in you know?” You reason. Harry wiped his face of tears nodding understandingly.

“Ok. I miss you though. I fucked up horribly by making you feel less than. I know you’re not a burden and I’d do anything for you. The stress of tour is starting to weigh on me and I took it out in you when I shouldnt have. I also thought I was keeping you safe by sending you home, but I shouldn’t have done that. Because we are a team, I shouldn’t be making choices for you.”

“Thank you for apologizing. I understand why you did what you did. You were trying to protect me, I know. I love you Bubby.” Harry felt his world come back together at the nickname, a signal that you two would be alright. “You have a show in like three hours, you need to get ready. Eat some food, drink water please, and I’ll go and scroll through TikTok and send you all of my faves ok?”

“Ok. Thank you for being everything to me. I couldn’t do what I do today if I didn’t have you in my life.” Harry’s sincerity made your heart swell.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. We will be alright. Now go!” You urged him to hang up the phone. He gave you one last smile before hanging up.

Watching Harry through some Instagram live wasn’t what you had planned for but it felt good to see him. He even wore the outfit you picked out with Harry lambert, the blue and pink paying homage to fine line. You’re heart gushes when he tells the crowd that he’s feeling really happy.

The next day you have another therapy appointment with your regular therapist, you even phone in Harry to join the call. You felt warm on the inside as your therapist reassured that you and Harry’s relationship was on the right path. She even said that you and Harry were meant to be together.

She didn’t have to tell Harry that for him to already know that information. I mean he had the ring sitting in his pocket to prove it.

[junisfics]

All This Time — Armin Arlert (1)

series masterlist

Pairing: Armin Arlert x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Series Summary: Reader messages her best friend Armin late one night while she's drunk and needy, but will she remember the things she said to him in the morning, and if she does... will she regret it?

Part Summary: After Armin receives a disturbingly vague message from his best friend, he shows up to her house only to find her drunk and needy

Content: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut

Content Warnings: Sexual Content, Mentions of Masturbation, Sexual Fantasies

You met Armin in your freshman year of high school. You had gone to separate middle schools, but those two schools fed into your then high school and you became classmates. You shared a band class together, Armin played clarinet and you played the piano. The entire band was split between two periods, you and Armin’s seventh period consisted of woodwinds while the other period held brass… percussion was split evenly between the two periods. 

That was the first game of chance.

The second one was after-school practice sessions with Mr. Steunberg. Apparently, Armin was struggling with sight-reading just as much as you were, so you were paired together for practice lessons on Mondays. And every Monday for the second semester of freshman year, you and Armin played your instruments in that little sound booth while your music teacher corrected you from outside.

Eventually, the twenty minutes between the end of school and the beginning of lessons was being shared between the two of you rather than each of you hiding off down some hallway. You had decided to come down the band hall early, conveniently at the same time Armin had as well. 

It started with one of you asking if the other had a certain teacher, followed by asking if they had completed the night’s assignment for that class. Over time, the floor distance between you two closed and you’d sit cross-legged on the carpeted floor just outside the booth, knee to knee, sharing snacks before Mr. Steunberg made his way from his History class and down to the band hall. You’d work on homework together and laugh over the squeaking mistakes from the neighboring booths.

Just around the time when you and Armin began to grow comfortable with each other, your organized lessons had stopped and your blooming friendship had been put on pause. Neither of you missed it too much, you barely knew each other, but you still smiled at each other in the halls and occasionally talked before your shared class if there was time, but there really wasn’t.

It was like that for a while; little waves, sentence-long conversations, awkward silences followed by equally as awkward good-byes. It was months before you ever talked the same way you had in that little hallway.

It wasn’t like you craved his presence. Christ, you would completely forget about him if you didn’t see him every day in class. But when he came up to you at the end of the day one day while you were sitting on the piano bench, waiting for the final bell to ring, you couldn’t help but smile.

You still remember the shirt he was wearing, how he pushed those thin-rimmed glasses he still wore up his nose as he talked with you, “Can you help me with sight-reading? I don’t wanna tell my mom I need lessons again and I’m embarrassed to ask anyone else.”

Of course, you had said yes to him, you wouldn’t be pulling your phone out in the middle of the night in the peak of summer to text him while you’re shit-faced to text him if you hadn’t.

Your practicing together turned into practicing and doing homework together, which turned into getting off track and watching YouTube videos together. Then came the hanging out outside of homework and lessons; goofing off at either of your neighborhood parks, walking down the road to get fast-food, running around in a grocery store because there was nothing else to do in the suburbs.

There wasn’t an exact moment where you agreed that you were best friends, it just happened. You were always there for him whenever he got pushed around by the baseball boys, when his parents got divorced and his grandfather moved in, when he got his acceptance letter to the college of his choice; and he was there for you for your first boyfriend and your first heartbreak, he was there when your dog was lost for five days… he being the one that found her, and when you got your acceptance letter, he was the one sitting next to you with open arms.

There were moments when you found yourselves distancing; when you got into little arguments. But at the end of the day, the love that each of you had for each other was stronger than anything. You always came back to him, and he to you. 

No matter how many times you broke his heart by flirting with him just to hook up with some random guy at a party the same day, told him that he was your ‘best friend’, talking about how he was ‘like a brother’ to you, he couldn't leave you and he couldn’t stop loving you.

Armin would do anything for you and you would do anything for Armin. This is why when he got your messages in the dead of the night, he was over to your apartment before he could even text back.

‘armin’ ‘come over’ ‘help’ ‘need help’

Every second between the moment he got your messages until he reached your door, he was mortified. His heart was pounding out of his chest, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering while swerving around corners recklessly, eyes flitting over your parking lot to try and find anything out of the ordinary.

He almost tripped on the curb of the sidewalk while running up to your building. He was whipping open doors and frantically pressing elevator buttons as his keys still jangled in his hands, he didn’t even think to shove them into his pockets. His eyes bore into the red, electric lettering at the frame of the elevator, watching the numbers increase with his hand pressing against the metal doors like it’ll somehow make it go faster.

Once he reaches your door, he knocks frantically, jolts of pain shooting through his knuckles as he does so.

And you’re right at the door waiting for him. You tug it open the second you hear him outside of it, a giant smile of relief on your face.

