#~1.8k

[captileluke]

how the movers got to hell. forgot to mention before but this was inspired by v2is-baby.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

A Parasite

Norae was always... resistant to having a doll. Her covenmates tell her about theirs like they're little slave-things, always wandering around your house and doing things you should be doing on your own. It's creepy, and (she would never say this out loud) enabling laziness.

But as her power grows, so does her manor. She begins noticing hallways stretching out longer than they once did, with protrusions shaped like doorknobs emerging from the walls. There's already a set of stairs leading uselessly into the ceiling, no doubt where the second story will begin to grow.

The effort she put into keeping things in order used to be paltry for a witch as powerful as her, but she's starting to get annoyed by the distractions. She is growing tired of pruning new furniture like weeds.

She knows nothing of clockwork, and she never developed her skills in magical dollcraft for obvious reasons. But she will sometimes catch sight of a stray, trying to find purpose in picking the wild berries just beyond her yard. She wonders if she'll be helpful enough, before quietly correcting herself and wondering if it will be helpful enough.

She told her coven how she was thinking about leaving a sort of trap for it, a cup of tea under a cardboard box held up with a stick, only half serious. Regardless, they told her that dolls are much more trusting and docile than she was assuming, and that she simply needed to approach and talk to it.

She waited with a book, just on the edges of her property. The wide brim of her hat helped block the glare of the sun as she'd occasionally look off through the trees. Soon, it came walking past her unceremoniously, seeming as if it's trying to ignore her. It's walking to the bush. There's already a few ripe berries piled neatly in its hand.

It was made with porcelain, with a more tattered version of the maid dress they all seem to wear, walking with just as much rigidity and poise. But this is the first doll she's seen with a wind-up key. It slowly turned just a few degrees for every moment that passed. She could see a little rope tied to one of the sides, presumably so that one could wind it on her own.

"Excuse me? ...Doll?" Just as she starts speaking, it perks up, looking ready to leap into action. "Y... yes, Miss?" Its voice is timid, but eager.

"Would you like to, uh..." She hesitates for a moment, feeling ridiculous. This is the first time she's had to say something like this out loud. "Belong to me? I have tea."

It gasps. "Yes! Oh, yes, thank you Miss!" She runs up to the witch as if to give her a hug, only to skitter to a last-second stop just in front of her and give a polite bow, with proper curtsy.

"Right. Um, follow me, then." She closes her book and begins walking back to her door, her movements awkward as the doll followed close behind. She can't stop looking back at it, at its bizarrely serene face and excited steps. "So, do you have a name?"

"This one's old witch called it Lullaby, Miss!" It seems so happy to say.

"That's... still your name then, I think."

"Yay! Thank you Miss!"

. . . . .

Colloquially, the word "doll" is often used to describe any construct that obeys a witch, with considerable variation thereupon. Perhaps the most infamous among these variants in classification is the combat doll. These ones can often be identified by their more metallic exterior, such that they can easily be confused for androids at first glance, but there also exists combat dolls that

"Excuse this one, Miss?" the thing knocks at the door to the witch's study. It lingers in the doorway, not wanting to intrude further.

Norae tries to stifle a sigh of annoyance as she turns away from her book. "Yes, Lullaby?" She just noticed that her its hair just a little dishevelled from working, but it's not nearly as matted and gnarled as it was earlier today. She's glad it looks so much more... healthy.

"This one has finished sweeping the first floor, Miss!" The doll smiled, clearly proud of herself. The witch is caught in her own head for only a moment, ruminating on owning someone... something so close to a human. "What would you like it to do next?"

"You..." it takes her a moment to stifle her shock. She's read enough to know that such a task is to be expected from dolls, but it still seemed to work so hard so fast. "Then you've completed your chores. Treat yourself to some tea." She tells it matter-of-factly and turns back to her book, trying to match the professionalism of her literature.

"But, Miss!" The doll says. Norae turns back, and sees the doll has a very human, very concerned look. "This one has barely worked today! Would you like it to scrub the floors as well? Or organize your bookshelf? It can cook for you, Miss!"

"Hey, calm down, it's alright." The doll's owner tries to sound reassuring, as one would to a friend. "I don't know how your last witch did it, but I don't want to overwork you. Do you like to read? I have a library."

The doll tried to swallow its apprehensive look. "This one will read for you, Miss." It nods dutifully and runs along.

That... went well, she thinks. She understands that dolls are... eager, to a certain degree, but she's sincere about not wanting to exhaust the poor girl thing. She also thinks about her own autonomy, and how listless she'd feel if left without her own chores.

. . . . .

Norae lets out a bored sigh as she watched the vegetables sizzle in their pan. She tries to stir them around, spreading them evenly in the oil, but it's more to entertain herself than to properly cook.

She hears Lullaby quickly, yet still with a polite reservation, hurry up the stairs.

"Miss!" It calls out, drowning out its footsteps before it turns the corner. As it emerges into the kitchen, it looks... mortified. "It's so sorry, let this one, good dolls should-"

"Lullaby, it's okay!" She holds the frying pan up, higher than the doll can reach. "You don't have to do everything for me just because you're a doll."

"But, Miss, this one wants to!" It looks desperate and pleading. "Please, Miss, you've been so nice, and this-"

"Hey, calm down, there's no need for that." Norae tries to sound reassuring. She sets the pan down and turns to give Lullaby her full attention, kneeling to match her its eye level and placing a hand on its shoulder. "I know you want to help, but I enjoy being able to take care of myself, too. You already do plenty, and you should be proud of that."

The doll trembles, only as much as its docility will allow. "Yes Miss, Thank you Miss." After a quick bow, it gets out of Miss's way, leaving her to return to her monotonous stove-watching.

Lullaby takes a seat on Miss's couch. eyes forward and hands on its lap. It's so comfortable, the soft cushioning much more enveloping that the stumps it was used to sitting on. It tries to find a place to rest its eyes. On Miss's roaring fire, magically permeating a tender warmth through the room? On the door to the maid's quarters, where Miss had cleaned it and told it all it had to know? On Miss's beautiful and intricate grandfather clock, which it is letting collect a thin layer of dust?

It shouldn't cry. Miss is being nice, after all.

. . . . .

The doll shakes itself from a stupor. It wasn't still; there was no comfort in its emptiness, just effortful restraint fading into a half-present miasma.

Norae gestures for it to face away, gently guiding its shoulders to face where she sat on the couch. "Lean forward, please."

"It's okay, Miss." The doll sounded groggy, words tumbling heavily out of its mouth. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

The witch leaned to the side, showing the sympathetic look she had on her face. "Why wouldn't I wind you up? It's no trouble at all, and... I can't just let you pass out."

Lullaby slowly, heavily, shook its head. It wanted to be polite, to word itself delicately and reserve itself, but its clockwork was moving too slowly to stop it before it spoke. "No, please. It's a bother. This one doesn't do enough, it's not worth it."

