#I don’t even remember how we got here but here we go

[maskedbyghost]

more possessive!reader and our man Simon? hell yes!

You leave your stuff at his place like it’s your second apartment. Hair ties on his nightstand, your clothes in his laundry. That one lip balm he pretends not to use but absolutely does. He once found your earring on his pillow and sat there staring at it for ten minutes straight.

You correct girls when they flirt with him. Not rudely. Just with some subtle things. “He doesn’t like gin, actually,” with a little smile. “Simon’s more of a bourbon guy.” Meanwhile, Simon’s standing behind you, blinking like a confused dog. He didn’t even know he was a bourbon guy until you said so.

He starts dressing the way you like without realizing it. You complimented his black joggers once? Suddenly, they’re in heavy rotation. Mention his cologne smells good? He’s wearing it to the grocery store. You say, “I like when you leave your hair messy like that,” and now he’s suspiciously tousled 24/7.

You use your phone like a weapon. Screenshotting girls who like his pics. “This one again?” with a raised eyebrow. Sending him selfies when he’s out late with a little “missing you” just to make sure he’s thinking about you.

Simon tries to stay cool, tries to act unbothered. But then you say something like, “I don’t like when other girls touch you,” and he’s short-circuiting. Sitting there all red-eared and tense like his body’s trying to pretend it’s not turning into goo.

You say “mine” a lot. Half-joking. Especially when someone flirts with him in front of you. You’ll just wrap your arms around his waist, smile up at him, and go, “God, you’re so mine,” like it’s nothing, and he eats it up.

He tries to “set boundaries” exactly one time. It lasts approximately three days before you show up looking hot, acting normal, and sleeping in his bed like nothing ever changed. He doesn’t bring it up again.

He gets real quiet sometimes. He just looks at you like he’s still trying to figure out how the hell he got here, with you wrapped around him, calling him “baby” like it’s always been his name. And then he just mutters, “How the fuck did I ever think we were just friends?”

He calls you bossy. You take it as a compliment. And let’s be honest, so does he. You tell him where to sit, when to eat, what show to watch—and the worst part? He likes it. It’s the only time his brain shuts off. Just nods and goes, “Yes, love,” like you didn’t just grab him by the collar and steer him like a Roomba.

You never pretend to be casual about him. You look at him like he belongs to you. Like the very idea of someone else getting his attention is personally offensive. He’ll be tying his boots, not even thinking about anything, and you’ll mutter, “I hope no one tries to flirt with you today. I don’t feel like playing nice.”

You get real smug when he shuts down other women. Like, you knew he would, but it still hits different hearing him say “nah, I’ve got someone” without hesitation. You’ll just smile to yourself and say, “Good boy,” when he gets home—and he’ll pretend to roll his eyes while trying not to get hard.

You don’t get jealous. You get territorial. There's a difference. Jealousy is insecure. Territorial is knowing you’ve already won and still refusing to let anyone look at your prize without remembering whose he is.

And he loves it. Loves the way you don’t play games. Loves that you’re all in. Loves that being with you feels like being chosen every day.

PART 3

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@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[asxgard]

Any Excuse | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!Hospitalist!reader

Requested

Summary: A snapshot of your interactions with the ruggedly handsome ER doctor, and several of the excuses he uses to see you.

[ Masterlist ]

Anon Request: I have a request! Jack Abbot x reader where the reader is a new night-shift hospitalist (the doctor that is responsible for taking care of patients admitted to the hospital from the ER) at PTMC. She and Jack hit it off after meeting and he keeps trying to come up with any excuse at all to admit patients just to have to contact her. And maybe he goes and visits his admitted patients “just to check up on them” even though he never has before and probably barely remembers their names just to see her. And the night shift ER crew just smirk at each other whenever she goes to their department to see a patient and interacts with Abbot.

Note: so I read a bunch of articles about hospitalists and I still feel like I might have misunderstood, so this took a bit longer than intended lol but here it is! I hope you enjoy💜

Word Count: 1.4k

All of my works are 18+ due to general adult content.

Warnings: hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, foul language, pining, slowburn? (can I say that in a one shot? lol), so much sass & flirting

not beta read

Jack thought that the first time he saw you, he had to be dreaming. A cliched savior in a white lab coat, moving through the Pitt with a purpose and a smile. He had heard about the new hospitalist floating around, having started several weeks prior, but he had never seen you down in the Pitt before.

You had come down for an admitted patient, and when you stopped in front of him to go over the case, it took him a second to speak.

“Finally come to see how the other half lives?”

“More like finally hitting rock bottom.” You supplied effortlessly with a smirk.

One side of Jack’s lips tilted upwards, “Patient’s been waiting nearly two hours on a bed upstairs.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You said, eyes flickering across the busy ED, “You’re lucky he wasn’t waiting for surgery. You’d wait all night.”

Jack handed over the tablet showing the patient’s chart. You skimmed through it quickly, humming as you did.

“Great, I’ll go get him to radiology. Thank you, Dr. Abbot.” You said, smiling at him.

He watched you go with an uncapped fascination. With the tiniest hint of a smile, Jack got back to work.

—

The next time he saw you, you were in one of the ED rooms, talking to a mother and daughter. You were going over some results, before explaining that you would be bringing the mother upstairs shortly for inpatient care. Your demeanor was kind, but refined, shoulders set with an easy smile.

“Good evening, Dr. Abbot.” You said as you approached him.

He greeted you after a beat, subtly taking in your figure. “Would be better without all these boarders.”

You glanced at the board, “Truly, if this is how the other half lives, I’m good where I’m at.”

A wry grin formed, “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

You chuckled, “I think the dose I got on my med school rotation is good enough for a lifetime. I’m content just drifting through, on occasion.”

Me too, Jack thought before shaking it off, steeling his expression.

“You get used to it.” Jack said, tone light, “At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

Jack ignored the way Ellis looked over at him.

“Duly noted.” You said with a smile. “Can we go over my patient quickly? I’d like to get her upstairs.”

Jack nodded, moving closer to you to rattle off several things about your patient.

It was around that time Jack started taking sugar in his coffee. Just one packet, but it did not go unnoticed.

—

“Ah, Dr. Abbot, just the man I was looking for.” You said, walking over to the charge desk where he stood.

He looked from the board to you, eyebrow raised, “Don’t hear that often.”

You raised a challenging eyebrow in return, “Why’s that, do you think? Certainly would have nothing to do with your bedside manner, or that rugged charm? Perhaps the dry humor? No, certainly not.”

Shen barked a laugh beside him, before quickly covering it with an awkward cough.

Jack blinked, momentarily speechless. “I think it has something to do with…what did Dana’s daughter call it? My resting bitch face?”

You laughed, and the sound carried, making Jack’s heart squeeze.

“Maybe that’s it. I’d just call it ‘stoic and mysterious’. It works, for you.” You said, clearing your throat and glancing away from him as your cheeks heated. “Anyways, I was just coming to ask why you were admitting the patient in Central-5? EKG was clean, troponin test confirmed no heart attack, and you can monitor overnight down here.”

“Need the bed.” He supplied. “8/10 chest pain that comes and goes, shortness of breath, several risk factors like high cholesterol and triglycerides. CCU should take him.”

You hummed, looking over the chart again. “Alright, yeah, I’ll take him. I’ll follow up with his PCP in the morning to get more of a history. Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”

Jack nodded.

“Can you let Ms. Kelly know I’ll be back down shortly to bring her to gastro?”

He nodded again, “Course.”

You smiled brightly at him, “Thank you!”

—

Hours later, Jack had moved up to CCU to check on a patient. Something he never did. It was less so to check up on the patient, and more so to see you. He didn’t even remember the patient’s name, only their list of symptoms, their test results.

You had begun to occupy most of his thoughts, and he found himself looking for any excuse to talk with you. The bad breakroom coffee felt hot in his hands, two cups holding more weight than just liquid. He had no idea how you took your coffee — if you drank coffee — but he guessed you preferred it slightly sweet. He really hoped he was right.

Sat in a reserved corner of the seventh floor, you were charting — hands moving quickly over the keys, eyes focused.

“Hey,” Jack said softly, as to not startle you.

You turned your head, taking him in before you smiled.

“Wanted to check up on Mr…uh, and figured you might need this.” He offered you one of the cups.

You blinked, “Mr. Olsen? You wanted to check up on a patient?” You accepted the coffee, “Thank you, this was really nice of you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Was hoping I was being overly cautious and he didn’t actually have a heart attack.”

“It’s good you wanted to admit him, actually. I think he has GERD.” You said, taking a careful sip of the hot liquid, and a smile lit up your features when you swallowed, eyes flickering from the liquid and back to Jack.

Jack took a sip of his black coffee, nodding. “That makes sense, actually. Heartburn could’ve been what he was feeling.”

“I asked him about his diet, high-fat mostly. He had a spicy burrito for dinner, so yeah. GERD. Waiting for a consult, but he’s doing fine. I’ll have him follow up with a nutritionist and his PCP.”

“Good, that’s good.” He shifted his weight. “Looks like you’ll have all the glory, then.”

You laughed, “Hardly. You wanted to admit him…but we can share. 70/30?”

Jack smirked, “Closer to 60/40. I did order all those tests.”

You scoffed playfully, “I will go no lower than 65/45.”

“Deal.”

—

You came down into the Pitt with coffees in hand, eyes searching for a particular doctor — the one with hard, caring hazel eyes, salt and pepper curls, and a smile that made your heart race.

“He’s in Trauma-1,” said Ellis, hiding her smirk well. “I can let him know you stopped by?”

Your cheeks heated, “I can wait, I have two patients to check up on down here. They should have beds within the hour.”

Ellis nodded, “Look at you getting stuff done.”

“Heavy is the head…”

She chuckled.

Jack said your name in surprise, closing in on you. He took in the coffees and your smile.

You handed him one without ceremony, “Returning the favor.”

He accepted it graciously, ignoring how Shen and Ellis were smirking at him, taking a sip.

“Damn, they hide the good shit upstairs, huh?”

You cracked a grin, “It’s as if they play favorites.”

Jack put a hand over his heart and mocked offense, “You wound me. Are you saying I’m not your favorite?”

“I brought you the good shit, didn’t I?” You smirked, not missing a beat.

—

Jack called your work cell, glancing up at the board with one hand in his pocket. His shift was nearly over, but he had decided to call you after he had failed to see you for most of his shift.

“Thinking about admitting a patient to the cardiology,” he supplied lamely. “I know you can work magic with admissions.”

“You’re calling to ask for advice or for a favor?” You asked, “Or just so the Pitt can be graced with my wondrous presence right before shift change?”

“Can’t one doctor just call another?” A pause, “But can’t it be a bit of all of that?”

Your laugh was light and airy, “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

True to your word, you arrived in under ten minutes.

“You could just page me next time.”

He shrugged, “Ruins the mystique.”

A sharp laugh escaped your throat that you covered with your hand. “I feel like it would add mystique, even though I hardly think you leave any for the rest of us.”

“You think I’ve got mystique?”

“Totally. I dig the whole ‘gritty ER doc bathed in mystery’ thing you’ve got going on.”

“Yeah?” He raised a challenging eyebrow. “So I shouldn’t ask you to dinner then?”

“No, no,” Your cheeks flamed. “I think you totally should. But only if you don’t think it’ll ruin your rough-edge reputation.”

“We should test it. You know, for science.”

You agreed easily, “For scientific purposes only.”

He matched your smirk.

[ more stuff with Jack Abbot ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69 @moonlightmvrvel @andabuttonnose @boldlyherdream

All: @nixandtonic

I really enjoyed this one, so I hope you did too!

[sooniebby]

Recently into the idea of reader getting eaten out on a motorcycle by a racer. Smut Drabble. Little plot then straight to smut.

Bottom Trans male reader . Use of cunt/pussy,clit, cock, and hole. Characters name are Thai (in case you’re confused). P’(name) is for someone older, Nong (Name) is for someone younger.

“Are we supposed to be here?”

“Shh, just act natural.”

You were dumb, but that’s something your friend, Som, had gotten used to. He whispered a quick prayer to Phra Siam Devadhiraj before following you into the illegal street race. Whoever was holding the race had to have been a man of power since it was being held right in Bangkok, near to a highway.

The highway was even closed down for the specific race. Som wondered if he should pray again as he watched you slip past a group of bodyguards.

“I still don’t get why you needed to come here…” Som whispered, shaking his head.

You grinned. “Listen, P’Krist mentioned something about this yesterday!”

“You managed to talk to him?”

You were silent as you stared at Som with a straight face.

“You spied on him again, huh?”

“Anyway!” You started, standing on your toes as you began looking around. “He has to be around here… maybe he’s a racer?!” You giggled, imaging your crush in a racer suit.

“Or he could just be a spectator…”

“Nah, P’Krist is too cool for that.”

“This still doesn’t make any sense. You aren’t gonna speak to him anyway. You turn into a deer in headlights when he even walks near you.”

“It’s different this time! He’ll see me,” you pointed at your outfit, dressed in a tight leather pants and with a see-through tank top. “Then he’ll jump my bones and I’ll finally fulfill my dream of semi-public sex.” You nodded to yourself, a perfect plan.

“You’re insane.”

“Don’t cramp on my style, Som. You’re just jealous I’ll be having kinky sex soon while you’re stuck with plain vanilla bean sex!”

Som sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I think you should just be realistic, for your own good.” He did start looking around for Krist, because he wanted you to be happy either way. “I don’t think P’Krist is as cool as you make him out to be.”

“You just don’t get.” You simply muttered.

“Mhm,” Som pulled out his phone, seeing his boyfriend was calling him. “Hold on. Bank is calling me.”

“Oh tell him I said hey!”

“Hey, hey, stay where I can see you!” Som immediately called out, ignoring your pout as he answered the phone. “Bank? Why aren’t you studying?”

You yawned, unable to stop yourself from shivering as you curled into yourself.

“Are you new here?”

You glanced over and came face to face with a racer. Judging by the fact he was still wearing his helmet for some reason. He was dressed surprisingly casual, just a leather jacket, blue jeans, and a white beater.

“Huh?” You whispered, “how could you tell?”

A muffle chuckle left his lips as he tilted his head. “Well, I’d remember a cute face like yours.”

Your brain stopped as you blinked multiple times. That only got another laugh from the racer as he pointed at Som not too far from you.

“That your boyfriend?”

“Ah! No! A friend. Uh, he’s talking to his boyfriend right now.” You managed to say, glancing back at Som. He looked engrossed in his conversation with Bank.

The racer hummed. “I’m going to race in a hour, I thought I could get some encouragement from a special someone.”

You raised an eyebrow, suddenly shivering again. “What type of encouragement?”

He reached a gloved hand up to his helmet, his movement slow as he pushed it upward. You gulped as his face was revealed, a Cheshire like smirk already on his lips. His eyes reminded you of a tiger, his gaze set only on you as he leaned down.

“You know what type, only reason why you’d wear something like that here.” His free hand tugged at your shirt as you flinched from his touch. The cool material from his gloves felt like it burned.

Look, you’ve been a virgin for too long now. You haven’t even held hands with someone romantically. Sure, Som would certainly scold you later but this guy was hot.

Besides, Krist shouldn’t be bothered if you dated around, he had multiple partners before you.

The racer seemed to immediately know your thought process as his grin widen, holding his hand out. You hesitated just a for a moment as you glanced back at Som. He was still talking to Bank. He has your phone location, it’ll be fine.

You grabbed the racer’s hand and gave him a shy nod. He squeezed your hand, almost noticing your nerves as he led you just a few feet away from Som.

It was behind a big truck where a motorcycle sat. You wished you knew more about motorcycles to properly appreciate it but it still looked fancy in your eyes. The racer placed his helmet on the handle as he patted the seat.

“Sit.”

You blinked, glancing up at him. “Here?”

“Mhm, sit.” He stepped back, waiting for you. You finally took in his facial features more, messy black hair, full eyebrows and a long nose. Hm…. You pushed the thought of riding his nose out your head.

Wait.

“Ah,” you whispered, suddenly remembering what you weren’t packing in your pants. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you.. but I don’t have, y’know, a dick.”

The racer shrugged. “Okay.”

“That’s okay?”

“I don’t care. You’re still a man. Sit down already, I only have thirty minutes.”

You glanced around before simply sitting down. The racer smirked, shaking his head. He pushed your legs apart as his he gripped the belt hoop of your pants.

“You were supposed to take off your pants first, Nangfa.” He popped open your button, pulling them down. You couldn’t help but giggle at the nickname. As his free hand gripped your waist to bring you off the bike just a bit, allowing the pangs to slide down.

“Hm, maybe your shoes as well.” He suddenly said, pulling off your sneakers once he noticed the pants got stuck. You couldn’t help but giggle, feeling less nervous. Once you were finally free from your shoes and pants, he gazed down between your legs.

You felt your cheeks flush as you fought the urge to close your legs.

“Black panties?”

“I couldn’t wear boxers, they were uncomfortable with the pants.” You muttered, already remembering the battle it took to even pull the pants up. Gosh that was gonna be a pain in the ass after this.

Your body flinched when he touched your inner thigh. He gazed up at you and smirked, “you can always tell me to stop, do you have a safe word?”

“Can’t I just say stop?” You whispered.

“That works.” He hummed, zeroing in on your underwear. You bit your lip as he gripped the soft material, slowly pulling them down your thighs.

You leaned back on the bike, the truck acting as a barrier and something to hold you up. The racer tugged off his gloves and carelessly tossed them to ground, his now free hands gripping your thighs. You shrieked as he pulled you closer, your legs now resting on his shoulders.

“It’s unfair I only have less than thirty minutes. That’s not enough to worship this,” he leaned in, a tiny peck on your clit. Your hips stuttered as he brought his hand down, prying your pussy open.

He wasted no more time as he immediately dived in, his lips circling around your clit. A silent scream escaped you as you gripped at the bike seat. His tongue slipped between your folds as his finger began to rub your clit in a painstakingly slow motion.

Your toes curled as you bit into your fist, legs only able to clamp close on his head. He made no attempt to slow down or even let you breathe, bringing his hand down to slip in two fingers.

“You can be loud,” he whispered, pressing wet kisses on your lower stomach, his fingers thrusting into your cunt. “They won’t hear you over the screaming.” As if on cue, the spectators began screaming, the race from before must be coming to an end.

The racer immediately took advantage of that as he suckled your cock, his fingers picking up the pace as they stretched your hole. You couldn’t hold back as you let out a scream. He was right, your cries blended in with the crowd quite easily.

“Can’t… can’t do it…” you whined before your eyes closed, your back arching as a silent whine left your lips. The racer didn’t stop as he quickly pressed his lips on your cunt, his thumb rubbing your clit. A whimper escaped you just as your legs shook, your pussy clamped down on his fingers before it began to squirt.

He didn’t pull away, still sucking you as you reached your orgasm. It wasn’t until you began to whine from the overstimulation that he finally pulled away. His lower half of his face was drenched as he nonchalantly wiped it clean with his shirt.

“Nangfa,” he said, delivering a teasing slap to your cunt as you cried out in shock, quickly clapping your legs close. “Relax. Call your friend over to help you, I have to go get ready.” He grabbed his gloves and helmet, giving you a grin.

“Ngh… what about you..?” You whispered, realizing that he hadn’t even gotten underdressed at all. It almost looked like he didn’t do anything.

“I’m good.” He simply shrugged. “This was just a good luck ritual, though….” He leaned down, his nose bumping into yours. “I think you’re my favorite yet—you taste sweet. Perfect fuel.”

“Fuel?” You blinked, finally starting to gain the motor function to stand up. Your thighs were wet from the cum that managed to escape his mouth. And much to your fear, the seat was wet as well.

“Yea,” he slipped on his gloves, “better than any other cock I’ve ever sucked. You must eat a lot of fruits.” The sound of a cell phone caught your attention as he pulled it out from his pocket. “Oop, that’s the big boss. Better go, Nangfa.”

Just as he made the attempt to move you suddenly realized he was leaving his bike.

“Hey!! You’re forgetting your bike!” You called out.

He glanced back and smirked, “it’s not my bike, it’s Krist’s. See you, Nong (Name).”

You blinked. Wait how’d he know your name?

And what did he mean this was Krist’s bike…? Did he…?

Before you could fully panic any further, you finally noticed your phone had been blowing up. You quickly kneeled down and pulled out your phone from the pants pocket. You silently prayed for your safety before answering the call.

“(Name) Opas Phanuwat, what do you think ‘stay where I can see you’ means?”

I think I want to make this a full fic, but I’ll probably have to do a cis male reader for that… people get weird when it comes trans male reader, fml .

Nangfa นางฟ้า — means angel

Taglist: @the-ultimate-librarian @star-3214 @castocipher @secretivemessenger @mooncarvers-world @cherry-blossoms-187 @kiiyoooo @iwishtobeacrow @tehyunnie @tomoeroi @love-kha1 @remdayz @ofclyde @mello-life25 @yuzuukix @anchoredphoenix @m00n-b4b3 @ning1e @roi-henri-xxii @chill-guy-but-cooler @rhetorical-conscience

[scribblesofagoonerr]

a bit of a wobble | chaos fc

this is an extra one added in because well i'm in the mood to write angst. also big thank you to @wosov for helping me create the idea for this one

pairings: katie mccabe x monkey!reader | kyra cooney-cross x monkey!reader | awfc x monkey!reader

summary: monkey has a bit of a wobble in australia and she needs the comfort of her favourite auntie

“Are you sure she’s okay?” Kyra asked Steph for what felt like the millionth time in the space of ten minutes since they climbed on the bus, “Are you positive? Can you ring Katie? I’m worried about her!”

The bus sat parked out front of Marvel Stadium, awaiting the late arrivals, and Kyra couldn’t stop fidgeting in her seat. Steph, unfortunately, had drawn the short straw and was stuck next to her, constantly hounding her with questions about you.

“I’m sure she’s going to be just fine, Ky. Katie’s got her,” Steph answered, forcing a tight-lipped smile, “Now, will you just sit still and stop fidgeting for five minutes?”

“But… But what if she’s not? What if she’s still upset? What if something’s wrong?” Kyra’s words tumbled out in a rapid stream, her panic growing with every passing second, “She didn’t… She didn’t seem herself back there!”

Steph exchanged a glance with Caitlin, who sat in front of the two of them, and the latter of the two raised an eyebrow, clearly tired of the back-and-forth,  “Kyra, let it go, alright? There’s nothing we can do right now. It’s out of our hands,” The girl explained, trying to ground the younger girl.

But Kyra was far from letting it go. She was bouncing in her seat, agitated, half turning to look out the window and expecting to see you walk out with Katie.

“I’m gonna go to her hotel room and check in on her when we get back,” Kyra declared suddenly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ky, she’s not there, remember?” Steph told her firmly, “Katie has her. You need to stop.”

But that didn’t even phase Kyra.

“Fine, then I’ll just go to Katie’s hotel room instead,” The Aussie girl insisted, her eyes bright with determination, “I’m her bestie. I’ll cheer her up!”

Steph and Caitlin shared a look with one another.

“Look, pest, she’s… she just needs to be with Katie tonight, alright?” Caitlin tried to explain in the best way that she could, “Tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll be back to her usual self, bouncing around and annoying all of us. You just need to be patient and wait.”

Steph snorted in amusement, “Patient? This is Kyra we’re talking about here, remember?”

“I have to go and find her. I don’t see why I can’t go and see how she’s doing! Why does it matter if Katie is with her or not?” Kyra was determined to check on you, and make sure you were okay, and she wouldn’t believe it until she saw it with her own eyes. She stood up suddenly, gripping the rail by her seat as if that alone would get her off the bus faster.

