#i want to examine his brain so badly

[overtake]

Max having to ask how to post an Instagram story is truly incredible content

#max verstappen #f1 #formula 1 #he’s so fascinating i will just read anything and everything about him #i want to examine his brain so badly #long post

[cataclysmic-cathexis]

Can we take it... slow?

Because I am once again completely normal about a piece of media, here is a visual essay on You Wear Fine Things Well Take 2: Faces and What Those Faces Are Doing (It's Kissing, But Also Emotions)

(I lightened all these screenshots up so the faces are more visible)

Ed is telling Stede his very sweet fishing story. Stede is reacting totally appropriately - gasping, eyes wide, interested and adorable. He's genuinely loving spending this time with Ed, hearing about his day.

He even leans forward to examine the lil fishy. CUTE. He's just so happy to be here, with Ed, talking about their days, spending time together. ("I love being near you.")

Stede tells Ed his abbreviated "cursed suit" story, where Ed delivers the "that wasn't a long story at all" line deadpan with this hilarious face:

(Why is this face so funny? Scientists in the future may know, but alas, this mystery will not be answered within our lifetime.)

Ed then ups the ante - going from that hilarious face to this SCORCHING HOT ONE after uttering the line that ruined the life of everyone on this hellsite

You wear fine things well

Those big brown 'come hither' eyes are HITHERING (it's a word, don't Google it tho)

What I also like about the refrain of "you wear fine things well" - Ed is signaling to Stede that he is ready to take another step. In the last episode, Ed put down a firm boundary - "you don't get to say that to me." Stede, in his adorable, desperate, determined, stubborn yet respectful way, backed off (by delivering an arguably MORE romantic speech but whatever - he respected Ed's boundary and didn't say "I love you"). Ed is pulling from their shared history, from a beautiful moment where they both felt something (although it's arguable as to whether or not in the moment Stede actually knew what he was feeling - he certainly with hindsight was like OOOOOOOOHHH).

So Ed is giving Stede the ok to take a step forward - which he does, while making this face with is the human equivalent of the heart eyes emoji:

Stede then looks away - and he stays in place, letting Ed come to him, making sure it's Ed to initiate. I think Stede wants Ed to be sure, doesn't want to push, since he knows how badly he fucked up and knows how deep Ed's hurt is.

Stede looks back up, but stays in place. Ed is looking at him with such vulnerability...

..as he slowly does his adorable little teenager-about-to-have-their-first-kiss shuffle...

And he leans in for that sweet kiss under the waxing moon.

Initially it's just Ed who is leaning in, but then Stede leans into the kiss as well - and deepens it.

Ed is then like "ok weird for ME to be the one saying this but it's probably healthier if we don't skip straight to banging each other's brains out on the deck of the ship and like, make sure of our feelings first"

After Ed says "We're whim-prone, as you said," Stede goes through a little mini crisis. First, fuck why did I say that:

Then - before Ed can finish what he's saying, Stede's face falls. He's so worried he's messed this up. Ed gave him a kiss and he tried to go too fast, and he's getting rejected again.

He tries to put a brave face on it, but our lil guy is SO SAD

Then once Ed finishes his fish metaphor ("You can't catch a fish unless the fish wants to be caught") Stede realises that Ed isn't rejecting him. I think Ed's vulnerability here and how unsure he is ("we're the fish, I guess. Maybe. I think.") helps Stede to remember hey, this isn't about me and my stuff right now, this is about Ed and Ed's stuff.

Stede gains a little confidence back. He's reassured. Ed is still trying to figure out who he is without Blackbeard, and Stede gets it. And Ed still wants him to be a part of who the new Ed is ("we're the fish"). He's like ok, I got u babe.

So he pulls himself back, but he still wants Ed to feel his affection, and to know that Ed is loved. So he holds Ed's hand and asks for permission.

"What about this? Is this alright?"

"This? Perfect."

Then they have their adorable little hand moment - just happy that they understand one another, happy to be touching, happy to be together.

"You won." Stede whispers.

Ed looks away, beaming:

And, in contrast to the last time they stood on the deck, under the moon, and said "you wear fine things well", this time they walk off together.

FIN.

#cool #cool cool cool #again i am completely normal about this piece of media #did i hyperfixate and take screenshots of this entire episode? MAYBE but that's MY BUSINESS #ramblings #ofmd #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 ep5 #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ed teach #stede bonnet #ed teach loves stede bonnet #stede bonnet loves ed teach #you wear fine things well #our flag means death #ofmd meta

[cloudcountry]

Ahhh i dont really know how Tumblr works (this is my first time requesting someone) but i see that ur request was open

i want to request an academic rivalry trope hcs with riddle or Azul or both (bcs i absolutely LOVE the way u write them 😞 it makes me giggle)

Thank u in advance and have a great day or night (⁠´⁠∩⁠｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡⁠∩⁠`⁠)

SUMMARY: Riddle & Azul with an academic rival!!

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: omg i love you for this!!! this is one of my favorite tropes ever and these two are so emotionally constipated they wouldn't know what to do with themselves. i hope you have a lovely day too anon <33 and im so glad you like how i write them hehe azul is the loml so it means a lot when people say that!!

Riddle doesn’t know what to do about you. He feels so incredibly frustrated every single time you score higher than him on a test because he should be better. How can he pride himself in being Heartslabyul’s Housewarden if he can’t even be at the top of his class?

So what does he do with that frustration? He studies harder and harder because clearly he isn’t trying hard enough. His health deteriorated, and if it wasn’t for Trey, Riddle would be even more of a wreck.

Then he finally does it. All of that work culminates into Riddle finally scoring a point higher than you on his Magical History exam. He stares at the board smugly, really admiring his name above yours (which is how it should be, in his mind.)

You approach the board too, and he expects you to say something about how you’ll score higher than him next time or how you can’t believe he’s finally beaten you, but instead, you nod cheerfully and walk away.

You just walk away. You don't even look at him. You’re satisfied with yourself?! Riddle feels rage bubbling up in his chest, and he almost screams at you right there and then in the hallway. What is wrong with you?!

It doesn’t help matters when Crewel assigns a huge project that's to be completed by two people, and places you and Riddle together. He’s so hell-bent on avoiding you the entire time, even when your face grows annoyed at his inability to cooperate.

“This project is a long one, you know.” you tell him one day, staring daggers into the side of his skull, “It takes six months to complete. If you want to get a good grade you’ve got to lay down your pride and talk to me. I’m not put up with this for half a year.”

Riddle hates that you’re right. He hates it so much because he’s always supposed to be the sensible one. He’s studied the rules over and over and yet you stump him. You make him wrong.

Is he wrong to resent you for that? Is it wrong to want to destroy your pride? Is it wrong to hate that you seemingly get everything you’ve ever wanted so easily while he’s worked hard for it?

Is it wrong that he wants to cooperate so hard and so efficiently with you that you take back everything you said to him?

Azul wants to get you in his debt so BADLY. He isn’t at the very top of his class, no. That title belongs to Riddle, who has refused his offers for a contract time and time again. Maybe there’s something you want, though.

He will find it. He will examine you every day and pick apart every insecurity and moment of sadness. That smart little brain of yours may be good for tests, but when it comes to manipulation, you have nothing on Azul.

It’s a small comfort if nothing else. You may have the entire school wrapped around your finger and the Leech twins might be fascinated with you, but that doesn’t matter.

Well, it doesn’t matter until you show up at the Lounge of your own volition. Azul is shocked when he hears the twins call your name, and you enter his VIP Room looking far too calm.

Floyd almost hacks up a laugh from laughing too hard when you ask for tutoring. Azul is baffled as Jade snickers, wondering why the person who outscores Azul continuously would ask him for tutoring.

But this is his chance. And so he writes up a contract, asking for something vague because he doesn’t know what he’ll need from you yet but he’s certain you’ll come in handy in the future and suddenly—

You wrinkle your nose and hand the contract back to him, pointing at one of the conditions. “I don’t like that one. Change it.” you say, and Floyd starts cackling again because no one has ever read them that closely.

It’s a condition that states you will come to the Lounge whenever Azul summons you. It’s vague enough that the signer may not realize he truly means whenever, but outlined enough to make them assume that it only applies to the time frame in which the main part of the contract is in effect.

It’s sneaky, and you caught it. Azul’s eyebrow twitches as he stares at you, forcing a smile on his features. Why, of course he can change that for you! What would you like it to say instead? You should know that he’s on home turf right now, and he never loses in the comfort of his VIP Room.

#auburn's requests <3 #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst x reader #disney twst #riddle rosehearts x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Has anyone asked you about erisol?

If no, then what's your opinion on them! :-)

I feel like people will be upset at me for this, but a completely platonic and completely lukewarm mutual dislike... they don't really like each other, but take no great issue with each other either. The boys are not fightingggg

So like. A common thing in fandoms is taking things at face value and not really reading any deeper into them. You see this a shitton with Eridan in general - lots of people take it 100% at face value that he's a casteist genocide liker, when it's pretty clear upon further examination that he's pretty much lying about being casteist and doesn't actually want to murder his friends. So, at face value, Eridan hates Sollux, and either wants to do spadesies with him, or go ashen with him. And so this has become a really popular ship, but the thing is... at basically every turn, the story kind of goes out of its way to point out that there's actually nothing between them. At least romantically.

See, Eridan does not actually hate Sollux, at least not to the level of pitch/ashen. TWICE before Sollux and Feferi start hanging out all the time, we see Eridan commenting on Sollux in a fairly neutral-negative way - the first time calling him "a drama machine" and noting that "it is fuckin pathetic," and the second time as "the dead guy who saved [Feferi]". And let's be clear about the former, Eridan is just kind of Like That, he's rude as fuck even about people he LIKES (calling his BFF Karkat an "assblood" and sarcastically referring to Feferi by her royal titles), so that's actually one of the less nasty things he's said about someone.

Meanwhile, on Sollux's end, he LITERALLY says "not interested" to what he perceives as pitch/ashen advances from Eridan. Like, actually just says those words out loud. Not even in a pesterlog, he actually just says those words with his mouth.

So it seems to me that there's a pretty clear case to be made here that Eridan and Sollux kind of just... don't really give a shit about each other, and probably wouldn't have interacted in any substantial way if not for Feferi's involvement. Especially because Eridan's chosen method of hitting on Sollux is with casteism, something he's already faking in the first place.

If we really want to dig into this, though, it's kind of - in my eyes - a lukewarm case of the hedgehog dilemma. They're a bit too similar, and it winds up causing them both mild pain to get too close.

They're both nihilists that kind of hate themselves. Sollux's mutated brain causes him a not-insignificant amount of discomfort, his visions of the future and of the "imminently doomed" have made him lose a lot of hope, and he blames himself for killing Aradia, something so painful that he didn't tell anyone else she died, to the point where most of the team - including Terezi and Tavros - had to find out after entering the game. Meanwhile, Eridan struggles with the perceived inevitability of a lifestyle that causes him nothing but distress, and his constant, overwhelming anxiety about it leads to constant stressing over whether or not he's "good enough"; whenever he's in severe emotional distress, he starts beating up on himself.

They also both front at being more okay with their problems than they actually are. Sollux has his 1337 hacker, two cool for you persona that he puts on, and Eridan is always trying to be the big bad sea dweller. For example, Sollux goes "I'm not trolling the humans, it's beneath me," but he's in Jade's trollslum, so the implication there is that he totally did try trolling, it went badly for him, and now he's pretending that he was always better than that. And I don't think I need to tell you how hard Eridan works to try and present himself as badass and scary and totally not deep in the throes of emotional anguish at all times.

And these are the similarities that ultimately make Erisolsprite so stable. Erisolsprite speculates that maybe the reason he hasn't exploded yet is that deep down, he loves to suffer. The truth is, there's nothing between the two that's really so objectionable that they would ACTUALLY hate each other; Eridan isn't actually casteist, and Eridan never really hated Sollux in the first place.

Neither would they bring each other any comfort or joy - Eridan doesn't have any sympathy for Sollux's baggage, since, like, what, he only killed ONE person, and was even under mind control, so it's not like it was really his fault. He's a drama machine. And Sollux wouldn't have sympathy for Eridan's problems, partially because they manifest in such cringeworthy, embarrassing ways (and Sollux is highly sensitive to not being cringe, seeing as he's always commenting on other people being embarrassing or overly earnest), and partially because - I mean, fuck it, he's a rich-ass sea dweller who doesn't need to worry about being harvested to be a battery for a living ship. And also he's an idiot.

That's kind of what their relationship is to me, you know? A tepid and lukewarm dislike. They're just similar enough to each other to understand the other, and just different enough to be like "ugh, but that guy suuuuuuuucks". It's very funny, but not really a ship, hahaha.

So what you really get from that is two guys that just kind of dislike each other. Not vehemently or diametrically enough for pitch or ashen, and not a trace of the requisite pity for flushed or pale. When you throw the two together into one sprite, it won't shut up about how much it hates itself, how each part of itself is flabberghasted by the other, and how much practically the only reason it doesn't explode is a resounding "meh."

Eridan likes to validate his despair; ironically, since it's all he's ever known, it's where he feels comfortable - and nobody would provide better doomscrolling material than the doom player. Similarly, Sollux likes to torment himself, suffering his guilt in silence, and Eridan has SO MUCH to feel guilty over. Combine them into one entity, and you have a guy who can reach SUCH levels of revelling in his own misery, you don't even KNOW.

Not that it's healthy or positive for either of them... just that it would be incredibly stable. It's their worst tendencies being satisfied by each other. Maybe that's a form of leprechaun romance, but it's certainly not a quadrant.

#homestuck #eridan ampora #sollux captor #admittedly sollux is one of the trolls i'm still working on grasping #and this post should also in no way be taken as 'stop shipping them' because idfc #ship what you want who cares hussie has already been driven away with jeering and sneering #i just was always kind of fascinated by the endurance of the ship #despite pretty much every piece of canon involving these two pointing to the fact that they just. kind of dont like each other #but in a platonic way

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Salvation - A Luca Changretta/Reader One Shot Story.

So my darling @zablife put this in my brain, and it was going to be smutty, but it took a much more tender turn in the end. I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless.

Words - 1,034

Warnings - Brief mentions of violence.

In Luca’s world, his status dictates he acts as judge and jury, but not often executioner. Usually, it’s another to squeeze a trigger, send a ballistic of hot lead into somebody, their final lesson learned in never crossing the men who loom like reapers within the shadows of the New York underworld.  

Until the code of omerta is forsaken so badly, he has no choice but to execute vengeance, when it’s on a level so personal, there’s no one else but him to bring down the final blow. For omerta, any bond is pushed aside. Friendship, blood, oaths, everything.  

And it never gets easier.  

The weight of it pushes down on his shoulders, the deed trailing along after him, like a restless phantom vying for attention, swirling dark as it flits through his mind. It casts its shadows, seeds itself, an implanted haunting no exorcism will ever remove. The stains of blood can be washed away, cleansed by soap and water. Stains of the soul take a much deeper scouring.  

For the wages of sin is death, so says the holy book. He knows it’ll come to him eventually, unless he’s particularly fortunate. It shan’t be the sacrilege of breaking omerta that ends him, though. He knows whatever reaper comes for him in the end will be nothing less than his own wages of sin have earned him. 

He examines his hands again in the car, although it was a gloved hand that pulled the trigger and sent his own blood down to check in at the gates of hell. They only contain the usual brandings, no blood to mark the deed, nothing outward giving it away. If his appearance matched the carnage in his brain, he would look as if he’d been launched headfirst into a blood-filled vat, dripping sanguine, no skin left without the slick wet of a crimson stain.  

He feels like he is walking through clay as he enters your home, feet heavy, limbs turned to stone and concrete. Luca Changretta is nothing if not a pillar of strength, but as with anything, if the pillar is subjected to blunt force trauma too many times, it begins to show cracks.  

It’s always you who patches them up again.  If anybody has a chance of banishing the phantom, it is you.

He moves through the house wordlessly after removing his coat and hat, his feet upon the stairs echoing through the hallway. Slow, heavy footfalls, his shoulders drawn up as you stand at the bottom to view him, biting your lip nervously.  

“Want me to bring you a drink up?”  

He never means to bite your head off, show his fangs like an agitated viper, but it does happen. When the tall Italian turns at the top to look down on you, though, it’s with a softened face. “Please, doll.”  

A little pang of worry nestles itself in your chest, his voice even quieter than usual. You knew he wouldn’t walk away from that particular hit unscathed, the damage being on the inside. It’ll be like a feral cat scratching against the inside of his skull in the days to come, sore, repetitive, vying for release.  

After all, it isn’t every day a man has to put a bullet in his cousin, after discovering he was a rat. 

Knowing he needs a little time, you wait downstairs until after the sound of running water has ceased, giving him a slither of peace before padding up, a large whiskey in your hand. He hasn’t bothered switching the lights on, some of your candles over in the corner lit instead, the room bathed in a dark gold glow.  

He seems to have been taken by the storm of his thoughts, not immediately registering your entrance into his calming space, a wounded, green gaze finding you eventually as you pass him his drink, seating yourself on the side of the tub. Your hand reaches for his face, cupping his cheek, the dark stubble grainy in texture against the soft of your fingertips.  

A sigh sweeps over your palm as he leans into your embrace, your thumb skimming his lips, a kiss pressed as finally, he smiles. “Thank god for you.” Leaning forward, he shuffles to the centre of the tub, the water whooshing around the narrow, muscular form as it cuts through it, Luca jerking his head back. “Come hop in here with me.”  

It’s usually you who lies between his long legs, legs you once coined sexy giraffe legs and made him laugh until his stomach hurt, a rarity for a man usually so taciturn, so quietly still. Your place now is to be the bearer of support, the bolster rod knocked in behind the great pillar to prevent it from toppling, ready to take the weight and repair the damage.  

His head rests between your breasts, eyes falling shut, long legs jutting out of the water where he’s bent them at the knees to make room for you. The steam rises from his skin, and you watch it curling up through the air while your fingers weave into his wet hair, nails combing through the raven strands and swirling over his scalp.  

It’s a practice he’s always found soothing, and you know he needs it, needs something to counteract all that is sharp and screaming in his mind. Your presence alone is tonic enough, but for him, it’s your touch which truly pours healing elixir over the emotional wounds lacerating him deeply. Your fingertips begin to squeeze and rake, easing the tension pulling tight over his head, a soft, relaxed grunt rumbling his throat.  

Your caress moves to his neck, the muscles hard and unrelenting, tension cording every muscle. It leads to his shoulders, your hands working with diligence, stroking, kneading and pinching until you feel them begin to become malleable. He feels it leaving him, the exorcism that is the pure brilliance of your love banishing all that hangs heavy upon him, the phantom chased away, shrouding itself from your light.  

“Feeling any better?” 

He lifts his chin, turning his head, the smile finally reaching the green twinkle of his eyes, picked peridot in the candlelight. “Always am whenever you’re near.” 

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta x you #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #luca changretta fic #luca changretta fanfic

[whosscruffylooking]

The Beginning of Us Part 2 (Joel Miller x Fem! Reader)

A/N: Here is part 2! Next chapter brings the ultimate heartbreaks, so I will be spending a little extra time on it. Also, if anyone wants to be added to the tag list for this series please let me know!

Series Masterlist

Warnings! Spoilers for TLOU Episode 1, mentions of death, mention of panic attack, angst.

Word Count: 3.9k

»»————-　♡　————-««

*September 26, 2003* ~Later That Evening~ "So, the answer would be 783?" Sarah appears unsure. You give her a reassuring nod, "Exactly. Great job. You know, as much as I dread going to work every day, I'm so glad I don't have to do homework anymore." The two of you are sitting on her bed agonizing over her algebra homework.