Miss places a hand on its shoulder. "Oh, Lullaby, no, that's not true at all. You do just as much as you need to."

"It's not enough." The doll rested its elbows on its knees, leaning forward and cupping its face in its hands. "Miss is so nice, and this one just... takes it all in without giving enough back. It feels so useless, and pathetic, and... i-it just wants to be helpful." Its voice falters just at the end, hitching into a repressed sob.

Norae felt a pang in her heart that deepened with every word. Of course, she's been such an idiot. She feels like a bum when she doesn't keep herself busy, how would a being purpose-made to be helpful feel? It finally dawns on her, what the extent of a doll's inhumanity means.

"I'm so sorry, I... had no idea you felt that way." There's a sincere sorrow in her voice, the doll hearing Miss's confidence drop for the first time. "I never meant to hurt you, I just didn't want to be too hard on you."

She placed a hand on her doll's back, careful to leave room for its key to turn. "From now on, you get to do whatever you like. Cooking, cleaning, anything. I might still make you take some breaks so I can do something myself, but I'll never leave you with nothing to do."

Lullaby slowly, hopefully, lifts its head to look at Miss. "This one doesn't want to make you do anything you don't want, Miss, it can-"

"Lullaby, if you do everything you can to never feel like this again, you'll make me the happiest witch in the world." She put on a reassuring smile.

Norae didn't have time to see the grin widening on her doll's face before it latched on for a hug. All it could say was thank you as its tears left wet marks on the witch's dress.

"I'm just happy that you're happy." Miss hugged back, making the doll feel more loved than it could remember. "Now let's get you wound up, you've got some dishes to do."

[starmocha]

i'm on the run with you, my sweet love [Sylus/Reader ★ 3737 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Forever your ride or die. A/N: Happy New Year! I’ve had this story written since Christmas 2024, but I had decided to save it to ring in the new year instead. Kind of based on my favorite Sylus phone call: As You Wish. This is…very………vague…….something…… I’m here for the vibes mostly. :’) Tag list: @miudle @alfredosaws @nezukoo-channn @voidsylus @rose-tinted-kalopsia @valkyyriia 【 request to be added 】

When everything came to a pause, when the whole world had shifted and all eyes were on you, a bounty had been placed on your head and your name suddenly known to the whole universe.

He had whisked you away, his hand in yours, no questions asked.

Where you go, I’ll go with you, he had said, his hold firm, his vow unyielding.

It’s not safe with me. They’ll get you, too, you had warned, giving his hand a little squeeze, almost afraid that you would lose him as well.

Sounds exciting, sweetie.

He had smirked, his lips on yours, a promise that nothing would ever sever his bond with you.

Your arms wrapped around his waist, head pressed to his back, and the sound of his motorcycle raced down the dusty road to nowhere. A trail of dust was left behind, the heat of the sun bore down on you, and the unknown future awaited both of you in the distance.

On the way to the end of the world, you said goodbye to what you had once thought was home, all of the people who had ever loved you were gone.

Except him.

Are you crying?

…No…

Let me hold you. For me.

…Okay…just for you, though…

Thank you, sweetie.

In an unassuming shabby safehouse, one of many he owned around the world, you felt a moment of peace, as false as it may be.

He paced the living room, exhaustion etched on his features. He still hadn’t adjusted to this daytime schedule, and though not a word of complaint or discomfort ever left his lips, you knew he had been pushing himself to his limits to keep you safe.

Sylus, you called, worried, come rest.

He reassured you with a smile, a near perfect façade had it been anyone else he was trying to fool. You knew when he would put on a mask, and you didn’t like it—you were upset that he was lying to you for your sake.

I’m tired, you fibbed, Can we nap together?

Strange how you didn’t feel any qualms about lying for his sake instead. You supposed you were a hypocrite.

Very well. He seemed to concede. What a fussy kitten.

There was no malice in his words. There never were.

You guided his head to your lap, his body barely fitting on the small sofa, but it would do. You stroked his hair, seeing him surrendering to his exhaustion—surrendering to you, as well.

You hummed a song, something light and soothing. His soft snoring soon joined your melody, the two sounds bringing life to this long unoccupied house.

For a moment, this unassuming, shabby safehouse almost felt like a home.

It would be nice to make this place a true home with him, you thought. Some fresh flowers, a little sunlight, and maybe a picture or two could help with the illusion.

Such wishful thinking. You knew in a few days you would both need to leave. This was only temporary.

You needed to go farther—to the place where everything was new and you were nothing more than an unknown drifter seeking something permanent.

For now, though, you both rested. You let your song soothed him, just as his presence had given you hope.

You often wondered what permanent looked like. You also wondered if you and he had the same definition for the word. There were more idle times now than before, so you both humored one another with your own thoughts and whims.

A little cottage in the woods, you thought aloud as you and he lazed about on the couch. You could have a little vegetable garden, and maybe you could also learn how to make your own bread as well.

He could hunt, or perhaps, he could also put his fishing skills to use.

You might even raise chickens. Maybe some ducks, too.

Sweetie, you have it all planned out, he teased, pinching your cheek.

You swatted his hand away, but you couldn’t deny this. You had thought about this life. Thought about it often, in fact. You couldn’t help it. It seemed you had more time to let your mind wander.

Well, you weren’t alone. He also had his own thoughts, his own vision he wished to share.

A seaside house on a cliff, he suggested, adding, We could watch dolphins from the balcony. And have a gin fizz or two.

You laughed and shook your head. What, no tequila?

Tequila can be for breakfast, he added, matching your humor with the same tone and a playful smirk.

We could also have a hot tub on the deck, he added with a lecherous smirk on his handsome face. A nice soak as we watch the sun set over the horizon.

Yeah? Your heart beat faster, his lips looming near yours.

We could also stargaze together, he continued in that same easy tone. So teasingly close, his lips just barely ghosted against yours. He must be doing this on purpose, wanting to see you fluster and squirm because of him. What a scoundrel.

You have it all planned out, you echoed his earlier words back to him, his immediate response that nearly insufferable trademark smirk of his. You caved in first, eagerly taking his lips, wanting to quell the growing heat between the two of you.

He succumbed to your whims, his back suddenly against the couch cushions, your body on top of his. He answered your desperation with his own, all lucid thoughts leaving as you both submitted to your instincts, letting your desires guide you both to Heaven and Hell and back again.

An apartment in the city.

In the city? Again, sweetie?

What better place than hidden in plain sight?

A clever kitten.

You remembered wining and dining under starry skies. The rich food filled your belly wonderfully and the aged wine tasted like the sacred nectar of the gods. Blissfully tipsy, you remembered dancing with him on a rooftop, swaying and twirling, feeling like you were on cloud nine as the stars above shined brilliantly while city lights twinkled and gleamed.

In a humid, cramped bus, you leaned against his shoulder, remembering distant memories that might as well just be silly old fairy tales.

The days blended together. Most days, you weren’t sure if it was Monday or Tuesday, or perhaps it was neither, and it was actually Thursday.