And then the bus started to rumble.

The engine fired up beneath them, and Kyra’s eyes went wide, “Wait, wait—Monkey isn’t on the bus yet! We can’t go! We can’t leave her behind!”

Steph was already out of her seat, grabbing the back of Kyra’s hoodie to yank her back into place, “Sit. Down. Monkey’s fine.”

“Ky, relax, Katie and Monkey are getting an Uber back,” Caitlin said gently, though Kyra still looked panicked, “Just sit down, it’s going to be fine. They’ll be back in a bit.”

“Why?” Kyra asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “I… I don’t get it. Why are they coming back separately? Nothing is making sense right now!”

Steph exhaled a sigh and pushed Kyra into the window seat, keeping her arm across her to stop her from moving, “I know you don’t understand all of it, Kyra, but just trust us when we say that she’s in safe hands with Katie, okay? Like Cait said, wait until tomorrow and she’ll be back to her usual menace-self, yeah?”

Kyra huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “I don’t like it, though. She should be on here, it’s not right!”

“I know you don’t like it, pest, but it is what it is,” Caitlin murmured, pressing her lips together, “Katie knows how to handle Monkey when she’s like… this, and it’s better this way.”

“Right, our Uber’s here, little lady,” Katie said softly, crouching down to your level with her voice all calm and gentle. Her hoodie was draped around your waist, tied securely to cover the wet patch on your shorts—not a single word of judgement, not even a look. Just care.

She’d of course seen this before.

You sniffled, but didn’t say anything, still sucking your thumb without realiising. You just stared, your eyes a little too wide, too empty. You weren’t really there.

“Hey, Monkey,” Katie reached out and brushed a bit of hair out of your eyes with the backs of her fingers, her expression nothing but kind, “I know it’s been a long day today, hasn’t it?”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink.

“We’ll have you back to the hotel soon enough,” Katie pressed on anyway, her voice a careful murmur like she was trying not to startle a frightened animal, “Yer can have a bath and clean up, and then we’ll watch a movie in my bed, how ‘bout that? I’ll even let yer pick it.”

Still nothing. But your head tilted a bit towards her hand.

That was enough. It was something.

It was barely anything. But still—enough.

“Atta girl,” Katie murmured, her hand rubbing gently up and down your back as she helped you stand. Your knees buckled a bit, but she caught you without hesitation, steadying you like she’d done it a thousand times before, “We’ll get yer sorted. No rush. We go at yer pace, little lady.”

Katie had her arm wrapped protectively around you as she led you towards the car park. The Uber was waiting just outside the stadium. She helped you into the back seat, buckled you in carefully as your thumb finally slipped from your mouth. Your eyes were still glassy as you stared at nothing in particular.

You didn’t protest, didn’t react. You just… let her do everything for you.

Katie’s jaw clenched for half a second as she draped her arm around your shoulders and tried not to show how worried she was. She let you cuddle in close, your head falling limply against her shoulder while your eyes remained unfocused as the car began to pull off from the curb.

The Irish girl rested her cheek on top of you as she shut her eyes for a moment, “Soon as we get back, it’s warm jammies and a cuddle burrito, alright?” She whispered into your ear like she was sharing her best-kept secret, “And yer can’t be sad in a cuddle burrito.”

Still nothing.

Katie didn’t speak again. She just held you that bit tighter, and pulled out her phone with her free hand, texting Caitlin with one thumb, her heart sinking a little further with every silent minute.

📲 We’re heading back to the hotel now. Can we rain check on our plans later? Monkey really needs me tonight. She’s not herself at all

Before continuing to keep her arm wrapped around you, holding you tightly as if she was afraid of letting you go, “Bet this feels like déjà vu, doesn’t it? I should probably let your ma’s know what’s happened, and that you’re okay.”

She started typing a second message, this time to Jordan.

📲 Monkey’s had a bit of a wobble, but don’t worry, she’s alright, and I’m looking after her tonight for you both.

Before she could hit send, you stirred. Just a little. A sound, more breath than voice.

“M… Mummy,” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Katie froze, and her eyes widened in sheer panic—She’d seen this happen before with her own eyes, “Oh…�� shit.”

The message to Jordan stayed unsent.

She tucked her phone away, both arms back around you now. That one tiny word still echoed in her ears, and just like that, all of her full attention was back on you.

Even at the hotel, Kyra was relentless in keeping on going and questioning every little thing.

“We were supposed to have a sleepover tonight! I don’t get why that can’t happen?” The young Australian questioned, confused as she paced the hotel room up and down, “Why is it so important that she stays with Katie? Why can’t I help her?”

Steph and Caitlin shared another look, “She’s not going to give up, is she?” Caitlin asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Steph murmured, exhaling a small sigh, “There’s only one person who can explain this better than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Caitlin hummed in agreement, “You’d better get Leah on the phone to have a word with her.”

Steph hesitated. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, thumb hovering over the screen for a second.

“It’s late there,” The older one out of the two muttered, half to herself. But then she glanced at Kyra, who was now pacing the room like a caged animal.

“... She’ll want to know what’s going on anyway, Steph. This is Leah we’re on about here, remember?” Caitlin added, more to justify it.

“Yeah…” Steph mumbled, her thumb hovering over the screen, “Yeah, you’re right there, “ And Steph finally hit call.

After a few rings, the call connected.

Leah’s tired face filled the screen—eyes half-lidded, her blonde hair shoved into a messy bun. But it wasn’t just Leah.

Your 3-year-old sister Buddy was clinging to her, arms wrapped around her neck, her small face blotchy and tear-streaked, “Hey, Leah—Oh no, little miss. What’s the matter?”

Buddy only cried harder, nuzzling into Leah’s shoulder with a tiny whimper.

“Bubba’s not doing too good right now, are we?” Leah cooed, rocking her gently and kissing her forehead, “So we’ve had some Calpol, and we’re having some snuggles while we wait for it to kick in, aren’t we, Buddy?”

“I poorly, Auntie Stephy,” Buddy sniffled, her voice cracking through the phone, “I feel icky!”

“Oh no,” Steph frowned, her voice softening, “It’s a good job you’ve got your Mummy to take care of you. You’ll be better in no time, sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh,” Buddy nodded sadly, still curled into Leah’s arms.

“Doing my best,” Leah sighed, “Just what I wanted to deal with today, eh?” She offered a tired smile before glancing up again, “Is everything alright? Please don’t tell me Monkey’s been causing more trouble.”

Steph hesitated, “Oh, no… no, it’s kind of the opposite of that.”

Leah’s expression sharpened immediately, “What d’you mean?”

“Where Monks’?” Buddy asked quietly, rubbing at her nose.

“She’s with your Auntie Katie right now,” Steph answered gently—but the second those words were out, Leah’s face fell.

“... She’s with Katie?” Leah asked slowly, her entire posture changing, “She chose to go with Katie?”

Steph nodded, and Leah sat up straighter, brows knitting together.

“What’s going on?” Leah asked, her voice low and tight, “What’s happened?”

“Well… the thing is, Monkey’s a bit… vulnerable right now,” Steph began to explain, “We didn’t want to worry you, but—”

Leah’s jaw clenched, “You should’ve called sooner. What d’you mean, vulnerable? What’s wrong with her?”

“Le, she’s safe. I promise,” Steph rushed to reassure her, “Katie’s got her. She’s really shaken up, and Katie’s just taking it slow. But the thing is…. Kyra doesn’t understand what is going on, and well, she won’t let it go.”

Leah’s heart clenched in her chest, “Fuck,” She whispered, and then pinched the bridge of her nose, “What d’you mean Kyra won’t let it go?”

“Won’t stop pacing. Keeps trying to leave. Keeps saying she wants to see Monkey. Won’t let it go,” Caitlin chimed in from behind Steph, her voice hushed but exasperated, “And she’s dead set on wanting to have a sleepover with your girl tonight.”

“She thinks she’s helping,” Steph added, “She doesn’t understand. She’s getting really upset about it. Will you try and talk to her?”

Leah sighed and rubbed her temple, already sitting up straighter, “Yeah, alright. Put her on.”

“Thank you,” Steph breathed a sigh of relief, handed the phone off, and Kyra appeared in the frame, visibly frazzled and fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, “Ky? Come here. Leah wants to speak to you.”

Kyra sprinted across the hotel room and snatched the phone out of Steph’s hands, “Leah! Leah, is Monkey okay? She… She didn’t seem right at all!” She rambled her words, trying to get her point across, “She was quiet… and acting weird. And she was sucking her thumb, and she was… she was shaking a bit? That’s not normal, right? I know she’s not okay. I can go and fix it, though, I promise!”

“Kyra,” Leah’s tone softened slightly, but it was still firm–the usual tone of voice that Kyra recognised Leah usually reserved for you and Buddy, “Look, I know you’re worried. I know you care about Monkey. But I need you to listen to me, and I mean really listen.”

Kyra blinked, “But she needs me, I can help—”

“Ra!” Buddy squealed weakly from Leah’s lap, perking up, “Mummy, Mummy, ‘ook! Dat Ra! But where Monks’?”

“Yes, it’s Kyra, isn’t it, Bubba?” Leah smiled tiredly, adjusting the phone, balancing it while still rocking Buddy, “Your big sister is with Auntie Katie right now. She’s not feeling her best, but Auntie Katie’s gonna help her feel better.”

“Otay,” Buddy nodded in understanding, “I wan’ talk to Ra too, Mummy!” The little girl insisted.

“You can soon, Bubba, but Mummy needs to talk to her first, alright?” Leah stroked her hair, “Then you can have a chat!”

Once Buddy had settled back into Leah’s chest, Leah focused on Kyra again.

“Kyra, I know this all seems confusing, and I know you want to help. That’s the difference,” Leah’s voice cut through the room like a knife, “Right now, Monkey doesn’t need a best mate. She needs calm. Quiet. She needs someone who knows exactly how to hold her when she’s too far gone to say what she needs.”

“But I know her!” Kyra protested, eyes glistening, “I can help her! We could… We could do something. And that would cheer her up!”

“I love that you want to help her, Kyra. I love that you care so much about my girl. But that won’t help. Monkey’s got a different way of coping sometimes, alright? She’s… unique, and sometimes, well, sometimes, yes, she does things that seem typical for her age. But that’s just how she copes,” Leah’s voice finally cracked a little, “Monkey’s going through a bit of a rough patch, and when she gets scared like this, her brain checks out. It’s not about cheering her up or playing games. It’s about making sure she’s safe enough to breathe.”

Kyra’s brow furrowed, “Is it ‘cause of her dad? I heard stuff. I know was an ab—well, a proper idiot. That’s why she got adopted by you, and your ex in the first place, yeah?”

Leah looked down for a beat, pressing her lips together, “... It’s more complicated than just that, Kyra. A lot more complicated.”

“But I could—”

“No, Kyra. You couldn’t. And that’s okay,” Leah cut her off, “I know that your heart is in the right place. Do you think I like being on the other side of the world while my kid’s falling apart? No. But I am grateful that she has her Auntie there. She needs someone familiar there. And I trust Katie. Because she knows how to handle Monkey when she’s like this.”

“We were meant to have a sleepover,” Kyra bit her lip, “We… We had plans.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, Kyra,” Leah apologised, keeping her tone gentle and calm, “I know you had plans, but she doesn’t need that. She needs to be with someone who can take care of her in the way that you just can’t, right now. Not because you don’t care, I know you do. But this… this is deeper. Right now, Monkey needs her Auntie. I need you to trust me that she’s safe.”

“But it’s not fair,” Kyra huffed, dramatically flopping down onto Steph’s bed, “What about our sleepover now?”

“There’ll be plenty of time for sleepovers, Kyra. It’s not the end of the world,” Leah reminded her, “I don’t exactly know what has happened, but if Monkey is with Katie, then I really need you to trust me on this. Trust me that Monkey needs her Auntie Katie. It’s important that she has that sense of familiarity around her if she’s feeling vulnerable right now, okay?

Buddy sniffled and looked up again, “I wan’ Monks’.”

“I know, Bubba,” Leah cooed, “Another couple of days, and she’ll be home. And then she can open her birthday presents from us all.”

“When Nana comin’?” Buddy asked, peering up to look at Leah.

“Oh, in a bit, baby. It’s still very early right now, and I think Nana will be asleep,” Leah gently explained, brushing the sweaty hair out of Buddy’s eyes.

Kyra’s voice was quiet now, “I’ve never seen her like that before, she looked so… small, and vulnerable. Kim shouted at her, and she just… shut down. It was like she wasn’t even there—”

“Wait, what?” Leah instantly cut her off, anger quickly taking over her previous worried tone of voice, “What d’you mean, Kim shouted at her?!”

“Oh, umm…” Kyra wasn’t exactly sure how to explain it, biting her bottom lip, “I… I don’t think she meant it, but well, Monkey and I were trying to prank Emily, and it sorta backfired…” She mumbled, turning to look at Steph for her help explaining it.

Steph huffed, rolling her eyes as she reluctantly took back her phone to explain the situation to Leah in better detail, “Right, so Monkey and Kyra attempted to prank Emily, but it backfired, and it ended up that Katie got caught out instead,” She began to explain, “Well, Katie wasn’t too happy about that, and then tried to chase Monkey around the changing rooms—”

“What the hell does any of this have to do with Kim shouting at my girl?” Leah cut the Australian off, feeling immensely protective of you and not liking the fact that Kim yelled at you.

“Mummy, ‘ou swore!” Buddy spoke aloud in realisation, “Dat a naughty word, ‘meber? ‘Ou can’ say dat!”

Leah peered down to look at Buddy, who was lying on her and innocently looking up at her, “You’re right, Bubba. Mummy shouldn’t say words like that. You don’t repeat them, okay?”

“Right, yeah, so Kim walked in and found out what happened,” Steph continued to explain to Leah, “Kim tried to put Monkey in timeout because, well, she’d been pushing buttons a lot throughout the day, and Monkey muttered something under her breath. Kim misheard. It all escalated from there,” She finished filling Leah in on the chaos you’d been causing and the reason behind Kim shouting at you.

“And now Monkey is terrified?” Leah muttered, jaw clenched, “Brilliant. My girl is scared, and I’m on the other side of the world and unable to be there—Great, that’s just fantastic.”

“Katie has her,” Steph reminded her, “She’s got it under control. But… Kim’s really cut up about it. Barely spoke at all on the bus back to the hotel. I think she’d probably benefit from a call to check in as well.”

“Right,” Leah murmured, “I’ll give her a call once we’re done.”

“Mummy,” Buddy piped up, tugging on her shirt, “I speak to Ra now like ‘ou said I could?”

“You can, Bubba,” Leah smiled, gesturing for Buddy to hold her phone as she let the toddler chat away to Kyra–literally about nothing and everything. Her favourite paw patrol pup, the colour of her new juice bottle, how much she missed you, and she couldn’t wait to see you when you’re home.

“Ra! Guess what?” Buddy chirped to Kyra excitedly, “M’ Nana’s comin’ to see me ‘ater! Right, Mummy?”

“That’s right, Bubba,” Leag smiled, brushing a lock of hair from the little girl’s face, “She’s bringing Monkey’s birthday presents, isn’t she? So your big sister can open them when she’s back home with us.”

“Yeah! Monks’ hafta open all da presents!” Buddy squealed, the Calpol finally kicking in as her usual bubbly chatter returned.

“Wow, that’s so cool! Are you gonna help her open them all?” Kyra asked, trying her best to sound upbeat, even though her mind was still tangled up with worry about you.

“Uh huh! Me gonna be the bestest helper!” Buddy declared, puffing out her chest proudly, “Me gon’ rip ‘em all open for her!”

“You’ve gotta save a few for her to open too, you know,” Kyra teased gently.

“Don’ worry, I do dat!” Buddy promised, her whole face lit up with determination.

“Alright, Bubba,” Leah said with a soft laugh, “We’ve got to let Kyra and Steph go now, and get some breaky in that tummy of yours, don’t we?”

“But Mummy, I still hafta talk to Ra!” Buddy insisted, an adorable pout plastered on her face, “I don’ wan’ no food!

“There’ll be plenty of time to talk later,” Leah said, coaxing her gently. She reached out and motioned for the phone, “Let’s let them get on, yeah?”

“Bye, Buddy!” Kyra waved at the 3-year-old.

“Buh-bye, Ra!” Buddy murmbled, waving back as she curled herself back up against Leah.

Kyra gave Leah a wave before handing Steph’s phone back to her.

 You’ll text me when they get back to the hotel?” Leah asked Steph, the worry thick in her voice despite her trying not to show it, “And tell Katie… Tell her thank you.”

“Of course,” Steph agreed with the blonde, “Monkey will be okay, Le. She’s in good hands with Katie.”

With some reluctant goodbyes, Leah ended the call, the smile on her face slipping the moment the screen went black.

The guilt sat heavy in her stomach. She hated not being there with you, especially now, when you needed her the most. You might be grown, but in her heart, you’d always be her little girl. And hearing the way you sounded—small, scared—it nearly broke her.

“Mummy!” Buddy piped up again, suddenly scrambling off the bed, “I wan’ Coco Pops! Cos’ dats da one Monkey likes, an’ I eat dem cos’ I miss ‘er!”

Leah blinked back the sting in her eyes, “I know, Bubba,” She murmured, standing to follow her, “I miss Monkey too. But she’ll be back before we know it.

“That was a quick ride, wasn’t it?” Katie murmured gently as the Uber pulled up outside the hotel, “Shall we get out now, hm?”

You didn’t answer as Katie coaxed you out of the car.

“Cheers, ‘ave a good one!” Katie called to the driver, her arm still wrapped securely around your waist.

You didn’t react, eyes vacant, staring somewhere far away. Katie held you close as she guided you toward the hotel entrance, where the rest of the team had already returned.

“Come on, little lady,” Katie said softly, her tone filled with quiet concern, “Yer gonna feel so much better after a warm bath. Loads of bubbles, yeah? Maybe even chuck in a rubber duck or two.”

But you didn’t respond. Still and silent.

Katie’s heart squeezed as she glanced down at you—so quiet, so unlike yourself. But she didn’t push.

With one arm around your shoulders, Katie led you into the lift, pressing the button to head upstairs, “Alright, little lady. Shall we go to my room or yours instead?”

Silence.

“Where’s yer room key, Monkey?” Katie asked, keeping her voice soft and steady, “Is it in yer backpack?”

You barely moved, just gave the smallest nod—enough for her to understand.

“Alright, let’s see if we can find it,” Katie said, gently slipping the strap off your shoulder and rummaging through the bag, “Here we go—victory, eh? Let’s head in and get yer sorted. I’ll start running yer bath. Yer will feel better in no time.”

Still no words from you.

Katie tapped the keycard against the door and led you gently inside, steering you toward the centre of the room, “Right, yer just wait ‘ere and I’ll go get the water started,” She explained softly, trying to keep things simple and predictable, “Do yer want to pick out some jammies while I do that?”

But you just stood there. Frozen.

Katie let out a quiet sigh—not frustrated, just deeply, deeply sad.

“Or not,” The older girl murmured.

Katie stepped closer and crouched down, lowering herself to your level as she kept her voice barely above a whisper, “Alright, how about this—we take it one step at a time, yeah? Let’s go into the bathroom and I’ll start running that bath.”

With gentle hands, Katie guided you toward the hotel bathroom, just enough to keep you within sight while she moved to the tub. She turned on the taps and popped the plug in, watching as the water began to rise. Rolling up her sleeves, she poured in a generous dollop of bubble bath and swirled it through the water with her hands, filling the room with the soft scent of lavender and the growing froth of bubbles.

Katie kept her movements delicate and careful as she turned to you, a soft smile tugging at her lips, “Do yer want me to leave yer in ‘ere to get outta them damp clothes, now? She asked gently, giving you the choice, not wanting to crowd you.

But you didn’t move.

Katie waited a moment longer, watching you with quiet patience. Then she stepped a little closer, crouching in front of you once more, “Alright, okay then. I know yer probably don’t want me to help yer like this, Monkey,” She began to help you out of your damp clothes with tender hands and feather-light touches, every movement slow and careful so as not to startle you, “What kind of Auntie would I be if I just left you in soggy clothes, eh?”

Your eyes blinked slowly, like her words took a little longer to reach you than they should have. You didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. Just stood there, thumb slipping quietly into your mouth as you stared past her.

Katie glanced over at the bath and tried again, “I think one of them rubber ducks should definitely keep you company in there,” She said, nodding towards the bubbles that were now just high enough to hide the bottom of the tub.

There was a pause. A flicker. You gave the faintest nod.

“Good girl,” Katie whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, her chest aching as she straightened up, “Right, do yer want to get in?” She asked gently.

You still remained silent.

Katie helped you step into the tub with the same gentleness she’d shown all along, then knelt beside it, dipping the sponge into the warm water and squeezing it slowly over your shoulder.

“Let’s do a bath,” Katie murmured, voice barely above the sound of trickling water, “Then we’ll do jammies. Then we’ll watch a movie until yer fall asleep, alright?”

There was a long pause—the kind that filled the air with everything you couldn’t quite say yet.

And then, just as Katie reached for the shampoo, your voice came out—small, hoarse, and cracked around the edges, “M’ sorry, Auntie Katie.”

Katie froze for half a second. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, little lady,” Katie whispered, her voice trembling with tenderness as she brushed a warm hand over your hair, “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, little lady. Nothin’ at all.”

Leaning in, Katie rested a steady hand against your back as she gently ran the sponge down your arm, “You’re safe now, Monkey. That’s all that matters.”

“Mummy! I hafta eat Coco Pops cos’ dem so yummy!” Buddy exclaimed with absolute urgency, legs swinging wildly beneath the kitchen table as she perched in her booster seat, curls still sleep-ruffled and as she waited not so patiently for Leah to make her a bowl of cereal.

Leah chuckled softly, the sound tinged with exhaustion as she rustled through the cereal cupboard, “Coco Pops, comin’ right up, Bubba,” She murmured, pulling out a Bluey-themed cartoon plastic bowl—because anything else would just cause a national toddler meltdown–and poured in the cereal,  filling it just right. Not too much milk, not too little. Just the way Buddy insisted on, lately.

The morning light streamed in through the window, casting a golden glow over the room. There was something oddly peaceful about the hum of routine amidst the chaos of everything else.

Buddy grinned as Leah placed the bowl in front of her, immediately grabbing her spoon with both hands, “I gon’ eat ‘em all an’ get big just like Monks’!”

Leah reached over to gently ruffle her curls, “You’re already growing too fast, baby.”

Buddy chewed happily as the milk dribbled down her chin, utterly content in the moment. 

Leah watched for a moment, letting herself breathe and savouring the brief calm, trying to push aside the ache in her chest.

Then, of course, reality tapped her shoulder in the form of her phone buzzing on the counter.

She picked it up, sighing softly as she tapped Kim’s name in her rest calls.

It rang once. Then twice.

Then—

“Hello?” Kim’s voice was small, raw.

Leah didn’t get a word out before Kim broke.

“I’m so sorry,” Kim burst out, already crying, “Leah, I swear I didn’t mean to shout at her, I just—she caught me off guard and I panicked, and I understand if you don’t want me around Monkey anymore. Or Buddy. Or you. I’ll step back. I’ll find a new club. The captaincy can be yours again, you can have it all, I just—I don’t want you to hate me—”

“Whoa, whoa—stop, Kim,” Leah pinched the bridge of her nose and sank into the kitchen chair, “Stop talkin’ for a second, yeah?”

Kim hiccuped and went quiet, save for her sniffles on the other end.