As she piles up all of her papers into her folder, you wander around her room, examining all of the little touches that make the room hers. There is a simple, yet strong feminine touch to her room. A clear representation of the latest teen trends, and yet it is all a reflection of her youthful vibrance.

The poster in the corner of the room catches your eye, "You really do love Halican Drops huh?" "It's my dream to see them in concert one day," she says with a sparkle in her eye. "I think we should go sometime," you wink at her.

She jumps off of her bed, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I saw them once live and they are amazing. It would be even more fun to go with another fellow superfan."

Her enthusiastic expression turns to a more solemn one. Extending your arm out to her you bring her back over to the bed to sit down, "What's wrong Sarah?"

She pauses and takes a deep breath, "My dad is a good man...but he's been through a lot. He has been hurt a lot. Uncle Tommy has tried to get him to date, but nothing ever comes of it. That's why I know you are different."

"W-what?" Your brain stutters for a moment, struggling to process what is happening.

"I know you slept over last night. And before you freak out about that, I just want you to know that it makes me happy to see my dad as optimistic as he's been. He's come out of his shell again. I swear to God everything we talk about somehow comes full circle back to you too. The other day I said I want to go to Disney World and he told me how you have a baby picture of yourself with Mickey Mouse on your fridge. That was my first signal that my suspicions have been accurate."

Leaning forward, you take her hands into yours once more, "Sarah...if any of this makes you uncomfortable at all please tell me. I would never want to overstep or make you feel like-"

"Hey hey hey, I'm so happy about this. Since you moved in a year ago, you've slowly brought my dad back to me. I can see the way he looks at you, it's kind of how he looks at me...but different."

Tightening your grasp around her hands, you draw her into a hug. She settles into your embrace and whispers, "Just don't hurt him." Kissing the top of her head you quietly express, "I'll keep him safe I promise."

»»————- ♡ ————-«« The rest of the night is spent waiting on Joel to get home. You and Sarah intensely watched the clock as the hours passed by, wondering when he'd get back.

Finally, the door-knob to the front door begins to shake and you can hear Joel mutter a curse word when he realizes it's locked. "Well, you locked the door for once, good job," he acknowledges Sarah once inside. "That's because I made her," you stare down at her. Nothing can hide the disappointment on her face. She'd wanted so badly to spend the day celebrating her dad, and nothing had gone according to plan.

The young girl kindly reprimands her father for coming home past the time he'd promised AND for forgetting to bring home a cake, she makes him swear to make up for it tomorrow. Eager to move past the awkwardness and save Joel a little embarrassment, you signal to Sarah to give him his watch.

"Fixed it for you," her hopeful eyes look to his in search of commendation and gratitude. He tricks her into thinking that the watch wasn't properly fixed and you watch the two of them with such admiration, for the beautiful bond they have. The ability to have a deep father, daughter relationship and yet be each other's best friends was so endearing. You never want to come between them, but you'd be honored to have a front-row seat to their little family unit.

"Where'd you get the money for this?" He inquires.

"Drugs. I sell hardcore drugs," she says in all seriousness.

You and Joel laugh in unison, your eyes meeting briefly before turning your attention back to his daughter.

"Actually," she rests her head on your shoulder, "Y/N helped."

There is a pleased look in his eye, as his gaze meets yours. It's as if some element of peace washed over him and pure contentment settled into his rough features. It's been years since a woman showed him this much kindness, and you'll be damned if that job ever goes to someone else. »»————- ♡ ————-«« Sarah had fallen asleep to a movie, her head laying in Joel's lap. The two of you kept stealing glances throughout the movie. You feel his fingertips graze your shoulder and you turn to him, resting your head on the back of the sofa.

"Hi Joel," your pupils dilate.

"Hi beautiful," his eyes twinkle, fixated on studying every detail of your face.  

Very quickly, you learn that your conversations do not need words to feel meaningful. The tilts of your heads, the shrugs of your shoulders, the serene sighs of surrender when you feel completely at ease with one another. Both of you are soothed by each other's presence and it is evident even in the voids of quietness. In those moments you can fully savor the company of the other and thrive off of the respect and admiration that radiates from you. There is a feeling of safety and confidence that stays between you and has existed since the beginning of your friendship.

The sharp ringing of the phone snaps you both back to reality. He answers it. You can't make out the words but can tell it is Tommy on the other line. With a heavy sigh, Joel falls back against the couch in defeat.

Damn it Tommy. You got yourself locked up again, didn't you?

Joel turns to you, jaw clenched with annoyance, forehead furrowed in disappointment. He wants to stay here with you a little while longer.

You offer to remain at the house and make sure Sarah is taken care of while he picks up Tommy. He takes her upstairs to tuck her into her bed. Dragging himself back downstairs, he rolls his neck from one side to the other in an endeavor to relieve the kinks. Stifling a yawn, you meet him halfway in the living room.

"We'll be here when you get back."

Although his expression was pensive, it eases slightly as you pull him out of his thoughts and back into the present with you.

"Thank you for staying with Sarah. Hell, sleeping over two nights in a row...things are getting serious." He gives you a goofy smile.

"Go!" You let out a short laugh and shove him out the front door. »»————- ♡ ————-«« As the hours rolled by, your sense of urgency grew. Joel should have been back with Tommy by now. Eager to distract yourself you turn on the television and aimlessly channel surf until you discover a movie that piques your interest. Another hour of watching the front door, willing Joel and Tommy to walk through it, passes by.

Drowsiness begins to overtake you. You take your eyes off of the television screen not wanting to exert any more effort into looking at it. Each muscle in your body begins to release the tension of the day, one by one as you settle onto the couch. The faint buzz of the television lulls you to the edge of sleep in mere moments.

Jolted awake by the deafening rumble of helicopters passing overhead, you fight off the dream that is still clouding your mind. Everything from your eyelashes to your feet feels heavy. Resting your eyes once more, you grant yourself another moment to enjoy the void of unconsciousness.

That moment is interrupted by Sarah shaking you awake.

"Y/N, what's going on? I think I can see explosions outside..."

Groggily sitting up, your vision finally focuses on the TV just past Sarah. The channel that was airing a movie not too long ago is now distorted with static. Sarah picks up the remote and changes the channel.

"STAY INDOORS! Law enforcement and emergency services are in the area and will be in contact with further instructions."

"What the f-"

Your attention shifts from the national alert to the sound of scratching at the window. The Adler's dog is loose and attempting to get into the house.

Okay, this night CANNOT get any stranger.

"It's Mercy! We need to see if he's okay," Sarah rushes to the door. You grab her arm, "Uh, I don't think that's a good idea. I think we need to stay inside right now and keep the doors locked."

"But he never gets loose. What if something is wrong with the Adlers?"

Suppressing the dread that is developing rapidly within you, you swallow your fear for Sarah's sake. You have to keep things calm and safe for her.

"Alright," you smooth your hand over her hair, "I'm gonna go over to my house and grab my nursing kit okay? Let me go check on them, but you do not, and I am so serious right now....do NOT leave this house by any means. Understand?"

She was too frightened to even lift her head, rather she stared out the window at the distant flares of light coming from the city.

You kneel to her level and hold her for a moment, "Everything is going to be alright okay?"

"Can I see if Mercy is okay?"

Conceding, you cautiously open the door and allow Sarah to clutch onto the dog. "Remember Sarah, do not leave the house."

Your pulse beats in your ears, as you turn to face your house. Although your mind is intent on making the trek across the street, it is as if your feet are cemented to the ground.

You tell yourself that being a little nervous is a completely normal reaction to what is going on. But that's just it, what IS going on?

God Joel, where the hell are you?

»»————- ♡ ————-««

"Damn it Tommy can you drive any faster?"

Tommy's grip on the wheel tightens, finding an odd comfort in the grooves between his fingers.

"Joel, I am going as fast as I can okay? They will be fine. Sarah is a smart girl and she has Y/N who won't let anything bad happen to them."

Joel could not wrap his mind around any of the events that transpired once he left his home to go get Tommy. One second he was in the comfort of his living room, within arms reach of the woman he'd just spent the most incredible night with. And his daughter, the embodiment of his heart and soul, was safe asleep on his lap. Next thing he knows, he and Tommy are being chased by a stampede of rabid-like inmates at the Travis County Jail. He could no longer restrain the tremors in his hands, shaking in an irregular rhythm.

"You really care about this girl don't you," Tommy's voice manages to break through the wall of thoughts blockading Joel from thinking clearly.

Recalling the night before, he is transported back to the moment when you pulled his shirt over his head and started grazing your hands across his chest, down the ridge in between his abs. It was a sensory overload, every nerve ending in his body tingled with anticipation. The two of you collapsed onto his bed, your bodies trembling as you bonded with every motion, each passionate touch leaving a flaming sensation on your skin. Your hearts raced in tempo with one another, like a symphony crescendoing to its epic finale.

"I do. This is the only time since Sarah's mom left that I've felt alive. Young again, invincible." Joel has never felt so certain in his life about someone, not even his ex-wife. Being with you is effortless. In your presence, he feels weightless. Like a drug, you drew him in slowly, tempting his every desire. At first, he took you in, little by little. And without detection, he became addicted. »»————- ♡ ————-«« Emerging from your home, nursing kit in hand, you prepare yourself for whatever you might face at the Adler's home. Surely it is nothing too grave, and yet you can't help but wonder why her kids didn't come to get you or call 911 if something happened to Nana?

Passing Joel's house, panic passes over you, causing the fine hairs on the back of your neck to rise. The front door is still open. Your mind races faster than your feet as you rush into the house. The endless possibilities as to what could've happened to her plague you.

You are confident that if anything happens to Sarah, Joel will strangle you with his bare hands...and not in a pleasurable way. Even if you told that stubborn girl not to move a finger from where you left her. She reminds you so much of yourself though. Curiosity can be so enticing at times that it blinds a person. Especially someone with as honorable of a heart as Sarah's.

"Sarah!" You frantically call out in each room.

Where are she and that damn dog?

Joel, hurry up. Please.

After surveying the entirety of the house to no avail, your chest tightens, and your lungs feel as though they have been wrung out of oxygen. Unsure of whether or not your lack of oxygen is due to the running or the panic attack creeping up on you, you take a moment to gather your thoughts. Mind over matter. Where would she go?

The dog. The damn dog. She's at the Adler's.

The next few seconds are a blur. You are uncertain how you got to the Adler's doorstep so swiftly. It felt like you were practically flying. Similar to Joel's home, the front door is open.

This girl needs to learn how to not only lock doors but actually CLOSE them.

A sickening sensation flares through your body as you peer into the still home. There go the hairs on the back of your neck again, but this time, the tingling sensation snakes down your spine and arms too.  Instinctually, you know not to go in there. But, Sarah is in there and she matters more than any gut feeling or self-preservation right now.  

"Sarah?"

Apprehensively, you venture deeper into the house. That's when you lay eyes on her, frozen in the kitchen. Unclear as to what she is fixated on, you join her in the doorway. That's when you see it. A trail of blood leads directly to Mr. Adler, his mouth agape and his limbs contorting. At first, the sight does not phase you. As a nurse working in an emergency room, you handle bloody wounds day in and day out. It's not until you look closely at where the blood is coming from that your fears reignite.

Is that...a bite wound?

A guttural noise captures your attention. Following Sarah's line of sight, terror sucks the very breath from your lungs. There is Nana, atop Mrs. Adler. Another river of blood floods from the daughter-in-law's neck.

Nana's raspy breathing slows to a more even tempo as she raises her eyes toward you. Vine-like appendages protrude from her mouth, attaching themselves to Connie's neck. The drumming of your heart, deafening and irregular, obscures your mind with fear.

Fight? Or flight? First, get Sarah as far away as possible.

Latching onto Sarah's arm, you tug her behind you.

One word. "Run."

Keeping your eyes on the gasping old woman, you ready yourself to prevent her from reaching Sarah at all costs. You listen intently for Sarah's footsteps pounding out of the house until you are positive she's made it outside.

You can feel the flight responses taking over your body, flooding you with increased adrenaline.

Nana stumbles to her feet as she releases a splintering screech. That is when the adrenaline ceases full control over your body, sending you hurdling towards the front door. Whatever creature has possessed the once docile elderly lady, is now hot on your heels. Her bone-chilling snarls signal you to her presence behind you.

Just as you begin to fear the worst outcome, you see him.

"Don't go," Joel's pleas echo in your mind from mere hours ago.

The thought of being wrapped up in his secure embrace once more drives you to push your legs harder.

Anguish pierces his voice as he calls out your name. Even so, it translates into a calming melody that brings some clarity to your mind.

"Get behind me..." He motions you over to Sarah.

As you hold her trembling frame, you turn back to Nana who is collapsed on the ground. Her limbs are mangled and her eyes are void of any life. Suddenly, the sharp cracking of her bones churns your stomach. Like a rabid animal, she growls and sprints toward Joel on all fours. Rising to her feet and closing in on him, she flails her arms wildly.

"What are we doing Joel!?" Tommy exclaims.

Without hesitation, Joel swings the wrench clutched in his fist and lands one solid blow to the side of the woman's head, sending her motionless body to the ground. Sarah screams and you quickly shield her from the sight of her father standing over their neighbor's corpse...or at least the shell of what she used to be.

Joel rushes to his daughter's side and caresses her cheek, looking her over to make sure she's safe and in one piece.

"You killed her," she cries in disbelief as she collapses into his arms.

He tightens his grip on her, "Baby, I'm sorry." He pulls away and stares into her eyes with strength and focus, "It's not just the Adlers. But we're gonna be brave and we're gonna get out of this."

Not just the Adlers? The helicopters flying towards the city...whatever took control of Nana did not die with her, she was merely the introduction.

Feeling lightheaded, you lean against Tommy's truck. He rushes to your side and holds you up, "You got that nursing kit of yours?"

"N-no. Inside," you point to Joel's house.

One by one, generators and streetlights begin to explode. Sparks of orange and gold, light up the sky over your neighborhood.

Joel ushers Sarah into the car and turns to face you. For a brief moment, time stands still. His pupils dilate, as he looks at you, the woman who made the future look like skies as clear as sapphire. Yet, he recognizes a shift in the atmosphere. A shared dread hanging over you like a dark, impenetrable cloud. His hands tremble, searching for yours to steady them. He twitches, his body responding to your delicate touch.

"Don't go." He implores you. His signature phrase to you. That in itself could be your new love language.

Attempting to open your mouth to speak, no words flow out. A simple nod is all you can manage. With that permission, he hurries you into the truck, meanwhile warning another one of your neighbors to stay inside and lock her door. Once Joel is inside, you lean forward and drape a reassuring hand on his shoulder. A subtle, but significant sign of solidarity. He laces his fingers with yours and holds you in place against the back of his seat.

As aggressively as Tommy floors the truck into motion, he brings it to a screeching halt. The headlights of the truck illuminate the Adlers stumbling onto the street. Their limbs are just like that of Nana's, wrenched and fidgeting.

"Get your seatbelts on," Joel declares.

Tommy warns, "Hold on..."

His foot finds its way back to the accelerator with no delay. Bracing yourself for the unthinkable you turn to Sarah, "Come here." She folds into your lap, a whimper escaping her lips. The Adlers charge at the truck simultaneously. Connie soon disappears from view as the truck plows over her and sideswipes Danny.

Closing your eyes, you do everything in your might to hold down the bile rising in your throat.

Sarah sits up and wipes a few stray tears from her eyes, "Daddy-"

"We don't know," Joel interrupts.

You shake your head in disbelief, "The Adlers, they were infected with something, some kind of parasite maybe?"

"That's what they're saying on the radio, some kind of virus," Tommy confirms.

"Are we sick?" The young girl persists.

"No. Of course not," Joel's fearful tone turns to a more frustrated one. As a father, his instinct is to protect his daughter and provide her with comfort, but he has no clue what kind of threat lies ahead and can't give her satisfying answers. You tighten your hold on his hand, and he gives you a firm squeeze.

Joel's brother slows the truck as you spot a family pulled off onto the side of the road.

"Tommy, don't," you state firmly. The family shouts after you in desperation.

"But they have a kid."

"So do we," Joel glares at Tommy.

It's officially every man for themselves. Each outsider you bring into your safety net becomes a variable. An unpredictable risk that could put you and the people you care most about in grave danger.

Beams of crimson light glow in the distance, a vast sea of unmoving taillights. Seems like everyone in Austin had the escape plan as you, sending Tommy into a frenzy.

"It's okay, just think it through, we'll think it through," Joel says in repetition, not just for Tommy, but also to ease himself.

Coming from the opposing direction, panicked vehicles race towards you, and away from the perpetual gridlock that hundreds of other cars are trapped in.

Looking out the window into the vast, empty land that stretches for miles uninterrupted, you have a plan.

"Tommy, the field. It's the perfect detour. Cut across it and we will end up on the west side."

Speedily, he veers off onto the barren land. A stampede of cars follows behind you. The collective rays of the headlights light your path to....another dead end. The highway is infested with army vehicles crawling along it.

Tommy and Joel bicker over what the next move should be. Joel opts for a small town on the north side.  

"And then what?" You interject.

Joel steadies himself against the dash, the unstable terrain tossing your bodies left and right.

"I don't know. Mexico. Just far, far as we can."

Sarah's eyes gloss over. "Maybe it's everywhere. Maybe there's nowhere to go."

"Hey, hey look at me. We are going to be fine. As long as the four of us stick together, we will be fine. There will be somewhere for us to go and find safety. I promise you, we won't let anything happen to you," you place your hand over your heart and affirm to her.

The dilemma is, you don't know if you can even accept what you promised Sarah. This isn't some influenza you can shelter in place from. The battle is against mankind's worst enemy, man. But not normal men, men being transformed into monsters.

"I-I believe you." Sarah's faith in you is unshakeable, "And I love you too Y/N."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Tag List: @midgetpottermills​ @erenswiffe​ 

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller one shot #joel miller #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal one shot #the last of us imagine #the last of us

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Humbling Him

Henry was a real jerk, but he could afford to be. Being rich, tall, and the star of our college's soccer team made many overlook his irredeemable qualities, but I hadn't overlooked them. I've been scheming a plan to humble him ever since the day we met.

Stepping into my dorm room, I'm greeted with the smell of his body odor and the sight of my messy roommate lounging on my futon. His sweat is soaking into the fabric and the remnants of his lunch are tossed carelessly across my rug.

"Hey bro," he calls with a stupidly boyish grin.

Henry had been chill with me so far, but it's just a matter of time before he finds out I'm gay and beats me up like he did the other guys.

"Hey, man," I mask my annoyance, "Could you not leave food on the rug?"

"Whatever, bro," he doesn't look away from the game on the flat screen, "Your sis stopped by a minute ago. She's fine as hell by the way."

"You talked to my sister?"

"Yeah, bro. And that rack on her!" he goes on, "She was so easy too, but she said she worked in the cafeteria."

"Don't call her easy, man," I try to stay cool, "And whats wrong with making money?"

"Whatever, I'm not banging the lunch lady."

"Shut up, Henry!" I finally snap.

It was time to put my plan into action. This jerk needed to realize the world didn't revolve around his money, his good looks, or his athleticism.

Since my first night with him, I've blasted binaural sound waves as he sleeps. It's a technology that installs weaknesses into one's psyche, and Henry's brain now had a trigger word that would open his subconscious to anyone who used it on him.

"Bro, I thought you were chill!" he sneers, standing in front of me. He's trying to intimidate me with his height and muscle. It works a little.

"I am chill," I stand my ground, "As long as you know your place, boy."