“Oh my god! Thank god you’re here! I was going to pass out from waiting so long,” You giggle, grabbing ahold of his forearm that was still outstretched from knocking and pulling him inside.

It took him a moment to realize that you’re alright, that you’re standing right there in front of him, unharmed and unscathed, with his sweatshirt pulled over you, the one he gave you before leaving for university. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet as you grab at his arms to bring him forward, stumbling back over your own feet in the process which just sends you into another fit of giggles.

You had a slight sheen of sweat over your face and neck, not a lot, just enough so when your head turned to look behind you the kitchen lights bounced against the gloss on your skin. You didn’t have pants on as well, just these light grey boy-short panties that completely exposed the length of your legs.

It wasn’t like Armin hasn’t seen you in a swimsuit before. Many times your parents had taken you on trips to a lake where you would go tubing and swimming for hours on end until you were both drained of all your energy. But seeing you in, presumably, nothing but his sweatshirt and panties that bared your thighs and bottom curves of your ass had him far more flabbergasted than a swimsuit ever could.

“You’re — you’re okay?” He asks, voice still wavering with concern as you continue to drag him towards the kitchen.

“Absolutely not!” You sound serious, “I need help… with making my dessert.” Your faux serious tone falls apart and you’re choking back another wave of laughter.

Armin watches you incredulously but intently as you slide your hands down his forearms until both of your hands meet his own, giving them a squeeze before spinning around and gripping the kitchen island’s counter.

You have an array of stainless steel bowls crowded beside each other while a mixture of dry baking goods sits unstirred in one of the bowls. You shuffle through the measuring cups and spoons before picking up a large wooden spoon and holding it up to Armin, presenting it to him, like you’ve found a block of gold.

When you turn away from him, he looks over the state of the kitchen. Sugar and flour remnants cover the countertops, series of baking instruments litter them as well, and on the kitchen table is a bottle of vodka.

And then it hits him; you’re playful nature, unpredictability, clumsiness, and intimacy.

“Are you drunk?” He asks you. He isn’t disappointed, or angry, just slightly taken aback.

You bring your head up from the bowl and tilt your head side to side like you were thinking over his question, “A little.”

It was much more than ‘a little’. Before you had even started drinking you were in a playful mood. You had just gotten the offer for a summer job for lifeguarding at the apartment complex’s pool and you thought to celebrate by binging your favorite television show and having a few shots. Then, a few shots turned to many and you were dancing around your living room while having the time of your life before you had settled on making yourself some food. ‘Another celebration’ you had convinced yourself.

But the measuring and the mixing were too hard and who else was there to call other than your best friend?

“Oh my god.” Armin smiles, shaking his head at you and making his way towards you as you continue to mix at god-knows-what you’ve put into that bowl, “You need actual food, not whatever you’re making here.”

You let go of the spoon, letting out a little huff of frustration at his words, scrunching your nose real cutely as you turn towards him. You take the front of his tee-shirt in your hands, gently fiddling with the fabric as you pout.

“I want dessert, Armin.” You whine, bringing your head forward to rest your cheek on his chest. Your chest was pressing against his torso, bare legs knocking against his own.

“’Tomorrow-You’ is going to thank me for not letting you have dessert.” He awkwardly brings one of his hands to your back, patting it a few times before letting his hand rest between your shoulder blades.

“Please?” You whisper, tilting your head up until he can feel your tiny breaths against his chin. Armin hopes you can’t feel the way his heartbeat begins to pick up in his chest at your close proximity.

“No… No, I’ll — I’ll make you toast or something, how does that sound?” He suggests, snaking his hands between the two of you to gently nudge you off him.

But the space between the two of you is quickly closed when your slide your hands up his chest and around his neck, “Don’t want toast.” You murmur, standing up on the tips of your toes to get in his eye-line. Your nose was only a breath away from his.

Armin carefully takes your wrists in his hands, taking your arms off him as he stammers out, “Well, you’re going to have toast.”

You let out another noise of frustration as you pull yourself away from him, your hands balling into fists at your sides while he pulls open your fridge for the loaf of bread on the top shelf. You watch him with your head tilted in fascination like you’ve never seen bread before, admiring the way his hair falls into his eyes as his pretty hands unwrap the plastic sleeve of the loaf then tug the toaster away from the counter backsplash.

He truly was so beautiful. You always contained your attraction towards him so well, but now your restraint was slipping.

You prance over to him, slipping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his back as he slides two slices of bread from the loaf. His skin is so warm beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders and back flex as he moves his arms, his abdominal muscles twitching as well in reaction to your fingertips skimming over them.

God, he’s so fucking nervous. 

Why is he so nervous? 

Because you’re all over him in just panties and his shirt when he’s had a crush on you for as long as he can remember. You’re being so touchy, so intimate with him, he’s afraid he might explode.

“Go sit down. Can’t — can’t help you if you’re in my way.” He says. Oh but he could help you, he could help you even if you were hanging on him like a spider monkey, he’s just afraid you’ll realize your effect on him if you do so.

“I just wanna be close to you. You’re so cute.” You nuzzle your head under his left arm until you and slip your whole body under it and stand ever so slightly in front of him, wedged between his torso and the countertop.

Your hands play with the hem of his shirt as you look up to him, your eyes glossy, and your pupils were blown. Armin tries his best to keep himself subtly distanced from you, but it’s no use. Every time he inches away, you’re just back on him. 

You’re sliding your hands up his chest, fingers tracing over his jaw and cheekbones as you cling to his side. He can feel your hips knocking against his, your thighs rubbing against his as you shift around to try and get closer. Your fingers follow along the curves of his neck, tracing down his throat then skimming over his collarbones.

“Sit here then. Sit on the counter.” Armin grabs ahold of your torso and pushes you against the counter, the edge of it rutting into the small of your back. You grab ahold of his biceps and let out a flirty little giggle at what his actions could be insinuating.

Your fingers press into the plush muscle of his arms as he strains to lift you, your heels grappling at the cabinets below you to try and aid him. His waist ends up slipped between your knees when you’re finally seated, and you can feel your body flush hot with arousal.

You were already sweating from the exertion you had put forward before he had arrived, but the added closeness with Armin was just driving you crazy.