“I get it,” Leah said, softer now, “Monkey can push buttons. Lord knows she’s pushed every single one of mine over the years. These grey hairs aren’t just football related, y’know?”

That pulled the smallest laugh from Kim—wet and broken but real.

“I don’t want you to move clubs,” Leah said, gentler now, “I don’t want you to disappear on me. Or from my girls. Yeah, I was annoyed for a second—until I heard what happened. Kim, come on, let’s be honest… Monkey’s a menace when she’s spiralling. You snapped. It happens.”

I don’t want you to avoid me. And I definitely don’t want you cuttin’ yourself off from my girls. I mean—yeah, I was annoyed at first. But then I heard what happened. And let’s be honest… Monkey’s a menace when she’s spiralling. You snapped. It happens.”

Leah leaned back with a sigh, glancing at Buddy, who was now talking to her Coco Pops like they were people.

“It’s natural,” Leah added, “You are dealing with Monkey and Kyra in the same 24-hour span. That’s enough to send anyone over the edge.”

Kim started sobbing again—relief this time—and Leah let her. Let her get it all out.

Meanwhile, Buddy had finished her Coco Pops and was now standing beside Leah, gripping her knee, “Mummy! Is dat Auntie Kimmy? I heard Auntie Kimmy!”

Leah angled the screen so Buddy could see, “Say hi then, Bubba.”

Buddy squinted at the screen, “Why ‘ou cryin’, Auntie Kimmy? ‘Ou can’ cry. ‘Ou always happy!”

That got a watery chuckle from Kim, who wiped her eyes and waved, “I’m okay, sweetheart. Just bein’ a bit silly.”

Buddy frowned, “No more bein’ sad. I don’ like it.”

“Exactly,” Leah smiled and nodded, passing Kim a soft look, “You have to listen to Buddy on that one, Kim. Now… care to tell me what ridiculous prank my delightful child tried to pull that backfired?”

“Oh, well that,” Kim covered her mouth, half-laughing, “Her and Kyra tried to set it up for Emily to be attacked with silly string, but it ended up being Katie that got caught in the crossfire of it all.”

Leah groaned, rubbing her face, “Oh for f—I swear, she’s dangerously close to losin’ them sweet privileges if she carries on.”

As she said that, she sent a sly text to Alessia to check on Kim.

📲 Lessi, check on Kim for me, please. She’s not okay

Seconds later, Alessia popped into view behind Kim, wrapping an arm around her from behind and making a silly face at the camera.

“Don’t worry, Le, “ Alessia said, smiling softly, “Kim will be fine. She’s got me now.”

“Lessi!” Buddy squealed, seeing the blonde appear on the screen, “Lessi! Lessi!”

“Hi, little miss!” Alessia replied sweetly, smiling at the little girl sitting beside Leah, “You being cheeky this morning? I bet you're missing your big sister, huh?”

“I miss Monks’, an’ she sad right now,” Buddy pouted, lower lip wobbling, “I don' like it when she sad do.”

Leah wrapped her arm around her daughter, pulling her close, “I know, Bubba, but I bet that we can speak to her soon when she’s had a bit of rest,” She reassured her little girl.

“But I wan’ speak to ‘er now,” Buddy whined, not entirely understanding the reasoning that she couldn’t speak to you right now, “Why no’ now?”

“Monkey… isn’t feeling too great right now, Buddy,” Alessia came up with the excuse, as Leah gave her a grateful smile, “You just have to wait until tomorrow and you’ll be able to speak to her.”

“Yeah! I do dat!” Buddy squealed excitedly.

“Right, Bubba,” Leah cooed, brushing a strand of Buddy’s hair out of her eyes, “Let’s let Lessi and Auntie Kimmy go, and we can start our day, yeah?”

“Yeah! Nana’s comin’ to see me!” Buddy shouted with visible excitement, “I ‘cited to see Nana!”

“And I bet that Nana is so excited to see you too,” Leah replied in a playful tone, tickling Buddy, “Right, come on. Say bye-bye and we’ll go find some clothes for you to wear!”

“Buh-bye, Auntie Kimmy! Buh-Bye, Lessi!” Buddy eagerly waved, scrambling down off Leah’s lap, “Mummy, come on. We gots’ to go and look!”

“I’m coming right now, Bubba,” Leah chuckled, shaking her head before she turned back to look at her phone, “Thank you for keeping Kim company, Less. And Kim, I’m not mad with you that you lost your patience and shouted at Monkey—it happens. I know she’s in safe hands with Katie.”

“Anytime,” Alessia replied with a kind smile.

Kim nodded, though there was still guilt in her tone of voice, “I know, I just… I feel so bad for doing it—”

“Mummy! ‘Urry up!” Buddy cut through in a demanding tone of voice, “Ou’ ‘ave to ‘elp me pick out m’ clothes!”

“One second, please, Bubba. I’m just saying bye to Auntie Kimmy and Lessi, and then we’ll go and do it,” Leah told her 3-year-old in a patient tone of voice, “Just give me a minute, and we’ll go upstairs.”

“.... Fine,” Buddy pouted, standing by the door with her arms crossed over her chest, adding a small stomp to her feet to show her disappointment that Leah wasn’t moving quickly enough.

Leah stifled her laughter as she saw her 3-year-old turn extremely grumpy, “Well, at least I know she is feeling better right now,” She murmured, “Listen, girls, I’m gonna have to go before Buddy throws a strop. But Kim, remember? You’re human, and it happens, and regardless of that, Monkey will still love you because you’re her Auntie.”

“I hope so,” Kim mumbled, running her hand through her hair, “I really do. Anyways, I’ll let you go because it sounds like Buddy is getting impatient.”

“Oh, yes,  she definitely is,” Leah replied, half-amused as she turned around to see her grumpy girl looking very familiar to you, “I’ll try and call again when I can.”

And with that, Leah ended the call and immediately started moving again—because stillness, in this house, was a luxury she rarely got to keep.

The bathwater had long since drained, leaving only the faint smell of bubble bath lingering in the air as Katie helped you into a set of fresh pyjamas—soft ones with a cartoon print that you’d insisted on packing yourself.

“I thought I recognised them ones,” Katie said in a soft tone of voice as she noted the pyjamas, the set that she brought you for Christmas, “I did good choosin’ them, didn’t I?”

You didn’t speak. You just gave the faintest nod and crawled into bed.

Any other night, you would complain about it being too early to even think about the idea of sleep. 

But tonight? You were emotionally and physically exhausted. You didn’t have it in you to argue.

“Here we go, snug as a bug,” Katie teased lightly as she tucked you in, smoothing the covers up to your chin before sitting on the edge of the bed, making sure to stay close to you, “Yer want me to put a movie on now, eh?” She asked gently, reaching for the hotel TV remote.

You gave the smallest nod, thumb slipping into your mouth without you even thinking about it.

Katie smiled faintly, “Alright, I guess I know what to put on tonight, don’t I?” She wondered, already scouring through Netflix to find Shrek, “Bit of familiarity tonight, yeah?”

Katie hit play, the familiar DreamWorks opening comforting in a way that words couldn’t manage. You burrowed a little deeper under the duvet, letting the green swamp and silly jokes pull away from the sting of earlier.

But not enough. Not completely.

After a little while, Katie spoke again, keeping her voice quiet and careful, like you were a spooked animal she didn’t want to startle, “Hey, little lady,” She began, getting your attention, “Yer know that Kim didn’t mean to shout, right?” She said, brushing a stray bit of hair off your forehead, “Things just got a bit… heated. It doesn’t mean Kim’s mad at you.”

You blinked up at her, eyes shiny but dry for now.

“And… about the accident,” Katie said softly, “It’s not a big deal. But yer do need to tell yer Ma about this when yer ready. Or else… I’ll have to tell her. Promise me yer will tell her, yeah?”

You scowled slightly at that—your classic stubbornness creeping back in—but after a moment, you gave a tiny, reluctant nod. A begrudging fine.

“Good girl,” Katie smiled warmly and squeezed your hand,  “I know yer don’t want to do it. But she has a right to know, they both do…” She trailed off, a frown tugging at her mouth. She was forgetting something. 

Shit—Jordan.

“Oh shit,” Katie swore aloud, scrambling for her phone on the bed to find the drafted message before quickly sending it.

The movie kept playing, Donkey’s chatter filling the silence, but it wasn’t long before Katie’s hand slipped from yours, her head lolling slightly. She’d fallen asleep, right there, still sitting beside you, one foot tucked awkwardly underneath her.

You watched her for a while, grateful she hadn’t left you alone.

But even with her right there, you were too scared to close your eyes.

The shadows were too long. The silence was too heavy. Every noise in the hallway made you flinch a little. So you stayed awake, eyes wide, thumb tucked in, quietly watching Shrek and pretending you weren’t terrified.

You were so caught up in Shrek’s familiar words that you didn’t notice Katie’s phone buzzing softly beside her, Jordan’s name glowing on the screen.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the hallway, Kyra was having her own kind of crisis.

She’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, kicking the hotel blankets off, pulling them back on, sighing heavily, and cursing your name under her breath because she was worried sick about you. It was eating away at her, the need to know you were okay.

Finally, somewhere around 2am, she sat up and scrubbed her hands through her messy hair.

“Fuck this,” Kyra muttered to herself, her voice thick with exhaustion but determination.

There was no way she was getting any sleep. Not with you on her mind.

Her gaze flickered over to Steph, who was still fast asleep beside her, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside Kyra. Carefully, she swung her legs out of bed, her feet hitting the cold floor as she tugged on her hoodie. Her movements were slow but purposeful. She crept across the room, making sure not to wake Steph, and slipped out into the hall, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Kyra needed answers. And she wasn’t going to get them while sitting around, waiting for someone else to get them.

At the front desk, Kyra approached with an air of feigned calmness, trying her best to look like she knew what she was doing, “Hello,” She greeted, while the receptionist barely looked up from their phone when she spoke.

“So, uh, you’re not gonna believe this,” Kyra said, a forced laugh escaping her as she ruffled her hair, “I’m so dumb, I’ve only gone and lost the key to my room. Any chance I could grab a new one?”

Kyra’s heart raced in her chest as she lied through her teeth, but with the whole team all staying on the same floor and everything booked under Arsenal’s name, it was easy enough to get away with. The receptionist handed her a new key without a second thought.

Kyra walked away, key in hand, but her thoughts were miles away as her mind still spun with worry about you. There was no chance she was going back to her room, not without answers that she desperately needed.

“No going back now,” Kyra muttered to herself, standing outside of your hotel room for a moment as her heart thumped in her chest. She took a deep breath and slid it in the door, the soft click of the lock releasing. The door creaked open, and she paused for a second, half-expecting the room to be empty, just you, curled up in bed.

But as the door fully opened, Kyra froze and her eyes widened in surprise.

It wasn’t just you in the room.

Katie was there too, curled up on the bed beside you, her head tilted back as she slept, clearly exhausted from staying by your side. Kyra hesitated in the doorway, torn between turning around and slipping away quietly or staying and facing whatever was going to happen next.

If Katie caught her sneaking in like this… she’d be in serious trouble.

But before Kyra could even think about stepping back, she heard your voice. It was small, almost a whisper, but it cut through the silence of the room like a knife.

“Kyra?”

The helplessness in your voice made the Australian girl’s stomach twist. She couldn’t leave you like this, not when you were calling for her, sounding so lost and scared.

“I’m here, Monkey,” Kyra said quickly, pushing the door open further as she hurried inside, stepping softly as she crossed the room towards you, her eyes already scanning your face, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Katie stirred slightly, but she didn’t wake up, and Kyra didn’t give her a second thought. Her focus was entirely on you.

You were sitting up in bed, eyes wide with fear, your thumb still in your mouth as you clung to the duvet—you didn’t have Mini with you. You’d insisted you didn’t need her.

How wrong you were, though.

You wish you had her, but she was back in London, probably sitting on your bed, or Buddy was cuddling up with it.

You just wish you had it now.

The moment you saw Kyra, your face softened just a little, like a weight had been lifted. It was the smallest of gestures, but it made Kyra’s heart ache all the more.

“Hey,” Kyra whispered as she sat beside you, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, “You okay, Monkey?”

You didn’t answer, but you shifted closer to her, your body instinctively moving into her space for comfort.

Kyra wrapped her arms around you gently, holding you close, letting you bury your face in her shoulder if you needed to, “I’m here, Monkey,” She repeated softly, rocking you just a little, “You’re safe now, okay? You’re safe.”

Slowly, the tension in your body started to melt away. Kyra’s hoodie smelled like home, like sun and sea and whatever stupid she’d stolen from Steph. It was enough.

Within minutes, you were fast asleep, curled tightly against her chest. Kyra shifted slightly, letting herself get comfortable with one arm slung protectively around you as she tucked you closer. She pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head without even thinking and then closed her eyes, exhaustion catching up with her too.

The room fell silent again, save for your soft breathing.

Sometimes later, Katie stirred. She groaned quietly as she stretched, her muscles stiff from falling asleep upright. She blinked herself awake, rubbing her face before glancing across at the bed—

And froze.

Kyra was there, somewhat, impossibly, fast asleep in your bed.

You were tucked into the Australian’s chest, thumb in your mouth, looking impossibly tiny and peaceful.

Kyra, the chaotic pest herself, was the big spoon, her face buried in your hair, her hold still protective even in sleep.

Katie’s eyebrows shot up. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

Instead, she did what any reasonable person would do—she pulled out her phone, turned the brightness right down, and snapped a quick photo.

The older girl grinned to herself as she typed out a quick message to Leah.

📲 Look who wormed her way into the hotel room for a sleepover. Monkey is fine, promise.

But just as she hit send, her phone buzzed violently in her hand.

Steph.

And immediately after—

Caitlin.

Katie sighed, already sensing the oncoming storm. She answered Caitlin’s call with a weary groan, “Hey, babe—”

“Katie! WE’VE LOST HER! WE’VE LOST THE PEST!” Caitlin panicked, her tone of voice thick with worry, “SHE’S NOT IN HER BED! STEPH WOKE UP AND SHE’S GONE—WE’VE LOST HER!”

Katie winced, holding the phone away from her ear, “Ere’ Cait, before yer say anything else, yer should know that Kyra is here in Monkey’s hotel room.”

“What?” Caitlin questioned, bewildered, “She’s there… In Monkey’s room?” She repeated.

“Yep,” Katie murmured, glancing over at the bed again, “Both of ‘em are fast asleep. Quite sweet, actually.”

“Are you serious?” Steph’s voice appeared on the other end of the phone, clearly taking the phone from Caitlin, “She’s there?”

“Yes,” Katie snickered, “I’ll send yer both the photo. They’re both fine. I guess the pest really did want a sleepover after all.”

There was a stunned pause on the other end, and then Steph spoke up, “That little shit—”

Katie hung up before she could hear the end of it, tossing her phone onto the chair and shaking her head.

“Pest,” Katie muttered under her breath, smiling despite herself.

Katie settled back down into her chair, glancing once more at the two of you bundled up together in bed, and let herself relax again.

Everything was alright.

For now.

[sadiesdoll]

EVERYTHING SHE COULDN’T SAY.

femme popular girl! reader x loser butch! vi | pure filth. (mdni ♡). wc: 1968

synopsis : vi doesn’t belong at parties— especially not ones like this. But she shows up anyway, pretending her friends dragged her along, when really, she came for you. The effortlessly hot, mean-in-a-way-that-makes-her-ache, popular girl who’s been living rent free in her head. You’ve always known she liked you, even if she was too pathetic to admit it. But tonight? You finally do something about it.

contains: sub!vi (she turns dom for a split second tho) dom!reader, top!vi, g!p vi, light humiliation (v!receiving), degradation (v!receiving), spit kink, hair pulling, femininity kink, breeding kink, power imbalance (emotional/psychological), obsession themes. Enjoy ♡

The music’s too loud. The bodies are too close. Her hoodie’s sticking to her skin, and some guy just spilled beer near her boots. Her jaw’s tight. Her hands are buried in her pockets so no one sees how bad they’re shaking.

She lied when she said her friends dragged her here. None of them even came. She just knew you would.

And there you are.

At the center of everything—pink, glowing, radiant. Something about how feminine you are makes her dick so fucking hard. 

You’re laughing in a way that makes her heart stutter, like something soft and devastating. Your dress is short. Your lip gloss is shiny. Your nails match your drink. And you’re touching some guy’s arm like it means nothing.

Vi swallows hard and looks away. She shouldn’t be here. You don’t even know her name.

Not really.

Sure, you’ve seen her around campus. Called her “broody girl” once with a smirk that made her weak in the knees. She remembers every word. Every glance. Every time your perfume lingered in the hallway after you passed her in your little skirts and flirty looks and cruel little smiles.

She thought she was subtle. But maybe she wasn’t.

“Didn’t think you were the party type,” you say suddenly, and Vi freezes like you just slapped her. Where the hell did you come from?

You’re standing right in front of her now, cocking your head, drink in hand, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I’m not,” she mumbles, trying not to look directly at you. “My friends, uh… dragged me here.”

You arch a brow. “You look like you’d rather die.”

“I’m good,” she lies.

You lean in, all glitter and heat, and Vi stops breathing.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” you whisper, lips brushing her ear. “Got something to say, or are you just gonna keep pretending you don’t exist?”

Vi’s breath catches. Her stomach knots. Her cock twitches in her jeans.

“I…” she chokes. “You just look… nice.”

You chuckle gently. “Just nice?”

Vi swears her knees are going to give out.

You tug her by the hoodie, down the hallway, past drunk couples and closed doors. 

“Wait, fuck- where are we going?” she stumbles after you, eyes wide, voice soft and confused.

“Shut up,” you mutter without looking back, grip tight, pace faster.

Vi lets out a tiny breath—part whimper, part thrill. She follows anyway.

Until you find an empty bedroom and shove her inside. You lock the door. She’s breathless. Heart racing. 

“What are you doing?” Vi asks, trying to sound cool. She fails.

“You’ve been following me around campus for weeks,” you purr, stepping closer. “You think I didn’t notice? Those puppy eyes? Always looking away when I catch you?”

She opens her mouth to defend herself, but you press a hand to her chest.

“You’re obsessed with me.”

She flinches. Her cock aches.

“I’m not—”

“Oh cut the shit,” you say sweetly. “You are. And you’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.” You say while eyeing her lips.

And then you kiss her.

It’s messy. Hot. Your tongue meeting hers. You taste like vodka and strawberry. Her hands shoot to your waist, holding you so tight like you might disappear. She’s trembling. You’re not.

She moans into your mouth, desperate, needy—and then you feel it. Wetness at the corner of her lips. A thin string of spit drips down her chin before she can even stop it.

You pull back slightly, eyes wide with amused disbelief.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, cocking your head. “Did you just drool?”

Vi’s face goes crimson, breath hitching. “I—I didn’t mean to-“

“You’re drooling over me already?” you tease, voice syrupy with a hint of mockery. “I barely even touched you yet, sweetheart.”

She whimpers, jaw clenched, clearly humiliated—but she doesn’t look away.

“Poor thing,” you murmur, wiping it off with your thumb. “You’re already falling apart, huh?”

Your thumb lingers against her bottom lip, just a second too long. She’s breathing heavy, eyes glassy, completely wrecked already—and you haven’t even done anything yet.

“God, you’re easy,” you murmur, more to yourself than her. “Bet you’d cum just from me sitting on you.”

You climb onto her lap where she’s now sitting on the bed, grinding slowly against her, your pink panties rubbing right over her clothed hardening cock. She lets out a strangled whimper.

“F-Fuck… your panties are so pretty.”

“Yeah? You like em’?”

“Y-Yeah,” she breathes. “I—I wanted this. So fucking bad.” She whimpers. Throwing her head back, exposing her neck.

“Really?” you tease, kissing down her neck. “How bad?”

She grabs your ass like it hurts to speak.

“Like… for months. I—I used to jerk off thinking about you. You’d wear these tiny skirts and look at me like you knew. I thought I was going fucking crazy.”

Your pupils blow wide. You press harder into her.

“You were going crazy,” you murmur, grinding down. “You couldn’t even talk to me, poor thing. Had to come to a party you hated just to maybe catch a glimpse.”

Vi lets out a whine—an honest, humiliating noise. She’s flushed red and glassy-eyed, her cock now throbbing between you two.

You reach down and undo her jeans.

“You’re hard already,” you say mockingly, but your voice is soft now. “You’re so pathetic for me.”

You tilt her chin up with two fingers.

“Open your mouth,” you order. Vi obeys immediately, eyes wide, lips parted.

You spit into it—slow, deliberate.

She lets out a soft, broken moan and swallows without you even needing to tell her. Her cock twitches violently inside your walls.

“I am pathetic,” she gasps. “I am, I swear.”

You pull her out and your mouth drops open. She’s thick. Veiny. Desperate. You move your panties aside and sink down onto her without warning, and she whimpers—actually fucking whimpers—like she’s going to cry.

“F-fuck— you’re warm— you’re so—”

Your nails rake down her shoulders.

“Shit, feels like you’re about to cum already.” you murmur, breath hitching as you adjust to the stretch. “Be good and fuck me right first.”

Vi nods rapidly, thrusting up into you with a need that’s almost painful. Her eyes are glued to your pussy that takes her in over and over again. She’s babbling, groaning, panting, her forehead pressed to your shoulder.

“I-I can’t believe— I wanted this—fuck, I wanted this for so long— you don’t get it, you don’t fucking get it—”

You ride her harder.

“Oh, I get it,” you pant, your voice breaking with every bounce you give her. Biting your lip. “I can feel how badly you wanted it. Ngh—fuck.. Every fucking thrust is so desperate—fuck—you’re needy. Like a fucking loser.”

Vi whines, her brows furrowed, thrusts shaky and deep.

“Y-You’re so fucking mean,” she pants. “But you feel so good—fuck, you’re perfect—”

Your voice breaks as she hits deeper. “Yeah? You like when I’m mean to you?” 

You tangle your fingers in her undercut, long pretty nails grazing her scalp, and yank her head back—not too hard, just enough to make her eyes water.

Her lips part, a helpless noise falling from her throat as she shudders beneath you.

“Say it,” you demand, watching her squirm. “Say you like it.”

She nods frantically.

“Use your words,” you snap, tightening your grip. “Say you fucking like it, Vi.”

Vi gasps, pupils blown wide, hips stuttering. “I like it,” she pants. “I love it—fuck—I love when you’re mean to me—”

You pout at her in a mocking way. “Mhmm? You do?”

She thrusts harder and deeper into you, and for a split second— it feels like she’s dominating, but you don’t let her.

She whines, “Yeah—yeah—you tease me—walk around like that.. with your pretty little ass out— like you don’t know what you’re doing—I fucking love it. I love it—”

You feel her thrusts getting weaker, a sign of her getting closer and closer.

You grab her jaw, pulling her face towards you slightly, forcing her to look at you.

“Listen to me.” You command. “Don’t cum yet,” you say, tightening your grip on her. “You don’t get to finish until I say so.”

Vi lets out a choked whimper, her cock twitching inside you.

“F-Fuck-please—please, I’m so close—”

“Then hold it in,” you demand. “Be good. You wanted to fuck me so bad, didn’t you? So fuck me right. Pound your dick into me like you mean it.”

Her eyes flutter. She nods, desperate, jaw clenched as she tries—tries—to stay in control, every thrust shaking and speeding up like it costs her everything.

Just as you think she’s losing control, she surprises you—her fingers dart down between your bodies. 

And then—

She starts rubbing your clit. Fast and firm, right as her thrusts pick up in desperation, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Your breath hitches. 

You weren’t expecting that. 