He scoffs at the word, but I see his furrowed brow relax a little, "Why'd you call me that, bro?"

"Why'd I call you a boy?" the jock cringes at my words, "Because you are a boy."

"What the hell, bro," even his voice relaxes a little.

"Don't call my 'bro,' boy. I'm not your bro, and a boy like you shouldn't be calling me bro."

Seeing him flustered is empowering. Finally, Henry isn't being cocky or assertive. He takes a step back as I step towards him. His bulky frame is still impressive, but it feels smaller as his shoulders drop and knees quiver.

"Whatever, br...," he corrects himself, "Whatever."

"That's it boy," my own voice sounds more confident, more assertive.

"Then what the hell do I call you!" The jock growls in frustration.

"Call me boss if you need to call me something," I answer. I hadn't expected to say that, but it felt so natural to demand.

"Whatever, boss," he mumbles in defeat.

"Good boy!"

Henry swears at me under his breath, clearly feeling his masculinity become more and more threatened.

"Woah! Good boys don't swear!" I raise my voice, "And you're a good boy. You won't curse anymore. Will you?"

"No, boss," he mutters, looking at the floor.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, and speak up!"

"Yes, boss," Henry's voice cracks.

I think I've actually broken the bully. Letting out a victorious chuckle, I examine his well-defined muscles beneath his sweaty tracksuit. Without, a second thought, I grab a handful of his perfectly rounded glutes.

"Woah, boss," he recoils with disgust, "Are you homo?"

"Sure I am, boy, and that doesn't bother you at all. Does it?"

"No, boss," he answers honestly, staring into my eyes respectfully.

"You're going to let me touch you when I want to. Right?"

"Sure, boss," the former bully replies meekly.

"And if I bring some guys over, your going to let them grab at you too. Right?"

"Yeah, boss. It's whatever," he frowns.

"And you aren't going to talk badly about them, or anyone ever again," I continue instructing him, "Especially not my sister. Did you insult her when she was here earlier?"

"No, boss!" he assures me, "I told her how fine she was."

"And that's it, boy?" I press.

"No, boss," he hangs his head in regret, "I told her to get lost when she said she was a lunch lady."

"That's what I thought," I reply, hatching a plan in my head for how to degrade him even further.

A couple weeks later, I see Henry behind the counter in the cafeteria, dishing out the greasy mac and cheese. His soccer buddies had just left, but they did nothing but tease their friend for his new menial job. Henry, took all the jokes with a smile, but I knew that spoiled rich athlete was dying inside.

Stepping up to the counter, Henry's eyes widen nervously at my presence. The jerk has become semi-aware of the control I have over him, but he still can't keep himself from obeying my words: no matter how humiliating they are.

"Boy," I address him.

He checks to see if anyone is near before replying, "Boss."

"I have friends coming over tonight. You know what that means."

"Yeah, boss. I'll clean our room when I get off."

"Bring some snacks and drinks back for us too," I add, knowing he gets a discount from working in the cafeteria.

"Sure, boss," he gestures to the pans of steaming lunch, "So do you want some or not?"

My stomach lurches at the smell.

"Nope, just keep working hard, boy."

"Wait, boss!" he calls me back, "Your sister has been all over me today."

"So what, boy?"

"So what do I do, boss?" he casts a nervous glance to my sister working at the cash register, "She keeps flirting."

"What do you mean, 'what do you do,' boy? You'll wine and dine her. Treat her to every expensive thing you can afford," I command.

"So I can take her out?" he grins that dopey smile of his. I've forced him to quit hooking up with random girls without my permission, so he's a bit pent up.

"You can, but she calls the shots, boy," I snap at him, "If she wants to mess around with you on the side, you'll make yourself available whenever she wants it. If she wants a guy to dump all her emotional baggage onto, you'll listen and comfort her whenever she wants it. Hell, if she wants to marry your ass, you'll be the most devoted husband a boy like you can be!"

I watch as the words sink in, and he accepts his fate as my sister's bitch.

She has a strong personality. I know the kind of guy she needs, and even if she doesn't need Henry, she can toss him aside without any worries.

As I leave, I see my sister cast a glance over at the stud with a hairnet, serving lunch to a line of freshman. I have to admit that I hope she drags that cocky rich athlete down the aisle. She'll have his money, status, and body to boss around.

And I'll have even more fun when he's my brother-in-law.

#gay hypnosis #hypnotized #mind control #hypnosis #hypno story

[gabessquishytum]

Okay someone somewhere said ballet dancer hob and rewrote my brain chemistry.

So. Ballet director dream was once the absolute best in the world but he had a violent feud with a cold and demanding director named Burgess. During one practice Burgess was yelling and screaming at Dream for being useless (he hoped by hiring Dream, his legendary sister Death would come dance for the London ballet too. It didn’t work and he is bitter about it now). And it turns into a fight and Burgess hits Dream in the knee with his cane, injuring it so badly it ruins his career. (His mistake. In revenge, Dream launches a hostile takeover and ousts the asshole.)

Now Dream is the cold and demanding director of the London ballet. And for ten years (time skip because of silver fox dream supremacy) he builds himself up into an absolute legend. Gault is the prime ballerina because I say so. The Corinthian took over Dream’s role as the other star for a while but eventually he wouldn’t take direction and is also sort of a scummy person so they have a massive falling out and he quits.

Without the Corinthian, people say Dream’s shows have lost their spark. He gets colder and more difficult and demanding as a result. Everyone is on the brink of quitting.

Death is now a director too and she promises Dream that she knows the perfect replacement who will breathe new life into his company.

And she sends him Hob.

Hob is the exact opposite of Dream. He went to school on scholarship. He never even saw a ballet until he was 16. He started late but he’s making up for it with the sheer joy he brings to his dancing. He fucking loves it. There’s something loose and free in his dancing that’s so opposite from Dream’s typical technically perfect but brutally emotional style.

Dream bets Death that Hob will quit within a month. Hob is always showing up smiling and joking around and distracting others. Dream is hard on him as he is hard on everyone. And yet. Hob doesn’t quit.

There’s something about the way he throws himself into the dance that is unshakeable.

Dream can’t help but wonder when he lost that kind of joy. He is very quickly captivated by him. It is always this way. Dream fell for Calliope’s dancing before they ever spoke, those many years ago.

One night, Dream catches Hob dancing late on the stage when everyone else has left, practicing a section Dream criticized him harshly for. It is hard not to overcorrect and be too harsh on Hob. Dream knows eventually it will drive Hob away. So for now he stays in the shadows and watches, his heart pounding against his ribs.

When he’s done, Hob looks right at Dream and asks if that was any better.

Dream wasn’t aware Hob had known he was being watched, but he climbs up onto the stage with him. He tells Hob he is improving. But Dream has extremely high standards and it takes more than passion to survive in this world.

Hob just smiles at him and starts his cool down stretches. “I don’t know. I think you could use a little passion.” He‘s flushed and Dream…can’t quite look away.

“I want to impress you. I want to improve,” Hob tells him. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Dream carefully doesn’t examine his words closely. Hob…can’t be imagining what Dream is. He doesn’t know what things Dream might ask for.

“I am not known for my kindness,” Dream says stiffly. “More experienced dancers than you have quit rather than work for me.”

Hob rises to his feet. “You can’t scare me off. I want this,” he insists. “I want to be here.”

Dream is reluctantly impressed. But he is also picturing Hob on his knees in Dream’s silk sheets and he doesn’t know how to stop. “I can be…punishing,” he warns, unwisely worded.

Hob is beautiful and determined in the stage lights. “Punish me,” he dares him.

Oh I LOVE a ballet au!! There’s so much drama here, I love it. Love the idea of dancer Hob, imagine the Billy Elliot vibes!!! Or maybe he doesn’t start dancing until he’s a teenager. Either way he’s the most lively, exciting dancer of his generation and he has so much JOY when it comes to ballet. He’s rough and uncouth at times but the moment he starts dancing he just becomes the most beautiful thing in the room. Death has nurtured him and given him a wonderful grasp of technique, but she knows that in order to become the greatest dancer he can be, Hob needs to go to Dream.

The thing about Hob is, he loves ballet. Loves it in a way that simply can’t be faked. And Dream’s heart clenches each time he sees Hob because he used to be like that! He used to love ballet more than anything in the world. Where has that love gone, and when did he get so angry and cold? It’s not something that Dream wants to dwell on, but watching Hob makes him feel things he hasn’t felt in a decade.

Watching Hob also makes him horny, but that's another thing that he's not ready to unpack.

Imagine Hob practicing at the barre. Repeating over and over, the same exercises, the same positions that Dream has drilled into him. He sees Dream watching him in the mirror and his eyes just light up! He works even harder, enjoying the attention, enjoying the fact that he KNOWS that Dream is going to find something to pick up on.

Imagine Dream stalking up to Hob and just pouncing. Pressing him against the mirror and kissing him desperately. Hob’s fingers stroke Dream’s silver streaked temples and his mouth moves just as beautifully as his body does when he's dancing.

And when Dream pulls back he's like "your tendu is sloppy, do it again." And Hob can't help but grin <3

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

[foxymoxynoona]

Over the Falls Ch. 4

Sexy Banner & bar by @borabae-gx

Summary: Jungkook sees a lot of things as a pool tech. It’s…  fine. It pays the bills between mornings on the water and evenings  rocking out with his garage-band. His favorite thing to see on the job has been Grace Birch –older but a hottie, wealthy but nice, and  unfortunately very married. At least until Grace learns what her husband  has been up to behind her back. Now that she’s free, Jungkook finds  himself wondering: what does it take for a guy like him to catch the eye of a woman like that?

Genre: Poolboy Jungkook x Rich Divorcee OC

Tags: Age gap (older woman), socioeconomic gap, Surferboy JK, drummer/guitarist/vocalist JK, Wealthy divorcee OC, househusband

CW: Mature/Explicit,  Infidelity (not between JKxOC), language, alcohol, recreational drugs, lots of explicit sex, ageist/racist/classist remarks down the road, outdoor sex, beach sex

Chapter Three | Masterlist | Chapter Five

“It was a shitshow, is what it was,” Megan insisted, arms out as she picked her way through the tangled overgrowth of the front yard. In heels, mind you, with tight jeans that made it difficult to bend her legs so that she kind of waddled and teetered as she trailed after Grace around the wild beds and weed-devoured gravel path.  

“You’re exaggerating.”

“The toilets overfloweth,” Megan insisted, hands gesturing to demonstrate just how badly the bathroom had been destroyed. “Of course no one wants to admit it was them but someone brought the chicken casserole–”

“And you’re sure it was the chicken casserole?”

“Using my excellent detective skills–”

“That’s true, why would I doubt you?” Grace laughed. She stopped on the gray stone porch –cracked, chipped, and laced with mildew– and surveyed the yard. 

“It was everyone who ate the chicken casserole crapping their brains out,” Megan said, pulling herself up the steps. “But who made the casserole? No one in that set of people makes casseroles. I’m telling you, someone used rancid chicken.”

“You think it was on purpose?”

“I mean, it didn’t make Nancy look good to have a dozen people head to the ER with bubble-guts,” Megan said, eyebrows raised and lips twisted to the side like she knew what her opinion of it was. Who has it out for Nancy? The answer for any of them was most likely depends on the day. “But I suppose it could have been someone stupid. Decided to cook instead of letting their chef handle it and doesn’t want to admit it now.”

“I can’t believe Nancy did a potluck,” Grace admitted. 

“Oh she’s living in deep shame right now. Trish and Eugenia goaded her into her after someone… maybe me… suggested potlucks are trendy now.”

“You didn’t,” Grace laughed. Megan cackled shamelessly. 

“Well they can stop talking shit about me or I’m going to set them up like that! I said they’re all the rage now and we’re getting laughed at for being so outdated on the West Coast.”

“Why would Nancy care?”

“Oh some stuffy asshole from Georgia was going to be there, I don’t even remember his name, so I may have positioned myself as an expert on Georgia…”

“You’re from Georgia.”

“Sure, but not Georgia money,” Megan reminded her. “I’m from Georgia upper middle class. And I’m stretching that upper. We did potlucks at church but never when we hosted. Who would do that? You run the risk of someone bringing a rancid chicken casserole.”

“You don’t think it was Nancy herself– no, she wouldn’t cook for her own dinner,” Grace quickly corrected.

“No, I think it was someone else trying to be on theme. Instead they inspired their own theme…”

“You didn’t get sick,” Grace guessed based on Megan’s laughter about the whole thing.

“Lord no, I didn’t touch that casserole. I knew it would only disappoint me. Kind of like this house.”

Grace gave her a bemused smile and led her through the front door with the set of keys she’d picked up from the owners earlier. Megan’s tale of the failed dinner party had woven through their examination around the exterior of the property: overgrown, cluttered with potted plants, a slimy green and frog-infested pool, a garage door that no no one could find the clicker to. The patio furniture had all turned green with mildew, the iron frames rusted. 

“Woah, it’s squat,” Megan said, ducking her head in the entry way as though the ceiling wasn’t a full ten feet.

“It just feels that way because they painted the ceilings dark,” Grace explained. The entryway had a closet dead ahead too, making the space feel small. Two doors crowded them on the left, too, and so many doors right when you entered made a house feel like a maze. If you ripped off the closet door and turned it into a proper entryway, it would feel better. Maybe one of the doors to the left too. Shockingly, when she opened one it had dark carpeted stairs to the second floor.

“Why’d they do that? That’s creepy to put a door there.”

“People do lots of things to their houses,” Grace shrugged. “I always think it’s interesting. Maybe they were trying to cut down on A/C costs?”

“You must see some weird things.”

“I do. And it’s my job to paint those over so that the next person can envision a blank canvas to make their own personal type of weird,” she mused. She made notes as they wandered through the living room to the right –one of two family spaces. Big picturesque windows facing that overgrown front yard made the living room feel hidden and secluded –not a corner lot in a lively neighborhood and only several blocks from the beach and businesses.

“There’s so much stuff…”

Grace nodded, recalling what she knew. The house was built in 1952 and bought by the most recent owners in the 80s, only two owners in all that time which was remarkable for California. The husband had just passed and now the children wanted the place cleared out and sold to support the mother, who was in her eighties and moving in with one of her grown children. Grace glanced at the portraits mounted on the wall –far too many, so the walls felt like they were ready to erupt– that showed forty years of life in this place. 

“It’s really not in terrible shape though,” Grace corrected the easy judgment someone like Megan would make at first glance. “It needs to be cleared out, it needs paint, but the structure is good. I’d rip the carpet out and replace it with wood or tile. Paint everything, of course. Replace the appliances, though we may be able to clean these up enough to sell,” she considered, looking at her notes about updates and replacements as they wandered through the kitchen.The wood cabinets were dated by their oak finish but in good shape, the hinges squeak-free and sturdy as she swung a few open. 

“Oh, that’s kinda nice,” Megan gasped, rushing forward to open the French doors. Four double-doorways fanned out from the breakfast room: one back to the rooms on the ground floor, one to a back staircase to the second floor, one to an open-air dining room and the third to the patio before the pool. It created a very open, airy space when all the doors were open, as if the yard was part of the house. Right now it was in bad shape but when cleaned up, that would be beautiful. Also the doors needed to go on half the doorways, it must have been an A/C issue which made her think the place must get really warm during the summer.

“The carpet on the stairs needs replacing,” Megan pointed out as she led Grace up, as if she was the one on the job here.

“Trying to take my job?” Grace laughed.

“I see why you like this, it’s kinda fun. Like if you painted all these walls white, this feels like a resort up here with all these windows and the view of the yard.” The master bedroom and its massive his-and-hers bathroom and walk-in closet dominated by the back of the house. A walk-out balcony had creaky doors clearly not used for some time and Grace recalled that she’d been told the couple couldn’t enjoy the yard for the past several years. The children didn’t seem to have realized how badly their health was until the father died. She only got glimpses into the lives of the people whose houses she sold, and it was often a mixture of curiosity and tragedy.

“A built-in desk and shelves in the bedroom? That’s strange,” Megan decided, inspecting the furniture that did indeed seem built into the wall.

“I think it’s kind of neat,” Grace admitted, passing to peek in the closet. Musty and smelling of dust and mothballs but huge. 

“Damn, how many bedrooms does this place have?” Megan asked as they toured through others, all significantly smaller than the master but with decent enough space. One was an office, one a dusty old sewing room with tubs of fabrics against the walls, one a guest room with a sagging mattress and dated bedding.

“Four bedrooms,” Grace read from her sheet. “Three full baths. 3,450 square feet.”

“How much do you think they’ll get for it?”

Grace was flattered for Megan to ask her that, like she was such a pro she could just name it after this initial walkthrough. She checked doorways and vents and windows as they wandered, noting damage, searching for crucial flaws but finding nothing but superficial needs. The couple seemed to have put their money into the important things over the years –the electrical and plumbing were all relatively new, the roof was brand new, the fireplace in the living room unnecessary for most people somewhere as warm as California but apparently they’d burned wood and kept it well tended until the end. 

“Hm… depends if they want to do some remodeling before they sell, or sell as is,” Grace said. She did her best to sound more confident than she necessarily was, a skill instilled in her young. Except she did know quite a bit about this! “Maybe four, four and a half if they do… I’d guess three and a half if they don’t. The beach is close, the school district is good.”

“Damn.”

“The issue is just who we target. The dated decor won’t appeal to young people, but older folks are less likely to buy this near the beach. It’s got both a den and a family room, two bedrooms downstairs, the master and the second upstairs… It’s a lot of space for an older couple, really more for a family.”

She wandered again, seeing in her mind’s eye the changes she would make here and there if it was hers. Different paint here. Wallpaper there. Replace the carpet in the bedrooms and upstairs hallway, trade with wood or stone downstairs. Foam’s tree would have a great view of the garden from that corner…

“The yard is a mess,” Megan rattled off, peeking through the windows again. “That pool looks like a swamp.”

“It does.”

“And all this stuff. How do you clean out a place like this?”

“Well, I’d recommend to the family that they go through and remove everything they want to keep, then we do an estate sale. You’d be surprised how quickly they can clear out a house. After that is when I would usually stage the house and take the listing photos.”

“After they’ve had time to fix everything up nice?”

Grace nodded absent-mindedly as she crouched to look up the fireplace. She was no expert, it would need to be checked, but the fact they had been burning through the winter was a good sign, hopefully it didn’t need more than a cleaning. There ought to be glass doors installed though so they weren’t losing their cool air in the summer. 

“It’s hard to see through all the stuff,” Megan insisted, but Grace didn’t agree at all. She could see the potential. The big windows and wide doorways created such a nice flow. They blocked it off with odd furniture choices and misplaced wall decorations –too much here, not enough there to guide the eye. It was just superficial, the stuff that needed to be done. 

Grace could do that.

Grace wanted to do that. 

She wanted someplace that was a good investment, worth the money, but that she could sink her teeth into and really make her own.

She wanted some place that didn’t look at all like the home she’d built before, the one Tim destroyed.

Megan was mid-sentence criticizing the dated light fixtures when Grace touched her arm and interrupted, “I think I’m going to buy this house.”

“Hm? You’re selling this house.”

“To myself. I mean, I’ll have to have another agent take over the selling because it would be a major conflict of interests but–”

“Wait you really want to buy this place?” Megan asked. She looked around with disbelief. “But… it’s kind of a wreck.”

“Only visually.”

“Yeah…”

“I mean superficially. It’s in good shape, it’s just ugly, but the potential…”

“Do you really want a project like this though?”