“Now sit, and stay.” Armin places his hands in front of you to enforce his directions.

You giggle a few times, smiling at the fact that he’s treating you like a dog, “Woof.” 

Armin slips his waist out from your knees to come to your left slide, plucking the now toasted bread from the toaster and setting it on a napkin. He pulls open the drawer to his right for a butter knife, then snatches the butter from the island and brings it to your toast. 

His hands shake as he pulls the glass top of the butter dish, they shake as he dips the knife into the butter, and continues to shake as he spreads the butter over the first piece of toast. He can feel your thigh brushing against his hip as you swing your legs.

You begin to breathe heavier, the heat of exhaustion and heat of arousal begin to grow overwhelming. You fan your face a few times, pushing your hair off your neck, before grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt and pulling it up and over your head.

“What — what are you doing?” Armin stammers, taking a tiny step away from you.

You absentmindedly fold the sweatshirt before setting it aside to fan your face again, “It’s so hot… I think it’s you, Armin.”

You can see his face flush red this time, his ears as well, turning his cheeks and nose a pretty pink shade that doesn’t help your problem.

Armin tries to ignore you, he really does, but it’s so difficult because now you’re in this skimpy little tank top with spaghetti straps. And the straps are slipping off your shoulders and Jesus fucking christ you’re not wearing a bra. He can’t stop his eyes from flitting over your scantily clad figure, drinking in the way your thighs squish against the counter, the curve of your ass as it’s pressed to the granite, the way your nipples tease the thin fabric of your skin.

“Have I ever told you that? That you’re so fine?” You giggle, running a finger down his bicep as he finishes buttering your toast. You’re so grateful that he’s got that stupid white tee shirt on, the one that keeps your gaze lingering over the lean muscle in his chest and back.

“Um, n — no. Toast is done, hop down.” He refuses to make eye contact because if he does, he’s scared he won’t be able to stop himself from kissing you.

“Help.” You pout, reaching out your hands and grabbing for his shoulders.

Armin listens to your plea, setting the toast back down and grabbing ahold of your waist to slide you off the counter. But instead of bringing your feet to the floor, you wrap your legs around his waist and hook your arms around his neck. You have to tilt your head down to look into his eyes, only to see his pupils blown and lashes fluttering as he blinks.  He doesn’t push you off him. Instead, he uses his left hand to snatch the food off the counter while his right hand comes to brace your lower back. 

He’s afraid he’s going to have a heart attack now; feeling your thighs wrapped around him, your cunt hovering just right over his growing cock, your back arching your chest so close to his face that he swears if he looked down he would get a perfect view of your tits, your parted lips all glossy, breath fanning over the bridge of his nose as you run your fingers over the curves of his pretty pink lips.

Fuck. He was definitely getting off to this later.

You’re giggling all the while, and to an extent, you know exactly the effect you have on him. It’s cute, the way he stumbles around your house and trying to keep his footing as he brings you to your bedroom. 

“C’mon, Armin. At least take me on a date first,” You tease as he kneels down to bring your backside to the foot of the bed. Once your legs release his waist, he stands again.

“I’m — I’m not trying — we’re not —” He stutters, bringing his hands forward again like he’s scared you’ll pounce on him.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. Armin wants nothing more in the entire world than to have you beneath him, to have his cock sheathed inside you, to have you moan out his name as you cum around his cock…

But he couldn’t let it happen like this.

You were drunk, so so drunk. And you probably didn’t even know what you were saying.

“We can if you want to.” You speak softly, your knees knocking together as you settle into your seat, fiddling with your hands in your lap as if you got all shy all of a sudden.

And when you look up to him through your lashes, brows furrowed slightly in a pout, Armin almost caves. But he catches himself just as fast, shoving your toast in front of you like it’s a shield.

Your eyes shift down to the food that’s presented before you, and your pout turns into a cute little smile as you daintily take it from his hands. You let the napkin rest in your left palm as you hold the food in your right, immediately taking a little bite out of it.

“You want some water?” Armin asks, still standing in front of you.

You give him a nod without looking up, taking another bite out of the toast while he fills up the cup that he knew rested beside your bathroom sink. As he stands in front of the mirror he takes a moment to breathe in and out deeply as the water fills the cup.

You were going to be the death of him.

“You know, I mean it when I say you’re attractive,” He hears you say, still sitting all obediently on your bed and waiting for him to return, “Everyone’s like, ‘oh Armin got so hot!’, but I always thought you were cute… you just got so — nnghh — in the past year.”

He returns with your glass of water, holding it out to you as you finish chewing. You take it from him gently, holding it in both your hands, careful not to drop it, as you take little sips.

He knew you were being irrational, but he truly hopes you mean what you say.

When you finish drinking, you pat your hand against the mattress as you set your cup to the floor. You want him close again, want the warmth he radiates both physically and spiritually. Armin listens to your ask and sits beside you carefully, running his hands over his thighs as you pull your legs up on the mattress and cross them under you.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” You ask, voice getting tiny again.

That was real… that question… he’s so sure of it. You were always insecure about your looks when you had no reason to be, but he had no idea that you cared what he thought about you.

“I — um… I — I don’t think my — my opinion matt —” He tries to get it to come out sounding right, but the moment he opens his mouth he already knows he’s failed terribly.

“Do… do you not think I’m pretty?” He can hear the feeling of betrayal in your voice, you turn your head away from him.

“No! No, y/n, I think you’re really pretty —”

You grab ahold of his shirt collar and tug him towards you as you let your back fall to the mattress. His torso comes over you and his hand shoots out beside your head to keep him from falling atop you. He can’t even bring himself to pull off of you, because your noses are touching and he can feel your knees knocking against the left side of his waist.

“I — you’re — God, y/n you’re so pretty. Don’t ever think I don’t think that.” He breathes, trying so hard to your lips from touching, for his own sake.

Your mouth splits into a smile and a little laugh escapes your lips. Your free hand grabs ahold of his shirt as well, assuring both you and him that he isn’t going anywhere. You look down to his lips, slightly parted as he pants heavily to keep his composure.

“No, but you don’t understand,” You keep your eyes on his lips, fighting the desire to kiss him, “You’re so fucking hot.”