You gasp, the loudest moan escaped your throat as she abuses your poor wet clit.

You bite your lip, clenching around her girthy cock, suddenly caught off guard by the sensation of her hands on you—soft, needy, and demanding.

Vi notices the shift, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth as she presses harder against you. “You like that?” she breathes against your ear, voice a dangerous whisper.

You shudder, momentarily losing your composure. But you shake your head, trying to regain control.

“F-Fuck,” you stammer, but the pleasure starts to overtake your thoughts. “You little—”

She lets out a faint giggle.

“God,” you moan, arching against her. “Look how hard you’re trying. Is this you trying to make mefeel like the desperate one? You’re fucking pathetic.”

You bounce harder and faster on her until she feels like she can’t breathe.

Vi sobs into your neck, every muscle in her body tensed like a dam about to break.

“Fuck. I’m sorry- I’m so fucking sorry baby please-“

Your nails dig deep into her back.

“P-Please—say I can- say it—I can’t hold it in anymore.”

“Nuh-uh, if you’re so close, why aren’t you pulling out?”

Her whole body jolts. She stares at you, wide-eyed, like you just smacked her.

“W-What?” she breathes.

You grin, eyes half-lidded.

 “Ohhh,” you coo, voice dripping with mock pity. “You wanna cum inside me, don’t you?”

Her throat bobs. She doesn’t answer.

“Yeah?” you tease, riding her harder. Clashing your lips onto hers.

“You wanna fuck your cum deep inside and fill me up? Wanna breed me like the desperate little puppy you are?” You whisper against her lips.

“F-Fuck—fuck—holy fucking shit- please—” she gasps, trembling.

“Then do it.” 

Vi looks deep into your eyes, searching for reassurance. “You want me to?” She sighs out softly.

You smile cruelly, biting your lip as you look down at her with your dazed doe eyes, making sure she knows exactly what’s about to happen. 

“Mhm. Cum inside me.” You lower your voice, ride her harder, just for her, making the moment burn deeper. 

“Fill me up with everything you’ve been holding in. Don’t you dare pull out—let me feel every inch of you, how desperate you are for me.” You bounce harder and faster.

And she shatters.

Her moan is raw, like it’s been locked in her chest for years. She fills you up, trembling, cock pulsing deep inside your cunt as she gasps and gasps like she can’t get enough air.

And then it’s quiet.

The air is thick with sweat and sex. Her arms are shaking. Her face is buried in your neck. You feel her cock soften inside you, and you swear you hear her whisper something like, “Thank you.”

You brush her hair back, soft for the first time. Just a little.

“You lasted longer than I thought,” you murmur.

She lets out a breathless laugh.

“You ruined me.”

You smile. “Yeah. I know.”

Please keep in mind that this is a oneshot !! I will not be doing a part 2. (Unless.. lolzies)

Critcism and ideas are heavily appreciated (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

thank you for reading! ♡

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

vaggette toxic one-sided idea purge

how carmilla inducts vaggie into the overlords only partly for fun and velvette is so pissed off about it she plots to fake romance vaggie in revenge

and Velvette maybe might have been slightly more into her and Vaggie's rap battle then she realizes oh whoops, oh no

@barblaz-arts this is your fault not mine. Point the blame inward.

the set up

Carmilla satisfied with her investment in the hotel and Vaggie, gets her to come along to the next overlord meeting purely just to increase her new ally’s power and her own, completely with no ulterior or petty motives

Alastor horrified static twitching smile, politely raises the point that he considers the hotel to already be HIS turf

Zestial amused, tickled, and delighted Carmilla has made a friend and is finally having some fun, politely pulls out a chair for Vaggie at the table

Other overlords scared of Zestial, respectful of Carmilla, fresh from rewatching footage of Vaggie gleefully impaling exorcists with the spear she brought along to the meeting. Say nothing

Velvette arrives late on purpose bc she doesn't give a shit WHY THE FUCK IS /SHE/ HERE??

Carmilla maybe smiling just a little

The battle over letting Vaggie sit in as an honorary overlord, as rapped very intensely at each other by Velvette and Vaggie:

Velvette: Hear ye, hear ye! Look what the Carmine dragged in~

(cue music number)

Here’s a chirpy little birdy, the harpy of hell’s daughter, come demanding things left and right like her words hold any water. No souls no turf, sorry girl, nope, no seat at the table, and with one eye gone she sure doesn’t even look so able. Appearances are everything- if that’s something you can see, your optics next to ours would get hashtag embarrassment from me.

Overlords, over all you know hells a hard-ass place. Charity and mercy? Ha! Weakness and disgrace! Carmilla says she’s worthy, Carmilla made a deal, the more fights they pick with heaven the more sales for Carmine’s steel.

Don’t buy the crap they’re pushing, say fuck that and resist! We’re the power of earthly Sinners, and she’s a-

(Velvette just barely remembers her plan to keep the Exorcist intel she's dug up as a secret from everyone, fellow hothead Vees included, until exactly the right moment shows up- and being sat in the same room as Carmilla, Alastor, and Vaggie, within easy spear range, is /not/ that moment)

-she’s just some lacky with a list! We’ve got our own cred to keep up, to keep hells Sinners all in check. She’d be the collar on the leash of a royal rope tied round our neck.

Vaggie: Are you done?

Velvette: Sure thing, sweetness.

Vaggie: Great.

My name’s Vaggie and I’m busy, I’ve got bigger fucks to fry, so sorry if I’m blunt but I’ve got no time to lie- Your cred’s a bunch of bullshit. You think this is where I wanna sit? I’ve got our hotel to go home to, with heaven hellbent to destroy it.

We all saw you sit back, cowards, and watch the Radio Demon run, so whose turf really is it? Who faced Extermination and won? Who’s been there for Sinners while you’ve used them like a knife? Charlie’s the real Sinner’s power, she protects them with her life.

She’s got better stuff to do than listen to you whine, someone’s gotta hear it though, and if it’s me then fine. You’re not the worst assholes I’ve seen play with others souls, and you’re all Sinners scared of dying, so we even share some goals.

Unlike all of you though, me and Charlie we don’t have to pay and trade. Instead of buying a Sinner’s soul and time we can trust the friends we’ve made. I didn’t make them stay and fight, they gave their all for free. Who looks weaker in that light? You overlords, or me?

Vaggie: Also, you really think poking fun at the half blind woman is a win for you? Ask the corpses of the Exorcists who thought they could get the drop on me. My girlfriend says the eyepatch looks hot and hers is the only opinion I care about. So fuck off.

.....

Velvette can't think of a good clap back, weirdly having trouble thinking at all while Vaggie's glaring at her, but also kinda doesn't want the battle to end just yet

Velvette Warns her to sit quietly during the meeting and let the REAL overlords talk, then gets up close and personal with Vaggie and excuses it by whisper-threatening that it’d just take one text to make her friend Angel Dust’s work hours a living hell

Vaggie, irritably pushing her back at spearpoint, clearly resisting the urge to Stab reminds Velvette that Angel’s work hours with Velvette’s pathetic manchild of a friend are already a living hell for him, and he STILL talks back to Val anyway, and that’s WHY Vaggie is taking a seat at the overlord’s table, to try helping the other sinners that people like Velvette have left behind because they're too scared and spineless to help anything except themselves

(Ding! Bullseye)

Velvette looks actually pissed and not at all smirky anymore, leans in while ignoring the spear-

Carmilla smoothly starts the meeting right then before anyone other than Vaggie ends up losing an one eye

Velvette ends up being the one who spends the whole meeting unusually quiet, staring thoughtfully at Vaggie between making furious vent texts. She's somehow less upset about Charlie's pet murder angel sitting with the overlords than she is over losing her cool and almost skewering herself on Vaggie's spear like an idiot

That's a Vox and Val thing to do, that's why they need her, the only one of the Vees to NOT screw herself over some random looser who doesn't even like her

... but what if she could MAKE Vaggie like her?

If she could steal Carmilla's new tamed Exorcist- Charlie's right hand woman, part of why Val's toy still had a bolt hole in hell to hide in, and the only reason Alastor had met a hell princess with enough hope for her dreams she'd throw in with an overlord to finally get the ball rolling on them-

And Vaggie's switched sides before, miss ex Exorcist living in hell and picking fights with heaven. Why not help her do it again?

Poor overworked glorified secretary. Velvette knows for a FACT that her and the princess haven't been seen out on a single date since the hotel opened. With nothing else in hell for her but her girlfriend, that has to be getting to Vaggie, right? She could do with some appreciation.

If nothing else, the hell princess will probably be very sensitive to anyone else openly and personally appreciating her girlfriend. She might even do something rash, something to show the overlords and all of hell just how far they could trust in hellborn royalty.

Vaggie or no Vaggie, Velvette could work with that too.

She might even be able to blackmail Vaggie into working for the Vees, in exchange for NOT letting all of hell know that the hotel of supposed love and hope had a Exorcist stalking it's halls.

The beauty of that is Velvette wouldn't even have to sic any of her own souls on them. Just tell the Sinners the truth and watch the angry, vengeful, terrified mob tear Vaggie and everything she'd ever touched to shreds. All win, no loss. Vox would have already done it if he knew. She wouldn't mind sitting back with some popcorn and liveblogging the carnage with him and Val, if it came to it.

Ohhh but the satisfaction if she COULD take the Exorcist right out from under all of them...

And having an angel on their side would give the Vees one hell of leg up in whatever shit heaven thinks up next. They could really use a manager too, at this point in their business expansion- Velvette's got too much of her own shit these days to deal with Vox and Val's on top of it. A fourth Vee, in a coordination role, not interested in farming any souls or turf of her own, would be perfect- especially one that can cut through both bodies and bullshit.

Her name even fits with their theming. Velvette and Vaggie, the flipside to Valentino and Vox...

Hmm.

Velvette: Realizes she's been staring at Vaggie again, and Vaggie's noticed, and spares her exactly one second to give her a quick Glower before going back to arguing with someone.

Velvette: smiles and snaps a picture

The princess of hell is right about one thing. The eyepatch really is quite a Look.

-

Velvette some unspecified time later: It’s just for the bit okay

Vox: You seem to be wearing one of her feathers as a necklace

Velvette: Duh I'm wearing it- almost got hellfire crisped by the princess while snagging it off her

Vox: And the uh, stroking of it?

Velvette: Alllll part of the plan

Vox: You've made a whole private website of her

Velvette: You think faking being in love is some bullshit commercial you can just half-ass your way through with a pretty face and the right outfit? Especially when she used to be an Exorcist? I need intel! Research! The woman dresses as sharp as she is, Vox, and her fav accessory is a soul killing spear

Vox: You and your fixation on women with weapons...

Velvette: Ew. Shut up. This blog is about going down on h- getting my roleplay down right, damn it! This is WORK!

Vox: It looks like a fanpage-

Velvette: BLOCKED

[scary-grace]

This art did something bad to me, so instead of editing Opposites Attract like I was supposed to, I wrote a follow-up to hands-off, hands-on. Canon-esque, Shigaraki x reader, belligerent sexual tension, blowjobs. Pretty obviously rated E.

hands-free

As soon as the closet door shuts, Shigaraki’s pinned back against it. He tries to keep a decent poker face, but it’s not easy when you’re glaring at him like that. “What is your problem?”

“I’m not the one with a problem,” you snap. “You don’t get to be a dick to me just because you popped a boner at the wrong moment.”

“I – didn’t,” Shigaraki snaps in response, willing his face not to turn red. “If I did, how would you even know? Is it that hard to keep your mind off my cock?”

“To be honest, Shigaraki? I only think about it when it’s ruining my day,” you say. Shigaraki scoffs, tries to step away from the door, only for you to close the space between the two of you and push him back against it. “Like when you’re so pissed about being horny that you try to cut me down to size in front of everyone.”

Shigaraki would argue that on principle, if there was a principle, but you’ve got him figured out on this one, and you haven’t even used your quirk on him. If you’d used your quirk on him, you’d have figured out that it’s about you, because of you. As it is, you just think he’s an asshole, and he’s better off that way. If you knew the truth, there’s no way you’d have dragged him in here. And definitely no way you’d have locked the door.

“We’ve been over this,” you say. “I thought we had a deal.”

You did. It was a pretty good deal for Shigaraki – he got a handjob, and you got off his shitlist. And stayed off it, because in spite of the fact that Shigaraki’s annoyed with you no matter what you’re doing, you’re pretty good at playing your part within the League. With that in mind, Shigaraki didn’t have any business going off on you at the strategy meeting today. Except that he had a dream about you last night, and he was still thinking about it this morning, and he got so annoyed with his inability to stop thinking about it that he blew up at you before you could even open your mouth.

You’re still glaring, waiting for a response. “Yeah. We have a deal,” Shigaraki says. “What did you want me to do? Tell you to meet me in my room in front of everybody so you could get me off?”

“You could have told me before the meeting,” you point out. “So now I’m meeting you here.”

Your hands settle on Shigaraki’s waist, your palms warm through the thin fabric. Shigaraki’s mind skids to a halt as you drag your fingers along the waistband of his pants, hooking one finger beneath it before letting it fall back. “You can’t do that in here,” he says. When did his mouth get so dry? “Are you crazy?”

“Apparently I am, for sticking around to be your favorite punching bag.” You edge the waistband of his pants ever so slightly down, exposing the crests of his hips. Shigaraki clenches his jaw as a shiver travels through them. “Maybe if I do a better job this time, you’ll come to me first instead of picking on me in front of everyone and expecting me to figure it out.”

You’re going to touch him. Shigaraki can barely stand to remember what happened before on a normal day, but right now, when you’re practically pinning him to the door? He forgot that the process of you helping him get off involves making the whole problem worse. He can feel your breath against his neck as you lean in close. “Keep your hands to yourself this time,” you say. “I don’t want to have to steal another one of your hoodies.”

You stole one from him last time, after he ruined your shirt. Shigaraki realizes with some degree of horror that you’re wearing it right now. You pull his pants down roughly, freeing his cock, and he bites back a groan. He doesn’t have to look down to know that he’s painfully hard, and if he wasn’t leaking precum before, he’s doing it now, because he’s thinking about you jerking him off while wearing his clothes. He should have pulled you aside this morning. Should have dragged you back to his room. Shigaraki’s hips twitch, seeking friction, and you step back.

He hates the way you’re looking him up and down, and you’re not doing anything. “Don’t just stare. Touch me.”

“I am touching you.” Your hands are still grasping his hips, thumbs running over his hipbones until he squirms. “Like this?”

One hand dips between his legs, loosely cradling his balls. Why does everything feel so much better when you’re doing it? Shigaraki mumbles a curse, shifting impatiently as he waits for your other hand to leave his hips and curl around his cock. The hand on his hip stays where it is as you sink to your knees in front of him.

You’re – what? Shigaraki’s jaw slackens at the thought, let alone the sight of you down there, tilting your head to consider his cock. The pressure of your hand on his hip increases as you lean forward and drag your tongue across his tip, and Shigaraki’s focus narrows down to your hands and your mouth and nothing else.

He leans back against the wall, trying to stay balanced, but it’s hard to do when you’re making his back arch like this. You’re barely doing anything beyond playing with his tip, drawing him partway into your mouth so your tongue can caress the underside of his cock. Shigaraki’s hips jerk forward, seeking more, and your other hand rises to pin him in place. What is Shigaraki supposed to do now? Just sit back and take it? That’s what he did in the dream that fucked him over today – sat back on his bed with his hands tied over his head, while you sucked mark after mark into his torso and his hips and his thighs. You never touched his cock, and Shigaraki was still desperate when he woke up. Desperate enough to hump pillows. Not desperate enough to go to you.

He should have. He would have, if he’d known you’d do something like this. Shigaraki’s legs are starting to shake, and worse, he’s clawing at his neck again, trying to ground himself in the face of what you’re doing to him. It’s not possible. You told him to keep his hands to himself, but there’s nothing for Shigaraki to touch. Not you. Definitely not you. Shigaraki makes the mistake of glancing down again. You’re sucking on the tip of his cock, your eyes fluttering shut, and you’re wearing his clothes. Shigaraki lets his head fall back against the door and moans.

He’s never felt like this before, not even when you were touching him last time. Something about you pinning him. Something about the fact that you dragged him in here yourself. Shigaraki’s back arches again, stays frozen there, while his hands tangle up in his own hair and his jaw aches with the effort of holding back the sounds he wants to make. When you pull away, he actually whines in protest. “Don’t stop –”

“Are you sure you like this?” you ask. “You’re so quiet compared to last time.”

Shigaraki’s face flushes. “What do you think?” he spits, as you nudge his shaking legs further apart. “Do you need me to say it?”

“It might be nice,” you say, like last time. Your lips brush against Shigaraki’s stomach as you lean forward again, and you keep kissing him. Another whine forces its way through Shigaraki’s clenched teeth as your teeth scrape over his hip. “Yes or no is fine.”

“Yes,” Shigaraki says, hating how ragged his voice is becoming. Hates how his body spasms as your lips move along the crease between his leg and hip. “Yes. I like it when you – ah, fuck – fuck –”

Swearing isn’t as pathetic as moaning, but Shigaraki’s moaning, too. He’s too loud. The entire city can probably hear him. You let go of his hips, but only for a second – long enough for you to change your grip, to pull him forward against your mouth, close enough to press your nose into his hair. Shigaraki could thrust, but there’s no point. He’s all the way as close as he can get, and you wanted him there. You’re the one holding him in place as your throat convulses around the head of his cock. You’re the one who won’t let him go.

You aren’t letting go, but he begs you anyway – not to stop, to make him come. Your fingernails dig into his hips as you swallow hard, and Shigaraki comes in a shaking, whimpering, pathetic rush. Your throat convulses again, and again, your grip on his hips so tight that he’ll have scratch marks or bruises by the end of the day. Shigaraki can’t think about that, any more than he can think about the fact that you’re swallowing. All he can do is shudder in your grip, keeping his hands to himself, until you finally draw back and let him go.

Shigaraki falls back against the door with a thud. You sit back and clear your throat, then swallow a few more times, grimacing. No points for guessing why. Shigaraki untangles his hands from his hair and pulls up his pants, trying to string a sentence together. “You didn’t have to swallow.”

“No?” You cough again. “I thought guys liked that kind of thing.”

It’s hot to know that you’re willing to. Really hot. Shigaraki’s pretty sure this will be featuring in every single horny daydream for the rest of his life. Still – “I wouldn’t want to eat it, either.”

“Good to know.” You get to your feet, wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, then try to nudge past Shigaraki to the door. “Move.”

“Hey.” Shigaraki leans back against the door, then throws out his arm to block your way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out. I don’t want to spend the rest of the day in here.” You try to get past Shigaraki again, and he refuses to move. “What?”

“You know,” Shigaraki says. There’s something you did last time that you forgot this time. You’re looking at him blankly, without a hint of recognition, and Shigaraki loses patience – with himself this time, which is new. “Fuck it. Don’t move.”

“Hands to yourself,” you warn, but Shigaraki doesn’t need both hands – or any hands – for this. He leans in, and you don’t move in time, and in spite of knowing exactly where your mouth has been, it’s still a pretty good kiss.

tag list: @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @xeveryxstarfallx @lvtuss @f3r4lfr0gg3r @evilcookie5 @lacrimae-lotos @warxhammer @agente707 @shikiblessed @atspiss @baking-ghoul @boogiemansbitch @cheeseonatower @koohiii @stardustdreamersisi @issaortiz @dance-with-me-in-hell @minniessskii @handumb @aslutforfictionalmen

[reesereadsalot]

𝐹𝒶𝒸𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒜𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒶

previous chapter - next chapter

Pairings: Finnick x pregnant!reader Johanna x reader (platonic)

Warnings: refer to series masterlist

Desc: Your 7 months pregnant with Finnicks baby. When your the happiest you were in your life, your whole world comes crashing down. You were reaped for the 3rd Quarter Quell.

｡𖦹°‧masterlist

a/n: short chapter but after this chapter we’re going into Mockingjay!! *cheers*

After Beetee had told everyone the plan we set to work immediately. We stayed up until the lightning strike the tree for 12pm. Then, we drew a new map because we knew where 12 o’clock was. We got some bread delivered to us and Finnick suspiciously counted it. Weird. You thought. You looked at Katniss—she thought the same thing.

When it was past 10 o’clock we got to work. We headed over to the tree and when we got there Finnick and Peeta helped Beetee wrap the coil around the tree. Johanna and Katniss were going to go walk the coil to the beach when Peeta protested.

“I’m going with them too.” He said and you looked at him and Katniss. They were planning to leave. You knew it. Finnick knew it. Everyone knew it.

“No stay here and bodyguard Beetee.” You say gesturing to Beetee.

“But they need a bodyguard too.” Peeta says. He pauses then tells you “Also, you and Finnick are here.”.

“Do you see the state I’m in right now?” You asked raising your eyebrow and gesturing to your belly which you had one protective hand over.

“Okay, fine.” Peeta said. Johanna and Katniss started walking to the beach.

It was almost midnight. You stood near Finnick, holding his hand. He was tense but his hand was slightly shaking. You didn’t say anything though as you were shaking too. He was planning something. What upset you was the fact that he wasn’t telling you anything. Beetee shared a glance with Finnick and nodded at him. Finnick cut the wire. Beetee started to wrap the wire around his knife.

“What the hell!” You basically shrieked. “How are we going to kill the tributes now?” You asked Finnick getting up in his face.

“Hey, hey. Calm down.” He said then getting close to your ear and whispering “This is all apart of the plan.”. You were getting red from anger.

“I don’t ca—” You started before you were interrupted.

“Why the hell did you do that?” Peeta yelled pushing Finnick. Finnick got close to his face. Now you were even more mad. You stepped between them.

“Peeta.” You paused. “Walk with me.” You grabbed his hand and started walking. You looked back at Finnick mouthing “Give us a moment.”. He smiled. This isn’t funny. You thought. When you and Peeta were further into the jungle you talked to him. Then, Finnick remembered where you guys were. The arena. You can’t go off by yourself and he wants to stop you but you’re already gone.

“Listen, I’m mad too. Okay?” You paused “I know they’re planning something. I don’t know what it is or why but I know they are. Finnick won’t tell me crap.” You say then you hear it. The bushes making noise. Well not the bushes, someone pushing the bushes. “Shh. You hear that?” You whispered and put a finger over your mouth signaling for Peeta to not talk. You didn’t have your spear with you.

Brutus appeared out of the bush and you scream, throwing a knife into his bicep. He lunges at you but Peeta steps in between you. They start fighting and it’s all a blur. Then, the lightning strikes.

“Peeta!” You scream as Brutus punches him in the face. You grab a knife and throw it into Brutus’ head, killing him. You grab Peeta. “Are you okay?” You ask and he’s about to answer when the arena starts breaking. “What the hell?”. You and Peeta look for cover and hide under s tree.

“We need to move!” Peeta sys grabbing your writst and running back to the tree. “Katniss! Katniss!” Peeta yells. You want to tell him to shut up but you can’t find the words.

“Peeta!” You hear in the distance.

The arena is breaking around you. Pieces of metal are falling from the sky and you see stars. Oh stars. How you’ve missed them. You think back to the moment the arena broke and you remember seeing an arrow hit the force field. The long coil was connected to it and when it hit the arena it glowed with energy. You and Peeta are ducking from falling things and running when you hear it. The capitol jet. No. No. A claw reaches down for you and Peeta. Peeta looks at you.

“Listen, Peeta. When we get to the capitol, don’t let them break you and don’t die, please. Katniss needs you.” You say as the claw gets closer.

“What about you?” Peeta asks. The claw is closing in now. You can’t think.