“I do,” Grace insisted, feeling more sure of her answer. It would be work, but work of her choosing. Work to create a home exactly the way she wanted. Looking around, she already felt a sense of ownership welling up. She liked seeing what the house looked like now, knowing its past before they started their new life together. A rebirth for them both.

“I just think you’ve dealt with enough problems this year. Do you even know how to do this kind of stuff? Painting, carpeting, those ugly lights– I mean, the pool is a bog. I saw actual frogs. Are we sure it’s not actually a koi pond gone feral?”

“I know a guy,” Grace said without much thought behind it. She meant it as a joke, that any professional could handle any of the specific issues that felt beyond her limited skill set. She hadn’t meant JK specifically –though he could handle frogs and probably get that pool looking nice. The last thing she wanted was to remind Megan of the suggestion she’d made immediately after Grace confessed about the divorce… 

Quickly Grace added, “I’ll hire the help I need for the big stuff. Everything else will be fun.”

“If you say so…” Megan said. She sounded critical but also amused. “I don’t know what to say. You’ve already surprised me, maybe you’ll surprise me again.”

“What surprised you?” Grace asked, head tilting curiously.

“You left that saggy ballsack husband! Maybe you’ll surprise me with your speckling skills too.”

“Speckling?”

“Isn’t that what it’s called?”

“What what’s called?”

“You know, hm… that house repair thing.. Look I don’t know what I’m talking about, I just have house shows on in the background sometimes.”

“Spackling?” Grace guessed and Megan just shrugged. “That’s fixing holes in walls.”

“Can you do that?”

“Sure,” Grace said with gusto, despite having never done it in her life. It couldn’t be harder than getting a divorce from Tim, so hell yeah!

“Well congratulations then. Why don’t you have me over once it’s all cleared out and I’ll act surprised. I’ll forget I saw its unsavory past,” Megan laughed as they headed for the door. Grace couldn’t have felt more different: she wouldn’t forget the house’s past. Years from now, assuming it all went through, once she got the house the way she wanted it, she and this house could look back on how far they’d come.

“Ok, it’s a date,” Grace agreed. “Let’s head out, I’ve got to let the family know they need a new agent.”

“You’re just going to dump them? Damn girl, you’re really cleaning house–”

“No! I’ll just explain I’m interested and that they need new representation. I’ll even recommend someone I know will be good for them.”

“You know a guy, huh?”

“I do, yes.”

“You know a lot of guys,” Megan prodded as Grace locked up the house. 

“What do you mean by that?” Grace asked. Even though she knew.

“Just pointing it out. Don’t want you getting any clutter or cobwebs you need to clean out if you go too long–”

“Megan Eldridge!”

“I’m just saying! As your friend!”

“Is that all you’ve got on your mind?” Grace teased. “Adam’s away again, hm?”

“No, but I swear, these hormones are making me batty,” Megan sighed, hand reflexively resting against her leg, as if to protect it from even a verbal mention. She’d shown Grace the bruises the fertility shots left, physical proof of how dedicated Megan was for a child after she and her husband had put it off for years. “Now or never,” Megan had said, tapping her wrist as if her forty-three years were recorded on her watch. 

That’s sort of how Grace felt about starting her life over. She felt late. She hadn’t been on her own since she was barely an adult and now had to figure everything out all on her own. She could recognize she was putting unfair pressure on herself to “catch up” after her whole life got upended, and yet she was eager to settle into her new normal. Foam and her were a close, happy little family already, but the apartment still felt so temporary. It felt like she still lived in the shadow of Tim, in the wreckage of their marriage. She was ready to emerge, no more dragging her feet. Maybe it wasn’t now or never, but it was time.

“How long do you think it’ll take you to get this place fixed up?” Megan asked. She didn’t check behind her very long before backing out of the driveway and Grace resisted the urge to point it out. 

“I don’t know. A year? I have to actually buy it first.”

“That’s too long before you can host again.”

“I’m not in a rush to host anything.”

“You should be. I can’t wait to watch you make this place beautiful and rub it in everyone’s faces,” Megan grinned. Her quick reversal from criticism of the house to blind support for Grace’s ability to make this something beautiful was noted and appreciated.

“Let’s plan on a baby shower instead,” Grace suggested. “I think that’s nicer than petty revenge for gossip.”

Megan sighed loudly, “You’ve really got to work on your mean-streak. It’s painfully under-developed.”

Jungkook floated on the board, letting the waves scoop him like a tired child getting carried to bed. Max made him think of that. How badly he had envied Max at Mo’s memorial service when the little boy fell asleep stretched out in the corner despite the stifled sobs and loud music ushering from the best speakers Jungkook owned. Mo had been an incredible musician, far more talented at guitar than Jungkook could ever hope to be. His voice was a lie, sounding so alive as it wrapped around the room, and for the length of an album the guy behind the voice was alive and Jungkook was hearing the album for the first time and simultaneously understanding what he wanted to do with his life and what he could never hope to compete with.

Then the album ended, the memorial ended, Yoojin scooped up sleeping Max to carry him home, and the world was a little cold again. Cold for April, at least. 

At the beach, Jungkook could draw the warmth back into his skin, even early in the morning. He hadn’t slept well after all that, even once Jimin pounded on the wall for him to stop strumming his unplugged guitar, so it hadn’t been hard to drag his ass to the beach this morning. The sky was overcast though. Fitting, all things considered.

Bobbing on the water wasn’t a good idea. It gave Jungkook too much time to think things he didn’t want to think. It was hard enough to float through the memorial, he couldn’t hold on longer than that. It would drag him down. There was too much anguish there for everyone, and none of them knew what to do about it even years later. He sure didn’t know how to fix it for anyone though he was doing his damned best, trying, failing. 

If the roles were reversed, Mo would probably have known what to do.

Jungkook dashed at the salt crusting on his eyelashes and leapt up at the next wave. Manhattan Beach was starting to crowd up, and it annoyed him to have to navigate so many other surfers as he paddled back out once the dumped him unceremoniously on the sand. He watched Seokjin get a good one going only to have to bail as a fucking jake cut across his path. 

Jungkook shouted angrily on Seokjin’s behalf until his head broke the surface and he could shout himself, but the asshat had already flown off down the beach. Not someone Jungkook recognized, maybe a barney.

Jungkook shook his head. His frustration on Seokjin’s behalf made him reckless. He took the next wave but it was a poor shot, he realized too late. The wave broke too soon and he failed to pull off the aerial that could have landed him gracefully back on the surface. Instead the board clipped and shot him forward, then jetted narrowly over his head through the water as the surf tumbled him down down down. That had been the hardest part about learning to surf, at least Jungkook thought so. Learning not to panic as the water pushed you down, knowing it would pass in a moment. Hopefully. 

Well, sometimes it didn’t pass. Some people never could get out. 

Jungkook kicked off the bottom and paddled to the top, breaking through an easy smooth surface. The wave had passed. He lifted his feet to grab hold of the board tether and decided to call it a day. He wasn’t having fun, his head was a mess, and he didn’t want to disrespect the ocean by not being present when he rode it. He began to paddle to shore–

“JUNG–!!” was all he heard before something sharp and hard slammed into his shoulder. The shocking pain of it had him swallowing a mouthful of water as the force knocked him from his board. For a moment he just hung in the balance, scooped by the water, mind a dark void around the sharp pain. 

Burning lungs made his body move on its own, struggling to the surface –or maybe it was the relentless tug of his board’s cord. He drew in a chest full of air just as Seokjin grabbed his arm.

“Fuck!”

“FUCKER!” Seokjin shouted and finally Jungkook could process that a surfer had hit him. He dragged himself half across his board and let Seokjin push him closer to shore. “You ok? Where’d it get you– ah, shit, I see the blood.”

Jungkook craned his neck to look. All things considered, it could have been worse. Nothing broken, not even a massive gash, though the salt water burned the broken skin on his shoulder like shit. His neck hurt from the whiplash but that was better than the other thing. A direct hit there or on his head could have paralyzed him. Killed him.

“I’m ok,” Jungkook said, willing it to be true. “Just knocked me over.”

He stumbled as they got to the shallower water, the churn around his ankles trying to drag him back out, until he could sit heavily on the sand.

Embarrassingly, the lifeguard sprinted full speed over like this was a fucking Baywatch rerun. He sent sand spraying everywhere, nervous as though he’d never seen a collision before.

“You didn’t have to haul him out?” he demanded of Seokjin. He set the first aid bag down and leaned close to Jungkook’s shoulder.

Jungkook waved him away and groused, “I’m fine. Just stupid… I should have been watching better…”

“These assholes are all over the place this morning,” Seokjin complained. “I saw the whole thing. The tourist wasn’t watching and turned toward you too fast.”

Jungkook endured the poking and prodding as Seokjin and the lifeguard looked him over. He stretched and squeezed higher up and further down his arm, checking for anything that felt dangerous. Now that he was free of the water though, he realized it really had gone as well as it could; other than the bruise and cut, it didn’t seem any major damage was done. He promised to think about swinging by Urgent Care, just in case. 

“Don’t think you’re going to be drumming for a few days,” Seokjin admitted as Jungkook successfully chased the lifeguard off to go harass the reckless surfers instead.

“Yeah but I gotta work,” Jungkook sighed. He glanced at his shoulder again. Seokjin was right. He should get some ice and take it easy, and maybe he’d only be out of commission for a few days. At least it was his left hand but damn, of all mornings. “It’s fine though. I’m fine.” He said it again, willing his insides to stop churning. Surf accidents were scary, and the fear always lingered. He was definitely done for the day now. Probably a few days.

“Here, I’ll get your board– need me to call Tae or Jimin?” Seokjin offered. His straight-forward concern told Jungkook just how scary it must have looked from the shore. His own knees knocked as he stood but after wiggling and stretching to get a sense of his body, he felt more confident it was just the post-accident adrenaline rush. His shoulder was going to look gnarly with that bruise, but today had not been his last day.

Fuck, that would have been terrible timing.

“Nah, I’m good to drive.”

“You’re sure?” Seokjin pressed. By now some of the other locals Jungkook knew were trying to crowd around too. Someone grabbed his stuff, someone else hauled his board for him. It was mortifying, and Jungkook was red-faced by the time he’d been escorted the block away to his car. Seokjin was most reluctant of all to let him drive off but in the end Jungkook seemed outwardly chill and made the right jokes to convince him everything was fine.

He made it home before the shocked tears escaped. It was just the adrenaline leaving, that was it. He blamed it all on that as he showered the salt and sweat from his skin, and inspected his throbbing shoulder in the mirror, and did his best to bandage it. No one else was home, and the last thing he wanted to do was freak his family out asking for help. 

At times like this it was hard not to long for the kind of companionship he pretended not to care about. Not sex, not a drinking buddy, not someone to go places with, but a person to rely on, to reach for, to help. Someone who he could lean against for the brief moments where his cool guy image slipped and he felt too fucking much. Someone who could tap his hand to get him to drop the bandage and do it for him because contorting to try and get it on hurt his ribs and stomach. There wasn’t damage there, not that he could feel anyway, just a shock to his body from the rough hit. 

He’d be really, really fucking lucky. Maybe Mo keeping an eye on him this moment. Mo, who’d finally relented and let Jungkook tag along when he’d started to surf first.

It wasn’t helped when he left his room to find Jimin and Hoseok making out in the kitchen, half undressed already.

“Fuck, sorry!” Jimin laughed, looking only a little embarrassed. Hoseok’s face turned red and he hid it in Jimin’s shoulder.

“I thought no one was home. You’re lucky I didn’t walk out naked.”

“Are we lucky?” Hoseok joked, then waved his hands at Jimin’s glare. “It’s a joke.”

“We just got home. I bought my boyfriend coffee like a good boyfriend but…”

That kind of thing. Companionship. Jungkook decided not to give them shit about getting frisky –they weren’t actually violating the no-fucking-in-common-spaces rule. Yet. 

“Isn’t it too early for that kind of thing?” Jungkook joked. His heart wasn’t in the joke but they teased him about just waking up –even though he’d been up for hours– and he waved it off and left without an explanation of where he was going. The answer wasn’t exciting: work. Time to get back to it after his thrilling day off yesterday.

His phone chirped just before he pulled away from the curb, Yoongi asking about band practice tonight. Taro responded immediately, suggesting six and reminding them that they had another show at Flowerfest in a few weeks and needed to figure out a set list and replace the amp that blew out at their last show. As if they were all just swimming in money to replace an amp. Jungkook was hoping Yoongi could filch one from somewhere. He hoped moisture hadn’t caused the short somehow; he’d left the garage door open when it rained the other day but he didn’t think anything had gotten wet…

More things he’d fucked up. He wasn’t even looking forward to Flowerfest, though it was usually a fun show, the afterparty made better last year by their band coming in third. Taro had killed a cover of Garbage’s “Only Happy When It Rains.”

He didn’t feel like making music right now. At least not bickering about a setlist. He didn’t want peppy happy feel good music, he wanted something angry. Drumming his brains out sounded good but he had to fucking work. Bob wanted him to go check out some new rich shithole place –not how Bob had explained it, but apparently the pool needed a complete clean and reset and Bob said it sounded like it would need “his best pool guy.” Which he’d clearly said because he felt bad for Jungkook, like he could sense he was going through something. But Jungkook hadn’t been going through anything yet. Monday was fine! He just hadn’t gotten laid in a while, that was all.

Fuck, was he turning into a shriveled dick?! He didn’t want to be that kind of guy everyone took pity on because he seemed on the cusp of a breakdown. Or, you know, such a cranky fucker that no one wanted to be around him. Yoongi could strike the balance between anti-social and charming, but he couldn’t and he didn’t want to come off that way. He was Jay-kaaaay, just cool and chill. He just wanted to have a good time and this week was just not a good time.

Time to rage. Rage it out of his system. He took the CD binder from the passenger’s seat floorboard with him when he traded to a company truck at the pool shop, digging through until he came across an album that seemed like the right energy to get this all out of his system by the time he got to the job site. It was a light day for him anyway –inspection at this new client house, then inventory at the shop. Bob was probably going to ask him to stock the trucks, that was fine. If he had to deal with any obnoxious clients today he’d probably lose his fucking mind and do something he regretted.

The first track of Rise Against’s 2008 album Appeal to Reason had him drumming on the steering wheel, banging his head at a red light until it hurt his neck and he dialed that back. Damn, it was hard to keep his body still actually. It was impossible to hear the drum track of “Collapse” and not need to recreate it with hands and feet at his own set. Soyoon would kill the bass part. Yoongi would get the guitar lick so good and make it his own. Why couldn’t they do shit like this at the Flowerfest? 

He pulled to a stop in front of the house just as his favorite song of the album came on, track 11. The music hadn’t exactly healed him, but he felt held together in a hot, angry way that felt good. Fired up. So he stayed in his truck, singing at the top of his lungs.

“It kills me not to know this But I’ve all but just forgottenWhat the color of her eyes wereAnd her scars or how she got them”

He drummed through to the end, eyes closed, feeling the emotions of the week ride out of his body. The song ended and he opened his eyes to see an old white lady walking her dog, staring at him with some blend of horror and curiosity. 

“Yeah, whatever, lady,” he mumbled to himself as he slammed the truck door and headed towards the gate. It was so overgrown he paused to check the number and then wondered if this was really where he was supposed to go in, but he didn’t actually see a driveway. Around the corner probably. Annoying. People with properties that were big. His driveway was right there by the front door. Convenient.

There was a buzzer so he pushed that and waited. Then pushed it again. Then jumped when a woman’s voice came through grating and loud just as he’d pushed it a third time,

“Oh, that works? Hello? Hello?”

“Yeah, uh, hi.”

“Who is it?”

“I’m the pool guy. Here to see your uh, pool?”

“Oh, you’re at the front. Why don’t you come around the back instead? The front is a mess. The driveway is around the corner.”

He made an annoyed growl low in his throat. He didn’t feel like moving the truck. There was something insulting about forcing a contractor to take the back entrance even though he almost always did at a job. He was already here, couldn’t she let him in through the front? 

In a short-sighted stubborn fit, he decided to walk the length of the property instead of moving the truck. A green fence rang the length of the yard but didn’t completely hide the very large house rising up from what seemed like an unusual number of trees. Even in the rich neighborhoods, lots around here tended to have pretty sparse greenery but this place was practically lush. On the side, a higher privacy fence eventually transitioned to concrete columns on either side of a security gate; clearly the owners of the house trusted the front street a little more than this side street. 

Here was another box, but before he could push the buzzer, the gate slid open. He realized now how stupid he looked without his truck, like he’d just walked here or something. Had the owner watched him walk around? Probably had cameras everywhere.

The gravel driveway was odd to walk on and he wondered why rich people did that sort of shit. Just have a normal concrete slab like everyone else. You couldn’t play basketball or anything on this kind of thing. The rocks got into his flipflops and pissed him off.

But damn, the yard was pretty cool, he had to admit. The house was fancy as shit. Huge. Getting some work done, clearly, judging by the pile of lumber next to the open garage door. He could hear a wood saw muted drifting out of the open windows. There were a lot of windows. 

Instead of waiting for the owner, he wandered over to the patio area, and from there saw the pool anyway. Some furniture was shoved against the far side with brand new cushions, all of it yet untouched by sun or rain. A fountain was built against one wall of the patio –a big patio, clearly meant for hosting rich people BBQs or whatever– and he peeked in but not only was it not running, the thing was green and slimy and totally gunked.

New owners. He couldn’t remember if Bob had said that, he hadn’t been listening. Probably they’d got this place at a steal for millions of dollars, instead of doubles of millions of dollars, because it needed some work. Which they would spend more millions of dollars on. 

He squinted up at a balcony on the second floor. The sun was finally peeking through the clouds, like maybe it would break them apart. A breeze somehow made it through the yard. Somehow, despite being in a neighborhood and close to other things, it all managed to feel so private. Rich people. Jungkook’s bedroom window looked into his neighbor’s bathroom –and the asshole hadn’t bothered getting a curtain until Jungkook had marched over there to gift him one.

The pool was tucked away to the side, surrounded by more plants, mostly in pots, some broken and spilling dirt across the beautiful stone pool coping. A waterfall against a higher wall was all gunked up. Frogs soaked in the section above the waterfall. Green slime coated everything and he couldn’t see through the murky water to the bottom. It was a nice big pool though, it would be fucking awesome once cleaned, especially half sun half shade like this. He looked up to see how much sun it would get in the height of summer and only then noticed the hot tub in a gazebo not far away. Though covered, it was probably even more fucked; weeds grew directly on the cracked tarp cover.

“Hello? Are you back here?” 

“By the pool!” Jungkook called back. Oops, maybe he should have waited, but there was just something alluring about seeing such a rich house in such a state of disrepair. Humbled for a moment in time. Approachable. Touchable, like he wouldn’t transfer some dark smudge onto every smooth white marble surface with his working-class hands. He couldn’t do anything to the pool to make it worse. Time and neglect had fucked it five ways already.

“Oh good, yes. So you see, it’s… in need of some work.”

It only dawned on Jungkook as he turned that the voice was a familiar one. 

Mrs. Birch strode close to him, crossing her arms around her stomach as she surveyed the pool, as if confirming it was still as bad as she recalled. He forgot all about the pool, as surprised to see her as he’d been getting thrashed by a surfboard that morning. Maybe she had expected his surprise, maybe it was obvious on his face. When her gaze shifted to meet his, she gave him a little smile, like she’d predicted this.

“Hi again, JK.”

“Um… uh… yeah, it is. Looks like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Not you, the pool!”