Armin’s breath gets caught in his throat because you had spoken that in a borderline whimper. Your bottom lip had been taken between your teeth after you finished speaking, and he swears he could see your back arch slightly.

It was completely visible now, how much you needed him. You were holding onto him for dear life, your thighs were squeezing together and your arched back had your stomach brushing against his. You looked at him through half-lidded eyes, irises filled with lust and hunger.

Armin’s so grateful that your legs are to his side and now wrapped around his waist again because he would not have been able to stop himself from grinding down against you… it would have been completely involuntary.

“And — and don’t tell anyone this but sometimes… sometimes I get off to you,” You bring your voice to a whisper as you reveal your secret, lifting your head to move closer to him. He can feel your lips brush against his as you speak, “Actually... like all the time.”

Armin lets out an audible exhale, his jaw slacking at your revelation, he has to shut his eyes again.

“Do you get off to me too?” You ask. And you speak like you didn’t just reveal that to him, bringing your head back down to the mattress and smiling.

Of course he does. Of course he does. 

Junior year of high school you offered to be his first kiss, just for fun, ‘cause you were friends, right? And you wanted to help him get it over with. 

But every night since then, Armin has gotten off to you; laid back in his bed with his cock in his fist, and whispering your name as he cums.

“I — we’re best friends — y/n, I —”

“Best friends don’t wanna fuck each other, Armin.” You say, your voice losing all its playfulness and growing serious like you had suddenly become sober.

You stare into his pretty blue eyes for a moment, letting your own flit between the two of his. You were watching for any change in his expression, any look of disgust or repulsion, but you don’t find any. He just keeps that same incredulous, lust-filled look on his face.

He looks over you as well. Your eyes were still so droopy and hazy, your lips parted like you’re manually breathing. You were so drunk that it almost hurt him. You weren’t going to remember a single thing in the morning, and the two of you would be back to square one because Armin would never be able to repeat to you what you said to him or admit his searing desire for you.

Armin can feel your grip on his shirt tighten once more, and instead of lifting your head to him, you pull him down to you.

“I need you,” You whisper, voice shaking with arousal, “Fuck me... please.”

Armin swallows hard, his arms beginning to shake under his weight. He was going to fucking explode. He needed a break, just a moment, anything so he can catch his breath and regain some of his composure.

Christ, he was so fucking hard. If you were sober, he wouldn’t hesitate for a single second to rip off both of your clothes and push his cock inside you.

“I can’t — you’re drunk,” He murmurs, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. You can hear the fact that he truly wanted to do what you begged him for.

“No, Armin, I want it. I need it. I mean it, I swear.” You plead, your hands pawing at his shirt like he was attempting to get away from you and you wanted him to stay. But Armin was set put, he wasn’t moving, he couldn’t move even if he wanted.

“I need your cock.”

“Not — not now. You need to sleep this off. You’re… you’re not yourself right now,” He takes his eyes off yours, closing them once more and squeezing them shut.

“I’ve — I’ve always wanted you though. Always, I promise.” You continue, hoping that somehow you’ll convince him.

It was true. You wish he could understand how true it was. All the guys you had gotten with after-parties, after football games… they were all just replacements, they were fill-ins for him. You would pretend that it was him that was filling you up, gripping your hips and whispering dirty things against your ear. And for seconds at a time, it would work and you would convince yourself that Armin was right there with you.

And every time you would see him helping another girl with school work, see them flirting with him and getting touchy with him, playing with his glasses or drawing shapes on his hands with a pen… this disgusting feeling would churn around in your stomach and bubble up into your throat. And although Armin was oblivious to their flirting, it still hurt so fucking bad.

“I’ve always wanted you too… just — just not like this. Just sleep it off, okay? And — and then we’ll talk.” His left hand wraps around your waist while his right switches to brace beside your head. He grabs ahold of your torso and shimmies you up the bed until your head meets the pillow.

He sits back on his calves, his left arm sliding out from under you while his right hand brushes your messy hair out of your face before petting your head.

“And, and you’ll fuck me in the morning?” You ask, completely genuine.

Armin swallows hard again, pulling himself away from you and helping you slide your body under your sheets, “If — if you still want me to.”

You look up to him with your eyes full of admiration as he smoothes the sheets over your body, “I’ll always want you to.”

It comes out sounding much more intimate than it actually is to say that ‘you’ll always want Armin to fuck you’. And Armin lets his eyes meet yours again, matching the love that’s filled them.

He smiles to hide the doubt he has inside his chest. In the morning, you’ll either regret every word and ghost him or you’ll forget everything you’ve admitted. Both options made Armin’s heart hurt, but he decides that you leaving him would be the worst of the two. He wouldn’t know what to do if you’d never talk to him again. So for now, he truly hopes you forget.

Armin pulls his hands away from you, shuffling his knees on the bed to get off of it. But before he can bring his feet to the ground, you grab ahold of his wrist.

“Stay, please.” You ask, your eyes struggling to stay open. He wonders if you even know that you’re talking.

He listens to you anyway, bringing his hand down to the mattress as he slips himself under the sheets and next to you. And if he wasn’t sure about staying before, he sure was now because you were so warm and so soft as you shimmied back against him. You take his arm and sling it over your waist, letting his palm splay out over your stomach. You can feel every rise of his chest against your back.

You were going to doze off so easily, he was so warm, he was so comforting. You could feel sleep beginning to creep up on you quickly. But before you let it take over, you slide your hand back and between your bodies to grab the source of the hard thing poking into your ass.

“You’re so hard,” You giggle.

Armin chokes on his breath again and grabs your wrist to pull your hand off his dick, “Stop. Go — go to bed.”

You listen this time, retracting your hand to slip it over his that rests on your stomach, interlacing your fingers as you succumb to your exhaustion.

[timid-orchid]

Captive Part 1/?

Pairing Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary: Kidnapped and experimented on by Umbrella, the only thing you wanted so desperately was to finally be free.

Warnings: RE typical stuff, zombies, human experiments

Word count: 2,226

Some people wish that they could do something extraordinary before they die, others just wish to lead a normal life. You were the ladder.

The normal mundane things were what you enjoyed about life. You always knew how something would go, and if it went wrong, you knew how to correct it.