He had acquired a car. Temporary, just like everything else in your life had been these past few months. As he filled the car with gas, you wandered into the convenience store. That particular scent hit you instantly, a strange feeling of nostalgia for something you had never missed.

You wandered down the aisles, hand skimming over the different snacks on display. None of them really caught your eyes or stirred up a craving, but you still picked out a few just in case. As you were checking out, you also grabbed an ice cream bar. The heat was unbearable and a strawberry shortcake bar suddenly sounded enticing. You missed the taste of fresh fruits, something that you never thought would one day be scarce and a sudden luxury.

As you left the store, ice cream bar unwrapped and the refreshing, cooling sweet taste on your tongue, you remembered the time when you and he went to pick strawberries together.

He had already finished refilling the gas tank. As he leaned against the car waiting for you, sunglasses over his eyes, you approached him, holding the cold treat up.

Want a bite?

He smirked, and took a generous bite to your dismay.

H-hey! That was a big bite!

Sorry, sweetie. He didn’t sound apologetic at all. What a prick.

I hope you get brain freeze.

And he laughed, already getting back into the car with you following suit. When you turned to buckle your seatbelt, his hand was on your cheek, already guiding you to his lips. He kissed you sweetly, nibbling on your lips as he tasted you.

When he parted, he smirked at your confusion, your breathing still shaky.

You had ice cream on your lips, he answered matter-of-factly.

Flustered, it took your brain a few seconds too long to register his mischievous words. When it finally clicked, you leaned back over, this time surprising him as you took charge. You kissed as if it was your last, as if he was the air that you needed, and he responded with equal fervor, treating you like a gift bestowed upon him by the highest being, or perhaps more like a forbidden treasure he had greedily coveted. Before the growing lust could cloud your mind, all semblance of reality returned when you heard the incessant honking from the car behind you, and had he been in a sour mood, perhaps there would have been an altercation, one that would end horrendously for the other party, of course.

But he smirked. He leered at the car behind him before speeding off. As he drove, you noticed him licking his lips.

Strawberry, he said, pondering, We should get this ice cream bar again.

You agreed, delighting in the taste of him that still lingered on your lips.

All thoughts disappeared, all of those dirty matrasses from dingy motel rooms didn’t seem to matter. You would always welcome him into you, the late, long nights of lovemaking a sweet escape from the reality you lived. In these little moments of you and him, he was your whole world and you were his. Deep kisses branded your skin, the heated moans of you and him mingled with every movement, every pulse, the need to chase after that paradise heightened by the shared growing passion.

You had memorized his every feature, his every being. The jewel-like crimson eyes of his always reflecting his deep devotion to you, the promise to always surrender to you had long been fulfilled. With every searing hot touch, he worshiped you like a devout man knelt at the altar of a goddess, beseeching her blessings.

He satisfied all of your needs, your desires his to fulfill, willingly and devotedly. No rules to bind you, nothing more to lose, you succumbed to your desires, drifting off to a state of pure euphoria only he could bring you to, just as you were all that he longed for, the only one who he would let rule his heart and bring him to his knees.

When you returned from your high, with the threat of dawn looming, he held you close, gentle fingers threading through your hair soothingly, his warm, deep voice feeling like home.

He lulled you with words of a distant future.

Maybe…we can get a dog.

You laughed. You don’t seem like a dog person, you reminded him, your finger poking his cheek in jest.

He smiled, and grabbed your wrist. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, the simple act had you stilling with pretty rosy cheeks, illuminated in the dark by a single ray of moonlight.

A cat then, he said, his voice teasing. He stroked your cheek, his fingers just barely skimming against your skin. Maybe two, so she wouldn’t be lonely.

Yeah? you asked, breathless, What else?

He hummed as he contemplated. White picket fences…Have coffee ready for you in the morning…red checkered blanket and a picnic under the sun…

It doesn’t sound like you… you quipped.

It could be me, he responded, his hand moving to tuck strands of hair behind your ear, his soft voice continuing, It could be us. And also—

His words stopped abruptly, sparking your curiosity. You questioned him, but he only answered with an ambiguous smile and a dismissive, amused shake of his head, as if what he was thinking was nothing of importance to dwell further.

It’s late, he whispered, kissing your forehead, Sleep, my beloved.

As you settled more comfortably into his embrace, you felt his hand resting over your lower abdomen, the touch unlike any other time he would embrace you. As your heavy eyelids closed, you realized the words he had withheld, the hopeful future even he seemed too scared to voice into existence.

In your dream, you could have sworn you heard the pitter-patters of small feet on hardwood floor, and his voice full of joy as he effortlessly swept up into his strong arms two little children, a boy and a girl, perfect blends of you and him.

Such a shame that it was only a dream, you thought the morning after in bed as you watched him shaved the five o’ clock shadow from his face in the dirty motel bathroom.

In the mirror reflection, he noticed you sitting up in bed, the cover barely covering your nude body, hair in disarray, and he smiled. You smiled back.

Such a shame indeed, you thought again, feeling a strange ache in your chest as your mind drifted back to the little boy and girl in your dream.

It was amazing how you still had an appetite.

Eggs and bacon seemed extra delicious at diners in the middle of nowhere. As if stuck in time, it looked nothing like the modern eateries you were familiar with. Black and white checkered flooring, large red booths, an old barely working jukebox in a corner—everything seemed like it was untouched by modern advancements, living peacefully in its own world of idle monotony.

As you finished your meal, he stood up, walking over to the ancient jukebox out of curiosity.

He perused the song choices, brows furrowed in contemplation before he settled on one:

In the still of the night / I held you / Held you tight.

Your head lifted at the smooth crooning, eyes meeting his just as he walked back to the booth, his hand extended to you. Silently, a little embarrassed, you took his hand, just like you always seemed to do.

Promise I’ll never / Let you go.

He twirled you around before his hand found your waist, steadying you as he moved you to the rhythm of the music. In the near empty diner, you danced with him, remembering a time long ago, you two had also waltzed just like this.

To keep your precious love.

Your head rested against his chest, his arms around you as he swayed you gently to the music as it faded to silence. Even long after the song had ended, you stayed in his arms, holding firmly onto the one constancy you still held from your past.

Things could get worse.

I’ll be there every step of the way.

An old television set, from decades ago, flashed for an instance a photo of you. Without words, he had dropped a generous amount of bills on the table, his hand already reaching for yours and taking you away before anyone could be wiser.

By the time the waitress had come to clear the table, her tired mind suddenly realizing as she looked from the television back to the empty booth, the young couple had already left town. Discreetly, she tucked away the extra bills into her bra, and resumed her monotonous day, blissfully ignorant and a few hundred dollars richer.

In an old convertible from long ago, driving down an endless, deserted road, you woke up in the passenger seat to his—peculiar—singing alongside the car radio:

No matter what you are / I will always be with you / Doesn’t matter what you do, girl.