“I know not me,” she laughed, her whole face lighting up. “Well…” She gave a little self-conscious grin and tossed her head, lifting her hands which were covered with something powdery white. The same substance coated her dark red overalls –they looked fancy and designer and yet they were clearly her physical-work clothes, dotted with bleach and paint and dirt stains. Her blouse was rolled up past her elbows. It was a very amusing blend of designer and working girl and Jungkook thought she looked… 

“You look great,” he said without thinking. Then quickly lifted his hand to brush self-consciously at his hair and rushed on, “You, uh… selling this place? I thought you were gone.”

“Actually, the opposite. I bought this place.”

He was shocked. He grimaced. Then he joked to cover whatever was happening on his face, “This place? Damn, the agent who sold it to you must have been really good…”

“Hey, it’s a good place! It just needs a facelift. Happens to the best of us old girls. But a fresh coat of paint and a trim and we’re good as new.”

He swallowed hard, wrenching his first thought back from escaping his mouth. Trim where?! Haircut, she must mean; it was up in a messy ponytail but it looked shorter than the last time he’d seen her maybe? Haircut.

“Are you old?” was what came out instead.

She laughed and confirmed only, “Older than you. So, what do you think about it?”

“The haircut?”

“The pool?”

“Oh. It looks like shit.” He grinned, hoping it would make her laugh again. It did. 

“I know. But I figured you could fix it up.” A business tone came into her voice as she walked briskly around the pool, making him think she wanted him to follow, so she did. “I’m hoping you can make it nice, whatever that takes, and not that I have to rip it out or anything.”

“Rip out… what? The pool?”

“And put a new one in?”

“Ah, Mrs. Birch, that’s not really how you deal with pools,” he snickered. “It looks concrete, so it’s probably fine under all that shit. If there are cracks in the concrete it might need some repairs but it’s just a residential pool and it’s still full of water, I don’t think it’ll have that problem.”

“But if the concrete stays green, or…?”

He tried not to puff up too much as he assured her, “It won’t be green when I’m done with it. I’ll clean it and paint it. Bob was right, it’s going to be a big job though.” 

Speaking of Bob, Jungkook suddenly wondered if Bob had set him up for this. Had Mrs. Birch requested him, or had Bob just sent him because Jungkook was his best guy? Or was Bob taking on a meddlesome streak and had decided to throw Jungkook into this for other reasons? Surely he wasn’t trying to get more calls of complaint from Tinydick Tim. Surely he hadn’t read too much into Jungkook asking about a Cornelia… no, he must have just forgotten it all, otherwise he would have remembered that Jungkook didn’t want to clean for the Birches anymore and he always respected that kind of thing.

Jungkook looked around, waiting for that piece of shit to come strolling out. The shock of seeing Mrs. Birch began to slide into prepared annoyance. Was he really going to have to go through this whole thing again, watching her noodle-dick husband get away with everything? Jungkook had no interest in making this pool nice for that chode.

Mrs. Birch nodded, “I thought so too.” It Jungkook  a moment to remember what they were even talking about. The job.i

“I’ll give Bob my take and he’ll write an estimate for you. You can get quotes from other places but it’ll be expensive no matter–”

“I don’t need to shop around,” she interrupted. “The estimate will be fine. I trust you. Your work.”

Jungkook didn’t look at her, not wanting to reveal his internal debate. He’d missed seeing her. She looked good. She was nice to work for. But her husband sucked and he just didn’t think he could do this again. He’d tell Bob to send someone else.

So he nodded and just confirmed, “I’ll tell Bob and he’ll write an estimate for you. Thanks for thinking of us to take care of your pool at your new place.”

“Of course.” She sounded guarded now, her expression narrowed like she could pick up on his shift in mood. Actually he could have given her an estimate right there, he had a good idea in mind about it, but he worried it would make it seem like he was doing the work himself, or that she wouldn’t believe the quote, or that Tim would jump out of a bush and pick a fight. Instead he took it upon himself to leave the pool area, heading back towards the gate. He wished he could jump into his truck and peel out, get away from that friendly smile of hers. Damn it was weird to see her again. 

“That’s all you needed to see?” she asked him at the gate.

“Yep.”

“Ok, well… great, then. I’d like the work to begin as soon as possible.”

“Bob will send you the estimate, Mrs. Birch–”

“It’s Arison. It’s not Birch anymore.” 

He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips at this bit of information, not trusting himself to say anything. Even an “oh?” would sound a little too much right now. Also he was pretty sure it would have come out a weird squeak.

“But you can just call me Grace, you know.”

“I’m just trying to be respectful…” he mumbled, stupefied. Divorced. That’s what it meant, right? She was divorced. Not a Birch anymore… Timothy was tossed out with the trash where he belonged! And now she was telling him to call her Grace. His confusion made him stupid anyway and he clarified, “Not Cornelia?”

“I hope not,” she laughed. “Only my dentist and my grandparents call me that. You know I go by Grace.” He did not know this. “Is Cornelia what it says on my account?”

“I’ll fix it,” he lied. “You like ‘Grace’ better?” 

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I thought it… suited you.”

“Ouch. Why does that sound like an insult?” He had never seen her laugh this much before. Divorce looked good on her!

“It’s not! It’s just…”

“An old white woman name? It’s fine. I’m self aware. But no, Grace is fine although it’s not much younger, and–”

“You bought this whole place by yourself?” he blurted out. He still couldn’t comprehend that she was divorced, that Mrs Birch was no longer Mrs Birch but a single woman named Grace. Unless she’d found someone new already. That seemed likely, giving her looks and his luck. Surely a single woman didn’t buy a house like this just for herself. She must be getting married again already.

“I did,” she agreed, then added, “Well, I have a cat now,” then grimaced, “The house is quite a project but I wanted something new to sink my teeth into. It’s a fresh start.”

“A trim.”

“Yes,” she grinned. He hadn’t meant to say that quite, but appreciated her pity laugh. Sink my teeth into. Really, she’d just said that? She had nice teeth. Rich people teeth. He wondered if she’d had braces as a kid –probably– but it was too humanizing, too normal person to associate with her. She might not be Mrs. Birch but she was still a rich white lady and he was a pool boy being hired to fix her pool. Not fuck her on the new patio lounger–

“K, I’ll get started on Monday,” he said without any actual thought about what his Monday schedule was like, or if she and Bob could actually sign a contract by then. He just needed to get out of here and let his brain settle down and that was the first day of the week he thought of. Maybe he had a concussion. Maybe the surfboard actually had him in the head.

“Great. I appreciate it, JK. I’ll see you Monday. Oh, and the code is 1-2-0-1, just let yourself in, in case I’m elbow deep in something and can’t get to the gate.”

Balls deep in–

“Yep, great, that’s not a very secure code though.”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Doesn’t make it a good code,” he snorted. He didn’t know if her sigh was amused or annoyed. Oops. “See ya Monday.”

“Where’s your truck? Oh, you can just park back here next time–”

“Got it, bye!”

He high-tailed it out of there, walking quick until he realized that looked stupid, and then trying to walk slow. He realized now she may not have let him through the front because of all the work being done. She’d given him the code to her gate to just come and go as he pleased. She was single.

Not that that was why she’d given him the code. Of course.

He’d have to ask Bob if he’d been set up on purpose. But he also couldn’t ask Bob, in case he hadn’t been and Bob would then realize that maybe it wasn’t the best idea for Jungkook to work for her. For Grace Arison. You probably shouldn’t work for a woman you’d wanked to… but he thought she was gone! 

Besides, if Bob had set him up, Jungkook didn’t want to give that fucking scheming old man the gratification. He wouldn't do that kind of thing though. Why would he? It wasn’t like he knew what went on in Jungkook’s head anyway.

Thank fuck she didn’t know what was in his head. He could control it though. It was just the shock and maybe a concussion. He was a fucking professional. He’d clean her pool so good. He’d make sure she had the cleanest fucking pool. Clean enough to fuck in– shit, he meant clean enough to eat in– eat food in, to be clear. Well, not that you would want to eat food in the pool… Other things could be nice to eat in a pool, perched on the ledge, legs spread, white bikini tugged to the side, or maybe a red one this time…

He must be concussed, his brain felt completely broken.

Shit.

“Shit for brains, shit for brains, shit for brains,” Grace chanted to herself because she couldn’t find any better words to vent her fury at the man she had stupidly loved for so many years. How? How?! Every interaction with him this past half a year as they dragged themselves towards official divorce had made her question her own intelligence in a way nothing ever had in life. How had she not known how awful he was? How had she fallen for his charm? What charm?! He was vile and she couldn’t believe she’d admired him. Now just seeing his name at the end of an email made her want to vomit.

He wasn’t making things easy for the divorce. They could be almost done but he continued to throw out obstacle after another, arguing with everything their lawyers tried to settle on, even when it didn’t serve him! She’d always thought Tim was a principled man, after all, and it turned out his core principle was to make Grace as miserable as he could. Of course he’d tried to raise a fuss about her buying the house but her attorney had been one step ahead. Now it was unclear whether Tim’s pride or greed would win out in the case of spousal support –a move her attorney seemed to be hoping for so she could rip it apart with the pre-nup. If anything, Tim might owe Grace spousal support, but she didn’t fucking want it. She just wanted to be free!

The phone rang as she drove, a call from her mother she knew she couldn’t answer right now at risk of running off the road or lacing her speech with too many profanities. She’d need to calm down first. Instead she fumed at being stuck in traffic, and then fumed at an Amazon truck pulled across the road, and then fumed at a lady walking her dog too slowly at the crosswalk. She just wanted to be home!

Not that home felt like home yet. The first few days in the house after closing had felt like magic as she floated through rooms on the wings of possibility. But she’d started so many projects so quickly that within days she felt like she was living in a construction site. Which she could handle for a while, but managing so many contractors was a full time job so it felt like she never got to check out. Half didn’t show up when they said they would, getting quotes had been like pulling teeth because no one wanted to put things in writing, and she’d already had two things broken as people worked. 

She could hear poor Foam yowling all the way from downstairs as she put away her keys and purse. She couldn’t let the kitty wander during the day because so many contractors in and out kept leaving doors open and she worried she’d never get him back if he escaped. He didn’t seem to mind being confined upstairs so long as he could keep eyes on Grace, and because he seemed pretty freaked out by boxes, but it just wasn’t possible as she did her own jobs around the house, one right after the other, all in an effort to get this place comfortable for the two of them. As contractors sanded and polished floors, re-tiled bathrooms, and painted just about every square inch of walls and ceilings, Grace followed in their wake hanging curtains, pictures, shelves, building furniture, and cleaning, always cleaning. She’d even replaced two light fixtures on her own, and all the light switch covers, and ripped old wallpaper out of an upstairs bathroom –which had been miserable and led to more contractors hired.

Maybe she ought to be doing more herself, but she didn’t know how and the contractors were supposed to do a good job. Maybe she ought to be doing less, but she wanted to get her hands dirty on this place. Her grandfather had built a cabin all by himself decades ago, learned how to do the wiring and everything, and even though it was secretly a family joke that the place was one surge away from burning down, she’d always admired his skill and determination.

Not to mention, she couldn’t really unpack with so much going on. She hated the feeling of living out of a suitcase. She knew not being able to unpack made this place feel even less settled, but after a whole rack of her clothing wound up covered in white flecks by the first idiot painter she’d hired who sprayed the bedroom without closing the closet door, she’d realized it was better to wait than risk ruining anything. 

But Foam didn’t like it either and let her know with a series of clicks and angry huffs as she sat on the ground and let him crawl all over her. He turned his head away and twitched his tail in anger, then changed his mind and ducked his head beneath her hand for affection. Foam might not be able to hear the voices of the contractors in and out every day, but he could no doubt feel the vibrations of all the work they did and spent most of his time lately hiding behind boxes shoved into the bedrooms that had already been painted, or ripping up Grace’s mattress from the bottom up. That had been a distressing discovery. She wasn’t going to replace it until time to unpack though, in case Foam repeated this form of protest until all the strangers were out of the house. No one could see it anyway, she’d only noticed when fishing some of his toys out from beneath the bed.

“Maybe I fucked up,” Grace admitted to Foam, who would never agree. “I took on too much,” she sighed. Her phone chirped, a message from the lawn guy she’d hired that he would be by to start weeding that afternoon. She was worried he was going to rip up things she didn’t want ripped up. She kept thinking she and the contractors had clear understandings about what was being done, only for them to then do something completely wrong…

The thing was, Tim had always handled this stuff before. Any time there was work that needed to be done on the house, even if she found a company to do it, Tim was the one who talked through it with them, negotiated the payment, made sure they did it, pitched a fit if they didn’t until it got done right. She’d thought his micromanaging was insulting, but he’d insisted it was the only way to make sure things got done right. She didn’t want to believe he may have been right… 

Foam butted his head against the bottom of her chin, surprising her and making her bite her lip. She scratched his head and rubbed her lip, then grumbled as her phone buzzed again, probably another contractor calling that they’d be late. Maybe the furniture place calling to cancel her order again –she was never going to get a fucking couch at this rate. The thought of her mother’s reaction if she bought something from a box store was almost enough to make her laugh.

[Stephanie]: drinks tomorrow night? There’s an art gala you can be my date

Grace didn’t respond. Stephanie, bless her heart, had been trying to drag her out for two months now, ever since Grace had stopped avoiding basically all of her friends. Well, she hadn’t quite stopped, but she’d admitted what was going on. It was embarrassing, admitting the failure of your marriage, admitting that you had been a fool, wondering if they had known it all along. Stephanie had gleefully launched into a tirade about what an asshole Tim was and all Grace could think was have you just watched me and thought how stupid I am for years? And you didn’t say anything?

 Grace felt tired. Bone-deep tired. The house was supposed to be fun but right now she just felt stupid, again. It was all going to be worth it, but it didn’t feel like it right now. She should have just bought a nice new place –maybe it would be impersonal, but she wouldn’t have to work so fucking hard…

She gave Foam some treats which he took to tossing around the bedroom and then dragged her ass downstairs to vent her frustration through manual labor. It looked like the kitchen was going to be the first room in the house to be finished –the new appliances were in, the tile was regrouted, and a new chandelier (not hung by her because she couldn’t even lift the thing) swung overhead. Nothing left to do but paint the cabinets and unpack –she couldn’t stand the shiny oak stain. At least the weather was nice today; she opened all the doors and windows to air out the lingering smell of paint inside.

She’d just finished prying all the doors off to set outside on newspaper when she heard an engine pause behind the back gate. A moment later the gate beeped open, and then the pool guy’s truck crunched across the gravel.

Shit, she’d forgotten he was coming over today! Out of habit, she touched her hair to make sure it wasn’t doing anything crazy. When she’d seen herself in the mirror after his initial inspection, she’d been horrified. It wasn’t like she’d known JK was the guy Bob would send out to do the estimates. She’d been too embarrassed to request him, and then annoyed with herself for not requesting him since she knew he did good work, and then shocked by nerves all over again to find him standing by her bog of a pool. 

The very same JK who’d shouted at her to leave her husband months ago after delivering her a DVD of her husband’s infidelity stepped from the truck now and gave her a short wave. The same relief and shame washed over her as it had the other day. She’d spent his whole visit last time desperate to let him know she was divorced now and also mortified to actually admit it –that he’d been right, that her marriage failed, that she wanted him to know. Only because he’d been tangentially involved in its demise and she wanted him to know that she knew she was stupid to have married Tim in the first place. He knew, she knew, everyone knew now.

Still, maybe it would have been better to never see him again. Maybe she should have called another pool company. And yet she hadn’t thought twice about calling, even knowing there was a chance JK would be sent out. She hadn’t thought twice about agreeing to Bob’s quote for the project –which, she learned, he had expected JK to give her on sight, as he considered JK more than qualified to do so. She had thought twice but still asked if JK would be the one doing the work, and then agreed that was fine when Bob asked if there was an issue. 

JK grabbed two nets on poles from the truck and hauled them across the patio to the pool. Unlike her last house, there was no real poolhouse, just a shed that she’d had completely emptied out of rusted old cob-webbed supplies. 

“Hey!” she called, crossing to intercept him. “I don’t have anything stored for poolcare. Could you make me a list of the things I should have here? That shed is big enough to store anything I need, right? Or do I need a bigger one?”

“Good morning to you too,” he grinned and she flushed at the insinuation she had been rude. She hadn’t meant to be. Just… 

“Yes, good morning,” she agreed even though it hadn’t been and also it was after eleven. She wondered if he’d gone surfing this morning or if his hair always just looked wind-swept like that.

“Sure, I can make you a list but for now I’ll just bring everything I need. It’s going to take me a while to get this thing cleaned up.”

“Yes, I know. Ok, that’s fine.”

“Today I’m just going to get anything big out and start draining it. I’ve got a buddy who will come by later and we’ll trade off watching the pump.”

“Oh… ok…” She didn’t really know what any of this meant except he looked eager to get started and like she might be bothering him. Things had seemed companionable the other day so she’d thought they could both be professional and friendly despite him knowing that embarrassing part of her failed marriage, but now she didn’t appreciate that he made her feel like a pest in her own house.

“Well I’m going to be working out here too today, hopefully I won’t be a distraction.”

“Uh… depends what you’re doing I guess…” he said, suddenly going very still so that she almost crashed into him. 

“Painting cabinets, why?”

“Oh. Nah, that’s fine.”

“Well… good,” she said with a nod. “I’ll hm, leave you to your work then. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Got any Cheetos?” he asked with a crooked grin, then clarified, “I’m kidding, I brought a lunch for later.”

“I’ll see what I can find…” She felt bad now because she did not have Cheetos, or anything else to offer him. She was living off take out and a fruit basket the real estate agent had left for her. Most of the fruit was going bad by now. She didn’t even have sodas or beers, in an effort to force herself to drink more water. It was backfiring because instead she just drank more coffee…

“No, don’t worry about it, I was joking. I brought my own Cheetos. I can share if you’re really that upset about it…”

“Hm? I’m not upset,” she said, brow furrowed in confusion. He looked at her, his brow furrowed with concern too, like she’d said or done something alarming. She didn’t think she had. For a moment they just looked at each other and she wasn’t sure why it was such a heavy feeling moment. What had just happened?! 

“Oh, ok. Well uh…”

“Ok well… let me know if you need anything else.”

She fled, embarrassed to have hovered too long. She didn’t want to be like Tim! 

It took her a while to get all the cabinets spread out and her supplies ready between the patio and driveway, face mask and coveralls ready. She could just barely see the pool area. JK had a big barrel with a bag and had begun fishing around in the pool, scooping up slime and leaves and sticks and who knew what else. It looked pretty awful but he didn’t seem bothered by it, just like it was a normal day for him. Every so often he’d stop to push the hair from his face until he finally pulled a bandana out of his pocket and tied it across his head.

Grace turned her attention from JK, grabbed the finish stripper, slid her facemask and goggles in place and set to work.

**

It was miserable work. Grace discovered quickly that stripping the cabinets was far more onerous of a task than the internet had made it sound. An hour or so later and she’d only managed to strip two of the doors and there were a lot to go. 

In stepping back to survey her paltry work, she realized JK was watching her from the tailgate of his truck where he’d unfurled his lunch.

“You’re really doing it yourself, huh?” he called over.

In an effort to not show that she was exhausted and frustrated, she retorted, “Yes, I like to get dirty.” His look of surprise made her realize her own words, and she quickly added, “My hands dirty. I like to work hard for… things.” With a shake of her head, she turned away under the guise of taking the unflattering safety gear off. She avoided counting the cabinets. Sweat dripped down her back beneath the coveralls, which she decided were not worth it. It was too hot. She might as well just ruin her t shirt and leggings and let that be that.