But you didn't know how to correct this.

Where to even begin?

You've had a lot of time to think about the choices you've made in the past. Being locked in a cell with no way out grants you ample time to regret the things you've done.

It all started on a normal Friday evening, your friend dragging you to the bar. You had worked long shifts without much of a break, so she wanted to go let loose, bringing you along to ease some stress.

After guzzling drink after drink, your friend ran off to the restroom, and that was the last time you saw her.

You went to look for her, getting lost in the process. It was a new area that you weren't too familiar with, the bar being way out of the way on the back street of some small town.

You searched all over the bar, then decided to search the alley behind the bar, your friend had a bad habit of getting lost just like you, so you thought it wouldn't hurt to check everywhere around the bar.

That was your biggest regret.

Some men had jumped you when you reached the dark end of the alley, shoving a needle into your neck before you could react.

Once you woke up you realized you were locked away in some cell, wondering what the hell happened.

How long ago was that? Four months? Five months?

You didn't know what to make of the place you were in, you thought it was some kind of human trafficking gig. Why else would someone kidnap you?

But you quickly found out the real reason why you were taken away.

It wasn’t long after you woke up that a guard came to take you to a scientist that had been assigned to you. As you followed the guard out, you looked around for your friend in the other cells, sighing in relief when you realized she wasn’t in any of them. You hoped that meant that she made it home safely that night.

You met your assigned scientist—Dr. Barlowe—shortly after. Barlowe was a thorough man, he wanted to explain everything he did before he did it.

“Hello subject 0377, I’m Dr. Barlowe. I’ll be running some blood work before I administer anything into your system.” He had explained.

That was all he needed to say before your fight or flight response kicked in and you bolted for the door, sadly, they knew that that would happen and stationed a guard right outside the door. They tied you to the chair after dragging you back into the lab room.

Barlowe quickly drew your blood, humming in satisfaction at the color of it. He said it looked…healthy, but all blood looked the same to you. He left for a little over an hour to run the tests while you were still tied up.

He came back smiling, saying everything looked to be in great shape, and that you were ready to receive whatever the hell it was that he wanted to shove into you.

“This, my dear 0377, is called the T-Virus.” He explained, pulling out a vial and needle. “It is the combination of an earlier virus and leech DNA.”

He almost moaned out the information, making you shudder in disgust.

“Do you know what mitochondria is?” He inquired.

“The…powerhouse of the cell?”

“Indeed. This virus kills and replaces any mitochondria in infected cells, then combines the cells to produce enough energy for motor and lower brain functions, making most of the body’s systems redundant.”

Your head spun in circles trying to digest all the information at once.

“Although, it does cause severe necrosis of the host, uh, the host being you, of course.”

You gulped, that didn’t sound good.

“It also consumes the hosts’ frontal lobes, making the infected have increased aggression. That will be one of the signs I will look for after injecting you with this.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

He placed the vial down on the countertop and dug around the papers for a clipboard.

“Because learning is fun, and don’t you want to know what goes in your body?”

“I guess…”

“Another thing I’ll look for is psychopathic rage and hunger, since your hypothalamus won’t be able to regulate the flood of neurotransmitters, enzymes, or hormones after being injected.”

He found the clipboard, attaching a blank sheet of paper. Then he pulled on gloves and grabbed the vial and a needle.

He hit play on a recorder he had in his breast pocket, saying the date, time, and subject number.

“Administrating one dose of the T-Virus to subject 0377.” He murmured, shoving the needle into your neck.

You felt a pinch when the needle broke skin, but that pinch quickly turned into a burning once the liquid was pushed into your blood stream. Nothing too unbearable though.

“Dose administered, documenting results.”

He threw the needle into a sharp’s basket, then grabbed his clipboard so he could write down everything that happened to you.

“One-minute mark, no visible changes noted.”

He almost sounded disappointed.

“Five-minute mark, no visible changes noted. Subject 0377, how do you feel?”

You couldn’t tell a difference, wondering if all the things he said before were a lie to try and scare you.

“I feel the same as before.”

He hummed, furiously writing on the paper. You weren’t sure what all he would write down since all you were doing was sitting on a chair.

“Ten-minute mark, no visible changes noted.”

“Do you feel angry?” He asked, eyes peering at you from over the clipboard.

“The only anger I feel is from getting kidnapped and injected with a fucking virus, other than that I could frolic in a field of flowers.” You spat.

“Anger noted.”

You rolled your eyes, getting annoyed by everything.

He had you tied to that chair for over an hour, taking notes every five minutes, although there weren’t any changes, none that you could tell, anyways.

After that, a guard escorted you back to your cell, where you waited, bored out of your mind. This happened a few more times, each time you would fight against your guard, losing each time until you finally quit fighting.

Barlowe kept injecting you with the T-Virus, thinking maybe he didn’t use enough the first few times. You had quit fighting against him as well, it was better to save your strength for when you would need it the most.

At first you thought this was all some sort of bad dream, but that thought would be squashed every time you woke up on the cold, hard floor of your cell.

You watched other subjects go to get experimented on, walking the same path you had, except they never came back. You were the only one so far that came back, and the others were weary of you because of it. You’ve seen the looks they gave you as you passed their cells, they didn’t trust you.

They would tell the other subjects to not talk to you, that you were a spy for the facility. That made your whole experience that much worse, having to go through all of this alone on top of the experimentation was just too much.

You would spend all of your days in the corner of your cell where you slept on the floor since they didn’t provide beds to the subjects, but you found it hard to fall asleep anyways.

The sound of a fight breaking out woke you from your nightmare. You yawned, stretching out while on the floor, the months sleeping on the hard surface was starting to take its toll on you, making your back ache often.

You strained your ears, trying to find out what was going on, but between the shouting and physical fighting, you couldn’t make out anything useful.

Fights were a common thing in the cells, a daily occurrence really. Mostly between a subject and guard, but subjects fighting each other was just as common. Either from not trusting each other or because on looked at the other in a manner the first didn’t like.

You pushed yourself to your feet, stretching some more as you peered through your cell door, trying to see what was going on. A guard had one of the new subjects down in a head lock, the subject must’ve tried to escape.