You giggled and he turned to look at you momentarily before his eyes redirected to the long road ahead. The radio continued to play the song as you and he conversed:

You’re actually laughing at me, he quipped. You’re so cruel, sweetie.

With you, you corrected him cheekily.

Funny, I wasn’t aware that I was laughing.

You were, you insisted audaciously.

In that case, laugh with me then, sweetie.

You giggled again. I don’t know this song.

His eyes remained ahead, but his right hand reached over to rest on your thigh. He squeezed you gently in reassurance, and as the song neared the end, he sang along again, Ooh girl, you girl, want you.

The radio played the next song, but you settled in your seat, his hand still resting on your thigh and you hummed again the previous song before the gentle drive lulled you back to sleep again. As your consciousness faded away, you heard distantly his voice singing the current song:

So sleep, silent angel, go to sleep / Sometimes / All I need is the air that I breathe / And to love you.

The time that passed made the line between reality and dream blurred. The life you lived, running away with him felt more dreamlike with each passing day as you bounced from old motels to grand estates to the most discreet safehouses he owned. Nothing in either of your life felt permanent right now, except for each other, the only constancy in this reckless fleeing.

You had both discarded your names, only taking them back at night when you were both truly alone, feeling like two lost souls abandoned by the universe. In the dark, you moaned each other’s name, such lovely sounds as warm breath ghosted over slicked skin.

Your hands lightly touched his face, his eyes always locked with yours. Your shuddering gasps and his barely-restrained moans followed in suits as his hands gripped tighter your hips, guiding you up and down on his length. You kissed him, crying as he pierced you again and again, his movements rushing as he felt you nearing your release.

…I can’t…I need to…Sy…please…please…

Hngh…ye-yes…

He was panting, his eyes darkened by the heavy arousal of seeing you, his beloved, falling apart for him—because of him. You arched forward into him, his name spilling out from your lips and pleasure coursed through your entire being. With a few more rushed thrusts, his own release came, his deep groans resonated in your ears as he filled you full.

Collapsed on him, you both rested lazily together with his softened member still inside you and his seed dripping obscenely down your thighs. You hummed into his skin, boneless and satisfied, his warmth so familiar and addicting.

Just two nobody’s in the world, but in this moment, it felt like no one else existed and you were both truly the last of your kind.

How heavenly.

Away, away, you ran from town to town, the final destination only a vague dream. The further you ran, the lighter your heart felt. In his eyes, the bird that was caged was now soaring high. His only wish was to save her before her wings were clipped, and now he would follow her wherever she would take him, her song beckoning him to a paradise for two.

Don’t let go.

Sweetie, you’re stuck with me for life.

Higher and higher, you soared, the sun threatening to scorch your wings.

If you fall, you knew he would be there to catch you. So, you continued to fly, your hand outstretched. All of Heaven would be yours to command. You were going to unlock paradise, a place for two kindred spirits, the last of their kinds, forevermore tethered to one another.

Eventually, the dream came to an end, life catching up within a flash.

You had grown a little careless, believing that you were just a nobody drifting through life, forgetting that there was still a hefty bounty to your name.

Someone had seen your face. Someone had snitched. You wondered if they truly believed you were dangerous, or perhaps it was merely just human greed that drove them to expose you. You supposed it didn’t really matter in the end now. It was all over anyway.

You looked to him, and he to you. A silent exchange of words, an understanding reached.

The distant sirens grew louder and louder as they approached your final hideout.

There was banging outside the motel room, scattered voices calling for your surrender. There would be no negotiation. It wouldn’t matter if they dragged your dead body out instead. On command, a red laser dot maneuvered into the room from the open window, aligning to your head. Your heart was racing, but you stayed grounded, your eyes locked on his.

In just seconds, everything was about to change.

Five.

Four.

Do you trust me? he asked, his hand held out.

With my life, you answered automatically, your hand in his, and with a tug, you were pulled into his familiar warmth, safe and secured as a gunshot sounded and the glass window shattered. His large hand pressed your head gently to his chest, shielding you from the sounds, and just like that, you both left this world behind, disappearing into the swirls of red and black mist he had summoned before the motel door came crashing down.

One.

The end.

Somewhere, in another place, in another time, you woke up to clear blue skies, white picket fences, the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen, and you heard his laughter mingling with the sweet giggles of two little children.

You hummed pleasantly into your pillow, the sounds of footsteps getting louder and louder until the bedroom door opened. The bed shifted, his heavy weight on you, and your children’s assaulting kisses stealing away your breath and laughter.

Joyful tears brimmed your eyes, your belly aching tremendously from helpless laughter, and your heart at peace as he gazed down at you, his love steadfast and true.

It was almost nine in the morning, but you stayed lounging in bed, surrounded by all that mattered to you. Your children snuggled close to you on either side, your one free hand reached out for his, his hold ever familiar and constant.

His smile mirrored yours, the same devotion in his eyes just like long ago when he took this same hand and whisked you away, running and running until you found your home again at the end of the world.

His thumb caressed yours, his honeyed voice a sweet lullaby. I love you.

And you smiled back. I love you more.

He laughed, surrendering once more to you, always for you.

The past seemed distant, the future too far away. Cradled in the present, in this instance, the world seemed at peace again, and life moved on.

[oldjewelryfeed]

Antique Victorian Memento Mori Skull and Snakes Ring c1870s Gilt Silver

[oscquinn]

“  no don’t move, it’s too cold outside the covers.” + high school Carmy

"no don't move, it's too cold outside the covers" from these morning after prompts

contents; high school carmy being cute!!

part of my 1.8k sleepover <33

your first sleepover with a boyfriend. it was a big deal to you, at least. didn't seem like much to your parents. they'd said yes immediately, with the one condition you slept with your door open. you decided you were fine with that, neither you nor carmen was very interested in sex at the moment. your relationship was still new, though you'd known each other forever.

you start to roll over, moving towards your lamp to switch it off as the credits roll on the movie you two were watching in your bed. "no, don' move," carmy pouts, snuggled up in your fluffy comforter. the pastel color looks cute against his curls, the sharp line of his nose, and his pretty pink cheeks. "'s too cold outside the covers," he complains."

you laugh sweetly, reaching a little further to turn out the lamp before turning back to carmy. he pulls you into his arms easily, cheek resting on top of your head. "better?" you ask softly.

"mm, much better," carmy responds. he kisses the top of your head once, arms tightening around your frame. "'s'much warmer with y'u here," his voice is soft and sleepy, and you smile as you rest your head on his chest.

[steventhusiast]

STWG prompt 20/4/24

prompt: accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

pairing/character(s): steddie

i somehow wrote 1.8k... enjoy

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been this distracted by a customer before at work. He’s just so… hot. Like, the usual customers he serves are rich and well-dressed, sure. But they’re businessmen well-dressed, and that can’t even begin to describe this particular customer. He’s been calling him Hot Guy in his head for the past thirty minutes.