JK was still watching her, and she didn’t want him to realize she didn’t exactly know what she was doing. She felt like that had been painfully obvious to enough contractors already. She thought of herself as so intelligent and capable and confident and yet when discussing work estimates with contractors to fix things she didn’t understand in the first place, she worried she was just letting herself be taken advantage of over and over again. That’s why she’d gotten divorced, to put an end to that!

“I didn’t know you knew how to do this kind of thing,” he said between sips of a Sprite. “It’s impressive.”

The praise was too much when in fact it was a lie; she felt compelled to correct, “Honestly, I don’t really know what I’m doing.”  She appreciated that he looked surprised, whether it was true or not. “But I’m figuring it out.”

“Still… I mean, most ri– er, people would just pay to have it all done, yeah? That looks like hard work.”

“Many rich people would, yes,” she mused, amused by his self-correction. “My grandfather likes doing this kind of thing. He built his own cabin all by himself. I always thought that was really admirable, to learn how to do things yourself. Maybe the things I do myself in the house won’t be perfect but I’ll see them and know I figured it out. That I did things I didn’t know I could do.”

“That’s really cool,” he grinned. “When I see the things I fix around my place, I just think what a shithead my landlord is.”

“Ah.” She didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t seem insulted that she’d claimed as a hobby something that was a necessity for him, but the comparison made her feel bad. “Well I’m sure you’re much better at this than I am. My arms are already aching and I’ve got a lot to go.”

“You’re scraping them down?”

“Getting the stain off, then I’ll sand, then paint. I’ll have to do this for all the installed parts inside too.”

“Damn,” he snickered. “I’d just hire someone if I were you…”

Grace didn’t know what to say. It was tempting right now, but being witnessed also made her more determined. Even if it was hard, she wanted to look at her cabinets and see perseverance, not capitulation. 

He wadded up the remains of his lunch and tossed them into his truck. By the time he headed back to the pool, the carpet guys had arrived, and Grace took the opportunity of ushering them up to also scrounge up food for herself. Her arms were shaky from the effort so the break was welcome, though eating in the kitchen so ripped apart felt like a regretful step backwards. It was going to take her all week to do these cabinets, probably. 

Her aunt called while she ate and she answered even though her mom was going to give her hell about it, exaggerating the progress on her house since her aunt would never see it anyway. She promised to send pictures and mindlessly mm-hmed through her aunt’s family gossip. JK was done digging detritus from the pool it seemed and was running a very long hose all the way across her yard. It made her nervous, as she realized he might be about to dump all the water onto her property. She hadn’t thought about where the water from draining the pool would go, but already envisioned her flooded, ruined lawn.

“Hey!” she called, striding across the patio as soon as she’d said a hasty farewell to her aunt. “JK!”

“Yeah?” He squatted beside some sort of contraption he was hooking the hose up to.

“Um… what are you doing?”

“I’m going to drain the pool now.”

“But… where?”

“For now I’m going to put it into your front yard.”

“Won’t it flood my yard?” she asked nervously. “The lawn guys are coming to start work this afternoon…” She looked around because actually they ought to already be here.

“If I just let it go forever maybe. I’m hoping that because your yard has a bit of slant, most of the water will go down under the streets out front and away from your place. I’ll keep an eye on it though, if it starts to pool, I’ll move it and we’ll dump a few other places in the yard. I want to keep it away from this area though because…” He looked at her, as if assessing whether she actually cared. She did. She wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to ruin her property but also it was clear he had a rationale for his choices, and that was interesting. He was good at what he did. 

“Because why?”

“Well I’m pulling all the water out of this pool, right? So now there isn’t water holding the pool walls in place. The dirt outside the pool is going to be pressing on the walls without anything pressing back, and if I dump a bunch of water in the dirt around it, there will be even more pressure. If your pool was fiberglass or acrylic, it could pop out of the ground. That rarely happens with concrete ones but it still could, I don’t want to risk it.”

“Oh.”

“When I got the permit Friday I was hoping I could just–”

“You got a permit?” she interrupted.

“Uh… yeah. This is like 30,000 gallons of water, you can’t just dump it,” he pointed out. She hadn’t thought about that at all. “You’ve got to dechlorinate, debrominate, and dump in an approved place and manner. I already tested it though and the water is so old all the chemicals already broke down, saves me some time.”

“There’s a lot more to it than I realized…”

“Well that’s why you hired me, huh?” he beamed. “So I can be the one to think about it. So for now I’ll dump around your property –it won’t hurt the plants, I checked the levels of everything.”

“And it won’t flood anything?”

“Nah, I’ll watch it. If it did start to pool, I can get another permit that lets me dump into the sewer system, but I have to prove it’s not possible to dump on the property. I think it’ll be fine.”

Grace didn’t have any real reason to argue. He seemed confident and like he had a lot of experience with this. She had none.

“Ok then, sounds like you’ve got it all under control.”

He assured her, “I promise I’m not going to kill your jungle.”

“Thank you. I’ll leave you to your work then. I’ve got stripping to do.”

“Cabinets,” he said, cluing her into what she’d just said. 

She clapped a hand to her face and mumbled. “Yes, cabinets…” and walked quickly away. Why did she have to sound like such an idiot in front of contractors? She glanced back and saw him shaking his head and she wanted to shrivel up. 

 She really put her back into the stripping, determination restored. She was glad that’s how the carpet contractors found her when they came down to ask some questions. The day was nice to be out working in, sunny but not yet too hot. She put music on to have something to work towards and made a mental note to upgrade the sound system soon. She only owned a single CD and so had to roll through the radio stations instead of just listening to what she wanted, but it was all commercials so she went back to her music.

JK passed by to his truck again, and this time returned with his own goggles and mask. He looked hot with them propped on his forehead over the bandana, arms and neck all sweaty from his hard work so far. 

“Here to help with the stripping,” he announced, then gave her a cheeky grin and added, “Cabinets.” Grace failed to hold back the roll of her eyes –while flattered he was comfortable teasing her, she didn’t appreciate the evidence that the pool guy was probably another man in her life who had charmed her blind, and probably every other woman he came across. At least she got good pool work out of him, unlike her unhappy painful marriage with Tim.

He picked up the stain stripper can and looked it over, at which point she realized he really did mean to help.

“Wait, why– you aren’t here to do this.”

“I know, but I just need to monitor the pump for the next…” he looked at his wrist that didn’t have a watch, “Fourteen hours or so.”

“What?!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll sleep out here.”

“Wait, but–”

“I’m joking. My buddy will by this afternoon to watch it until dinner. Then we’ll let the ground settle and finish it tomorrow. I’ve got nothing to do now except check on it though so I’ll help you with this.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she insisted. “This is hard work. You could just read a book or something.”

“Oh yeah let me just dig through all the books I have in my work truck… nah, I’ll help. You’ve got a lot of cabinets here.”

“You really don’t have to. I feel bad. I mean, I can pay you for your help, just tell me how much–”

“You got something else to play?” he asked, pointing to the sky –by which he meant the music, she realized. Her only CD, Celine Dion’s greatest hits. She’d stolen it from her sister over a decade ago and it had somewhere traveled with her this far.

“No, the system only uses CDs.”

“Ok let’s deal with that first, let me show you what I’ve got with me.”

Grace felt like this day was getting very out of hand and yet led him to the system’s command console once he’d hauled a big CD binder from his truck. He let her flip through the book and she found herself captivated by this glimpse into his music taste. Lots of rock, ranging from Metallica to Red Hot Chili Peppers to Green Day to–

“Olivia Rodrigo?” she said with surprise.

“Yeah, what about it?” he asked. “It’s a good album.”

“So you still buy CDs. I thought you were young…”

“I get tired of YouTube ads. Besides, owned media is an investment.” She couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her or not.

“Well I don’t know anything about her but she’s the new pop girl, huh? I’ve heard her name a lot lately.”

“She’s rock-pop,” he countered. “You don’t like rock music?”

“I do, I guess. I don’t know that I pay much attention to what’s popular.”

“You like Celine Dion and what else?”

“I listen to a lot of classical,” she admitted. “And… dance? Or whatever is on the radio…” She was embarrassed now to admit that while she liked music, she didn’t have any very strong preferences. A lot of oldies played on her Pandora station because it was familiar and reminded her of what her parents had listened to growing up. Classical soothed her. Dance and dance-pop reminded her of her younger days going out with friends. Tim had liked jazz and classic rock; she doubted she’d ever be able to listen to any of it again without shivering.

“You don’t know much about music?”

“Not really,” she admitted.

“Damn. Let’s start with Olivia’s album then and work our way back from,” he said, popping the CD in. She didn’t really understand what that meant but felt like letting him pick the music while he helped her was only fair.

JK was a workhorse when it came to stripping the cabinets. She was stunned by how much more quickly the work went with the two of them, largely because his brute strength got the stain off much faster than she could. Granted, she found it distracting watching him mouth along to Olivia Rodrigo’s lyrics I’m a perfect all-American bitch with perfect all-American lips and perfect all-American hips.

Occasionally he’d go to check the pump. Occasionally she got called away by the carpet contractors, or the lawn guys showing up and needing guidance. The Olivia album ended and JK put on the next one.

“Who’s this?” she asked, trying not to notice the way the muscles of his bare arms glistened and flexed as he scraped at the cabinet door.

“Arctic Monkeys. Seemed like a good next step. Everyone likes the Arctic Monkeys.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Damn,” he laughed again. She didn’t know what he thought that said about her but decided it wasn’t anything good. She felt embarrassed not to know this music that “everyone” liked. 

“Are they really that famous?”

“They’re doing all right,” he shrugged. “This album is from 2007 though.” Grace tried to recall what she had been doing in 2007. She’d just graduated high school and was headed to college… “I mean, I was only in like fifth grade but my older brother liked them and I liked anything he liked, you know?”

Grace choked. She turned to the side and coughed. Well that was a timely reminder that this hot guy was very, very young.

“You ok? You didn’t eat any of it, did you?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” she assured him, and focused on the scraping and forced her eyes back to the straight and narrow.

He didn’t make it easy though. Only a song later, he sang along quietly with the lyrics, a steady stream of words that flowed without break for breath:

“Running off over next door's garden Before the hour is done It's more a question of feeling Than it is a question of fun The confidence is the balaclava I'm sure you'll baffle 'em good Will the ending reek of salty cheeks And runny makeup alone?”

“You have a nice voice,” she couldn’t help but remark.

He beamed and seemed to look away as he mumbled, “Ah, thanks… I’m in a band.”

“What? Really?”

He laughed at something she didn’t understand and admitted, “Yeah…”

“I didn’t know that. You never said.”

“It’s not that big a deal, just a hobby thing.”

“You’re the singer?”

“No no, I’m the drummer.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah it’s just a little thing with my friends but we play in bars and stuff– we’ve placed in competitions sometimes.” There was a grunt underlying his words as he scrapped and turned, scraped and turned. “You should check us out.”

“Hm, maybe I will,” she said, quickly and without conviction. She thought the last thing she should do was go somewhere specifically to watch this much younger guy who was working on her house drum in a band. 

Once upon a time she’d been college-age and gone to concerts with her girl friends and fantasized about meeting up with the band afterwards. And now she was a grown woman with no need to confuse those things, especially with the guy fixing her pool. Especially, she realized, since she technically could now. She wasn’t married. She was allowed the fantasy, allowed to meet someone, allowed to fuck around with someone in a band like her younger self had wanted to. 

It was too much, a rush of reality she wasn’t prepared for. Her divorce wasn’t even finished yet, she definitely wasn’t ready to wander down any paths of fantasy –and most certainly not ones that in any way would make her uncomfortable around a contractor who’d be at her house a lot for the next week at least and then every other week for the future beyond that.

This poor guy just wanted to brag about his band and here she was having a mental crisis because it had dawned on her that soon she’d be free to fuck around. Would she want to? How did people even do that?! Was she a fuck-around sort of woman or a lifer type? She had been relatively restrained in college and married Tim so young… she couldn’t picture herself suddenly turning into the sort of woman a rock star would invite backstage. Honestly, she didn’t even know how the opposite sex would react if she did start trying to date. What type would she be into? What type would be into her? And, most importantly, how did she make sure she didn’t get fooled into another Tim?

“You ok?” JK asked, setting his finished cabinet door aside and stretching forward to grab another. He reached and the sleeve of his tank moved to reveal the nastiest bruise she’d ever seen, a whorl of purple and black and brown that made her skin crawl.

“Oh my god, what happened to your shoulder?!”

“Oh, surfing accident.”

“Are you ok?!”

“I asked you first,” he teased.

“I’m fine, just momentarily overwhelmed by reality but your shoulder…”

“I’m fine, just got momentarily overwhelmed by a surfboard that didn’t see me.”

“That sounds dangerous!”

“It was but I’m fine. Just a little stiff.” He set the fresh cabinet door down in front of him and cleared his throat. “I’m working it out though. It’s fine. Ah… reality you want to talk about or something…?”

“Hm?”

“Nothing, nevermind.”

She felt like she’d said something wrong based on his sudden silence but couldn’t figure out what. He shook his head.

“Are you sure this isn’t hurting your shoulder?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m going to check on the pump.” He jumped up quickly and disappeared, which gave her a welcome moment to brush away the concern that had made her want to reach for his shoulder. It looked so bad! Holy shit! Leave it to a guy like that to shrug off such an injury. She’d be laid up in bed for a week and here he was not only working, but doing extra work to help her. 

She heard a truck at the gate and the buzzer. Assuming it was reinforcements for either the carpet-guys upstairs or the lawn guys tromping around her front yard, she left her things for a moment and went straight to open the gate herself.

The man at the gate hopped out of his truck and held his hand out in greeting, forward in a way that immediately put her on guard.

“Hi there, ma’am, the name’s Jon, your husband reached out about solar panels?”

“Hm? You must have the wrong place,” Grace said, not yet taking his hand.

“501? I don’t think so– ah, sir!” he called and brushed right past her to approach JK. “I believe you had some questions about solar panels? I’m happy to talk to you about our program and–”

“Who are you?” JK asked, then quickly amended, “I didn’t talk to anyone about anything.”

“That’s all right, since I’m in the neighborhood and I understand you recently bought the property, I’d be happy to talk to you about–”

“Ah, no. That lady you just blew off owns this place. I’m just here to pump and strip.”

Grace choked again, and coughed into her hand to hide her laugh. She didn’t know what was funnier, JK’s easy deferment to her in the face of such bold sexism, his repetition of her egregious verbal slip earlier, his addition to make it worse, or the fact he did not seem to have done it on purpose. He looked immediately regretful and reached up to scratch the back of his head, his grimace with a shade of apology.

“I’m just the pool guy,” he clarified, as this Jon turned to her with his own shades of regret.

“Sorry, I believe even if I need solar, it won’t be with–” She leaned to read the company name off his truck. “You can leave now, goodbye.”

Jon tried to stammer his way through an apology but Grace was over men’s shitty apologies. After her sharper, “Leave my property now,” he fled. 

“A day in the life of a woman calling the shots,” she murmured as she headed back to the cabinets.

“Hey I’m just flattered he thought anything about me looks like a potential owner of this place,” JK laughed.

“What does that mean?”

“I think it means he’s more sexist than racist?”

Grace didn’t suppress the laugh this time. It was a smart observation. It hadn’t occurred to her that JK would look any less an owner of this place than she did right now other than the fact he looked so young, since both were in a similar state of sweaty filth.

“Guess he thought I’m the mother-in-law?”

“Come on, you aren’t that old. I mean–”

“Not that old!” she repeated with a laugh. “Thanks, JK. You’re so charming.”

“I just meant… I didn’t mean it like that,” he grumbled. “I don’t even know how old you are… I don’t think you’re that old…”

She decided not to tell him, whether he was asking or not. It didn’t seem like something he needed to know. Information not relevant to pumping and stripping. 

“Ready for a new CD?” he asked suddenly, overly loud. “We’ll go back further in time– not because you’re old! But just because… uh… let me see what I’ve got, have you heard of Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

“Oh come, JK, I’m not a total idiot. Everyone’s heard of the Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

“Ok ok, I didn’t mean to insult you. This is a safe space for your musical education. What about… Linkin Park? Kings of Leon? Avenged Sevenfold? Rise Against? I was listening to that on the other day… ah, maybe that’s a little too…”

“A little too what?” she glowered, crossing her arms and following him to the console and his open CD book beside it. “If you say too young–”

“Too angry,” he clarified. 

“Hm…” She didn’t really know what he meant, but suspected it might mean the music was loud and hard and shouty. She probably wouldn’t like it. But her curiosity was piqued that he’d been listening to it on the way over –because he was angry too, or just because he liked it? She wanted to know what he’d been listening to. It was interesting learning about the music he liked. Young people. Being married to Tim had made her old, and she wanted to reclaim some of her youth. She wasn’t that old! “Let’s give it a try.”

“Ok, if you don’t like it, I can change it.”

“I’m going through a rather unpleasant divorce right now. Angry might be just my flavor.”

“Ah, sorry to hear that. I mean that it’s unpleasant, not that you’re getting divorced.”

She realized she shouldn’t have said that. And he probably shouldn’t have said that either, and now looked as uncomfortable as she’d felt. The line felt weird right now, because he knew this about her, and they’d known each other a while, but he was young and hired help and just being friendly –but Grace wasn’t sure a man and woman so many years apart could actually be friends, so there had to be some line of professionalism in there somewhere. The thought of accidentally crossing the line and making this nice guy uncomfortable actually sickened her. She didn’t want to be some gross older predatory woman. She wasn’t actually a cougar!

“Whatever you want to listen to is fine,” she insisted, and scurried back to the cabinets. He joined again a moment later as intense electric guitar roared around the patio. It was definitely a different vibe. She looked up just in time to see one of the carpet guys stick his head out the window and make a rock symbol with his hand. JK returned the gesture while Grace laughed. 

Well, as long as the men working on her house were all happy. And hey, the beat was really good, and there was a melody that was actually really nice to listen to even if she couldn’t quite catch all the words. The drums were fast. She wondered if JK could play that kind of thing, and what he looked like–

Nope. She only meant it as an innocent curiosity, but she wouldn’t indulge even that. He was being incredibly kind helping her with the cabinets now, and that would be that. Not to mention a small part of her still worried he was going to flood her house away. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about and she’d never had an issue with his work before, but could he really know so much while he was so young? It was very impressive to be that knowledgeable at his age…

“Oh wait, I’ve heard this,” she realized with surprise. “A long time ago, I think…”

“See? You know more than you think you do.” 

“I sure hope so. We’ll see if you still think that when I start sanding these cabinet doors. And before you ask: yes, I’ve done it before… a long time ago.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” he insisted. “I would never underestimate you.”

“Thanks, JK. That’s really kind of you to say.”

He nodded but the words from his mouth next were song lyrics, as strong and steady and pleasant to listen to as the professional voice on the CD. He seemed really good at it, singing. That was crazy to her that he wasn’t even the band’s singer. He must just be really gifted at music. She was very, very much not. He seemed to have such talent, she wondered if he only sang this hard, fast style or if he could do slower too.

Singing! She was thinking about singing! She hadn’t had any issue with these kinds of thoughts a single day of her divorce so far. Was it a good sign something inside her was healing, or waking up, or whatever? Well she was certainly not going to put poor young JK in the middle of whatever divorcee sexual rebirth was stirring inside of her! Maybe it was just hormonal; she was ovulating or something. Awkward. 

“Miss, you want to see…?” Jacob the lawn guy motioned to her from across the driveway, like he didn’t want to interrupt. He wanted to ask her preference on something. He was kind too, like JK, even if he wasn’t great at being on time. But she believed he was going to do good work. She thought the carpets were going to look good upstairs. She was doing ok, finding the people to do a good job of the things she couldn’t or didn’t want to, doing a good job of the things she wanted to try. And sometimes help came in surprising places, like a pool guy who helped her strip cabinet doors while he pumped her pool.