You never tried to escape your cell, the consequence of getting caught was just too great. They would bring the escapee to what they call the “T-Room”, letting the infected eat the escapee as slowly and painfully as possible.

The guards loved the new subjects, they could beat them without getting into trouble, blaming it all on the subject not being cooperative. But if the guard had any reason to send a subject to the T-Room…well, the subject must’ve put up one hell of a fight to escape.

“0377, ya ready to go see Barlowe?”

Glancing over at Thomas, one of the more intense guards, you nodded your head.

Thomas watched the other guard deal with the new subject, shaking his head while having a sadistic grin rest on his face.

“Damn, is that one there givin’ ya such an ass-whoopin’?” He asked the other guard as he chuckled.

“Not today, this one is going to the T-Room. I'm tired of putting up with his bullshit”

You shuddered, the newbie didn’t know what he had coming to him. He should’ve just stayed in his cell like a good captive. He should’ve waited until the perfect opportunity to escape presented itself, just like you did.

“C’mon, 0377. Barlowe was out in the hall dancin’ ‘round sayin’ he got somethin’ new for ya. We don’t wanna keep the good doc waitin’.” Thomas drawled, leading the way down the hall to the stairs.

“Maybe what the doc's got is somethin’ fun, maybe it’d make ya more…lively.” He laughed, going to the fourth floor and opening the door to Barlowe’s office.

“Now ya stay put here, ya know the drill by now, don’t ya?”

You nodded, walking in and sitting in the chair that you’ve been tied to many times before. You didn’t have to wait long before Barlowe practically pranced into the room with a gleaming smile on his face, eyes sparkling with joy.

“0377, do I have a treat for you today.”

He pulled a vial from his pocket, shaking it just a bit to let the particles within mix. “I finally got ahold of the G-Virus. It took me years to convince Umbrella to let me experiment with it, and seeing as you survived the four doses of the T-Virus, I thought you would be the perfect candidate for the experiment.”

“Lucky me.” You grumbled.

After getting out his clipboard and slipping his gloves on, he shoved the needle into the vial, pulling out the virus and shoving it into your neck.

“Administrating one dose of the G-Virus to subject 0377.”

Discarding the needle and gloves, he ran over to his clipboard to take notes.

You didn’t feel a difference with this virus, just like with the first.

He was obviously disappointed by the time he finished his notes and made Thomas escort you back to your cell. You swear he wanted you to get infected and die.

“Did the doc have somethin’ fun for ya?” Thomas questioned as he opened the door to your cell.

“Just another failed virus.” You muttered, heading for your sleeping corner.

“Ya some kinda freak, huh?” He chuckled as he slammed the door shut, “Barlowe must be havin’ a hell o’ time fuckin’ with ya.”

“Unfortunately.”

He finally left you alone. Alone to rot away in a cold, dark cell. You left the cell every other day, only to go get tested on, then it was right back to the cell. Wash, rinse, repeat.

You were sick of it, hoping that one of these times you’d actually turn just so you could get out of this stupid cell forever. Whether it’d be from your death or your undeath, you didn’t care which one.

You just wanted to be free.

“I’ve been trying to mix the T-Virus and G-Virus together, and I think I've finally outdone myself.” Barlowe gloated a few days later, practically shoving the needle in you the second he came into the room.

That experiment ended in the same way as the others: no infection noted, blood drawn right after to see what the virus did to your body on a cellular level, then you were sent back to your cell.

The routine was starting to wear on you, making you antsy, or was it one of the viruses that flowed through your veins? Were the viruses even in you anymore? Or were they like the flu, initial infection then recovery or death?

You weren’t sure on anything of it, the only thing you were sure of was that you were going to escape the facility you were locked in.

You were going to make Umbrella pay for what they’ve done to you.

[gurugirl]

The Tiffany Club Part 7

Summary: Camille is a sex club worker living in NYC. She meets Harry, a private equity CEO millionaire one day and they realize they like each other. A lot. But will Harry be willing to overlook Camille’s career choice?

AN/Warning: I will have a * by the parts when smut is included. This warning list is comprehensive for all parts, not all contain smut or listed warnings. NSFW, smut, oral (male and female), 18+ only (as always), angst, dom & sub themes, sex work, light alcohol use, mentions of disordered eating and food restrictions

Pairing: Sex club worker Camille x Harry Styles

Part 6

Part 7

Camille

When Harry told me he had been seeing someone else I can’t say I was too terribly surprised. I barely know the guy and he’s gorgeous and rich. Of course he’s got some woman somewhere he’s fucking. Looking the way he does it’s impossible for him to be single.

His explanation for everything seemed legit and then he called her right in front of me, put the phone on speaker, and broke up with her. I’ve never had a guy so desperate to prove to me he was breaking up with a girlfriend. Or, well, not girlfriend according to Harry. But still. Same thing as far as I’m concerned.

Is it shitty of me to expect a guy I want to date to be single? I don’t think it is. Yes, I might have a monthly session where I’m getting paid to have sex with a married man, but that’s work. I don’t have feelings for Edmond. The money is too good to pass up, though. I get a minimum of $10k a month from one man. Sometimes he gives me more, depending on what he wants. But even with that, I consider myself single. Some guys really think that they can date me and see other women at the same time, but I don’t deal with that. My job is separate from my personal life and I won’t be working at the club forever. I have standards and if the guy I’m seeing has a job like mine, then of course I wouldn’t mind what he did at work as long as he’s not seeing other people on his off hours. I need to be the only one.

I was surprised, though, that Harry called her right in front of me. It made me feel a little better about his situation. Then, the more I thought about our situation I realized he’s right. We had just met. If what he’s telling me is true about intending on breaking up with her before he met me then I can understand. Plus, after hearing Lindsay on the phone with him, yeah, she sounds like a true bitch.