Hot Guy is in a suit, yes, but that’s not even the best part of this man’s look. The suit’s all black and hugs his waist deliciously, but it’s everything else that has Steve practically drooling where he stands by the bar, waiting for his next round of drinks to be made. Hot Guy looks a little less pristine and perfect than the usual businessmen; his hairs up in a messy ponytail, strands of a fringe framing his face, and he has beautiful silver earrings on and an expensive looking chain around his neck. And every time he moves just so, Steve gets to see a peek of a tattoo on his chest as his half-unbuttoned black shirt moves. Gorgeous…

“All ready for you, Steve.”

He’s snapped out of it by the bartender on shift, and looks at the bar to see, oh yes, all of his drinks are ready. He offers the bartender a smile and a thank you, and gets to balancing them on his serving tray.

See, he can get a little distracted by hot customers, but he can’t be seen as a slacker. He cannot afford to lose this job.

He and Robin finally were able to move to Chicago four months ago, and it took him three months (and a good chunk of his emergency savings) to find a job as a waiter at some restaurant. It’s not even a particularly nice job. Sure, the restaurant is fancy as hell, and the customers tip really fucking well, but the pay leaves much to be desired. Like, a usual customer (rich) tips him more than he gets paid for a whole shift! And he’s not complaining about the tips, per say, but when the restaurant’s clientele can tip that much… surely the restaurant can afford to pay their workers a decent wage!

Just as he manages to balance the drinks on his tray, he notices his newest co-worker, Danny, fiddling with his own collection of drink glasses. Danny looks awfully shifty as he glances over his shoulder at a table and then takes a small sachet out of his pocket, tears a corner and pours it into one of the wine glasses.

Steve’s eyes narrow at the action. What the fuck?

Over the last week of Danny working at the restaurant, he has thought him to be unpleasant at best and suspicious at worst. The one time Steve tried to make conversation with him, just asking where he worked before there, he got a glare and a clipped comment about not getting personal. Now that he thinks about it, Steve doesn’t even know Danny’s last name.

He watches Danny pick up the tray, do a final glance around the restaurant (either not perceiving Steve as a threat or not seeing him stood five feet away), and walks toward the table area.

And he’s not saying Danny would poison a customer. He’s not saying that, because that is insane. But. What’s the alternative? That Danny got a request to put, like, powdered vitamins in someone’s drink? It’s just shifty that’s all!

And, like he said, he can’t afford to lose this job.

That includes if it gets shut down for becoming a murder scene. Or him accidentally abetting a murder by not doing anything!

What does he even do? He’s going to look genuinely insane, whether he's right or wrong.

Danny reaches a table (it’s the table Hot Guy is seated at) with his tray, and plasters on a customer service smile as he starts dishing out the drinks. Steve keeps an eye on the (possibly) tainted wine glass as Danny puts it down in front of- in front of Hot Guy. Shit.

Steve’s heart starts speeding up as he watches Hot Guy pick up the wine glass, inspecting it and giving it a little swirl before starting to lift it, and- fuck it.

Steve bolts over to the table, definitely knocking over another server’s tray as he goes, and has to shove the wine glass out of Hot Guy’s hand to stop whatever’s about to happen.

The liquid splashes onto Hot Guy’s chest (Steve hopes the poison isn’t, like, corrosive), then the glass shatters to the floor, and Steve’s left heaving as he catches his breath. Not from the exercise, but from the adrenaline rush. Because Steve is- oh god, he’s in Hot Guy’s lap.

He scrambles to stand up, cheeks bright red, and chances a glance at Danny. On the surface, Danny looks shocked and apologetic to the rest of the businessmen at the table, but Steve sees his right eye twitch and his ears start to tint red. Okay. So. Even if he looks crazy, maybe he made a good move.

He looks back toward Hot Guy only to find that he’s already being watched with an inquisitive gaze. The man still has his hand held up like he’s holding the wine glass still, and he has one (perfectly manicured) eyebrow raised at Steve. Steve feels his cheeks heat up even more under his attention.

“I am so sorry, sir.” Steve finds himself blurting out, but Hot Guy just shakes his head at him, oddly calm.

“I’ll get you another drink, Mr Munson.” Danny says, giving Steve a pointed glare before walking away.

Hot Guy- No. Mr Munson looks like he’s about to say something, but Steve needs to get him somewhere he can tell him what happened away from other people and before Danny tries it again, so he boldly puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. The possibility of looking crazy be damned.

“Let me help you get cleaned up, sir.”

Mr Munson considers him for a moment more, and then nods. Maybe he sees the frantic, anxious look in Steve’s expression, or maybe he just wants to yell at Steve outside of the view of his assumed co-workers.

"I'll be right back. Don't talk business without me." Mr Munson addressed his table before following him off.

Steve leads him to the customer toilets, and then takes him to the staff hallway just behind them. Mr Munson’s eyebrows raise at that, and at the serious expression on Steve’s face.

“Sir, I’m so sorry for that, but I… This is going to sound insane, but I think my co-worker poisoned your drink.”

He levels Mr Munson with a serious expression as he speaks, trying to negate the craziness of what he’s saying by showing he’s not joking. Through doing so, of course, Steve also gets the chance to get a better look at Mr Munson’s face, which is just… like he said earlier, gorgeous. And that’s not even talking about the deep brown of his eyes.

Mr Munson doesn’t even flinch at Steve’s words, just looks down at the wine on his shirt with a vague look of disgust.

“I see.”

He doesn’t sound surprised. What the fuck? Who is this man?

“You don’t seem shocked.” Steve finds himself saying, and then his eyes widen and he smacks a hand over his mouth, “Ignore me! I don’t want to get involved in any, um. Not crimes. I’m going to stop talking now.”

As he keeps talking, Mr Munson’s face contorts into an amused smile, and his gaze wanders over Steve’s form, then back up to his eyes. When Steve’s done rambling, the man laughs.

“No. I’m not shocked.” Is all Mr Munson says, “But unfortunately, you are involved now, sweetheart.”

Steve feels the colour drain from his face at the words and the serious tone Mr Munson speaks them in, but before he can even squeak (or scream) in response, the Staff Only door slams open, and Steve is greeted with two pistols pointed at him.

Then he squeaks. And puts his hands up in a surrender position, even though the two men glaring at him don’t look like police officers. They’re wearing suits, like they’re customers of the restaurant. And they completely ignore Steve in favour of scanning over Mr Munson.

Holy shit. What the fuck is his life? Robin will never believe him when he gets home. If he gets home.

“Put the guns down, boys.” Mr Munson says from beside Steve, and then (gently) puts his hands on Steve’s arms to push them back down to his sides, “No need for all that, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Eddie. We thought- you just disappeared, and we heard glass shattering, so-” One of the gunmen says, stumbling through his words slightly.

“We thought you’d been kidnapped. Again.” The other says, looking unimpressed.

Eddie rolls his eyes, and Steve notes how he hasn’t removed his hands from him yet.

“I’ve been told that- sorry, sweetheart, what’s your name?” Eddie starts, maintaining eye contact with Steve only.