Literally. A literal pool being pumped dry.

Good lord.

Chapter Three | Masterlist | Chapter Five

#jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook x oc #over the falls #jeon jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook series #jungkook au #poolboy jk #jungkook domestic fluff

[icybluepenguin]

Mistletoe

Summary: Astarion wants to kiss you. Luckily it's Midwinter, and he's come up with a plan that will definitely work this time. For the #BG3HolidayFluffle23 prompt "mistletoe"

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav(reader)

Tags: Astarion is bad at planning, friendly chaste kisses from the party, shenanigans, silly idea and silly story, fluff with maybe some feels if you squint

Note: This is just a silly idea that made me smile because this man can't plan his way out of a paper bag. Just winging it the whole way. I've been really struggling with my mental health and my brain is screaming at me that I should not post this- but I don't listen to my brain, it's not the boss of me! Make bad art, have fun with it, that's what I say. Hopefully it makes someone smile.

--

Astarion wanted to kiss you. 

Ever since you both had agreed to just being friends, he couldn't stop thinking about you and what he didn't have.  

Being friends was nice, it was.  He liked that there were no expectations.  He liked that you still always made time for him.  But he didn't want to be your friend the way Gale or Karlach was your friend. You listened to their problems, you hugged them, you told them they were good– and that was fine.  But he wanted more.  

He wanted to be special to you. He wanted you to be special to him.  He knew you well enough now to know that the nice part of “being friends” would also be part of “being together” in a way that wasn't just sex, but was care and connection and closeness. 

He wanted to kiss you again so badly, it was hard to think of anything else.  To feel your breath on his lips before he pressed them to yours, to be held in your arms because you cared for him, and to know that if he wanted, you'd stop. 

But he didn't know how to ask for it.  Not after the conversation about not wanting to have sex.  Kissing normally led to sex, and he didn't know if you would want to kiss him if it didn't.  If he were really honest with himself– which he tried not to be– he wasn't sure how he would feel about it either.  But he wanted it. 

So he hatched what he considered a devious, genius plan. 

It was hard to tell from the weather, but Karlach had been reminding everyone that it was nearly Midwinter.  The ground was clear of snow and there was only the faintest nip in the air, but the calendar didn't lie.  She had started decorating around the camp, making garlands for everyone's tents and trying to cook holiday treats over the campfire. 

The plan began when it was his turn to gather firewood. That was already his least favorite camp chore and whoever's turn it was to go with him usually made it even more unbearable.  It was dirty and heavy and the other person always got upset when he stopped to drink a squirrel or three.  This time, though, his partner was Halsin, who was more willing to do all the hard work and never chided Astarion for being what he called an “apex predator.” 

He was doing his best to ignore the druid's rambling about nature, until he heard the word “mistletoe.” 

“I have not seen much in this area, but it certainly is appropriate for the season.  It is feeding off this aspen, but it seems the tree is still thriving, for now.”  Halsin patted the tree as if congratulating it for doing a good job. 

“Look, a stick.  Do be a dear and pick that up,” Astarion drawled, examining his nails for imperfections. 

He marked the location in his head and resumed tuning out Halsin's lecture about parasitic plants. 

He snuck back later to harvest some of the mistletoe.  This would be perfect.  You wouldn't suspect a thing, he'd get to kiss you, and then it would be easier to talk about what he wanted. 

It wasn't until he got back to camp that he remembered you weren't staying in an inn or house with convenient doorways and roof beams to hang the mistletoe from. 

Sulking in his tent, he glared at the handful of mistletoe on his floor.  He couldn't just hang it in his tent, that would be too obvious.  He couldn't hang it in your tent for the same reason– and he didn't want anyone else kissing you.  

He began wandering around camp with his head craned back, looking for places to hang mistletoe from.  Which was fine until he tripped over Scratch and you giggled at the way the dog kept trying to lick his face while he was in the dirt. His stomach swooped into knots at the sound. Gods, he wanted to kiss you right there. 

There were a few branches overhanging the area they'd agreed on for weapons care and sharpening, after Lae'zel kept grinding her sword at all hours of the morning right next to the other tents. 

He waited until dark.  As quick and dexterous as he was, he wasn't the best at climbing trees.  Not a lot of opportunities in the middle of the city.  Not to mention living as a slave to a deranged sadist, he thought. 

He only fell out three times, which he considered a pretty decent showing– as long as no one was watching. 

In the morning, when it looked like you were getting your weapon, he pulled out his daggers and sat under the tree, making a show of honing them. 

He stood gracefully when he heard footsteps.  “Hello, dar-” 

“Oh, Fangs, look!  Mistletoe!”  Karlach had him in a tight hug before he could even think to say anything, lifting him off his feet like he weighed nothing.  She laid a happy kiss on his forehead and put him down.  “I wonder who put that up there.  Guess I'm not the only one looking forward to Midwinter!” 

“I guess not,” Astarion managed, smoothing his clothes down and picking up the daggers he'd dropped in surprise.  He felt oddly warm and cared for.  It made him defensive.  “It certainly wasn't me.  I don't need a plant to get someone to kiss my gorgeous face.”  

It must just be the fire of Karlach's engine making him so warm, he told himself as he sauntered into the woods- so she wouldn't see him gently touch the spot she'd kissed.  

When he got back, ready to wait for you, the mistletoe was gone. 

That night, he only fell out once hanging another sprig.  But he really hoped he wouldn't have to climb this damn tree again.  And he was going to make sure of it. 

It was easy to steal your weapon– you really were too heavy of a sleeper– taking it into the forest and slamming it into trees and rocks to dull it.  Now you'd have to  come sharpen it. 

He waited until he saw you come out of your tent holding it, a confused look on your face as you ran your finger down the ruined edge. 

Taking position back at the grinding station, he hid a smug grin.  Now, he'd get to kiss you and–

“Hello, Astarion.”  

Wyll, dammit.  Sounding very friendly and annoying. 

Astarion glanced at him. He was carrying your weapon. 

“Tav asked me to sharpen this for them while they help Gale with something,” Wyll explained.  “Oh, is that mistletoe? Karlach's certainly been busy.”  

Wyll put down your weapon and gave him courtly bow.  Astarion watched warily, but was completely shocked when Wyll took his hand and kissed his knuckles with a light tenderness that slammed him back into a life he'd thought he'd forgotten completely.  Bright, colorful parties, gaining favor with powerful people, the polite rituals of small talk…

“Are you going to ask me to dance next?” Astarion said sharply, shaking off the memory. 

“I wager you'd be amazing at it, if I did.”  Wyll dropped his hand and picked up your weapon again with a knowing smile. 

A harsh tsk interrupted whatever Astarion might have said back. 

“What are you two doing, this is a place to sharpen your weapons, not your tongues.”

Astarion sighed.   

“What is that plant doing above your head, Astarion?” 

“That is mistletoe, Lae'zel,” Wyll said patiently. “It’s tradition around Midwinter for anyone standing under it to get kissed.”

Lae'zel took three steps closer to Astarion, at a worrying speed.  “Kissing?” she asked, deadpan. 

Oh no.  Astarion stepped back, raising his hand in front of his mouth.  

She tore down the mistletoe and ground it under her heel.  “A distraction.  We have other concerns to focus on.”

He exhaled.  

This wasn't working at all.  Here he had thought he was setting the perfect trap and-

Oh wait.  A trap.  A trap.  It wouldn't be that hard to modify a trap to swing the mistletoe overhead when you tripped it.  He was excellent at setting traps.  Much better than climbing trees. 

After finding a few animals to drink, he sat down to make his kissing trap while everyone else was asleep. 

He set it up close to camp, but not in the main area where just anyone would trigger it.  You took a morning stroll to stretch your limbs each day and you would walk across it it when you did. 

Astarion sat just beyond the trap, pretending to read his book.  Very casual. 

He heard the trigger snap and was on his feet in an instant.  Still very casual, he told himself. 

His saunter froze upon seeing the distinct purple robes. 

“Ah, look.  Mistletoe.  You know, the berries of the mistletoe were once thought of as symbols of male fertility.”  Gale chuckled, inviting Astarion into the awkward subject.  “How they became associated with Midwinter is quite the mystery, though.  I suppose a fertility symbol becoming a romantic signifier isn't so unusual-”

Astarion couldn't take much more of this.  He had to get Gale out of the way before you walked by, which could be any minute.  He could already see Scratch in the distance and the mutt usually accompanied you. 

“It is even considered bad luck by some to ignore the tradition to kiss under the mistletoe.  Although-”

Without thinking more about it, Astarion surged forward and pressed his mouth to Gale's.  The man had surprisingly soft lips, contrasted by the prickle of his mustache.  Astarion jerked back, startled by his own actions. 

He was slightly mollified by the pink in Gale's cheeks and the way the man mumbled, “I suppose we will not be having bad luck, then,” without meeting his eyes. 

Scratch bounded towards them, breaking the tense moment.  Astarion looked, but couldn't see you anywhere.  The dog barely stopped for a pet before he was sniffing his way towards Astarion's abandoned book. 

“Hey, no! Dog! Dog, stop that!” he snapped, rushing after him.  Scratch’d eaten more than one book around camp already; he seemed to have an insatiable appetite for them.  

Astarion nearly dove onto the book, trying to get Scratch to let go of the cover without tearing it. 

Clutching his book to his chest and out of reach of Scratch, he returned to his trap.  “I'm not kissing you, don't get excited,” he muttered to the dog. 

It looked like he wasn't going to be kissing anyone– the mistletoe was gone.  Again. 

He dashed back to his tent to grab more.  He still had time.  He could get it all set up again before you walked by, he was certain.  He was fast. 

He rushed through laying the ropes and tying the knots, crouching on the ground.  He hadn't even seen you yet this morning, maybe you were still asleep. 

He straightened up to examine his work, taking a step back. 

The unnoticed coil of rope around his ankle tightened and yanked him forward and up before he could even yelp. 

So much for no bad luck. 

He swung around, just far enough off the ground to make getting untangled a challenge.  He scowled.  Maybe he should have slowed down.  Just a bit. The only saving grace was that you were still nowhere to be seen. 

As he rotated around, a pair of sandals came into view.

“Funny, I didn't picture you as one who likes to be tied up,” Shadowheart said with soft disdain. 

“Been picturing me tying you up?” he tried to sound as sexy as possible while hanging upside down.  ”I'll do it if you say please.  Setting you loose, however, that's another thing.” 

The sound she made would have hurt his feelings, if he didn't feel the same way. 

Shadowheart picked something off the ground and then held it over his head by one leaf pinched in her thumb and forefinger.

“This isn't what it looks like-” he started. 

She rolled her eyes.  “I'm sure.  Whatever it is, it looks ridiculous.”  She dropped the mistletoe on his face.  “Save this for someone who doesn't mind fangs.” 

“So, you're not going to help me down, then?” he called as she walked away, an irritated pout in his voice. 

It didn't really take him long to free himself.  At least that's what he repeated over and over as he stalked off into the woods to find something to eat.  Killing something would soothe his bleeding pride. 

Later that evening, as the party sat around the fire, he watched you take a bite of a burnt lump that Karlach called a cookie.  It looked dreadful.  But you smiled as you chewed slowly, telling her it tasted like cinnamon.  Always kind and thoughtful- even as you downed a huge swallow of wine. 

You were so stupidly nice, he couldn't stand it.  He wanted to be with you.  He wanted to taste that wine on your tongue.  

Forget the plan, it clearly wasn't going to work.  When had his plans ever worked with you?  He snuck away from the fire.  It took mere minutes to hang some mistletoe from your tent and return to the group as if he'd never been gone. 

He walked with you when everyone headed to their bedrolls, making sure no one else was close enough to steal a kiss from you. 

He was practically preening with satisfaction by the time you saw the mistletoe.  He was going to kiss you and you would hold him and-

“Oh no, I'm so sorry, I don't know how this got here.”  You yanked down the mistletoe, gripping it in your hand like he wouldn't notice it if you just held it tight enough.  “I've been taking this stuff down all over camp.” 

Astarion stared.  “You've been taking down my mistletoe?”

“Yes, I– what do you mean, your mistletoe?” 

“Why have you been taking it down!” 

You threw the crumpled plant to the side.  “I didn't want anyone to force you into something you didn't want to do.  It seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.” 

“I've kissed everyone in this camp trying to get you under this damn plant!”  His voice was rising too high. 

“I am so confused,” you said, putting your hands on your hips.  “What are you talking about?” 

“It's Midwinter. There's mistletoe. It's quite simple, really,” Astarion covered his embarrassment with condescension.  “Kissing, my dear. It's the traditional response.”

You looked at him until he wanted to squirm away or lash out to get you to stop.  He knew you were too damn perceptive. 

“I wanted to kiss you,” he sighed, resigned to having to tell the truth. 

“I thought you wanted to just be friends.”

“Well…” Astarion waved his hand vaguely, “Yes? I do?  But I also want to be… more than friends.  Together. With you.  But in a way that doesn't involve sex?”  He tilted his head, touching the curls on the back of his neck, feeling extremely vulnerable. “If that's something you… might consider…”

“Oh, Astarion.  I would love to love you in any way you want.”  You looked at him with a mix of fondness and impatience.  “Now kiss me, you idiot.”

He put his hands on your cheeks, drawing you close.  Your breath warmed his lips before he touched them to yours. Your arms wrapped around his waist as he'd imagined, mouth opening for him.  His tongue grazed over yours, soft and gentle, the heat of you seeping into him. 

It was everything he wanted.

-

Master Post

#bg3holidayfluffle23 #Astarion #Astarion fic #astarion x tav #Astarion x reader #My writing

[bubbles-lounge]

Hii again bro! First of all I really like your scenarios! Second is you can make that reader is a god and genshin men's (reader and them can be in any relationship) found out reader is a God! (I hope you like This scenario and I'm not wery good at English so İf there any mistakes I apologies!)

I love this

give your brain/j

A/N: YESSS AN ASK FINALLY! Ohh this is interesting! Ima do this as non-yandere but if you want some as yandere to ask! if there are any genshin characters that you were hoping for that I didn't do then please tell me and I'll do another part with them! This goes for anyone who reads this btw!

!Y/P=Your Power! !This will be romantic, unless its a minor mentioned!

Childe

He would figure it out by trying to fight someone after being badly injured(like after fighting the traveller for their weekly fight) and you came and saved him using Y/P. He would be so shocked, he's dating a god?! lets be honest he is going to ask to fight you. he is no spending the next hour or 2 asking about what you can do, "Can you use any other powers?" "Yes, Ajax I can." "Can we fight so I can see them?" "No Your not in the right condition currently." "pleaseeeeee" "No Ajax". that's how a lot of your convocations are going while you are helping him heal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zhongli

He was a god, the oldest one as well. I think he would figure it out himself eventually. He would be relatively shocked at the fact when you admit it. He wouldn't make a big deal out of it like Childe would, but he would be interested about when you became a god and how. He would be quite happy he has found someone how can relate to some of the stories he says and/or someone who can understand the reason he retired better. Zhongli would tell you about him being morax (if he hasn't already) if you haven't figured it out by now that is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Albedo

He is figuring it out through an experiment, I understand your his S/O but I believe he would do ones on you (they wont be dangerous ofc unless it were yandere then it might be abit) or if an experiment went wrong and you used Y/P to keep him safe. either way he's going to spend a while on questioning and examining you. He would be quite interested in how you became like this, where you born this way or did you ascend to godhood(Scaramouche moment). He wouldn't really fight you like Childe would but he would find ways for you to test Y/P.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

il Dottore

Now this will be interesting. He is intelligent so he would figure this out himself, you better start praying(or running) when he has it pieced together. He wont leave you alone until he curiosity is filled. Now unlike Albedo his experiments will be dangerous but not enough to kill you. I know I said it would be non-yandere but honestly I think he would be similar to one if he isn't one naturally like his love is going to be obsessive either way, he is testing out your power to your limits, he will use manipulation to get you to do what he wants but he is were it gets even more interesting. what if your smart enough (whether that be through age or not) to the point Dottores manipulation doesn't work, he will find a way to keep you contained and force you to use your powers, then he will try and keep you from getting mad at him by holding you close and cooing at you. If that doesn't work like I said before, yandere or not his love is obsessive so he isn't going to let you leave too easily...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope this was good!

Have a good day/night<3

Remember to eat and drink lots<3

Remember you are stunning, wonderful and beautiful<3

Taglist:

@angelofdarknes

Enjoy<3

#🌹Yumi-Writes🌹 #genshin impact #yandere #Dottore #dottore x reader #Albedo #Albedo x reader #yandere dottore #zhongli #zhongli x reader #Childe #childe x reader #god!reader

[powdermelonkeg]

I want to write a world that is explicitly ablist in its design, but I don't wanna come off as endorsing it in any way. Any tips on how I could do that?

The trick with that is to separate the tone of the narration from the world itself. You want your setting's background characters to accept something as normal, but you want to unsettle your audience with what the characters are willing to ignore.

This is how I would go about it.

Let's say, for instance, you want to make a world that's actively hostile to blind and low-vision people. By design, nothing would be catered to them; crosswalks wouldn't have sound cues, braille doesn't exist, tripping hazards are everywhere, service dogs aren't allowed.

That's, unfortunately, already reality for a lot of the blind community, so you're already basing it on something realistic. Making a world like that and not doing anything with it would come across as endorsing it on your part, because it looks like you just didn't consider blind people when making your setting.

So you do have to do something with it.

Let's take it a step further.

Lean into the tragedies this makes and the callousness of the everyday person. A blind man got hit with a car while crossing the street—your reader feels sympathy for them. But your main character overhears people discussing it, and the passers-by sound blunt and cruel: "It's his own fault he got hit, he should have gotten someone to walk him." "Didn't he have anyone who can take care of him?" "I hope the driver didn't get fined too badly, they really should just make hazardous people stay home."

Stigmatize things over-the-top: Glasses are a sign of moral failing, because the local religion equates lack of vision with punishment from the gods. Why would a god forbid its creation from seeing its world, if not to punish them? So people forego glasses. They have to examine things uncomfortably close, they laugh off their bad reading skills, they get into crashes more often. A hospital patient starts going blind and has a panic attack, they were such a good person, how could this happen to them? It'll get better soon, right? Right?!

Make people go to harder lengths to avoid falling into the traps the setting has laid for them. People willing to shell out their life savings to get expensive surgery to restore their sight—except it doesn't always work, sometimes it messes your brain up further, but hey, that's a risk you need to take. Gran didn't survive the procedure, but Gran was old, those things happen to other people, not to you. Then have your setting capitalize on it—it's not just that you can restore your sight with the risky surgery, but you socially have no choice. Everyone is pestering you until you get it, your parents are looking down on you for not having perfect sight, and companies won't hire you, but there are ads in the paper for three different acclaimed doctors, and you know a guy who knows someone in a back alley that does it for half the cost, but is notorious for scarring their patients.

Your reader doesn't live in this reality. They'll read these and collectively go "What fresh hell is this."

An ableist author writing an ableist setting doesn't do this. Their setting is detrimental to their disabled characters, if they have any at all, but the detriment is either never touched on or is framed as "necessary."

If an author endorsing this kind of setting were to place a story in it, they would have a token blind character on the side that needs help constantly, that's patronized but never has a problem with it, who gets the pricey surgery, gets out of it scot-free, and is so SO happy to be "normal" again.