I really did want to have sex with him. It’s been a while since I’ve had really good sex with a man so attractive. I’ve been a little desperate lately, actually. And Harry looks the type that he can give what he says he can. Plus, when I was straddling him and kissing him (he’s a phenomenal kisser by the way, already a good sign) I could feel the thick bulge in his pants. And I do mean thick-thick. I even got a little glimpse when I moved off his lap. The crotch of his pants was tight and he’s got some length to him as well from what I could tell. But a big dick does not mean a good fuck. However, just his admission of being good at cunnilingus made my mouth water. He could be all talk, though. The last guy that went down on me was a clueless prick. I had to ask him for it, first of all (bad sign), and when he did go down on me he was only down there for like five minutes before he thought that was good enough to try and fuck me. I was barely even warmed up. His lack of enthusiasm was obvious and he barely licked over me, mostly used his fingers. I don’t know if he even made contact with my clit. Because after five minutes of hard labor down there he acted like I must have been ready for him to put his dick inside of me. I kicked him out before we got that far. I asked him why he stopped and he really had the gall to tell me it was difficult eating women out and he found women preferred him to just fuck them because he’s better at that. I laughed in his face and pointed to the door.

Harry’s flirtatious and confident attitude has me turned on, though. Part of me regrets telling him he needed to take me on a date first. Like, I could really use a good orgasm. And not one that’s brought on with my vibrator. Like, I need a good old-fashioned dicking from an attentive man. Harry fits the bill pretty well, or perfectly actually. I have no doubt he could show me a good time in the sack.

When we finish eating I wrapped up the rest of the pizza and Harry washed the plates we ate off of. He insisted on washing them and part of me swooned over it. God, am I that hard up that a man who washes the dishes makes me wet? Yes. I am in fact. When that man continues to promise me how good he can make me feel, when he touches my hip and looks into my eyes the way he does, when he grins deeply, causing his dimple to appear and he looks like a god doing it… Yeah. Oh yeah.

I’m not ready to kick him out but I don’t know what I want as we sit back on the couch. Do I want him to stay a little longer and we can talk (yes, I do) or do I want to wrap this up and then change into my pajamas and watch Netflix with Barry and smoke weed (yes, I do).

“Uh… do you want to watch something? I’ve got Netflix and regular cable.” I shrug as I turn the TV on. Now commence the awkwardness.

“Sure. If you don’t mind. I don’t want to be a bother. I can leave if you need me to. But I haven’t got anything else going on today, so…” he looks at me with his big green eyes. His lips are pink and ready to be kissed. His hands are placed over his lap while he’s got his legs spread wide, which draws my eyes toward his crotch again. He’s not hard anymore but there’s a sure bump where I know his prick must be. Even when he’s soft he’s prominent under his pants. I quickly look back up to his eyes and he’s smirking at me. I watch as he looks down between his legs and back to me. He licks his lips and draws them into his mouth. He’s waiting for me to respond but he’s caught me ogling his crotch.

“You can stay. I didn’t make any other plans today. But only if you want.” I try my hardest to keep my eyes on his eyes. But Harry is suddenly dragging his gaze over my body, slowly, and then back up to meet my eyes. Probably as a way of telling me he knows what I was doing and he’s not ashamed to respond in kind.

“I’ll stay then. I think I quite like your company, Camille.” He smiles sincerely at me this time and I return the smile. I begin flicking through options for us to watch as we discuss what we’re in the mood for. We decide on something easy to watch so we can talk if we want. It’s something we’ve both seen already and Harry insists he doesn’t mind watching.

About 15 minutes into the show I realize I’m not paying any attention. I’m so focused on Harry next to me on my couch in my small apartment. The handsome man next to me is drawing my attention without doing a damn thing. He’s literally just sitting on the couch, one leg folded over the other, an ankle over his knee and his arms spread over the backrest of the couch. If he were to move his hand forward just a hint, he’d touch my shoulder. I can feel the heat emanating off his hand, it’s that close to my shoulder. I sigh and pretend to be engaged with the TV but I’m feeling buzzy and a little horny. Now that Harry has agreed we won’t do anything sexual it’s like I want him more. I internally scold myself for being so desperate but I can’t stop my hormones from responding to this man. I squirm a little and cross my legs together, squeezing lightly as I reposition myself. My heart won’t stop hammering and I realize my breathing is a little ragged as well. I need to pull myself together.

“Y’okay?” Harry’s deep voice startles me. I look over at him and he appears genuinely concerned, not overly but there’s clear care etched in his features. I laugh a little and nod and Harry’s smile deepens in response, his dimples displayed. The attractive fucker. 

“Uh, yeah. M’fine.” I don’t look away from him as his eyes are still on mine. He drags his eyes down over my thighs and back up to my eyes and gives me an approving nod and hums in response before turning his attention back to the TV. Fuck if I didn’t want him to make some kind of move but I have a feeling he’s keeping in place the boundaries I just set and I want to stab myself for telling him we should hold off. But, the wait will be worth it, right? Like I shouldn’t be jumping into bed with him so fast. I know that. However, having him be so understanding with my request makes me want to tear him apart and fuck his brains out all night. Just imagining his hands on me makes me squirm again, repositioning myself.

When I’ve re-crossed my legs and settled down into a similar but new position as I was before I feel the burning weight of one of Harry’s fingers on my shoulder since my repositioning allowed me to get closer. I swear it was subconscious. I didn’t do it intentionally. I keep my gaze on my TV, not knowing what’s happening with the group of characters having a somewhat dramatic moment. Harry chuckles at the show and I realize, he knows what’s going on and he’s paying attention. That means he’s not as bothered by my presence as I am by his and it makes me feel even more frantic in my horniness. God, there’s something about a hot man ignoring you just enough to make you wet. Or is that just me? I think I've some serious issues. I try and laugh a little bit as well at the TV and watch Harry from the corner of my eye to make sure I was laughing at an appropriate moment. Then I feel his finger drag lightly over my shoulder. A quick press and caress of his finger to a small part of my shoulder has made me smolder even more and I gulp thickly at the barely evident contact. I pause all my movements so I can feel his finger on my clothed shoulder.

“This okay?” Harry’s voice startles me again. I realize he’s asking me if it’s okay that he’s touching my shoulder. He’s not even got his whole hand on me, literally just a finger smoothing over a small square inch area and he’s asking me if it’s okay. I turn my head to look at him and smile, trying to act nonchalant.

“Oh yeah. Barely noticed. Sure…” I turn my head back to the TV and roll my eyes at myself. Barely noticed my ass. My panties tell a completely different story right now. Harry continues his light strokes over my shoulder and I melt into him slowly. I even lean my head back slightly without realizing it at first. When I move to recross my legs and reposition my bum comfortably I have made myself a few inches closer to him. Now Harry has a little more access to my shoulder and even my neck if he wants. I’m hoping he does something about it.