Sweetheart. Kill him now. How is his dick still working in these conditions, and why is 'sweetheart' doing it for him? Maybe it's more to do with Eddie himself than the word...

“Steve.” He squeaks out.

“Right. Steve, here, thinks my drink was poisoned by his co-worker. He’s the culprit for the glass, and this,” Eddie gestures to his wet shirt, “and then he took me here to clean me up.”

“What’s the name of this co-worker?” One of the gunmen ask Steve, voice intense, and when Steve just blinks at him he takes a step forward like he’s about to put a hand on him. Steve can’t help his flinch in response.

Which Eddie apparently feels, given the way he tsks at his men and takes a step back, pulling Steve with him.

“No threatening my possible saviour, Jeffy. This isn’t an interrogation.”

“His- His name’s Danny. I don’t know a last name.” Steve says finally, and gulps when Eddie rubs his thumbs back and forth where his hands are still on him.

“Good boy.” Eddie says softly, and Steve can’t help the shudder that runs through him.

Okay. It's confirmed. Apparently being mildly traumatised by guns doesn’t stop him from getting horny. Good to know. Hopefully Eddie doesn't notice how red he's gotten again.

Eddie finally lets go of him to step toward his men.

“You heard the man. Gareth, go get a sample of the wine that spilled on the floor and figure out if Stevie here is right, and Jeff, go tell everyone else who we’re looking for and find Danny.”

The two gunmen leave with their orders, and Eddie turns back to Steve. He’s looking at Steve with that intense gaze once again, eyes dragging down to his beat-up Reeboks and back up to his dishevelled face.

“Now, how can I reward you for probably saving my life, sweetheart?”

[tervaneula]

the heir and the ronin by katterv

Chapter 3

The Hamatos retire for the night. Their guest wakes up.

These gays, they're trying to murder me 😩 (=I'm exploding from anticipation I CAN'T WAIT FOR THEM TO KISS WHY DID I MAKE THIS A SLOW BURN...ish)

[heavenurl]

　　　　　　 　 　૮ ྀིྀི> . < ১ྀིྀ i'm a stunner ౨ৎ ‧₊˚

[builtintripping]

thank you everyone for enjoying the first page!! here's the second one 😁✨ (also happy valentine's lol 😘)

semi-full comic

[flowersforbucky]

my heart wants to write but my brain does not ☹️

[patchworkcuddlebug]

The Rain Storm

God, please, somebody open.

Your car stalled out about a mile back. You swear it's raining hard enough to have flooded the engine. You tried waiting by your car, to hitchhike or borrow a toolbox or find someone with cell service, but hours passed with nothing but the rain keeping you company.

This was the only house you passed for miles on this backwater forest-dense road, paved with loose gravel and prayers. You don't know how you even got here. Slowly, the highway, your highway, began to shift into something less and less familiar. You must've missed your turn.

Finally, someone opens the door. The young woman is surprised to see you, and quickly ushers you inside. She takes your coat and asks you kindly to sit on the couch, saying she'll inform a "Miss" that you've arrived. You don't care for her word choice.

The manor is extravagant. The walls are aged, but thick and sturdy enough to last many lifetimes more. The rug has a pattern too ornate to make out in the darkness, and every piece of furniture seems like a precious heirloom.

"So, you'll be our little visitor, then?"

A woman... no, something more. She's otherworldly. Her face looks sculpted from marble by the most talented visionaries, but her skin looked as soft as silk. Her hair flowing down her shoulders like a river from a mountain, perfectly framing her lovely silhouette. And her voice, lord above her voice, it was an orchestra, a distillation of beauty, every husky syllable like a kiss from a rose.

You somehow answer her.

"Well, aren't you a dear. Rosemary, refreshments."

There were two other women by her side, one now scurrying off into another room. The other brings over a large comforter, which it unfolds and places around you in a single swift act of elegance.

The lady sits in a loveseat across the coffee table. She asks you how you managed to find this neck of the woods. Where you where going before you did. How well the job is going, if your coworkers treat you well. Friends, hobbies, sex life. It doesn't occur to you that you can refuse her. She seems so radiant, her inquisitions so genuine and thoughtful, that the prospect of denying her seems too disrespectful.

The girl from earlier returns, and your eyes are caught by everything on her tray. It's your absolute favourite, the epitome of comfort food. If you were on death row, this would be your final meal. What a coincidence.

You thank the maid and immediately dig in. The lady seems fit to observe you in silence as you enjoy your meal. With the last of it gone, the maid returns and collects the tray.

Maybe it was the light. Surely, it must have been. At first you figure it was an eccentricity of her uniform, before you notice how abruptly the sleeves end, much earlier. Perhaps it's some sort of disability, but you can't imagine how she'd work in such a profession if that were the case.

"Is something bothering you, dear?"

You muster the courage to ask about her maid, only after she's returned to the kitchen, hopefully out of earshot.

"I can't say I know what you're talking about, dear. You've had a long night, surely you must be seeing things. Perhaps it's time for you to get some rest. I'll have you shown to your arrangements."

Another maid emerges. She's the same as the other one. She may not be identical, with differences in the hair and minor ones in the face, but they still look like variations of the same toy.

She leads you to your room. You have plenty of time to analyze her now. There's something artificial about her. Something off about the texture of her skin, the way it doesn't seem to catch the light quite how it should. Her movements are unnatural, like something prerecorded and edited. It's too even, too smooth, and much too stiff.

And then there's... the joints. She doesn't have elbows. She doesn't have them, not nearly the same way you do. Her bicep and forearm simply stop at a point of connection. It seems manufactured, unnaturally round, with lines where she's allowed movement.

You hesitate once you reach your door. You tell the maid you want to ask her something. She bows respectfully, saying you are allowed one question before she returns to her duties. You ask her what's wrong with her body, worded inelegantly from a night of exhaustion and confusion.

The maid bows respectfully. "There's nothing wrong with this one's body."

. . . . .

You're woken by knocking.

You allow the maids to enter your room. The serene morning sunlight gently pours into the room as they greet you, offering to help you prepare yourself for breakfast. You refuse and politely ask them to provide you some privacy, to which they happily comply.

Your body feels stiff as you pull yourself out of bed. There's a soft crack whenever you struggle to bend and stretch.

Your clothes have been washed, dried, and folded for you through the night. They feel even softer than they did when you first bought them.

You finish as much of your routine as you comfortably can in a stranger's house before leaving the dormitory, making your way to where you remember the kitchen to be. It's eerily quiet, with only your footsteps to hear.

The dining table is long, with the lady sitting at the furthest end, illuminated by the morning sunlight. She is surrounded by empty chairs, and a collection of maids standing at the ready against the walls of the room.

"How nice of you to stay for breakfast, darling. You wouldn't want to miss it for the world."