An author that doesn't endorse the setting and wants you to be unhappy with it has that same character scared of the procedure, but their friends and family urge them to get it anyways. They face hardships because they can't see, to the point where they finally cave in and get it, except it doesn't go perfectly—even if they have sight now, they also have to deal with constant pain, overstimulation, and light sensitivity. And yes, everyone treats them "better" now that they can see, but that's a gut-wrenching thing; they get into arguments with their parents because "you didn't love me until I had sight," they go quiet in job interviews because a job they fought so hard for before is just handed to them now, they receive blessings they don't want from a religion that "calls them home" from the sin of being blind.

THAT is how you write an ableist setting explicitly portrayed as ableist. You make the setting cause hardship and pain, and you write it in such a way that your reader would never want to endure that aspect of it.

Cheat code checklist:

Add features/remove aids to get in the disability's way

Have background characters victim-blame the disabled that live in it

Make the social setting unbearable for a disabled character

Show the struggles of a character WITH that disability living in that setting

#disability #writeblr #ask bee

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Paint It Black.

Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count:676

Summary:You show Eddie just how metal it is to paint your nails.

Warnings:Nothing, unless you count badly written fluff as a warning?

Authour’s Note:I guess I just wanted to write something cute and fluffy with Eddie since I don’t write fluff like this all too often? 

Eddie struggled to concentrate on his guitar, where he was supposed to be learning a new song for Corroded Coffin, however his attention had been completely diverted to where you were sat on his bedroom floor admiring your freshly dried manicured nails. You had painted your fingers in a vivid shade of red, an enticing colour that had certainly caught his eye.

 “Looks pretty, Sugar” he tells you from where he’s sat on bed.

“Thanks, Teddy” you beamed back at him. 

Eddie smiled back at you, hearing the pet name slip from your pretty lips. He’d swear he was a tough guy in front of all his friends, but one mention of the nickname from you and he was putty in your hands. 

You noticed how Eddie was still eyeing your freshly painted nails with curiosity. 

“Hey, Teddy..” you catch his attention, pulling from his thoughts.

“Yeah, Sugar?” he says, smiling your way.

“Do you want me to paint your nails too?” You offer.

“Are you sure? Isn’t that like..weird or whatever?” he worries, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Doesn’t have to be..anyway most of those metal rock stars you admire so much wear nail polish too” you chuckled.

“..Even Ozzy?” 

“Yes Eddie, even Ozzy” you assured him with a smile.

You see him go over it in his brain, his big brown hold an uncertain expression. You decide he needed an extra nudge. A little reassurance. 

“Come on Ed! Give me your hand! I can paint them and you can see how you like it, and if you really don’t like it we can take it off, no harm done!” 

“Alright then!” his lips spread into that cheeky smile that you’ve come to love so much.

You bring up a small bottle of Black nail polish from your little bag of nail polish colours.

“I think that this Black shade will be the perfect colour for you, Teddy” you say as you crack open the bottle.

You take his large hand in yours and begin swiping the dark polish across his fingertips.

“Stop fidgeting Eddie!! It’s gonna smudge!” you warned him.

“Okay okay! I’ll stay still, I promise, Sweetheart.” 

You finish painting his one hand before taking his other hand in yours. You start to paint the polish carefully over the nails of his other hand, making sure to give each nail an even coat of the black paint.

“Do you know you do that?” he chuckles.

“Do what?” you look back up at him, in the middle of painting his index finger.

“Stick your tongue out when you’re concentrating.” he tells you.

“I do not do that!” you defend.

“Babe, you just did it, right there. It’s okay..I think it’s cute”a slight giggle escapes his lips

 “Don’t make me laugh, Ed! I told you, you’re going to smudge my paint-job!” 

“Sorry, Sugar.” his big brown eyes soften as he looks at you.

You finish up, swiping the final coat of black polish over his pinky finger, grinning up at him.

“There we go! All finished! What do you think?” you ask with a smile.

He looks over his nails, examining them in great detail before breaking out into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen

“I love them babe! Looks super metal! Thank you so much!” 

—-------------------------

Eddie strolled into the cafeteria the next day, setting his lunch box down on the table amongst all the other members of Hellfire.

“You go to the salon to get them done or what?” Gareth jokes, poking fun at the dungeon master.

“My girl did them, got a problem with that Emerson?”

“I happen to think it looks very metal indeed.” you say smugly as you sit down next to Eddie.

Eddie glared down at Gareth, daring him to say anything about him or his girl.

“Yeah, no, totally, very metal.” Gareth agreed, backing down.

Eddie smiled at you. He would proudly wear his painted nails everyday, it was a reminder of the sweet gesture of you offering to paint them, and it warmed his heart.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson drabble

[thepaintedlady00]

Is this what I should be writing? No. Is it what my brain has become obsessed with? Yes. 😅😂 SO, my friend and I have been playing Baldur's Gate 3 and last week she just sent me a piece of fanart for Enver Gortash and a The Dark Urge Tav. She wrote me an essay about how a story about these two and their tragic pasts and sexy chemistry and eventual love affair and angst was just so perfect and blah blah blah. No big deal, right? WRONG! WRONG! Because now it's stuck in my head and I've been writing long ass blurbs for a fic that I did not have planned whilst I'm supposed to be writing like 2 other things right now! 🤣 Well, anyway, here this is because *looks at script my friend wrote out for me* "I'm the boss (writer) and I can do (write) whatever I want" 🧍‍♀️. Let me know if y'all enjoy this because boy oh boy do I have more (it's literally turning into ANOTHER 20 plus chapter series). Thanks for the brain rot you bitch (said lovingly), I hope you enjoy the tiny peek into the fic you want so badly!

The glinting steel reflected the vision of pale skin - skin I wanted nothing more than to slice open. The man made a slight, quiet noise. It wasn’t one I usually heard when about to take a life. Everyone else was always babbling, clearly terrified to die, but he seemed to be bored… annoyed. I admired the way the chilled, freshly sharpened blade kissed his neck so nicely before his hands finally stopped their intricate movements, and he slowly settled back against his chair. "We have to stop meeting like this."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't slit your throat."

"It'd be such a waste of a pretty neck," he joked. I pulled the blade back more, nearly cutting the tender flesh he seemed so fond of. He made some noise of protest and quickly added, "As well as a waste of a powerful ally."

The laugh that bubbled out of my throat was unexpected. It'd been so long since I'd laughed. Surely he was joking. I kept the knife steady as I stepped out from behind the chair and truly examined him. He was fit enough, with strong arms and a well-toned physique with a power that surrounded him as well, but it was but a simmer... A meager fountain in some garden compared to the power I'd witnessed. He grinned beneath my gaze. "See something you like, assassin?"

"If you're so powerful, then why is it me that holds your life in my hands?" I asked, with an arched brow.

"It would be rude of me to interrupt. You are doing such a lovely job with all these vague threats."

"You'd risk your life on some self-imposed manners?"

He rolled his eyes. "You aren't going to kill me."

I grinned at his boldness. "No?" Pressing the dagger down I made sure to draw blood this time. The sight of it made my mouth go dry, anticipation humming through me. "You would make a pretty corpse."

"I've no doubts about that," he agreed with barely a flinch. "But, if you'd intended for me to die, I suspect I would have been dead weeks ago when you first paid me a visit."

His words - those cursed words he'd uttered the first time my blade touched his throat rang in my ears. "You're beautiful."

A chill, a fragment of a feeling, crawled up my spine, and the dark urge to bleed him dry went quiet. Slowly I withdrew my blade, leaning back to sit on his table, not caring if his papers smudged. "What do you want, slaver?"

The man's lips curled up into a snarl at the term, but he quickly tempered himself. "An alliance."

"And what exactly are we allying against?" I questioned with a hum. "We don't exactly run in the same circles."

"We are far more similar than you think, Bhaalspawn."

My blade twisted in between my fingers as I shoved forward and dug it into the back of the chair, just an inch shy of his face. Baring my teeth I let out a low growl. "Who told you what I am?"

The man smiled, not at all deterred by my blade nor my voice. "No one. I knew what you were the moment I saw you." He leaned forward, so close our noses nearly touched. "You'll want to keep that secret close though."

"Bold of you to threaten me,” I complimented with a slight raise of my brow.

"Oh, it's not a threat," he corrected. "Simply some advice from one worshiper to another."

"You worship Bhaal?"

"Gods no," he scoffed. "Murder doesn't exactly fit my particular skill set. Besides, these silks are far too fine a fabric to stain with all that blood. No, I prefer power... Status... Tyranny."

I rolled my eyes with a quiet scoff of my own. "A disciple of Bane then. How fitting for a cocksure man."

His head tilted slightly, eyes dragging down the length of me as I leaned back into the table. "I'm certain we'll have plenty of time to explore how cocksure I am whilst we work together."

"I haven't agreed to work with you yet."

"Yes you have," he replied, confident and unwavering. "You see the potential in such an alliance. Two dark gods are more powerful together than one alone. United we could do so much more."

With a quiet hum I regarded his words carefully. He held some semblance of truth in his statement. Bhaal was not as strong as he once was, his worship and power long declined. Uniting, even if just for a short time, with another Chosen could prove to be useful in achieving both our goals. There was something in me that stirred beneath the man's steady, unflinching gaze... Something warm and foreign. Once again his first words to me filled my mind. "You're beautiful."

Reaching forward I pulled my blade from the wood and pointed it at his neck again. "Get rid of the flyers or the next time we meet my blade will bury itself in your throat."

"Does that mean you accept?" He questioned with almost a giddy smirk.

"It means I'll consider it." 

I wearily watched him rise to his feet, towering over me. "How shall I summon you again?"

My jaw clenched. "You do not summon me. If the Temple of Bhaal agrees to participate in this plot of yours I shall find you."

"And if not?"

"Then I will still find you, and I will kill you."

"Splendid," he mocked with a clever bow. "I, Enver Gortash, shall eagerly await your return."

"The flyers," I reminded, stepping around him to move back toward the window.

His boots scuffed against the floor, the boards creaking beneath his weight. "What shall I call you? Assassin? Or your moniker perhaps? What was it... The Dark Urge." The man, Gortash, made a displeased noise. "I'd much prefer your name if it's all the same to you."

I should have left - I had every intention just to leave, and yet my steps halted. The chilled breeze from the cracked window brought goosebumps to my arms, every hair rising on end from the cold or perhaps from the sudden and odd anticipation that filled me. I turned my head to the side, eyes slyly glancing at him as the soft whisper of the name... My name rolled off my tongue. "Remora."

Gortash smiled. It was different from the others... Softer... Genuine. The sight of it sent a sharp sensation through my chest before it vanished, and he teasingly bowed again. "I await your swift return, Remora."

Shaking off the weight of those unknown feelings I climbed through the window and leapt into the dark night. Loose shingles shifted beneath my light steps as I hurried across the rooftop. The wind stung my cheeks and threatened to pull my hood from my head as I slowed and looked back at the window. I could barely make out the shape of him standing there, looking out into the night as if he could still see me. A frustrated bubble of annoyance finally burst within me and made me want to groan as I quickly realized he was right.

I had already decided to join him.

#bg3 #enver gortash #Enver Gortash x Dark Urge #dark urge #the dark urge #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 enver gortash #lord enver gortash #Lord Enver Gortash x Dark Urge #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate oc #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #bg3 durge #durge #durge spoilers #bg3 spoilers #bg3 oc #bg3 gortash #lord gortash #gortash x durge #gortash x tav

[z0r0z]

What would Zoro like in bed? Three x reader headcanons and short scenarios involving everyone’s favourite (hot) swordsman  ♡

Scenarios are ~400 words, essentially teasers that could be a longer fic so please let me know if you’d like any of them to be expanded upon! I also have more headcanons and scenarios brewing so let me know if you want those too  ♡

Content: afab fem reader, kinesophilia (exercise k!nk), c*nnilingus, facef*cking, dirty talk, clitstim, use of ‘sl*t’

Zoro is addicted to working out so it’s only natural it’d be connected to his sex drive. There’s nothing like a long, hard workout to get his blood pumping and his mind wandering. The adrenaline rush leaves him excited and after a training session he wants nothing more than to fuck your brains out before passing out next to you. Seeing you exercising gets him going even more- your quick breath, your sweat, those tight workout clothes. He can’t help himself when he sees you. If you work out together, expect to get very little exercise done that doesn’t involve him blowing your back out.

‘Crows nest. Now. Please.’ Was the brief message spoken from your snail phone. You already knew what Zoro wanted. He only said ‘please’ when he wanted that- and you were always more than happy to oblige. After making your way up the creaky ladder you laid your eyes on the sight before you. Zoro was sat on the bench, glistening with sweat and taking a swig of water as he caught his breath. He always looked particularly incredible after a training session, the sweat on his chest catching the light and highlighting every contour of his muscles deliciously. He looked over to you. ‘C’mere.’ He murmured as he patted his lap.

As soon as you came close, he grabbed your body, pulling you into his lap and placing his head in the crook of your neck. The heat of his quick breath tickled your neck and his hands settled on the sides of your thighs, needily squeezing your flesh. The adrenaline rush after his workout left him restless. ‘I need to fuck the shit out of you.’ He spoke breathily, shifting you further into his lap causing his hardened member to rub up against your heat.

‘Be my guest,’ you coyly responded, ‘I’ve been waiting all day for you to ask me.’ You couldn’t help grinding your clothed cunt up and down his erection; his length throbbed under you, and he held your thighs down closer to savour the tantalizing sensation. He moved in for a hard, animalistic kiss, never leaving you a moment to take a breath as he forcefully slid his tongue in your mouth.

His hand creeped up your shirt and took a handful of your breast. ‘No bra? You really have been waiting for this all day.’ His two fingers pinched your taut nipple, producing a lewd mewl from your lips. ‘I bet you’re wet all day when I train ‘cus you know what’s coming, huh?’ His other hand shifted to your ass and gave it a swift spank before gripping a handful of your soft skin.

‘M-Maybe.’ You desperately grind your pussy harder and harder onto his irresistible cock. Zoro smirked, amused by your desperation, and refocused from your breast to your crotch. He unceremoniously tugged your panties down and swiped a calloused finger through your slit, sending a shiver through your entire body as it lightly brushed your clit.

‘Good. I want you to think about my cock every fucking day.’ He examined his finger. ‘You’re so wet already. I’ll fuck you good ‘til you can’t walk since you want it so badly.’

Using his mouth to hold his sword has resulted in Zoro having impeccable jaw strength, and he certainly enjoys putting it to use. He could eat your pussy all day long if you allowed it. He loves the way he makes you squirm using the strength he’s worked so hard to train for and savours your taste until the only words you can muster are incoherent, fucked-out babble. When he wakes up next to you, holding you close, he loves to start his morning with your delicious flavour- even when he’s half-asleep his skilled tongue still works you effortlessly.

As the sun rose and warm light filled the room you slowly woke up and steadily stretched yourself awake. Your movement awoke Zoro next to you and the large arms wrapped around you held you closer. ‘’Mornin.’ He sleepily grumbled, placing a brief kiss on the back of your neck.

‘Good morning.’ You replied, still stretching your body out to shake off the sleep. Despite his drowsiness, your subtle movements against his body were often enough to get a sleepy Zoro feeling a certain way.

‘I want breakfast.’ He mumbled in your ear as his hand shifted closer to your breast, pulling you even closer until your ass was firmly placed against his cock. He got horny so easily when he was sleepy, it was almost cute- and you weren’t going to complain any time soon. His favourite thing to eat for breakfast? You.

You giggled. ‘Breakfast is served.’ Just as soon as you gave your approval his hand was under your shirt and the other in your underwear. His lips moved to the side of your neck leaving lazy, wet nibbles and tiny bruises as his hands got to work. He grappled your breast as his single digit made agonizingly slow circles around your clit, the tension in your gut already building from the simple motion.

‘So wet.’ He rasped as he sped up his finger, enjoying the sound of the cute little moans he was getting out of you. ‘I’ll make you scream soon.’ With those words he shifted to position himself at the bottom of the bed, your signal to sit up and prepare yourself for his meal. You had a moment to admire his half-asleep visage and perfect frame before he was already spreading your legs and placing his face between them. He heedlessly moved your panties to the side, not wanting to wait a moment longer to taste you.

He dived straight in, teasingly licking gently up and down your slit, the sensation already making your legs twitch. He lightly kissed your flushed folds before taking a swipe across your clit with his tongue, causing your hips to buck and a smirk to appear on his heavy-eyed face. ‘You taste so fucking good.’ He mumbled looking up at you with his good eye, the vibrations of his voice tickling your sensitive spot. His tongue laser-focused on your clit and you took a handful of his hair, the sensation already taking you to the edge as his strong tongue worked you. He wouldn’t stop until you’d cum over and over again, becoming an incoherent, wet mess.

There’s something about fucking your face that drives Zoro wild. Maybe it’s seeing your pretty eyes well up as his cock slams the back of your throat. Perhaps the way spit dribbles from your lips in strings as he fucks your mouth, with you looking up at him doe-eyed and helpless. Whatever it is, Zoro loves it. Taking a handful of your hair and sliding your face up and down his dick is an irresistible sight, and if you start using your tongue while he does it it’s guaranteed to push him over the edge. The visage of your pretty face covered in his cum is an image Zoro frequently has in his head when he’s with you, though he would never admit it.

Today was a calm day at sea, and Nami had insisted that you let her do your makeup. She was a bit of an expert and spent at least an hour delicately applying the product to your face, proudly shoving a mirror in your hand when it was complete. You had to admit it did look cute. ‘Go show Zoro, see if that dumbass even notices it.’ She laughed.

When you found Zoro he was carefully polishing his swords, barely taking a second to look up at you as you approached before doing a double take. ‘Did you do something? Like with your face?’ He said with slight confusion. Nami wasn’t wrong about the dumbass part.

‘Yeah, Nami did my makeup.’ You replied. He gently placed his swords to the side and stood up, placing a finger under your chin and lifting your head to examine your face for a moment. ‘What do you think?’ You asked, curious as to what was running through his mind.

‘It’s pretty cute.’ His eye met yours and glistened, a subtle smile appearing on his face. ‘Too cute. I think someone oughta ruin it.’ The thought of making your pretty makeup run down your face made Zoro unable to hold himself back. His large hands grabbed your waist and pulled you in for a hard kiss. You could feel his member growing larger already from the mere thought of fucking your mouth. You hadn’t anticipated such a reaction from him, but you weren’t complaining. He pried open your lips with his tongue, inviting himself inside your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours before pulling away and resting his forehead on yours.

‘How are you gonna ruin it?’ You asked cheekily, knowing too well what the answer would be. You could feel the burgeoning wetness in your panties, your pussy becoming tingly as the arousal was mounting.

He laughed softly. ‘Get on your knees and find out, cutie.’ He hummed, leaving a small, gentle kiss on your lips as you happily obliged his command. You kneeled on the floor in front of him and looked up, meeting his gaze and catching a glimpse of the tent in his trousers. His hand made its way into your hair and grabbed a handful, affectionately stroking the top of your head with his thumb as he began undoing the closure of his trousers. As they dropped his large cock was unleashed and you watched desperately, wide-eyed and mouth agape. His dick was always a beautiful sight; it was thick and veiny, already dripping with his delicious precum.

You took an impatient lick at his tip, desperately wanting a taste of him. He chuckled as he pulled your head back to make eye contact with him once again. ‘You’re even cuter when you’re desperate. You want it that bad, huh?’

You nodded enthusiastically. His cock was just too tempting.

‘Good girl. Stick your tongue out and be a good slut.’

#roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro smut #one piece zoro #one piece #zoro x reader #one piece smut