“I will fight my hardest.” You pat his cheek and you can see he’s on the verge of tears. A tear rolls down your cheek. You put a hand on your belly as the claw grabs you then another one grabs Peeta.

Part 6

[razorblade180]

For a lifetime

Hu Tao:You’re thinking about proposing to Ke- *mouth covered*

Aether:Shhhh! Don’t yell so loudly. Yes, I am. *removes hand* I was hoping you can tell me about proposals in Liyue.

Hu Tao:Aww, how sweet. I could but…this feels more like Zhongli’s expertise. Why ask a funeral director of all people for wedding advice?

Aether:Because you’re unorthodox and Keqing is many ways is unconventional. A modern can bring a modern perspective.

Hu Tao:Ooo I like the logic, though it’s really not that complex of a situation. This may be the new age of mortals but as you know, Liyue revels in lots of traditional practices. Many people still offer gifts between the two families as a proposal, or a special tea ceremony.

Aether:Any jewelry?

Hu Tao:Certain cuts of gold carved into betrothal symbols or in some cases, unique pieces. They could be earrings, a specific necklace ornament, hair piece, rings are gaining popularity. Keqing is on the move so I’d recommend something that doesn’t get in the way.

Aether:Hmmm. I see.

Hu Tao:Hehe, I think you’re overthinking things. I’m positive she’d like whatever you did.

Aether:Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. I’ve read a little about those ceremonies, but it’s not like I have a household or parents.

Hu Tao:Hmm, that is true. Now that you mention it, Keqing’s family members are few and far between.

Aether:..What would you want?

Hu Tao:Huh? Me?

Aether:Yeah. We’re in a bit of similar situation. The member of your household is you, but you’re fond of traditions when it calls for them. How would you handle a tea ceremony?

Hu Tao:Oh, I wouldn’t. Same with the gift exchange. It’s not all that necessary in my case. Even if my grandpa and dad were around, I probably wouldn’t want such a grand fuss; even I get embarrassed. Though I might go through with it to see their eyes water with joy.

Aether:That sounds about right.

Hu Tao:Haha! What can I say? You’re right about me being unorthodox. *rubs chin* A proposal fit for me isn’t as crazy as you might be assuming. Honestly…*smiles gently* If I were to dream for a moment, all I would really want would be…

xxxxxxxx

At the top of Mt. Aocang, Chongyun revels in the crisp night air against his skin as he meditates near Cloud Retainers abode, striving for a strong and balanced connection with himself to become a better exor-

Hu Tao:Chongyun!!! Yooohooo! Are you here~

Chongyun:…*opens eyes*

Hu Tao:*slides into view* Aha! Found you. Training with your aunt again?

Chongyun:We finished a while ago. I was calming down more than anything. Something wrong?

Hu Tao:Nope! I have a secret I must share with at least one person or else I’ll explode! Xiangling folds under pressure and Xingqui isn’t as subtle as he pretends to be. That leave my ever reliable exorcist.

Chongyun:Is Zhongli getting married?

Hu Tao:Nope! But Aether is gonna propose to Keqing!

Chongyun:He- wow I was kinda close. Hope it goes well. *stands up* Hold on. Let me get my hood and belongings inside the abode, then we can walk while we talk. *walks away*

Hu Tao:An excellent idea! I’ll even throw in a dinner. Remember, tell no one! You should’ve seen him! He looked so nervous asking questions!

Chongyun:He asked you for wedding advice?

Hu Tao:Pfft, okay. I get why it’s weird but you don’t have to ask surprised. *looks at the water* He was looking for an unconventional touch. *sits down*

Chongyun:What was your unconventional answer?

Hu Tao:I told him to schedule an interview to be her assistant! She’d be so confused but it’ll allow time where she’s technically free. Instead of a résumé’ for office qualifications, it’s for a husband! Knowing her sense of humor, Keqing will smile ear to ear!

Chongyun:…

Hu Tao:*turns head* Hey, I can’t see you but I know judgment when it’s happening.

Chongyun:You really one of a kind. That’s all.

Hu Tao: We both know Keqing doesn’t do vacations and is incredibly smart. You got to catch her by surprise!

Chongyun:Should I be taking notes?

Hu Tao:Ha! You could try, but wouldn’t that be a little obvious in my case? You’re so routine I knew where to find you. If you switch up, I’d notice.

Chongyun:Yeah I guess it would be a little difficult getting the right flowers under your nose.

Hu Tao:Exactly! Wait, flowers? How did you-

Her question was interrupted as Chongyun walked out fully dressed and blushing as he held holding a large bouquet of Glaze Lilies mixed with Spider Lilies. Hu Tao immediately stands up, speechless as a thousand thoughts show on her face with half smiles and eyes unsure to settle on shock or tears while her heart suddenly felt loud.

Chongyun:Y’know when Aether came back and told, I couldn’t help but want to kick myself a little. Not only is this so obviously you, these flowers perfectly describe my feelings towards you.

Hu Tao:*twirls thumbs* I uhhh. A-Aether isn’t proposing to Keqing, is he?

Chongyun:No, at least not tonight if anything. Me however… Hu Tao, these flowers say it best. I love you to the end, and want a lifetime of memories with you. All the ones we already have, they make it all but impossible to only say “we’re dating” or “my girlfriend.” You’re so much more than that for me. We don’t have to rush to the official day, but if you feel like I do, will you let me be all yours? Can I call you my-

Wings fluttered around him; the family warmth of fluttering butterflies graced his presence while warm lips pressed against his. Shaky, but loving hands took the flowers before wrapping around his body. As Hu Tao leaned deeper into her answer, Chongyun could feel her tears kiss his face. When she was satisfied with the kiss, he saw the biggest and most beautiful eyes overflowing.

Hu Tao:Looks like I’ve rubbed off on you, hehe. Chongyun, this is…are you sure? Latern Rite was a good example of how crazy things can get with me.

Chongyun:Things have always been crazy with you. Hasn’t stopped me before. *holds her closer* You’re stuck with me.

His forehead pressed gently against her own, making her heart swell and lips lean in for another kiss. Hu Tao didn’t like to admit it, but she had forgotten the possibility of once again being apart of a family bigger than herself long ago. Now here was this boy she teased about his job, now asking her to be in the family tree. A household bigger than herself. It was terrifying, yet such a relief deep down. He didn’t want to leave her alone, and that dispelled more negativity than any rite or yang energy ever could.

Hu Tao: Hehehe.

Chongyun:What’s so funny?

Hu Tao:It’s just that knowing you, you’ve put so much thought into this that I bet there’s something you didn’t consider. Did you tell your parents you were doing this?

Chongyun:…I mean they love completely. What’s one less tea ceremony?

Hu Tao:Oh boy. You truly are a perfect mess. My adorable fiancé. Yes, the answer is yes.

She watched his eyes light up before spinning her. Chongyun pulled out a small present from his inner pocket. It was too long be a ring box. Instead, it opened to be a golden version of the blossoms on her cherished hat.

Hu Tao:There’s no way you got this made today!

Chongyun:Correct. It’s one of the few things I was certain about. You like your rings and I didn’t want to mess with that or add something you weren’t used to.

Hu Tao:I would’ve replaced a ring in a heartbeat. As you can see, unorthodox clearly doesn’t mean I’m no romantic.

Chongyun:May I do the honors?

Hu Tao nodded eagerly before keeping her head low enough for him to place the ornament. She couldn’t help but go over to the water and admire the new addition to her cherished gift. Eyes began watering again and her giggles slipped out easily. The moment Chongyun joined her at the pond, Hu Tao jumped right back into his arms with fever joy that brought laughter to both of them.

Shenhe:*behind a tree* It appears things turned out rather well. That’s good. I fear offering emotional support for this would be beyond me; even with your help. Good job on the breeze, master.

Xianyun:*sniffling*

Shenhe:Master?

Xianyun:Look away Shenhe! One does not wish to be seen like this! *covers face*

xxxxxx

Aether:*sipping tea*

Keqing:Sorry I’m a little late! * sits down* Work got a little busy as usual.

Aether:Your fine. Food is on its way. I ordered your favorite.

Keqing:Thanks. So, anything crazy happen today?

Aether:*smiles* Nah, not really. You know me, always helping around.

[sv3t1ana]

<< Master list ⋮ Next chapter >>

SYNOPSIS ᯓ A Bonnie and Clyde-esque, high-stakes, multi-chapter smut romance that follows a deadly criminal duo whose intense, chaotic love becomes as dangerous as the heists they pull off. Trust forged in blood, bonds built on risk.

PAIRING ᯓ Criminal! Sukuna x Criminal! Fem. Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ protectiveness?? themes of depression, mentions of weapons, planning for a heist, cute FLUFF for two criminals, stealing a vehicle, cigarette smoking, scouting, he calls you good girl!

WORD COUNT ᯓ 3.0k

Chapter 6.

Sukuna shakes you awake, palm pressing into your shoulder, fingers heavy and warm. The weight of his touch lingers, an anchor dragging you back from the depths of sleep.

“Wake up,” he says, voice slow. His sharp face is too close, the burn of his eyes the first thing you see as your eyes flicker open.

“The hell is wrong with you?” Your voice groggy, thick with sleep.

“Got somethin’ lined up. You in, or you need more beauty rest?”

You blink at him, mind tangled in the remnants of sleep. Something feels off. Not wrong, just different. You don’t remember your dreams, but you can usually recall the weightlessness of them, how your body sank into rest so deep it felt like falling into nothing. And yet, here you were awake, feeling clear-headed. The best sleep you’ve had in years, despite the circumstances. Despite the ache in your limbs and the scratch of an old blanket against your skin.

“Fine. What’s the job?” You push at his chest, a futile attempt to get him out of your space. He settles back into his haunches.

“Bank vault. Big payout. But it’s not some dumb smash-and-grab. We do this clean.”

He stretches, body shifting as he sits at the foot of the bedroll, taking up too much space, always too much space. His presence is a silent command against your senses. You sit up, rubbing your eyes.

“So why the fuck are you waking me up now?”

He shrugs. “We gotta move. New hideout. And we gotta figure out how the fuck we’re pullin’ this off.”

The drive is long, leaving yet another city. Another desolate stretch of nowhere, just far enough from prying eyes. The motel Sukuna picks is a step above the last, a rare indulgence. Two beds, fresh sheets, bulbs that actually work. Apparently he has connection here, someone on the inside slipping him a room off the books. It’s cleaner, quieter. The kind of place people check into but never talk about.

He moves like a man with a ticking clock beneath his skin. Always on edge, always looking for the next move. You’ve never seen him sleep, not really. Even now, after hauling bags into the room, he’s grabbing your wrist, pulling you back outside.

“Let’s go.”

The car is stolen, rusted, an old sedan sure not to draw attention. It sputters to life as he navigates through empty streets.

The restaurant is one of those places that exists outside of time. A 24-hour diner tucked between a pawn shop and a liquor store, the kind of place where the coffee tastes like burnt rubber and regret. The sign outside is sun-bleached, letters peeling at the edges. The door creaks when pushed open, the smell of stale cigarettes filling your nose before you even took a step in.

The floor is sticky, red leather booths cracked and patched with duct tape. A lone jukebox sits in the corner, humming some slow, bluesy song. The waitress behind the counter looks like she’s been working here since the place opened.

Sukuna slides into a booth near the window, stretching an arm along the back of the seat. You settle across from him, glancing at the laminated menu.

“Really? Out of all the places, this is where you bring me?” you ask.

His teeth flash. “What? Too fancy for you?”

You snort. “I think I can feel the FDA violations from here.”

He gives a short chuckle before glancing out the window, expression unreadable. The street outside is slick from last night’s rain, broken blinds casting thin lines of light across his face.

“So,” you prompt, “you gonna tell me more about the heist, or are we here to test our immune systems?”

He flips a sugar packet between his fingers before tearing it open and dumping it into his coffee.

“Bank vault. Big score.”

Your eyes narrow. “Yeah, you mentioned that. But you still haven’t told me how we’re getting in.”

He grins, unbothered. The waitress sets down a plate in front of you, waffles, burnt at the edges, cold in the center. He ordered for you, of course. Asshole.

“That’s where you come in,” he says, pouring way too much syrup over his own food. You never pegged him as the type to have a sweet tooth.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to scout. Go in like a regular customer. Watch the guards. Count cameras, exits, all the good shit.”

“Alright, what else?”

“There’s an alley behind the bank. Check for a back entrance. Some places have emergency exits leading to employee-only areas. We could use that for our escape.”

You nod. “So what’s your lazy ass gonna do?”

He laughs, unbothered. “I’ll handle the fun part. Gettin’ our weapons and gear. Can’t exactly walk in there with no armor and expect to come out alive.”

The morning passes like this, half-eaten food, plans laid out between sips of burnt coffee. Sukuna finishes your waffles without a second thought, barely reacting when you push the plate toward him in disgust. He eats just like he moves and fights, deliberate, all-consuming, like the world owes him everything and he’s here to collect.

After the horrible meal, you both walk over to the pawn shop. It’s dimly lit, air thick with dust, the scent of old metal and desperation. Shelves are stacked with stolen jewelry, forgotten heirlooms pawned for rent money, and cheap firearms locked behind a scuffed glass counter.

The man working behind the counter barely glances up. He’s burly, shoulders hunched forward with exhaustion, the kind that settles into the bones. Bags sag beneath his eyes, beard unkempt and flecked with gray.

��What do you need?” He rasps, voice scratchy from too many cigarettes.

“Two phones. Cash deal.” Sukuna’s voice is measured, no room for negotiation.

The pawn shop owner grunts, barely acknowledging you two as he bends to drag out a plastic bin filled with burner phones, cheap, pre-paid models with screens cracked like old porcelain, key letters worn to nothing. He slides it across the counter. “Pick.”

You sift through them, fingers brushing over devices that have passed through too many hands, seen too many secrets before being discarded like spent bullet casings. You pull out two of the least battered models. Sukuna doesn’t even hesitate before throwing a few crisp bills onto the counter, more than enough to cover the cost. An unspoken message, keep the change, keep your mouth shut.

And the owner takes the money without counting, these types of transactions routine, another brick in the foundation of his co-conspirator lifestyle.

When you step outside, Sukuna hands you one of the phones, the weight of it insignificant in your palm, the implications heavy.

“First rule,” he murmurs, sticking his pointer finger in the air. “Take the SIM out.”

He moves without hesitation, sliding the back off his phone, plucking the tiny card out with a flick of his fingers. You follow suit, prying the fragile thing loose, watching as he drops both to the ground and grinds them under his heel. Circuity crunching beneath his shoe like brittle bones. Final, absolute.

No trace.

Never a trace.

Today was like some fucking field trip, because before you knew it, you were hitting up a gas station, buying different pre-paid SIMs with cash, and now you were in some abandoned lot near a scrapyard. The scent of rust and oil clinging to your clothes.

Sukuna gets out first, and you follow suit. His eyes scan the graveyard of dead machines, picking through them like a vulture. He settles on an old black ‘97 Honda Civic, all worn down and paint chipping. No modern security, just a simple lock and ignition begging to be exploited.

He turns toward you, hands on his hips, wearing that menacing look like you’re a student getting scolded. “Lesson time. You ever hotwire a car before?” His voice turns up at the end, like he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it.

You roll your eyes at him. “You really gotta ask?”

He nods toward the car, a silent command. “Then show me.”

You approach it, eyes flicking around the lot to see no cameras or eye witnesses, nothing but silence. From his bag, you fish out a thin metal tool, sliding it between the window and door frame, fishing for the lock mechanism. Your first attempt is shaky, a slight fumble. But with your second try, the door pops open with a satisfying click.

He leans against the hood, ankles crossed. “Not bad. Now, the fun part.”

You slip into the driver’s seat, ripping off the panel under the steering wheel. A nest of wires stare back at you. Your fingers work at it quickly, stripping the two you need and twisting them together. A few sparks leap into the air, then the engine roars to life, coughing out a growl like some beast being dragged from its slumber.

You glance at Sukuna, grinning for his approval. “That good enough for you?”

He chuckles before sliding into the passenger seat, legs sprawled out like he owns the place. “Drive.”

So you peel out, tires kicking up dust, heading toward the bank to scout it.

You park in a narrow alley, nestled between brick and shadow. It hums faintly, engine cooling. Close enough for escape, out of sight enough to be nothing at all.

Sukuna lingers near a newspaper stand, idly thumbing through a tabloid, its pages whispering beneath his rough fingers. A performance. He doesn’t care about ink-smeared scandals or drying print, his interest is elsewhere, tracking your movements like a silent god surveying the faithful.

The bank stands with an emblem of trust, the downtown of this foreign city thrumming around you. Voices overlapping, horns sharp in the distance, the scent of fresh espresso curling through the air. Life moves forward, blind and oblivious to the shifting current beneath its feet.

Inside, the bank breathes in wealth. Polished marble underfoot, ceiling high enough to inspire confidence. Recessed lighting gleams off the chandelier like a quiet promise to the money moving within the walls.

A glass partition is separating customers and tellers. Beyond it, a hallway stretches into the building’s bones, leading to the secrets.

Security stands at quiet attention, five in total. Two flanking the entrance, their presence seeming more like a formality than a deterrent. One stationed in the lobby, hands clasped while his gaze sweeps with absent authority. Two more are near the back hallway.

You don’t move for the counter, instead lingering in a side alcove stacked with pamphlets that promised home ownership and financial freedom. A glance, a whisper of calculation. There, in the far right corner, a door.

No keypad or reinforced lock, just a push-bar exit meant for employees. It leads somewhere, a maintenance alley? Parking? Either way, it’s a way out.

The burner phone is cool in your grip as you lift it to your ear, expression usual as you murmur low, a quiet thread only Sukuna can hear.

“Five guards. Two at the entrance, one on patrol, two by the back.”

His voice slips through the other line. “Armed?”

“Standard pistols. No rifles, no vests.”

A soft scoff. “Tch. They’re underestimating us.”

“There’s a back exit too, no security lock, just a push-bar.”

Silence, then, “good girl. Then that’s our way out.”

The counter gleams sterile as you approach. The teller, a woman in her late thirties, offers a practiced smile, so professional and polished.

“Welcome. How can I assist you today?”

“Thinking about opening a business account.” You let your tone dip into casual interest, the edge of idle concern. “Just wanting to know how secure you guys are. I had some issues with my last bank.”

She adjusts her glasses. “We take security very seriously. Armed guards during business hours, 24/7 surveillance, timed locks on the vault.”

“Timed locks?” You feign curiosity, tilting your head just enough. “So, like, no one can just walk in and open it?”

“That’s correct. Even employees can’t override the system. It’s a built-in safety measure.”

As she speaks you shift, angling slightly so you get a different view through the glass partition. Past the hallway you can see the vault, a steel monolith, matte black, heavy. Positioned at the end of a short corridor, tucked just out of sight from the main lobby.

You nod, taking a pamphlet at random, flicking your gaze across it without reading. You step away after thanking the teller, slipping between civilians.

Your phone is back at your ear before you reach the door.

“Got everything we need. Meet me back at the car.”

His reply drips with amusement. “Try not to sound so smug about it.”

The alley yawns ahead, Sukuna waiting, a smile carved into his face like a wolf at leisure.

Time to plan the hit.

Later that night the motel room is quiet, save for the distant sounds of traffic outside and the slow, steady burn of your cigarettes. You and Sukuna sit on opposite beds, mirroring each other, the space between you thick with smoke.

He takes a drag, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion, watching the ember glow at the tip before exhaling. “You ever think about the past?” His voice is rough, casual, like he’s not about to admit something real. “There used to be a time where I didn’t give a shit about anything. I was in and out of jail for small-time robberies to get by, some real dumb shit.” he laughs, amused at his own recklessness.

You study him through the haze. “Why did you do it?”

He hesitates, just for a second. Then his eyes drop to the floor, fingers tapping against the cigarette in thought. “My little brother, Yuji.” His voice quieter now, rough in a different way. “I wanted to make sure we had enough, y’know? I wasn’t trying to be some big-time criminal, just wanted ‘em to be safe.”

He flicks the cigarette into the glass ashtray, watching as the ashes scatter. “It just spiraled. I got in too deep, so I just roll with the tide now. Stay a step ahead.”

There’s a pause, he glances at you. Catching your face, expression dull, something that makes him sigh as he rests his elbows on his knees. “But what’s the point of thinkin’ about it now? Shit’s already been done. No turnin’ back.”

He leans back against the mattress, arms folded beneath his head and exposing the ink on his bare chest. You let your eyes trace the dark lines, the stories etched into his skin before finally speaking. “But don’t you ever think about getting out? Like, retiring? A family? A house? A life that doesn’t involve all… this?” You gesture vaguely to the scattered weapons on the floor, the silent proof of the world you live in.

He tilts his head at you, abs flexing as he shifts to meet your gaze. His lips curl, laughter slipping past them. “Me? A house with a fenced-in backyard? A fuckin’ dog? You got a beautiful imagination, doll.”

But there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t quite match the smirk on his lips. It’s gone just as fast as it appeared, but you caught the crack in his armor.

So you press. “Yeah, but no, really. There should be more to life than just being on the run always, right? Don’t you want more than this?”

His expression shifts as he weighs your words. Then, he tilts his head, all playfully like a puppy. “What about you, huh? This what keeps you up all night?”

You blink, caught off guard and accidentally answering too honestly. “No. I don’t think about it. I never even thought I’d make it to this age.”

That does something to him, and you see it. It’s subtle, the way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers twitch slightly before curling into his palm. His expression softens, just slightly, gone before you can call him on it.

He pushes up from the bed, discarding his cigarette before clapping his hands against his thighs and standing. The floor creaks under his weight as he moves to switch off the light. “Tell you what,” he says, voice lighter. “If we pull this off, if we can make it through, maybe I’ll think about it.”

Without another word, he’s climbing into bed, back to you, leaving you sitting in the dark with a cigarette still curling between your fingers.

So you retreat as well, crushing the cigarette before turning and tugging the sheets up.

Sukuna.

A man of contradictions, cold and calculating, ruthless and strangely human. There’s a darkness in him you can’t grasp, a hunger that keeps him moving forward. And yet, in the flicker of a moment, his guard falters and you catch a glimpse of something softer. Not exactly vulnerability, but the remnants of a past he can’t outrun. A past that continues to shape him in ways he doesn’t even seem to understand.

You can’t figure it out. Shifting under the covers and exhaling into the air.

Part of you wonders if there’s more to him than just bloodshed and violence. Maybe he’s a man trying to make sense of a world that’s constantly breaking him. Or maybe, he’s simply a monster who’s learned how to wear the skin of someone who isn’t.

And then there’s you. Why are you still here? Why do you play this game with him, knowing full well what he’s capable of? Why does the weight of his eyes make you shiver and pull you in simultaneously, tethering you to him in ways that feel inevitable?

It couldn’t just be the thrill of the job. You know that much. If it were, you would’ve walked away after the first heist. Instead, it’s something about the way he moves through the world, something about the way he doesn’t apologize for who he is.

Is that what you want?

He’s the chaos you don’t know how to escape, the question that never stops echoing in your mind.

You don’t trust people. That was something you established long ago, only engraving further in your mind when Hakari turned his back.

Why you? You’re subpar at best, not the smartest nor the most experienced. He could have anyone. But he keeps offering you these jobs, willing to teach you if need be.

You stare at the ceiling, probably for the thousandth time in your life.

You might be starting to want it.

taglist: @cutesytwt, @tojis-ball-sack, @gojoscumslut, @sukubusss, @vicravluv, @newasskid, @grignardsreagent, @garden0fyves

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Here we go! Can’t wait to dive into part 4 and see what these two are up to!