A row of maids emerge from the connected kitchen, all carrying a hot plate of food. They place each one in front of you; pancakes with syrup, waffles with fresh fruit, scrambled eggs with a side of bacon cooked to perfection, golden hash browns, french toast with butter still melting, and a smoothie and a coffee to drink

All the plates are placed in front of you. The lady only has a mug of fresh tea.

You choose a food at random to pick at, not feeling very hungry. You want to strike up a conversation with the lady, eager to ease your mind, but it only now occurs to you that you never exchanged names. You apologize for this and ask for hers.

"Oh, don't worry about a detail like that." She gave a carefree smile as she shook her head. "If you simply must use something for me... I suppose Miss will work for you."

Miss. That fits in place in your brain more naturally than it should.

You've barely touched all the extravagant food before you start to feel satiated. "It's okay if you're not feeling hungry." Says Miss. "Don't worry about the waste. I promise it'll be eaten."

You thank her, believing her, as the maids begin to collect the plates. As one steps behind you, reaching around to grab the pancakes, you try to get her attention and ask if-

"The maids don't like to be bothered when they're working, dear." Miss chimes, almost playfully. "But please, ask me whatever you like."

You ask her if she comes from money, commenting on how many maids she has. She looks to the side, thinking for only a moment. "My... darlings aren't concerned about something as silly as money. Service is their purpose."

You ask her to elaborate. Lightning strikes, audible even over the sound of the rain storm crashing against the windows.

"Oh, what a mess. Seems like you'll have to stay another night. Don't worry, we don't mind the extra company."

You excuse yourself to the bathroom.

It's untouched. It's kept in spotless condition just as the rest of the house is, but the toilet paper that hangs from the roll is fresh out of the package, and the plastic for the hand soap on the sink is the only thing in the trash can.

You flush the toilet and leave, hovering off to the side across the hall. Within seconds, a maid wanders in to clean. You politely stop her, desperation clear in your voice as you ask if she's human.

The maid bows respectfully. "Not anymore."

You make a break for it.

You open the front door, only for a sudden burst of wind to blow you backwards, slamming the door shut in front of you. If you were of sound mind, you may have noticed the decorations were all still in their place, as if such a harsh wind didn't blow at all.

You stumble backwards, your mind racing, before you bump into her. She's tall enough to rest her elbows on your shoulders.

"I know you must be so worried about your life, dear. You must have people waiting for you, a place in society that you have to act out... but you don't have to worry much longer. I'll take care of everything for you. Would you care to follow me?"

Of course you follow her. You're terrified of what could happen if you don't. Your body moves on its own. It must be the fear, surely.

Miss guides you to a room you don't recognize. It's an uncanny cross between a dentist's office and a mechanic's workshop, each schema just barely wrong enough.

She gestures to the structure in the middle. It's an operating table. "Go on cutie, you know what to do."

With as much apprehension as you can afford to muster, you do as Miss says. You climb onto the table, laying down with your hands resting on your torso. You try to ask what she's going to do to you, but she interrupts you with a hand cupping your cheek.

"I'm going to make you mine."

. . . . .

This one holds the warmed leftovers out on the tip of its hand. Miss's treasured carnivorous plant feels it with the tip of its mouth, expertly taking small chomps until it reaches this one's fingers, stopping just as the meat does.

This doll feels an emptiness dissipate through its body, a reward for a job well done. It feels just a little less like a person, its old life being lifted off its shoulders and taken further and further away.

It begins to walk towards its next task. Its movements are exactly what they need to be, elegant and intentional. A pretty doll for Miss.

Just as it returns to the manor, the rain begins. It starts slow, convincing, picking up ever so slowly into a storm.

After a long, pleasant moment of stillness, this one hears knocking. It waits, convincing, just as it was told. The doll is surprised to see its guest, and quickly ushers them inside. It takes their coat and asks them kindly to sit on the couch, saying it'll inform a "Miss" that they've arrived.

The guest doesn't care for her word choice.

[hedwig221b]

Writing Mafia AU even as short as it was felt so natural and so freeing yet I feel feral

[oldjewelryfeed]

Moonstone Ring - Antique Art Deco 1920 14k White Gold Filigree - Size 8 Open Metal 10 Ct

[oscquinn]

let me stay like this in you for a little bit + dad/dilf!lip

"let me stay like this in you for a little bit" from these smut starters ༄⋆⁺₊❅。

contents; NSFW 18+. mkverse!! p in v, cockwarming, dilf lip 😋

part of my 1.8k sleepover

your thighs tighten around lip's hips as the white hot waves of your orgasm crest over you. "atta girl mk," he mumbles in your ear, rutting into you slowly. "gonna fill you up, y'hear me?" he whispers.

"mmhm, lip, please," you whine, hiding your face in his shoulder. it isn't long before he's cumming deep inside you, kissing you hard as his thighs tremble. "mm, oh fuck."

"shh, good girl," he murmurs, still thrusting into your sloppy cunt, his load leaking out around him. "lemme stay like this in you, jus' for a little bit."

and of course you let him. his weight settles on top of you easily, lips caressing your jaw, then your cheek, before finding your mouth.

[cigar-aficionado]

clean me off, i'm so dirty babe ch. 1

oz cobb x reader / 1837 words / sfw (for now) / chapter 2 (nsfw!)

summary: you work at a dry cleaner that oz frequents. he's one of your favorite regulars.

tags: gn reader though oz does call them 'doll,' soooo fluffy -- next chapter will be a lil more nasty tho ;)

You’ve been working in the combination dry cleaner and laundromat in the Diamond District long enough to be able to suss out when someone’s a regular businessman and when someone’s…well, not. 

The regular who identified himself as Oz Cobb was, decidedly not. However, you could tell that he wasn’t like the others. 

The first and most obvious sign that threw you initially was that he handled this business himself. Other people whose money came from underground had lackeys, or more typically, lackeys of lackeys to drop off and pick up their clothes. You couldn’t count the amount of times a twenty-something in thrifted boots came in with a stack of $4000 suits. It wasn’t subtle. 

Oz was different, though. His suits were expensive, but it was usually the same set of four or five paired with maybe seven or eight shirts – occasionally there would be a new suit in there, though no more often than a regular-person banker or lawyer or, you supposed, club owner.

He was kind. That was something else that set him apart from most of the other businessmen who came through. Probably most importantly, Oz always tipped you and often it was very well. But his kindness extended beyond that – he smiled when he came in, chatted when you were matching his order slip (which he always remembered to bring) to his clothes, and never rushed you through the scanning and checkout process. 

When he dropped off his clothes, he always pointed out stains he needed work on, apologizing for them (and you, of course, pretended not to know that the stains on his crisp white shirts were definitely blood. You also pointedly ignored how often he came in with shirts splattered with something that was definitely blood.) 

And, unlike a lot of these messy not-businesspeople, his pockets were always empty. You had a habit of running into things that you shouldn’t have tucked in those blazer or trouser pockets, be it cash in hundreds, pills, or occasionally a bullet, which you always put in a small plastic bag to be discreetly tucked into the blazer pocket later. Usually when you saw that same suit again, it came with a massive tip. 