When I hear Harry hum and take a deep breath I turn my head to look at him. He’s still looking at the TV when he speaks, “You sure you’re okay, there? Seem a bit restless to me.” He turns his head to look at me and smirks and then his hand is moving toward my neck, light, delicate rubs that send me soaring into my thoughts. “Y’keep crossing your legs and you don’t seem to be paying any attention to the show. S’it boring to you? Should we try another one?” I can see the challenge in his eyes. He knows exactly what’s going on here and what its doing to me, his cocky smirk indicates as much.

“Uhhh…” I think about how to answer. I want to move things forward with him because now I’m so horny my panties are wet and he smells so good, and I haven’t had sex with a man I was interested in for nearly five months. I swallow while I consider how to approach this. Harry’s hands scratch up the nape of my neck and he repositions his legs so that he’s angled toward me now, giving me his full attention. The delicate touch of his finger tips on my bare neck cause my brain to blank out. I don’t know what to say or how to say it. I’m not usually like this with men. If I want something I say it, but in this instance, I’m at a loss.

When I feel Harry’s fingers wind into the hair at the nape of my neck he pulls lightly, causing my head to pull back and he directs my gaze to him. I nearly lose it, my mouth parts and eyes widen at his gesture. It’s not aggressive but it’s dominant and I want him now.

The look on his face is serious as he licks over his lips before speaking, “I asked if you were okay. Are you?” His brows furrow slightly and he directs his attention to my lips and over my neck then back up to my eyes as I gulp. My heart is pounding and I want to tell him to fuck me right now and right here.

I clear my throat because I would have spoken in a croak if not and take in a breath before speaking, Harry’s hands still I my hair, keeping my head tilted toward him, “I… I am okay. Yes. I just… think I haven’t been with a man I’m interested in for quite a while and right now I have one in my apartment and it’s distracting. That’s all.” I take another deep breath and let out a small laugh but Harry’s demeanor doesn’t change. He’s still looking at me with a serious gaze, but there’s something else there. He looks hungry but he’s not going to indulge until I give him the green light.

“I see. Well, like you said, next time I take you on a date we can break your dry spell, I guess. That’s what you still want, correct?” Our eyes are locked and I swallow again before shaking my head as much as I can with Harry’s hands holding me in place by my hair.

“Maybe we could… I don’t know." I sigh and close my eyes before finding the confidence to speak what I want, "Forget I said that.” Harry releases my hair and removes his hand from me completely, his expression giving nothing away about how he’s feeling. His jaw clenches and he leans in closer to me.

“Forget you said that…” Harry hums and then looks down toward my thighs again and then back up to me, cocking his head slightly, “...you’ll need to expand on that thought for me. Tell me what you want.” His presence is hard to escape. His eyes locked on mine make me feel brain dead. My heart is throbbing and I’m uncomfortably horny. Harry seems so composed.

“Fuck.” I groan and uncross my legs so my thighs are flat on the couch and I rub my palms over them a couple of times to somehow bring my soul back into my body, to ground myself. “Yeah. I want to forget I said that. I think I changed my mind. I want… to kiss you?” I sound unsure but I know I want him. For some reason he’s got me feeling coiled up tightly and it makes me anxious with my voice coming out unsure.

Harry finally breaks his serious façade and he laughs, breathing out through his nose as he does so. He seems to have moved in closer to me now and he brings just a thumb to my knee. He watches me closely. Like he’s waiting for me say something else. I look down to where his thumb is rubbing small circles over my clothed knee and then back to his eyes and I nod. I don’t know why I nod but I want him to keep going. Keep touching me. Do more. Yes.

He licks his lips and looks down to my thighs and smirks, “Bet you’ve got yourself all wet for me, now, haven’t you? Can tell just by the way you can’t stop fidgeting.” He chuckles before placing his full palm over my knee and rubbing up my thigh a few inches. He brings an arm up over the backrest again, while his other hand remains on my thigh, “So, you want to kiss me? You have my permission, darling. If that’s what you want. In fact, I give you permission to do anything you want to me. Green light right here. Ball is in your court.”

His eyes drop to my lips then back to my eyes. I pause for a minute to collect myself. He’s so close and so warm. I decide to get on with it. He’s given me the “green light”.

I slowly lean in toward him as I bring a hand to his shoulder, my other on the couch between us, near his thigh. As I get closer to him, he leans toward me to make my task easier. When I finally press my lips to his my mind once again clears itself of thought. It’s only lips, and saliva, tongues, noses, moans and hands. Harry’s soft lips on mine, his harsh grip on my thigh, breathing heavily through his nose, his hand over my neck drawing me closer. I move my hand to his thigh and scoot in closer to him. He welcomes my nearness. I want to straddle him again, sit on his lap to make this easier but his grasp on my thigh has me unable to easily do so. I moan into his mouth and he returns the noise. He begins to drag his lips over my jaw and down to my neck and I gasp when I feel him suck on my pulse point. His hand moves further up my thigh, closer to my zipper and I’m spinning. I move my hand close to his zipper and when Harry moves his lips over my neck to the other side and back over the other jaw he closes his lips back over mine and squeezes the back of my neck. On instinct I bring my palm over the crotch of his pants to feel him hard underneath and he gasps, pulling away from me. His smile is naughty, dirty, his lips parted, nostrils flaring.

“You don’t just want to kiss me do you? You want more?” He removes the hand he’s got over my thigh and brings it up to my face, both hands cupping my cheeks and drawing me back into him, his lips caressing mine slowly, sensually, sloppily. He pulls back again, “Ask nicely and you’ll get anything you want.” He puts his mouth on my neck and I draw my head back to give him access to anything he wants. I moan out the word yes and then I allow myself to feel his lips draw kisses over my hot skin.

After a moment I find my voice, certain of what I want from him, “I want to feel you, taste you… make you come.” The words fall out in a breathy moan that sounds desperate.

Harry lifts his lips off of my neck and pecks a kiss to my lips before he says, “As long as I can make you come too, then your wish is my command.”

Part 8*