“Listen, don’t worry about overstaying your welcome, alright?” Ben said then as if he could feel the anxiety taking over you. His eyes sized you up, wondering if you would push back again. “Take your time, sweetheart. Really, there’s no need to rush, okay?” A tame smile played across his lips. “I-, uh, I don’t mind the company. Makes the house feel a little less empty.”

Aw. Yes stay with him girl! You can really see just how damn…alone he is. Ben would have been around mid twenties here, right? It’s kind of not much of a shocker how he turned out the way he did after a lifetime of that. 

Florence sighed softly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Back when he was a boy, he could never stop talking. Always asking questions, always trying to be the best at everything. It’s a little different now. More weight on his shoulders,” she explained. “Mr. Brooks, well… he’s always had big plans for Benjamin. Too big, in my opinion.”

Stupid Papa Benjamin. He's just... *incoherent screeching*

She didn’t fully reciprocate your smile, though, her expression turning thoughtful. “Benjamin used to bring strays home all the time. Cats, dogs, even little birds,” she said, and you didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “Poor things, starving or hurt, and he’d nurse them back to health. Always said it was his way of helping,” she continued, chuckling softly under her breath. “I guess he thought he could save the world with kindness. That was before he started… well, before his father started making sure he knew what was… right.”

Her hands stilled mid-wipe on the countertop. “One day, Benjamin brought home a small dog. Old, injured… it could hardly walk. His father… he made him kill it.” She looked at you then, her eyes sharp. “To teach him a lesson. About weakness. He said a man can’t be soft. That weakness could bring the whole family down. Benjamin never brought a stray home again after that.”

Ben’s so precious and I loathe that father of his with the passion of a thousand suns. Let’s drop him in a vat of acid, shall we?

“Uh-huh.” You nodded rather unsurely, your nerves ticking like a bomb inside of you. “Feeling like a tribute in the Hunger Games…” you muttered under your breath, aware your audience wouldn’t understand a pop culture reference from the 21st century. 

No but as soon as they came in the house I was thinking, omg it’s like Effie and the gang is here to do make overs (side note, if you’ve not read Sunrise on The Reaping yet I highly recommend).

“Oh, fuck no!” You looked at the thing in her hands with terror.

Same girl. You couldn’t pay me to wear a damn corset. Underwire bras are torture enough lol

“Percival?” you mouthed at Ben, slowly erupting into a laugh. His cheeks flushed so red you could’ve confused them for Mars.

God I love his stuck up, snotty middle name. Only the rich am I right?

“I guess my father did,” Ben said as if he’d only just realized that fact himself. “I don’t know exactly what happened. I first noticed it when I was teenager. She just stopped being the person I remembered. She became more distant. Cold. She’s mostly just a ghost here. I think she just gave up fighting him, so she played the role of his wife, but not the one of my mother anymore.”

Can reader time travel to the Titanic and drop dear old dad off there “accidentally”? Pretty please?

Well, you hoped Mr. Brooks Sr. would enjoy the bubonic plague as much as your parents did once you got your powers back. It was the least you could do.

YESSS! Love we’re on the same murder wavelength there 

He got her a birthday cake?

I’m loving all the insight we’re getting with Ben and the reader giving up on seeing him in such black and white terms anymore. Yes, he’s still a flirt and a smidge of a douche but like I mentioned before, he has such a lonely, loveless existence. I’m not sure why I just thought of this but since you mentioned Hunger Games, Ben almost gives a Haymitch vibe in a way. There is that loneliness that comes out through substance abuse later on and not getting attached in relationships but there’s still this protective, kind nature underlying everything. And Ben’s still at this point of being receptive to it and understanding hooking up with the staff might have more meaning to them than he originally thought. 

I don’t know why but I’m starting to get more and more nervous that somehow reader will end up breaking his heart and that will account for so much of his future anger at what he might consider the ultimate betrayal after letting her into his closely guarded heart.

Now off to part 5!

Time After Time – Chapter 4

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, angst, mentions of animal cruelty, fluff, humor, slow burn, a super cliché makeover moment

Word Count: 10.1k

Posted on Patreon March 21, 2025

A/N: Heads up! My responses will still be a little slow. The boys are sick and I'm the last one standing. Haven't slept a lot this week lol. In other news – we're beginning our deep dive into Ben's past and doing a little bonding. Enjoy! 😉 ✨ Chapter title comes from Gone with the Wind (1939)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 4: After All, Tomorrow Is Another Day

You opened your eyes to soft sunlight filtering through heavy curtains. The room was huge, as was the bed, but it was the unfamiliarity of it all that made you shift uncomfortably in the plush sheets.

The clothes Ben had lent you felt strange. You couldn’t help but remember the quiet tension between you two in his father’s study, the moment you both had almost crossed some invisible line, and then he’d pulled away like it had never been there.

Still, you couldn't shake the pull he had on you. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that his kindness was a distraction – an unexpected one. His presence stirred something deep inside you, and you hated it. You needed to fucking leave. Fast.

You forced yourself to get up, the cool hardwood floors sending a shiver up your spine as you made your way to the door. You didn’t belong here – not in this house, not in this time. You needed to escape before things got any more goddamn complicated.

You descended the grand staircase, the weight of the mansion pressing down on you once more, its silence almost suffocating. The sound of your footsteps echoed through the empty hall before Ben already appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

How the fuck was he doing that? He didn’t have super-hearing yet, did he?

“Hey, you’re up early,” he greeted you with a brief flick of his eyes as he adjusted the cufflinks in his shirt.

He was dressed impeccably in a sharp, charcoal gray, three-piece suit that made him look every bit the man his father expected him to be. But he didn’t seem happy.

You had gathered enough courage to speak by the time you reached the last step – and him. “Yeah, uh, I was wondering if we could maybe get a jump start on my… departure?”

Ben bobbed his head, lips pursed, but avoided looking straight into your eyes. “Sure, yeah,” he said at first, but you knew there’d be more. A lot more. “I just have to drop by the office and take care of a few things. But I told Florence, our housekeeper, to take good care of you. She’s already prepared breakfast for you in the dining room. Anything you need, just tell her, and she’ll get it for you. Make yourself at home, okay?”

What the fucking fuck was happening?

Your mouth opened and closed a few times before you ultimately found the words. “Am I–“ Ben’s head tilted at you, a hint of amusement and curiosity on his face. “Am I a hostage?”

He barked a loud laugh at your question, but then instantly lowered the volume to a more soothing tone. “No, no, of course not. You can leave anytime, sweetheart,” he assured you, and miraculously, you believed him. “Look, if you want to leave, I’ll take you to the train station or whatever right now. I just figured, you know, you seemed like you needed a little more time. I mean, do you know yet where you’re going next?”

“I told you. New York.” You folded your arms, shrugging.

“You have a place there? A home? Family? Friends? What?” he badgered on, crossing his own arms over his broad chest with a scrutinizing look.

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

Shit. 

You exhaled a frustrated sigh. This was getting old. “Why d’you care?”

Ben seemed caught off guard by the sudden sharpness in your voice. But then his lips curled into a half-smile, too tight at the corners, as he casually brushed off your question. “Yeah, guess I’m not supposed to care, right?”

He let out a short snort that almost sounded like an inside joke, his eyes flickering to the side, posture stiffening ever so slightly. He took a step back from you, adjusting his cufflinks again as if the distance and mindless fumbling could redirect the conversation, but the subtle grind of his jaw betrayed him.

You hesitated for a beat, but then decided to tell the truth. “Look, I-, I don’t really have anything in New York. I just figured I could find… something there, you know?”

Saying the words out loud caused a wave of panic to rise in your chest. He was right. Even if you left, you had no place to go and no idea how to get your abilities back yet.

“Listen, don’t worry about overstaying your welcome, alright?” Ben said then as if he could feel the anxiety taking over you. His eyes sized you up, wondering if you would push back again. “Take your time, sweetheart. Really, there’s no need to rush, okay?” A tame smile played across his lips. “I-, uh, I don’t mind the company. Makes the house feel a little less empty.”

Fucking hell…

You wanted to tell him to stop – stop being so fucking considerate and sweet when all you wanted was to disappear. But your throat tightened, and you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. So you just nodded and forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Alright.” Ben gave a satisfied nod. “I’ll be in the office. You have a good day, sweetheart.”

Shit. By the affectionate gleam in his green eyes, you could tell he was enjoying this scene a little too much. You wouldn’t play The Donna Reed Show with him – and even that was still more than a decade of progressive thought away. All that was missing from his goodbye was a kiss to your temple and the sentence, “Can’t wait to see what you have cooked for dinner tonight, honey!” 

“By the way, I arranged for my mother’s tailor to come by this afternoon,” he added on his way to the front door.

“What?!”

Oh, you didn’t like this at all…

Ben only laughed at your gasp of horror. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time. Not throwing you to the wolves alone,” he quipped.

Needless to say, that didn’t comfort you in the slightest.

“Wait, what?!”

Ben gave you a patient smile, his amusement still visible before it morphed to a more teasing nature. “Look, as much as I enjoy seeing you in my clothes, sweetheart, I figured we should get you something more… fitting. Especially if you still plan your escape to the big, wide world out there.”

Before you could say another word, he was already disappearing out the door, his footsteps echoing as they faded into the distance. However, you didn’t remain alone for long.

“Miss?” A soft voice interrupted your thoughts.

You turned to find a woman in a worn, but well-kept uniform suddenly standing in the foyer. She must have been the housekeeper Ben told you about – Florence.

Her face was kind, lined with the wear of years spent in this house, but there was a warmth in her smile that made her seem less like staff and more like family.

“Would you like something to eat, miss? It’s all ready for you in the sunroom.” Her voice was almost motherly, comforting, as if she’d been saying the same thing to Ben since he was a child.

You blinked at the mention of something called a sunroom. Sure, you’d heard of it, but you had never seen one nor had you ever known someone to own one. You’d grown up in a trailer park in Jersey, then lived in small and shabby cabin in the woods with a lot plumbing issues, and now in a shoebox apartment in a sketchy part of New York.

You glanced down the hallway at the dark, opulent, and intimidating dining room and figured the sunroom surely sounded… happier. But you didn’t want to eat alone in a big, empty mansion, your eyes landing on the housekeeper.

Florence had probably seen a lot over the years in this household. Maybe Ben wasn’t the only source of information around.

Since you couldn’t leave and Ben was so obviously avoiding you and your departure plans, you figured you could spend the day snooping.

This place was Soldier Boy’s diary, after all.

“I was thinking... maybe I could have breakfast with you? In the kitchen?” you asked her with a shy, yet friendly smile.

Florence’s brow rose in obvious surprise but quickly returned your smile. “Of course, miss. I can’t say I’ve ever had company for breakfast before since I’ve worked here, but I’d be glad to have you join me.”

Well, you had always loved being a little rule breaker.

You followed her into the kitchen, where the heavenly smell of eggs, bacon, and freshly brewed coffee wound its way to your nose. Your stomach suddenly grumbled. You hadn’t fucking eaten since that piece of birthday cake Annie had brought in that morning in the office.

It already felt like a lifetime ago. Had it been chocolate cake or red velvet? Why couldn’t you remember?

Swallowing, your gaze wandered around the kitchen as the housekeeper already bustled around, placing a plate down on an old oak table in the middle of the room. It was a warm, cozy space despite its size, shelves with china and silver lining the walls. Another fire crackled in the corner – they pretty much had a fucking fireplace in every room of this house.

You thanked Florence with a smile as you sat down, already stuffing a forkful of eggs into your mouth. “How long have you worked here, Florence?”

“Oh, I’ve known Benjamin since he was born.” She laughed softly as she continued working by the counters. “My mother had already worked for his grandfather.”

“Wow, so I guess you know Benjamin pretty well,” you said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“I do.” Florence chuckled but then let out a soft, nostalgic sigh. “He always had a lot to say, even as a little boy. Too much sometimes, if you ask me,” she quipped.

Yeah, you knew what she meant. The supe you knew would go on for hours about his not-so-glamorous stories of the important parties he’d attended and the more important celebrities he’d fucked. And you’d sit there, slowly dying inside, wishing he had the ability to contract laryngitis.

But the current version of him seemed more muted. Sometimes, you’d gotten glimpses of the bragging, the fuckboi attitude, and the spoiled brat who couldn’t accept no for an answer. Last night, though, he’d been more honest than you’d ever seen him.

“Does he always talk a lot?” you asked, your fingers playing with a piece of bacon.

Florence sighed softly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Back when he was a boy, he could never stop talking. Always asking questions, always trying to be the best at everything. It’s a little different now. More weight on his shoulders,” she explained. “Mr. Brooks, well... he’s always had big plans for Benjamin. Too big, in my opinion.”

You only nodded in quiet understanding. The whole house was screaming it; she didn’t have to say more.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Florence asked after a beat, watching you with a curious eye.

Of course the focus would fall back on you eventually. Here, you were the odd one.

You set your fork down and met her gaze with a smile. “You could say that, yeah.”

She didn’t fully reciprocate your smile, though, her expression turning thoughtful. “Benjamin used to bring strays home all the time. Cats, dogs, even little birds,” she said, and you didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “Poor things, starving or hurt, and he’d nurse them back to health. Always said it was his way of helping,” she continued, chuckling softly under her breath. “I guess he thought he could save the world with kindness. That was before he started... well, before his father started making sure he knew what was… right.”

“What do you mean?” The creases of your brow deepened, the eerie feeling in the pit of your stomach increasing.

“Here, take my coat. You poor thing must be freezing. Look at you, you’re shaking.”

Her hands stilled mid-wipe on the countertop. “One day, Benjamin brought home a small dog. Old, injured… it could hardly walk. His father... he made him kill it.” She looked at you then, her eyes sharp. “To teach him a lesson. About weakness. He said a man can’t be soft. That weakness could bring the whole family down. Benjamin never brought a stray home again after that.”

Until you.

That was her underlying message. Florence was giving you a warning. Suddenly, you weren’t all that hungry anymore. You’d swallowed enough for one morning.

Florence’s eyes softened as if she could sense your unease. She lowered her voice, leaning in closer as she wiped down the oak table in front of you. “Listen, miss, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you’d better leave before his father comes back.” Her tone was stern – protective. Apparently, one person in this house was looking out for Ben after all. It was just someone you hadn’t expected. “He’s a good boy, but his father’s a hard man. When he returns, all this–,” her eyes pierced into you, “–won’t be tolerated. Benjamin’s already been walking a tightrope with him. I don’t want you to be another problem for him.”

Her words hit you harder than expected. You nodded slowly, a cold shiver running down your spine as you realized just how precarious your situation really was. You weren’t here just because of a little time-traveling mishap. You were a complication – an inconvenience to the best-laid plans. She had seen what happened when Ben’s father decided that someone didn’t belong. And right now, you were the one who didn’t belong.

“I’ve told you what I can. Just-... don’t stay too long, miss. For your sake, and his.”

The mansion felt different in the afternoon – quieter, almost as if it were suspending its breath in anticipation for its owners to arrive. The morning, on the other hand, had been filled with staff scurrying around.

There was George, the groundskeeper and repairmen, who’d spent an hour switching broken lightbulbs in the endless corridors. You followed him to his work shed out back, finding a gigantic garden clad in winter magic as you chatted vividly with the sweet, older man. Soon, you started to freeze, though Ben had left his wool coat behind for you with a handwritten note, which was handed to you by Florence.

In case you go outside to look for an escape route…

Which brought you to your third encounter this morning – Ray, the chauffeur. He’d sought you out after breakfast with another message from his boss to you: “Mr. Benjamin wanted me to tell you that you’re allowed to use me for any getaway plans you may have.”

So, the younger version of Soldier Boy actually had a sense of humor. Who knew?

But even as you drifted aimlessly through the mansion, exploring one giant and overwhelming room after the next, your mind couldn’t free itself from the haunting conversation with Florence. You wouldn’t have cared if you caused trouble for Soldier Boy, but for some reason, you didn’t want Ben to suffer more.

Sure, his 80-years-older counterpart was the devil reincarnated, but this version of him had treated you only with kindness, the two sides of the same coin sometimes hard to reconcile.

Your sympathy, however, wavered slightly when you met the last two members of the staff – the maids, Frances and Dottie. Frances was the older one, probably in her forties, and didn’t pay much attention to you, going about her chores. Dottie, a girl in her early twenties, on the other hand, sent you a subtle glare every time you passed her in a hallway. If looks could kill, you would’ve been dead by noon.

As her narrowed eyes particularly stared at your choice of outfit, Ben’s shirt, you quickly sensed why she might not like you.

The man really was a fucking dog.

When Florence moved to do laundry, you offered to help, but she quickly shooed you away, more or less telling you to stop getting her into trouble. So, you kept cautiously wandering around like the ghosts that haunted this home. You took in all the portraits of solemn men in expensive suits, the velvet drapes, the old-world furniture that shone with polish and pride. Spying a beautiful grand piano in the living room tempted you to tickle its ivories, but you didn’t know if it was allowed or even welcomed.

At this point, you certainly didn’t want to cause more trouble.

You ambled down another hallway, and just as you rounded the corner, the front door swung open, and Ben stepped inside.

“Are you always this curious?” he asked with a grin, leaving coat, hat, and scarf with Florence, who had hurried to his side as soon as she heard him come home.

Again, it explained so much about the future version of him. You had almost rolled your eyes but tried to remind yourself it really wasn’t his fault that everyone catered to his needs. This whole house and life was designed to turn him into a spoiled, careless man-child, taught to eat his feelings.

And as you observed Florence’s devotion to him, you suddenly saw the pattern as clear as day and knew you could never, ever unsee it afterward. His future counterpart had certainly shown a… preference in older housekeepers and maids – sexually.

You stiffened a bit, feeling like you were just caught red-handed in his diary – or his underwear drawer. “I… well, I was just exploring. It’s a… big house,” you deflected from your disturbing thoughts.

His tongue licked over his bottom lip as he nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes feels like it can swallow you whole.” He paused, probably realizing he let too much slip. “You find anything interesting?”

You gave an innocent shake of your head. “Not really. A lot of portraits of your ancestors, and some... old furniture.”

“Ah, yeah, there’s a lot of that.” He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. But when you met his eyes, you found more pain than anything else. “My father loves his legacy. It’s like living inside a museum sometimes.” He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders that was supposed to convince you he wasn’t bothered by that fact.

It failed, though. You hadn’t been able to pinpoint it until he said it, but walking through the mansion felt like taking a stroll through the Natural History Museum.

“So, uhm, how was your day?” you asked and would’ve loved to add a sarcastic honey. But again, it wasn’t his fault this time period was still domesticating women.

“Good. The usual, I guess,” he said casually, but you could tell by the small smile grazing his lips that he was happy you’d asked. “How was yours, sweetheart? Aside from exploring and scheming an escape plan?”

You giggled softly and gave him a smile that was almost shy. “Good so far. I had a lovely breakfast with Florence in the kitchen.”

Ben’s brow raised in surprise, but his smile hadn’t faded entirely. “You ate with the housekeeper in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.” You gave a nod before your brow puckered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get her into trouble. She-… she isn’t, right?”

“Wha-… No, no, not at all,” Ben assured you, chuckling. “I just-… well, I’ve lived here for a little over twenty years, and I’ve never had breakfast before in the kitchen.”

“Huh, well, you should try it sometime. It’s fun.” You gave him a shrug, grinning.

“I’ll think about it,” he said and cocked a brow, his eyes dragging over your frame – the shirt of his you wore – with that little leer of his. “Do you always do what’s fun, sweetheart?”

The chime of the doorbell came as a welcome interruption and made both your heads turn toward the sound.

Saved by the bell. Your heart still thundered the storm of the century in your chest as Florence hurried to the front door once more. You had almost wanted him to step closer. You’d never experienced that feeling before with him.

“The seamstress is here, miss,” Florence said, swiftly ushering you toward another hallway. “Right this way.”

Fuck. You’d completely forgotten about that. You knew you needed some kind of period-appropriate attire. But why couldn’t he just take you to the 1942 equivalent of a V&M or Vara? You weren’t in the mood to entertain any makeover shenanigans.

“See you in a bit,” Ben said and fled down the opposite direction.

“Whoa! Hey! Where are you going? You said you weren’t going to leave me alone for this,” you said, your voice disturbingly close to a whine.

Ben must’ve sensed the panic blinking like an evacuation alarm in your eyes because he actually took a few steps closer to you again. “Five minutes, alright? Just have to take this to the study.” He gestured to a briefcase in his hand. “I’ll be right with you, sweetheart.”

Giving a hesitant nod, you couldn’t understand your own feelings. A big part of you hated to have him near you, hated talking to him, and hated to accept his help. Why him, of all the people on this planet? But there was another part of you that desperately sought the comfort his familiarity offered in an unfamiliar place.

Florence led you to the drawing room – a space specifically designed for entertaining guests. In your childhood, a burning trash can in the trailer park had served as your entertainment space for guests. In New York, it was your pull-up couch/bed. But sure, why not add an extra room if you’re shitting money?

The moment you stepped into the room where the tailor was waiting, your own personal nightmare unfolded in front of you as you were greeted by a flurry of fabric and an energetic woman in her forties, with short, stylishly curled hair and glasses perched on her nose. She was perpetually in motion, constantly fidgeting, muttering to herself as she laid out fabric swatches with dramatic flair. Her hands fluttered in the air like a conductor preparing for a grand symphony.

She straightened up when she saw you, eyes lighting up with immediate interest. “Ah, so you’re the one Benjamin’s been telling me about!” Her voice was brisk but warm, and she wasted no time in circling you like a hawk. Her eyes twinkled behind her glasses, scanning you from head to toe with exaggerated precision, as though the idea of fitting you for a dress was as exciting as solving a puzzle. “We’re going to make you absolutely stunning, darling. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

You hesitated at the doorway, giving her a tentative smile. “I’m really not sure about all of this. I’m not exactly–”

She waved her hand dismissively, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Not exactly what, my dear? Feminine? Pish posh. All women are feminine. It’s simply a matter of presentation.” She paused to give you another once-over, her eyes practically sparkling as she stepped closer, her hands bunching and tucking Ben’s loose shirt in various ways around your body. Were tailors always this handsy? “You have the shape, the frame. We’ll just need to... refine it.” She grinned, showing an alarming amount of enthusiasm for fabric and needles. “You’ll look fantastic in no time. You’ll be the talk of every high society ball, I assure you.”

“Huh? What now?” You blinked, unsure if you should laugh or run away. Did Effie Trinket just mention the word ball? You did not like the sound of that.

You shot a glance toward the door upon hearing a quiet creak, and Ben stepped inside, the faintest grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took in the scene. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and your eyes locked with his, silently asking him for a goddamn rescue. But instead, he looked entertained, maybe even a little pleased, which was infuriating, to say the least.

“You okay in here?” Ben asked, voice tinged with amusement as his green eyes darted between you and the seamstress.

“Uh-huh.” You nodded rather unsurely, your nerves ticking like a bomb inside of you. “Feeling like a tribute in the Hunger Games…” you muttered under your breath, aware your audience wouldn’t understand a pop culture reference from the 21st century. At least, the knowledge that Hughie and Annie would have laughed soothed your anxiety slightly.

The tailor, as if summoned by Ben’s voice, immediately sprang to action, striding toward him with a look of sheer joy. “Ah, Benjamin! What perfect timing! We’re just about to turn your lovely guest into a proper lady. You’ve done well bringing her here.” She beamed, patting Ben on the arm like a proud parent. “Wherever did you find this girl?”