Oz wasn’t messy like that though, he was clearly meticulous with his clothing and his belongings – not like someone who could afford to be careless. 

You grew to look forward to seeing Oz, he and the unmistakable car he always pulled up in were like a breath of fresh air. 

One day, a completely dead afternoon, he came in at around his usual time for pickup. You didn’t need to look at his slip to know where his things were, “Hey Oz,” you said as he walked in, the bell on the door ringing behind him, “how’s your Tuesday?” 

“It’d be a lot better without this heat, I gotta tell’ya. How’re you?” 

You came out with his suits, hanging them on the rack by the counter and catching that he wasn’t wearing one of his usual blazer. You’re not sure you’ve ever really seen his body before this and were you not on the clock you’d probably be blushing, but you maintain professional stoicism, clearing your throat, “I’m alright, it’s been very slow today. Pros and cons, you know.” 

He nods and you take the first suit to scan it in when something catches your eye, “Shit – ah, pardon my language,” you say, hurriedly flipping through the short stack of suits in front of you.

“Everything alright?”

“Ugh, my boss let the new guy do these while I was out and he didn’t crease any of your pants. I’m so sorry, Sir, I can have them done in about twenty minutes if you don’t mind waiting, but I can give you a discount on them if you need to head out. I’m so sorry again.” 

“‘S alright, Doll. Shit happens, ain’t the end of the world.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it before looking at you with those big brown eyes, “To be honest with’ya? I really don’t feel like going back out there. It’s nice and cool in here, and I got a little time anyway. If you have time to take care of them now, I’ve got time to wait.” 

“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate your uh – “ not being a total asshole about this “ – flexibility.” 

“All good. And you don’t have to call me ‘Sir,’ Oz is fine.” 

“Okay, Oz,” you smile, “I just put on some coffee, would you like some?” 

“Honestly, that sounds wonderful. Thank you.” 

You give him another smile, “You can come get it, it's just to the left here,” you say, pointing to the machine and mini fridge just past the space to get behind the counter. 

He looks at it and laughs a little as he makes his way over, “VIP treatment, unless you’re this nice to all your customers?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head and going to the creaser with his suits, hanging them up on the rack next to it, “You might be the first. But you’re in here like clockwork and you always remember your slip, so you get the privilege of the secret menu.” 

“Well, color me flattered,” You get to work, as does he, and it’s silent until he opens the fridge. “This caramel macchiato creamer thing any good?” 

“Oh yeah, that’s mine, it’s my favorite,” you say, carefully setting the first pair of his pants in the machine. “It’s a little sweet, they do a good job with the caramel, though.” 

“Hm.” You continue to work, practically on autopilot, and you hear him hum happily, “This is excellent, I’ll have to get some for my place.” 

“Good! I’m glad you like it.” He walks back to the waiting area in front of the counter. You work some more before calling out to him, “Any plans this weekend?” 

“Eh, the club’s been real busy lately. Which is great, I’m thrilled about it but you know – doesn't leave a lot of time for rest. Barely been sleepin’. Anyway, I’ll probably be there, keepin’ an eye on things. Gave myself tomorrow off, maybe I’ll try to rest then.” 

“I hope you catch up on your sleep, it’s so important,” you say. “That and self-care, do you get massages?” 

“Not really my thing.”

“Probably no facials either?” 

He laughs, a full yet bright sound, “No facials either.” 

“They’re nice! Especially if you work hard, which I know you must.” 

“Maybe I oughta listen to you, you know coffee. My clothes always look good when I get them back, too.” 

You beam, “I’m so glad to hear that.” 

You work on the rest of his pants, chatting with Oz as you do. It’s easy conversation between the two of you, swapping restaurant recommendations and making other small talk. You’re about to start the last pair and think about asking him out, innocently enough, but then his phone rings and he takes the call. 

He’s speaking Spanish and while you’re not fluent, you were good at it through school so you can understand the gist. Someone close to Oz, especially if his face was any indication, had been found down the street. There’s a brief argument about her medications, about long-term care for her. Oz hangs up with a deep sigh. “Sorry, Doll, that was my shift lead at the club. Needs me in for a really important meeting, completely forgot about it. You know how it is. Would I be able to come in a little later and pick these up?” 

You suspect this isn’t the first time that Oz has lied to you, but it’s the first time you’re able to see it. You turn around and give him a smile, “Absolutely, no trouble at all.” 

“I’ll be back before you close. Thanks for understandin’.” 

True to his word, he does come back in the evening. You weren’t sure if he would; you imagine he has other things on his mind. He looks much calmer than when he left earlier, his smile contagious. “Welcome back,” you say, moving to get his suits. 

“Glad to be back,” he laughs, coming to the counter. You hang his suits on the rack and he breaks the silence, placing a sequined dress on the counter between you. “I’ve got a question for ya, do you do repairs?” 

“What do you need?” You ask, looking at the dress. 

“Well, it needs to be cleaned first, it’s – it’s my sister’s, she asked me to take care of it but I’m not sure something like this can even go in a washing machine. Anyway, there’re some missing sequins – where’d they go…” he murmurs softly as he turns over the fabric until he reaches a small but obvious section of missing sequins toward the bottom, running his fingers over it. “Right here, would you be able to fill in the gap here?” 

You take the dress, looking over the spot and nodding, “Absolutely, that’s no problem. It’ll take a little longer because I think I’ll have to order these sequins and I’ll have to do it by hand – you can with the sewing machine, but I don’t think it looks as nice.” 

“You’re a lifesaver. She was real upset about it, I told her though, I said ‘I know where I can take this and they’ll make it good as new.’” 

You chuckle, “I admire your faith in me. When does she need it back by?” 

“Oh, whenever. I don’t think she’s got anything coming up for it.” 

“Awesome. I can call you with a price estimate once I look at the new sequins.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Oz paid his bill for the rest of his suits, thanking you again. “Today was kinda – didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. But this made it better, thank you.” 

He turns to leave and head for the door but you stop him, calling his name. Maybe it was the way he thanked you, maybe it was his confidence in your skill, maybe it was that he liked the coffee but before you can stop yourself, you’re writing down your number on the back of a dry clean ticket, stepping out from behind the counter. You’ve never really looked at him this closely before, your gaze flickering to the tufts of hair peeking out from the undone button on his shirt. He’s looking at you curiously and you will yourself to speak. 

“Um – “ you clear your throat, handing over the paper “ – that’s my personal cell. In case she needs her dress back early or…in case you want to get dinner sometime?” 

Oz smiles but it’s not one of his customer service interaction smiles – it’s something real, like when he was sipping your coffee earlier. “Well look’it that, you just keep making my night better and better. I’ll text you about plans later tonight, this week’s a little busy but I’m sure I can make some time.” 

You smile brightly, “Perfect. I’ll be around.”

“Have a good night, Doll.” 

[inevitablestars]

locking in <- guy who is not locked in