“Uh… On the street.” Ben smirked, cleverly disguising the truth as a joke.

The seamstress threw him a pointed look at his antics, shaking her head. “Always a joker, this boy… However do you put up with him?”

“Oh, I have no idea.” You grinned, your eyes flickering mischievously to Ben. “It’s exhausting!”

Ben’s brow knitted, but to your surprise, he was more amused than anything else with your response.

“Oh, your mother will be so pleased when she comes back,” the tailor tells him wistfully before turning her attention back to you. “She always wanted a daughter to show off at tea parties. She’ll have you parading around Philadelphia’s finest circles in no time.”

Tea parties? Balls? Fuck no! Not to mention you wanted to be long gone before his parents got back, Florence’s warning still all too fresh in your mind.

Panicked, you blinked at Ben, while the tailor already swung a measuring tape around you like a ribbon.

“Uh, Ms. Vivian, my guest won’t be here anymore when my mother returns,” Ben informed her, approaching you as you stood in the middle of the room like a statue in an art gallery. “So, maybe we tone it down a little with the tea parties and the ball gowns.” He then looked at you, his eyes reassuring and encouraging. “Just tell her what you want, sweetheart. I told you – I got you.” He winked.

Your cheeks involuntarily blushed. Honestly, that little gesture might have been the nicest fucking thing he’d ever done for you.

With newfound confidence, you faced the seamstress. “Uh, maybe we could find something simple and casual? Maybe a little flowy?”

“Flowy? What, like a farmhand?” The tailor’s brow furrowed wildly as if you’d just offended her, clasping a palm to her chest. She sighed so loudly you almost felt like you had just shattered her entire lifelong dreams.

Ben snorted, and you couldn’t help but break into little giggles too, both your amusement flying right over the seamstress’ head.

“What about the cream one?” You pointed at a soft flowing dress on the rack, which looked perfectly fine to get around without suffocating.

“Oh, darling, no!” The tailor shook her head vigorously, but Ben sent her a stern look.

“Ms. Vivian…” His voice was calm but warning.

“Alright, fine.” She rolled her eyes exhaustively and put the dress aside before finding another one as well. She held it up to your face like it was a magic curtain. “What about this? Maybe a soft, ladylike lavender or perhaps a daring crimson to match the boldness I see in your eyes? That color would work wonders for your complexion, too!”

“Oh, uh, let’s steer clear of the crimson,” you told her, clearing your throat – not that Ben would actually catch why that made you uncomfortable.

“It seems like ‘no’ is your favorite word,” Ms. Vivian tutted in her frustration.

Ben laughed slightly at the comment. “Oh, she’s a hard one to win over,” he quipped, but his eyes never left you. There was a soft hint of a smile playing on his lips that you could almost confuse for affection.

Were you going fucking crazy?

The seamstress paused, considering the two of you, and then smiled in a way that felt a little too knowing. “Well, I suppose we could compromise. A sophisticated look, not too dramatic, but refined and elegant. The perfect balance. And just a hint of mystery, of course.”

God, she was good. You had to give her that. She really knew what she was doing, although you hated the fact she could read you so easily.

As Ms. Vivian eagerly rolled out fabrics and draped silks and velvets around your shoulders like sacred relics, Ben snuck closer to you. His fingertips lingered on your wrist, brushing but not touching as if to reassure you he hadn’t forgotten the rules.

But his breath fanned against the shell of your ear, the hair in the back of your neck saluting him when he checked on you in a whisper, “You still holding up here okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” You laughed softly, barely able to hold his gaze. This whole situation was nerve-racking. “Just not used to being the center of attention like this.”

“Hmm, that’s hard to believe.” Ben gave you a little grin. “You’ll be fine. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Enjoy being dressed up like a doll? You’re not helping, you know...”

Ben chuckled. “Maybe not. But I enjoy watching you try getting out of it. Besides, I think you’ll look stunning, no matter what you wear.”

Furiously burning heat crept to your cheeks at his flattery. Fuck, he was good when he wanted to be. You thought you could handle Soldier Boy like you’d done so many times before in the future without issue, but this was entirely different.

“Oh, we almost forgot the foundations!” The tailor’s voice luckily interrupted the moment and drew both your attention back to her.

Your brow quirked, accompanied by an anxious feeling in your gut. “Foundations?”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Yes, darling. The proper undergarments,” she clarified and searched for the appropriate item in her large, wooden treasure chest. “What about a nice corset?”

“Oh, fuck no!” You looked at the thing in her hands with terror.

To your surprise, Ms. Vivian uttered a loud gasp of horror as well. Ben, on the other hand, snorted in amusement behind your shoulder, and you turned to him with a confused expression.

“What?”

Before Ben could answer you, Ms. Vivian spoke first: “Young lady, mind your language!”

“Oh.” Your brow raised in realization. “Shit. I’m sorry. I mean crap! No, dammit! Am I allowed to say ‘crap’?”

A louder, more forceful laugh escaped Ben then, and you could see the glassy veil of tears over his eyes. He bit his lips hard, trying to regain his composure when Ms. Vivian was scolding both of you with a stern look.

“Benjamin, you better get Mrs. Helen to work with her before you take her out,” the seamstress said, but it was more than a mere suggestion. Her eyes were practically pleading him.

“Who’s Mrs. Helen?” you asked your host in a whisper-tone.

“She’s an etiquette coach,” Ben informed you, his amused smile still unwavering.

Your brow furrowed. “What, so I know which fork to stabbeth myself with while some pompous dick is going on and on about his yacht and the stock market?”

Ben chuckled violently behind his palm, but Ms. Vivian was less than amused and quirked a high eyebrow.

“Young lady, you better mind your manners,” she chided. “You may not find a man this way. Men don’t appreciate sailor talk. You’re in company of a gentleman here.”

“Who? Him?!” With a severely wrinkled brow, you thumbed over your shoulder at your host.

Oh, that is hilarious…

“Alright, if a corset is out of question, then we at least need to get you a proper brassiere,” Ms. Vivian continued her quest to dress you appropriately.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m good on that front,” you said.

The seamstress threw you a raised look, lowering her glasses on her nose for dramatic effect. “If you think I’ll let you walk out of here without the proper undergarments, you better think again,” she told you firmly.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ben quipped, grinning cheekily.

“Merde…” You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Fine, gimme a bra.”

Ms. Vivian foraged through her magical treasure chest again, shaking her head. “You know, I understand French, too, young lady.”

Fuck me, you thought since you couldn’t say it out loud.

“You speak French?” Ben tossed you a curious glance.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fluent, actually,” you replied and watched his brow hike up in surprise.

“Well, I’m glad not all hope is lost,” Ms. Vivian chimed in. “French is very popular for girls your age.”

“You learned it in school?” Ben asked, and you could tell he was using this opportunity to pry more information out of you, but this time, you figured it couldn’t hurt.

“Uh, self-taught, actually,” you answered. Living in the French part of Canada for a couple of years, you’d certainly picked up a thing or two. “I’m also good with Latin and Greek. History, science, math…”

“Math?” Ben questioned, a trace of surprised intrigue flashing in his green eyes.

“Yeah, math,” you confirmed, smirking. “What subjects were you good at in school?”

Ms. Vivian snorted loudly at your question, Ben sending her a little glare at that. You knew why, remembering how he had flunked boarding school. And Soldier Boy would’ve probably pulverized the seamstress right this second for making fun of him, but Ben was a lot less hot-tempered.

“Uh, little bit of everything, I guess,” he replied vaguely at first, still trying to impress you. But then he wet his lips in thought. “To be honest, I wasn’t really paying a lot of attention to my classes.”

The sudden honesty surprised you, and you rewarded it with a kind smile. You gave a quick shrug of your shoulders. “School’s overrated, anyways. Most of the stuff you need for life, you learn on the go.”

Ben’s lips curved into a smile. “Like French?”

“Like French.” You nodded, grinning.

“You know, playing an instrument is very desirable as well for girls,” Ms. Vivian added. “It lets potential suitors know you’re refined and cultured.”

So, they know I can play their flute? 

You bit back your comment, not knowing if Ms. Vivian wasn’t hiding a muzzle for you in her treasure chest as well.

“Well, I play the piano,” you offered instead. Truly, you didn’t try to impress Ben but the judgmental tailor. You hoped if she thought you had at least a little bit of a well-bred pedigree, she’d stay clear of the feathered hats you spied in the corner of your eye.

“Oh, that is wonderful!” Ms. Vivian clapped her hands in delight, making you quite proud of your achievement.

One point for the trailer park bitch!

“You know, we have a piano right there,” Ben said, gesturing to the corner where the beautiful grand piano stood that you’d admired earlier that day.

“Oh, I know. I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to touch it,” you said, giggling. “Seems a little too grand for my skills.”

“No, go ahead, sweetheart. It hasn’t been played in a while. I’m sure it’d appreciate the treatment,” Ben encouraged you with soft smile, the affectionate gleam reappearing in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s too bad your mother won’t be here to see this!” Ms. Vivian tragically sighed. “She would’ve loved it! She was a wonderful player herself, always entertaining the guests at parties.”

“Was?” You looked at Ben, but he averted his gaze to the floor, never quite meeting your eyes.

You couldn’t remember if Soldier Boy had ever mentioned his mother. You’d heard plenty about his father, but his mother seemed more like an elusive mirage, swallowed by the exorbitant daddy issues that haunted him.

“She-, uh, she hasn’t really played in recent years,” Ben gave as a polite explanation but didn’t offer anything more.

“Oh, too bad,” you replied and sent him a small smile. “I’m sure she was great.”

“Alright, Benjamin,” the tailor interrupted you two, “This next part of the process is not meant for your eyes, so you better leave.”

“What? Why?” You sure as hell didn’t want to be left alone with the eccentric seamstress. God knows what else she could force you into. You were sure there were a lot worse things than a corset in that trunk of horror.

“Because you have to undress, darling, so I can see what fits and make the appropriate adjustments,” Ms. Vivian told you.

“Oh, I don’t mind staying.” Ben smirked puckishly.

“Benjamin Percival Brooks! Where are your manners, young man?” The tailor flashed him a look full of authority, her voice firm and commanding.

“Percival?” you mouthed at Ben, slowly erupting into a laugh. His cheeks flushed so red you could’ve confused them for Mars.

“I know your mother raised you better than that,” she chastised. “Go on! Shoo!”

You chuckled a little at the face he drew upon her order. Man, you should remember that trick in the future. You were kind of jealous of Ms. Vivian’s skills.

“You’re gonna be alright on your own?” Ben still checked, even when the seamstress was impatiently tapping her heel, waiting for him to leave you to your transformation.

“I suppose,” you replied, amused when the tailor already eyed you with a measuring tape.

“I’ll be in the study if you need me,” Ben said and threw you a wink. “Try not to melt under all the glamour.”

As the evening arrived in the mansion, the grand windows that lined the tall walls dimmed with the fading sunlight. You had spent the last few hours adjusting to your new wardrobe before settling on a dress that made you the most amount of comfortable – which wasn’t a lot, to begin with.

Your choice had landed on a long-sleeved, navy blue dress with the hint of a v-neck that was tied with a pretty bow. Alright, you did like the bow. A lot. This was probably the girliest outfit you had ever worn. It for sure was a far cry from your Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans, but at least you blended into your environment and didn’t stick out of the crowd like a sore thumb.

You also put on the vibrant red beret you had to fight Ms. Vivian for since it wasn’t “in fashion this season.” However, it made you feel very sophisticated and French, like you possessed a certain je ne sais quoi.

Alright, maybe you’d been daydreaming a little too much today. But one thing you’d learned during your epic adventures: Always commit to the bit.

Which meant fully diving into everything this period had to offer. You were stuck here, and you couldn’t get hunted down by an angry mob again, so you sucked it up like a big girl and channeled your inner Betty Draper.

Making your way downstairs, you passed Dottie, whose mouth dropped slightly when she saw you in your new outfit. If you thought Ben’s shirt made her hate you, that dress surely made her want to kill you now.

But Dottie, Grace, Betty, and Sheila all served as good reminders of why you had to heed caution with your charming host. You knew who he was in his essence. You couldn’t let yourself get blended by the pretty wrapping paper.

The door to his father’s study stood ajar, Ben sitting at the large oak desk as you carefully peeked your head inside and halted in the doorway. He was hunched over documents in concentration, scribbling something on paper with murmuring lips and a tensely knitted brow.

You took a deep breath and stepped inside, and the moment his eyes lifted and found you, he froze, the pen in his hand faltering midair. His gaze swept over you, not just disbelief but hunger creeping into the lush, green moss of his eyes.

Well, this was even worse than the Zeppelin shirt, the towel, or his clothes. You hadn’t expected the dress to be so noticeable. Maybe you should’ve gone with the pastel green one that made you look like a minted cupcake?

Ben’s mouth parted, but no words came out at first. He blinked, slowly, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “You look, uhm…” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Uh-oh…

“Weird, right?” you offered in an attempt to deflect.

Ben snorted a chuckle then, breaking out a bit of his stupor. “Uh, that wouldn’t have been the exact adjective I would’ve used.” The laughing crinkles around his eyes then softened to something warmer, the heat of his lingering stare rushing straight into your veins. “You look… I guess ��breathtaking’ is the right word for it.”

Yup, that melted your heart right down to your core.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, unsure of how to respond. Then, you noticed a smile sneaking onto his lips when his gaze followed you down to your choice of footwear – you were wearing your same old pair of Chucks.

“Did Ms. Vivian forget the bottom layer?” he teased with an entertained smirk.

“Uh, no, she gave me plenty of choices. Not quite ready yet for that yet, I guess.” You blushed slightly. The truth was, your shoes still gave you a sense of familiarity and home that you wanted to hold onto. You could feel your own time beginning to slip your mind, little fragments starting to go missing from your memory. “She’d probably faint if she saw me like this.”

Ben grinned. “You’re tempting me to call her back just to see it.”

“Oh, too bad you haven’t seen her when I asked her if she had some pants for me, too. She almost collapsed like the London Bridge right then,” you quipped.

“Well, leave it to you to make me jealous I missed one of Ms. Vivian’s fashion shows,” replied Ben, giving you his signature smirk. “I was about to have dinner and was hoping you’d join me. I-, uh, I have a little surprise prepared for you.”

“Oh, uh, you know, that’s not really necessary. You don’t have to give me anything… or more, I guess,” you stammered, shaking your head, pupils flickering. “Letting me stay here, the clothes… It’s enough, okay? It’s more than I could’ve asked for, really. Thank you so much. You really don’t have to do any of that, you know?”

And you strangely meant every word. You were overwhelmingly thankful. Had that been his goal all along? Shit. Was it real it or was he playing you? The grin itching on his lips didn’t help you detangle the mêlée in your mind either.

“Is that a yes or no to dinner?” Ben formed a teasing smile.

“Uh… yes?” You were kind of hungry, not having eaten anything since Florence stuffed you full of crumpets during afternoon tea.

“Alright.” Ben nodded, clearly pleased. “Just, uh, give me a minute to finish this up.”

“Sure. Take your time,” you said and ambled through the study, your gaze drawing you to a row of framed photographs resting on the mantle.

One was a family portrait with Ben, no older than probably five, standing in the middle with two figures behind him – his parents. It was almost haunting seeing a childhood picture of that man, like seeing a teacher outside of school, buying groceries. It reminded you that underneath the emerald suit and the callousness was still a real, living and breathing person.

The contrast between his parents, however, was striking. His father stood tall and imposing, with sharp features and an air of authority that practically leapt off the picture. He didn’t share a lot of resemblance with his son, but weirdly, you could see some similarities between Ben’s father and his future offspring, making you wonder if Soldier Boy ever took note of those attributes as well.

Ben’s mother, on the other hand, was beautiful, her soft features highlighted by a gentle smile. Her eyes were kind, her posture relaxed, and she seemed almost ethereal compared to the rigid formality of her husband.

“Ah, my parents…” Ben’s deep voice ripped you from your thoughts. It was accompanied by a quiet chuckle, as though he didn’t particularly enjoy discussing that topic. He rose from the desk and sauntered closer to you, soon feeling his warmth radiating behind your back. “You see the resemblance?”

You glanced up at him, noting the subtle line of tension between his brows. There was something in his voice that betrayed the casual indifference he wanted to communicate.

“Yeah, you look a lot like your mom,” you remarked, studying the photograph a little closer. “You have her eyes and smile.”

Ben’s expression faltered for a split second with a flicker of something close to disappointment. His lips pressed together, averting his eyes down to the floor. “I suppose that’s true,” he replied with hesitancy. “Honestly, I’d rather prefer looking like my father. I’m not quite the man he is.”

You paused for a moment, your stupid hand itching to reach out to him in comfort. One thing was for sure, though: It was hard to see anything resembling Soldier Boy in the young man in front of you.

Yes, there was the occasional arrogance and bragging and even the insecurities. But you didn’t think this was an act or a game he was playing with you. Vulnerable honesty didn’t really fit his ammo when it came to wooing women. He was too proud in his virility for that.

So, you supposed you were just strange enough of a stranger to confide in. He couldn’t tell it to anyone else because – the girls he’d bedded, the staff in this house – they’d probably gossip, and he couldn’t risk that, could he? Not with a father like that. You, however, didn’t know a soul here. You were nobody. You were safe. You could keep his secrets.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you got lucky,” you said, a teasing smile playing on your lips. You giggled when his brows shot up. “Your mom’s a lot prettier than your dad. I’d be grateful if I were you.”

Ben huffed a chuckle of disbelief, shaking his head. A grin formed and widened on his freckled, clean-shaven face. “You think I’m handsome?”

“I believe I said pretty,” you teased.

Ben clicked his tongue, lips curling to fight a smile.

Your face softened, deciding to probe further. “What’s she like? Your mother?”

He licked his lips for a moment, surely considering if he wanted to answer your question. “Well, uhm, when I was younger, she was warm. Sweet,” he said slowly, trying to retrieve the memory from someplace distant. “She was everything you could want in a mother, you know? I-, uh, I felt like I could tell her anything, and she-… she’d understand.”

“What happened?” you asked quietly, your hands itching again, only held back by a sliver of self-control.

“I guess my father did,” Ben said as if he’d only just realized that fact himself. “I don’t know exactly what happened. I first noticed it when I was teenager. She just stopped being the person I remembered. She became more distant. Cold. She’s mostly just a ghost here. I think she just gave up fighting him, so she played the role of his wife, but not the one of my mother anymore.”

You had no fucking clue what to say to that. The hurt in his voice was raw, and you knew you were intruding on something personal he wasn’t used to sharing. You’d just opened a big can of worms in Soldier Boy’s past, and you had not the faintest idea how to get those slimy, little strings back inside.

Your eyes drifted back to the photograph. She seemed like a good mother in that picture, how she protectively rested a palm on her son’s shoulder. But you also noticed the contrast between the warmth of his mother’s smile and the cold, steely expression of his father. It was as if Ben’s mother had faded into the background, a supporting character in a life that had never really been her own. A fate, you’re sure, that befell many women of this time.

“You think she’s still in there somewhere? The woman you knew?”

Ben was silent for a beat, his gaze fixed on the photograph as he thought about it. “I don’t know,” he said. “I used to think so. Now, I’m not so sure. The more time passed, the more she became… him.”

Well, you hoped Mr. Brooks Sr. would enjoy the bubonic plague as much as your parents did once you got your powers back. It was the least you could do. Maybe then, you and Ben could call it even in the future and go back to your normal routine of hating each other.

It surely sounded less frightening than whatever this weird, blooming thing between you was right now that spread like a nasty STD.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not knowing what else to offer. You still didn’t reach out to him. You were already playing with matches. You didn’t need to throw them into gasoline.

Ben gave a tight smile, trying to overplay his vulnerability. But you could see beneath all the bravado and arrogance. He was just a son who’d never felt like he was enough. Not to his father. Not to his mother.

Worst of all, you could relate.

He chuckled bitterly. “It’s alright. I’ve learned to live with it. You can’t choose your parents.”

“That’s true.” You gave a slight nod of agreement. “Mine were fucking assholes from the start.”

You hadn’t planned on sharing something personal with him, but it felt like the least amount of comfort and understanding you could offer him.

Ben’s brow twitched with surprise, a smile of amusement flashing across his lips, probably because of your use of sailor talk again. Honestly, though, how fucking ironic was that? You hadn’t even sworn a lot your whole life, but spending a year with Butcher and Soldier Boy in particular did a number on you.

“What-, uhm, what were they like… or are? Are they still alive?”

“No, dead. Probably,” you replied flatly. “And they were, uhm… selfish, unkind, elusive. Dumb like a bag of bricks, too.” Upon Ben’s blinking eyes, you uttered a half-hearted “sorry.”

“No, uh–“ Ben shook his head a little, as if to organize his thoughts. “So, that story about your father teaching you–“

“Bullshit, I guess,” you admitted, smirking a little.

“So, all that stuff you know–“

“I taught myself,” you confirmed with a proud smile, standing a little straighter. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you couldn’t deal with a woman being smarter than you.”

Ben’s lips hitched a smile that he tried to bite back. “I guess we’ll see,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “I’m glad you asked about her,” he added quietly, his look touching something within your soul. “Not many people do.”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “I’m sure your mom’s proud of you. Even if she doesn’t show it.”

And then, the air shifted. You could feel it all around you, settling on your skin in a veil of delicate blossoms, rising in response to whispers of electricity. They danced across the surface, each little peak a shiver of anticipation. Your heart drummed louder, faster, till it drowned out all the other noise. There was just you and him at that moment in time.

You’d held eye contact for too long, the silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. It was addicting.

Your gaze briefly fell to his plush, pink lips, immediately cursing yourself for the action. He took note of it, his own eyes landing on your unoccupied, open palm by your side. And in the short second he paused and gathered courage to move forward with his intentions, you retreated half a step and exhaled a sharp breath.

“Uh, food?” Your voice broke the spell on both of you, Ben blinking out of his momentary daze. “I’m kinda hungry.”

“Oh, uhm, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Sounds good. Shall we?”

Ben offered you his arm, and for a fleeting second, you considered declining. But there was something in the way he looked at you, faint crinkles around his crispy apple green eyes from a kind smile that pressured you to cave. So, you placed your hand lightly on his arm, and together you strolled down the hall toward the dining room.

“Is it just the two of us in the dining room?” you asked with a lump lodged in the back of your throat. Your heart was pounding while you held onto him. The soft scent of his cologne reached your nose, notes of citrus, mint, and wood making your head spin.

Ben chuckled a little. “Yeah, it’s just the two of us. Unless you want to invite Florence again.”

“Oh, can we?” As you glanced up at him, you saw the subtle smirk on his lips. “Oh, you were joking…”

Ben laughed deeply. “I was, but hey, if you want to–“

“No, no, it’s fine.” You shook your head, trying to calm your jittering nerves.

As you entered the dining room, you were immediately struck by how large it was, the long table that easily fit a group of thirty stretching in front of you, lit by flickering candles. It was as grand as the rest of the house, but tonight it felt oddly intimate – just the two of you, and no one else.

Ben pulled out a chair for you, his movements graceful and old-fashioned. When you sat, he took the seat opposite you, and Florence hurried to set two plates of deliciously smelling meatloaf in front of you. Luckily, there was only one fork.

“So, what adventures were you up to today, sweetheart?” Ben asked, falling into the polite dinner conversation small talk. You were sure it was trained into him.

“Oh, uh, well, after breakfast, I spent some time with George in his shed. He’s got some cool stuff out there,” you said nonchalantly, only then noticing Ben’s look of amusement again.

“You spent time with George in his shed?”

“Is that not allowed?”

Ben tilted his head at you. “Why do you keep asking me that? I told you to make yourself at home. You can do what you want here.”

“No, I know,” you said, licking your lips as your chat with Florence crept along the edges of your mind. “I guess I just wanna make sure I’m not overstepping any lines here. Kinda like when you’re in a museum, and you’re not allowed to touch anything.”

Ben’s lips grew a smirk as he met your eyes. “Well, you’re allowed to touch anything you want in here, sweetheart.”

Oh no… You’d set yourself right up for that one, hadn’t you?

“So, out of curiosity, did you sleep with Dottie?”

Ben choked on the sip of red wine in his mouth, a few tiny drops staining his pristine white dress shirt. You’re sure neither Florence nor Ms. Vivian would be pleased with that – but you were.

“Hm? What?” He blinked at you like a deer in headlights, clearing the rest of the wine from his throat. “Why? Did she say something to you?”

“Might as well have answered that one with a resounding yes,” you teased and snickered into your glass of wine.

Ben frowned slightly. “You know, if she’s making you uncomfortable, I can fire her.”

Now, you frowned, eyes wide. “What?! No! Don’t do that. That’s such a dick move.”

“A dick move?” Both amusement and confusion flashed on Ben’s face.

Right… People probably didn’t say that yet. You also remembered the concepts of sexual harassment at the workplace and retaliatory discharge were still futuristic dreams, too.

“Well, you know, it’s kinda your fault. Suck it up,” you told him. “You’re her employer. You can’t just discard her because she makes you uncomfortable after you did… whatever you did to her.”

Ben was a little stunned by your bluntness. “Technically, my father is her employer,” he argued and then smugly added, “And I can guarantee you she also very much enjoyed whatever I did to her, by the way.”

Ew, gross!

“You just offered to fire her. I’m pretty sure you qualify,” you countered, not even touching the other comment with a ten-foot pole.

Ben pursed his lips for a moment, then gave a nod. “Guess I’ll suck it up then.”

You rewarded him with a wry smile. “There you go.”

“You know, that was just a one-time thing at some party my father threw. Months ago… Didn’t mean anything,” Ben added, shoving food around on his plate with his fork.

“To you, maybe,” you said and looked at him, waiting for another excuse.

But there came none. He just sipped his wine and dove back into his food.

Good. That would at least keep him from hitting on you for the next hour.

And it did – Ben and you had a pleasant dinner and stuck to small talk. You slowly began to relax, even though the tension between you two was still simmering underneath.

“You always eat dinner here alone?” you asked when Florence cleared the empty plate in front of you. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a home-cooked meal that didn’t come out of a box or a can.

One point for 1942.

“Usually, yes.” Ben shrugged. “Sometimes I go out with friends, have dinner in town.”

“Seems kind of lonely,” you noted.

“Can be. Seems a little less lonely tonight,” Ben replied, sending you a soft smile. “So, what was the house like that you grew up in?”

“Oh, uhm…” You weren’t sure if you should answer that one honestly but couldn’t find a good enough reason not to. “Well, it was a lot smaller.”

“How small?”

“About a quarter of this dining room,” you replied, slightly amused, and watched his brow crease in several directions as he tried to make sense of something like that.

“Huh.”

“We did have a sunroom, though,” you deadpanned with a sip of wine. “I mean, we just called it a window, but the thought was there.”

Ben snorted, soon fully laughing. He rubbed his lips with his fingers. “You ready for your surprise?”

“I told you. It’s not necessa–“

Before you could finish, your eyes flicked to Dottie in the doorway, holding a plate with a piece of cake and a burning candle stuck in it in her hands. The look on her face was devastating. Honestly, did this man possess no awareness at all?

It seemed like a cruel form of punishment for the girl. Fortunately, her grievances and anger weren’t geared toward you this time. The death stare fully landed on your oblivious host.

Dottie placed the plate in front you with a glare at Ben so biting you were surprised you couldn’t see teeth marks on his head yet. Both of you waited till Dottie had left the room again before you looked at him with a complacent smirk.

With a sigh, he rolled his eyes back. “Alright, I see it. Happy now?”

“As long as you’re aware,” you sang smugly.

“Stop gloating and blow out your candle,” he huffed, but a hint of playfulness swung in his voice. “I know I’m technically a day late for this, but I didn’t want you to miss out on cake. It’s the best part about birthdays.”

“Thank you.” You smiled and meant it. It was hard to deny that this was probably the sweetest thing he’d ever done for you. Uncharacteristically sweet and surely motivated by other nefarious reasons, but thoughtful nonetheless.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled warmly. “Which one is it, anyway?”

“Oh, uh… Twenty-… fourth,” you lied with some thoughtful reluctance. You knew if you’d told him your real age, there would’ve only been more questions about why you weren’t married and tamed yet.

“Older than me, huh?” Ben gave you a satisfied smile.

You bit your tongue hard at the irony and nodded, forcing a smile. Granny fucker.

“Well, happy birthday, sweetheart. Make a wish.”

And God, when that candle went out, you wished you’d be home soon.

▶️ Chapter 5: We'll Always Have Paris

Lots to unpack in this one! Some major insights into Ben's childhood and a glimpse at his mother. What did you think about Ms. Vivian? Should we get Mrs. Helen involved to fix reader's sailor talk? How much will Ben pay her not to reveal his middle name to Hughie in the future? 😂

And I'm not warning for age gaps in this fic because with Soldier Boy, it's kind of ridiculous anyway, but yes, reader is seven years older than him in 1942, but 74 years younger in the future, so they're even? 🤷‍♀️🤣

Coming Up:

So, yes, maybe you liked him. Liked him more than you’d be ever willing to admit. But were you just supposed to ignore everything else? Everything you knew and everything that might come?

Were you a fool for thinking you could change destiny?

“Tell me one thing,” you said, interrupting the comfortable silence between you two. “What would make you happy? I mean really happy. Forget about all the money and your father and everything else. What’s your happy place?”

“Hmm,” Ben hummed, teeth chewing on the plush flesh of his lower lip. He found your eyes. “Tell me yours first.”

“Alright,” you accepted, knowing you’d pushed him enough for today, knowing you had to give, too. Knowing his vulnerability didn’t come without a price. You contemplated for a moment, exhaling a sigh. “I guess… Paris. I’d wanna live in Paris. Go roller skating in the Louvre at night. Boop Mona Lisa’s nose.”

Ben snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sounds a bit cockamamie.”

“Hey, you have your dreams, I have mine. And you’ll see. I’m gonna do it. I have more tricks up my sleeve than just math,” you retorted playfully, causing his smirk to deepen, but there was affection in every crease and crinkle on his face. “Before you mock, why don’t you just tell me yours, huh?”

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

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[fallen-w1ngs]

'' flower shop of new feelings ,,

[ 02 : get a grip ]

|| pairing : james "bucky" barnes x florist!reader

|| warning : none , bucky's an awkward guy <3

|| wc : 2.2k

Clint’s birthday went wonderfully, at least, in Tony’s eyes. There was a big celebration in the Tower, lots of people were invited. Well, actually most of them were just Clint’s friends from SHIELD as well as the Avengers. Even Peter and his aunt were invited! It was a fun celebration.. Well, to everyone but Bucky.

It wasn’t like Bucky hated parties, no in fact he loved them! At least, he was supposed to, back in the 40s, he loved to go to parties before.. Everything. Ah, but now? He was sitting at the bar, silently drinking some alcoholic drink that wouldn’t make him even the slightest bit tipsy. The only people here that were completely sober were the spider kid, his aunt, and Bucky. Even Steve was drunk from whatever Asgardian drink that Thor had brought this time. Not that Bucky minded, he loved seeing Steve happy. No, what was bothering him was that the spider punk was bothering him now.

“Oh! And- and one time there was a bank robbery back home and they were all wearing masks of everyone- well, not everyone everyone. But! They were wearing Mr. Stark and Mr. Roger masks and other Avengers,” Peter rambled on, swirling his apple juice in one hand as he leaned against the bar table.

Bucky just nodded along with any story that Peter was talking about.. In all honesty, Peter reminded him of his little sister.. But more annoying.

“But I took them down! It was actually really easy! Except that they had this weird weapon, like really weird! It went all boosh!” He made finger guns and pointed them at Bucky. “Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky bit back a sigh and just grunted in response as he took another swig of vodka. Might as well have the strongest drink and not get drunk, right?

“What was it like back in the 40s?”

Bucky spared a glance over to Peter, his eyebrow raised. He didn’t expect this, didn’t expect curiosity from the kid. “It was.. Different.”

“Liiike?”

“Loud. But not like it is now.” Bucky shrugged, in all honesty, he didn’t remember much due to the whole brainwashing thing, but what he did remember were.. Pictures, sounds. He remembered the music and how it made him feel. He remembered things from his childhood. “Steve ‘n I used to skip school a lot. Steve, uh, hated doin’ it, but I forced him to.” Bucky chuckled as he remembered, maybe he was getting tipsy ‘cause usually he wouldn’t be so open about his past. Or maybe the kid was easy to talk to, easier than the other avengers.

“We used t’skip and go to the greasy spoon a block away from our school, buy an ice cream soda with two scoops for us both. If we were lucky, we’d run into some dames and take a powder to the nearest place we can go for a dance.” As Bucky reminisced of the past, his inner Brooklynn boy came out and he started spitting slang from back then left and right. He didn’t even realize until he turned back to Peter who had the biggest smile on his face, but was so confused.

“That sounds fun!” Peter chuckled and took a sip of his apple juice, an awkward silence forming between the two before he asked. “Do you miss it?”

Bucky took a second and shrugged, he didn’t know if he did. It was simpler, yeah, but nowadays he has freetime. Didn’t have to fight every second of the day when he woke up. Didn’t have to worry about HYDRA controlling him, sure, he struggled with episodes sometimes, but.. He had Steve, he wasn’t alone. Wasn’t in the trenches.

“I don’t miss the war if that’s what you’re askin’, kid”

Peter chuckled and opened his mouth to speak again before May tapped his shoulder. “C’mon, Peter, it’s getting late, you still have school tomorrow.”

“Awe, man” Peter huffed before jumping off the barstool. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Barnes!”

Bucky waved to both Peter and May, a small ‘bye’ leaving his lips before he turned back to his drink. Man, time to just be a wallflower and watch as everyone got absolutely buzzed.

–

The next morning came by in a flash, it helped that Bucky turned in early. Well.. Early was a stretch, he went to bed at 2 AM, even when everyone was still preoccupied with the festivities. When, said, man left his room at 8 AM, he found everyone passed the hell out on the couches.

He didn’t wanna wake anyone up, so he just went to the kitchen and looked for something to eat. Something about the modern days was that it was easier to cook something! Not just boiled, though he did miss the bread pudding.

“Shit.” he muttered to himself as he found out, yeah no the guests raided the kitchen.. Or maybe it was all the passed out Avengers. Might as well go on a run and get some groceries. He hated doing errands, but no one was telling him to do it, no pressure.. Might as well buy some stuff.

In a few quick moments, he put a hoodie on and a nice pair of jeans on with his gloves nicely placed on his hands. He didn’t like showing off his hands, let alone his metal arm. Hated scaring people. Bucky made his way down the Tower and left. Taking a deep breath in the early morning air, he walked down to the nearest grocery shop.. Which was 20 minutes away, or 25 on foot. He didn’t mind, he liked walking.

–

Soon enough, he made it to the grocery shop. With it being 8:28 AM, and being a Tuesday, it wasn’t too busy. In fact, there was barely anyone.. Barely anyone.

He made his way through the aisles, and there he saw.. The cute florist from before. Except no apron like before,, they were just wearing a lazy day outfit, they were struggling with grabbing something on the top shelf but god they still looked-

You glanced up and saw Bucky, a flash of confusion on your face before you snapped your fingers and pointed to him. A big smile dancing on your lips as you exclaimed, “James!”

“Hey-” Bucky stopped himself and cringed internally. He may have been non-stop thinking about you and your face, but he was an ass to not have asked your name. “Y-You..”

They’regonnahatemethey’regonnahatemethey’regonnahatem-

“Pff- ha!”

Instead of what Bucky assumed, you shook your head and started giggling at Bucky’s awkwardness. He looked so mean ‘n scary, but here he was acting like a huge dork!

“The name’s [Name],” You went back down from your tippy toes. Man, you were just really cute- DAMNIT! Get a grip, Sargeant. “Hey! You’re like a giant, think you can grab that for me?”

You pointed at the box on the top, which was a box of fruit snacks. Cute. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky grabbed the fruit snacks, glanced at the cover.. It was Avengers inspired fruit snacks. He raised his eyebrow and looked over at you with a slight hint of curiosity. Embarrassed, you snatched the box from Bucky’s hand and shoved it into your basket.

“They’re good-” You muttered. “The snacks and the heroes, I mean.”

“You like the Avengers?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“The bad guys.” He shrugged, and you laughed.

You kept laughing for a few moments, Bucky was just.. Admiring you. The way the corner of your eyes wrinkled, the way your cheeks flushed just the smallest bit.. Man, why was he acting like this? Barely knew you, yet his mind was reeling. Sure, he flirted back in the 40s.. A lot, but.. I dunno, there’s something different about you.

“James?” Your voice snapped him out of his trance. Sure, he was absolutely enamored right now, but his face looked like he was just annoyed. “Wanna just shop with me? I-I’m probably just gonna get junk food if I’m alone, so-”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay!”

With a new pep in your step, you led him down the aisles. Checking over the produce section, he grabbed a few carrots, a package of lettuce. In turn, you grabbed some veggies as well.. It was more out of peer pressure (despite there not being any pressure), at least the plan was working. He inspired half of your purchases that day, and honestly, that’s a good thing. It seemed half his food was real healthy shit..

“Do you live alone?”

“Wha? Oh,” Bucky looked down at his basket before nodding. “I live with.. A lot of people”

“That makes way more sense, didn’t peg you for a-” You glanced into his basket and a small smirk tugged at your lips. “Pop tart, beer, and toast guy.”

Bucky shrugged and scratched the back of his head. He was just buying things from the usual grocery shop list. Pop tarts for Thor, beer for.. Half the Avengers, toast just for everyone, etc etc.

“My roommates are foodies”

“I can tell!” He watched as you hummed and grabbed one last item. “That should be good for me! You done?”

He nodded.

“Great! Where d’you live?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you realized what you said. “I-I’m asking ‘cause maybe after we pay I can walk you home! Or- somethin’.. I dunno, sorry-”

“Oh.” The tall man in front of you shuffled in his spot. “No need. I live a few blocks away, it’d be a hassle.”

“Oh, well, that sucks! I was hoping to talk with you more!”

Bucky walked besides you as you both walked to the self-paying cash registers. Man, your words made his heart start beating faster. How could you be so.. Smooth with this? Maybe you didn’t realize, it could just be something you see as platonic. He didn’t know.

“I can.. Give you my number.” Bucky muttered, he knew that’d be seen as flirty. Or at least hitting on you.. But, he didn’t mind. Maybe he wanted that? NO. No, Steve told him to make connections, this is just to make a new friend.

Your eyes lit up at the offer and you nodded quickly. Quickly finishing up at paying for your groceries and took your phone out. “You can put your number in my phone after you're done paying?”

Bucky nodded again. You watched as he put everything away and.. Okay, admired his arm. Even under the hoodie, you can tell he worked out. James was really handsome, but so mysterious at the same time! Not much of a talker, but you could do all the talking.. You wonder, would he talk in bed- NO WAIT! Get a grip, goddamnit. This was all supposed to be innocent, he’s just a new friend.

As quickly as your grocery shopping came, the two of you walked out, side-by-side.

“It was nice seeing you again, James!” You waved back and walked away, one new number in your phone.

–

By the time Bucky got back to the Tower, everyone was already awake, but hungover as hell. The only ones who weren’t super hungover were Steve, Natasha and Thor.

“Hello, one-armed man!” Thor waved over to Bucky and gestured him over to join, said, Steve, Natasha and him over to the kitchen table.

Bucky gave a short nod and put the grocery bags on the table.

“You better have gotten-” Natasha looked through the bags and let out a huff. Not of annoyance, one of thanks. “Thanks.”

She waved the bag of pistachios in the air before opening it and started eating them up. She loved pistachios.

“Man of one arm, you have done wonderfully!” Thor grabbed one of the three boxes of pop tarts and started eating one. “As thanks, I will make tea!”

Bucky nodded, even though he’d rather have coffee than tea, but he’d rather not correct Thor. He’s one of the only people who weren’t a part of the Civil war, the other was Bruce Banner.

“Thanks for the food, Buck,” Steve opened the bread and spread a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Bucky just grunted in response and took a bite of a piece of bread in which Steve made for him. Just a simple piece of white bread with peanut butter. He took his phone out and checked it for a moment.. You texted him.

Florist : hey, james :3! sorry if this is quick, just wanted to make sure you had my number! if this isnt james this is rlly embarrassing

The corners of Bucky’s mouth quirked up, very quick, very faint. Didn’t last long, but he texted back.

James : It’s me, don’t worry. Hi, [Name], and don’t worry, this isn’t embarrassing.

“Buck?”

Steve’s voice cut him from his.. Trance of you. He hit send on the text before putting his phone away. “What?”

“Who y’texting?” The blonde leaned on the table and eyed him suspiciously. A small smirk on his face as he eyed Bucky.. He knew for a FACT the only people Bucky texted was Sam and him, and on OCCASION Peter.

“Nothing- no one. Don’t worry about it, punk.”

“You sure? You look pretty happy”

A small murmur came from Natasha as she leaned over to Thor. “He looks happy?”

“C’mon, you can’t lie to me, Buck, I’ve known you for years”

“Steve-”

“Is it a dame?”

“Shut it before I hit you, punk” Bucky glared at Steve and bit his bread before huffing. Steve rolled his eyes and put his hands up in defeat.

“Fine, fine.”

With that, he didn’t ask anymore. And Bucky decided; he’ll only text you when he’s alone.

|| i am quite enjoying writing for bucky <333 also, ily domestic avengers

[n3rdyslvt]

so many love and deepspace spoilers!!please dont read if you dont want to see me short circuit by the time it gets to raf. i’m literally just rambling about how they ended up in the current timeline. but i do have a conclusion at the end if you want the gist without the word salad :)

xavier + caleb + zayne

anyways i’m reading a summary of the xavier lore from otome kitten (i love having it all collected in one place in a nice timeline) and it has me wondering about how exactly the men got here with all their philos trauma. xavier is easy, we know he travels back to earth (traceback II) and from what i’ve heard zayne doesnt remember his astra trauma. with caleb and zayne i’m inclined to say that this is their first/original life. xavier goes back to the current timeline because this is the timeline in which the aether core is fused to MC’s heart, making it the beginning of her trauma. So, i’m gonna operate under the assumption that the events of this timeline somehow lead to the foreseeker and in multiple lives caleb and mc have this little found family + immense childhood trauma thing going on. in terms of dawn breaker… I don’t have that myth 😝 buttt once i read more zayne lore i might be able to include it somewhere in my timeline

sylus

ok after reading an unrelated reddit post I have remembered that sylus is also very simple. he just came here a little while after the chronorift catastrophe (about 2 years i think) through the deepspace tunnel.

raffy

now we have the hard one. raf should be easy because i have both of his myths but his lore spans so many fucking centuries. with rafayel i dont fucking know guys 😭 i dont know how when they first met (like how 214 years from earth passing mc and xavier meet. the mc cursed to die and be born again in starfall forest) i know god of tides is first then abysswalker because the ocean is dried up (i know i need to listen to fragrant dreams, i just hate that MC isnt voiced too. either voice her or give the bf asmr experience and dont have her talk.) anyways long story short with rafayel its mostly an issue of how is he even in the current timeline??? does he spawn? does lemuria go through constant rises and falls? maybe because he and MC share a heart they share similar challenges where he might be reborn occasionally or forget past lives. i still dont know why he exists on earth or how lemuria really fits. what would help is knowing if rafayel has specific memories of earth and linkon before the chronorift. because theres a theory that MC came through the deepspace tunnel and didn’t actually have an earth family before josephine and caleb sooooooo if thats true then rafayel could remember the lemuria from philos and he and the others that were still alive were simply able to rebuild in linkon after being transported through the tunnel. i knowwwww you’re gonna say “but talia is a famous opera singer and a career like that takes years”. ok yes, but zayne is 27 and the fucking chief cardiac surgeon. theyre mermaids that have lived for centuries. you think she couldn’t use those lovely little vocal chords to propel herself into stardom?? its literally cannon that if talented enough, you can get yourself into any role regardless of age or experience caps.

conclusion

so tldr, xavier and sylus used the deepspace tunnel, caleb and zayne are living their first life like MC… potentially, and rafayel is an anomaly that i cant figure out currently 😫😔 buttt he might’ve came through the deepspace tunnel like MC during the chronorift catastrophe (if MC did)

if you read everything, mwah mwah mwah thank you.

[hollowmem]

Too late to take it back

TW: Character death, grief, intense emotional distress, argument between lovers, and death wishes

GN!Reader x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Day 24: Soap and reader has been dating for a short time mostly it been the lovely faze kissing the love stare but an argument sent them back I'm talking screaming crying the works they go their separate ways to cool off for sometimes but before they recover from the argument soap death happens and the last thing the redear said was drop dead to him

Soap paced the room like a storm held in a too-small bottle, his boots scraping the floor with every sharp turn. His jaw was locked, eyes burning with something between frustration and desperation.

You stood by the door, arms crossed tightly, your breath uneven but quiet—like you were trying not to break in front of him.

"You’re not hearing me," he said, voice rough, strained. “I’m right here, telling you I need you—and it’s like talking to a wall.”

You flinched. Not visibly, but something in you recoiled. Not from his voice, but from how close to the truth it felt.

"You think this is easy for me?" Your voice came out sharp, too loud, fueled by all the things you’d been swallowing down for weeks. "You think I like hiding this? Pretending there’s nothing between us every second we’re on base? I don’t get to touch you, don’t get to have you—except when the doors are closed and we pretend it’s enough."

He stopped moving. Just stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, like his heart was sprinting even though his body wasn’t.

“I never said it was enough,” he said, quieter now. "But I’ve been trying. Every damn day, I’ve tried.”

"You think trying counts when you disappear into missions like nothing happened?” you said. “When you smile at every stranger like I don’t exist? When I go to sleep alone every night wondering if you even remember what this is?"

His face twisted—grief, guilt, something else he couldn’t hide quick enough.

“That’s not fair,” he said. “You know why we keep this quiet. You know.”

You shook your head. “No. I know what you call safety. What I see is fear. You won’t even say it out loud. You won’t call it what it is. You won't call me what I am to you.”

He took a breath like he was about to say something—something that might’ve cracked this whole thing wide open. But your voice beat him to it.

“You’re a coward, Johnny.”

He froze. Eyes wide. Something in him flinched like a nerve had been hit too deep.

"Don’t you dare," he said, voice low and breaking. "Don’t you ever call me that."

But you were already unraveling, and the worst part was, you didn’t mean to hurt him—but it was like everything had been boiling, rising, and now it was spilling out.

"You are," you whispered, and it hurt to say. "You’d rather run headfirst into bullets than stay and face this. Face me. Maybe you should just—"

Your throat closed up. Your mind screamed for you to stop. But the words were already tumbling, unstoppable.

"Maybe you should just drop dead like you act like you want to." Silence.

The kind of silence that swallows the air from the room. He stared at you—truly stared—and you could see it: the exact moment his heart cracked. Just a flicker in his eyes. Then he blinked it away and turned toward the door.

“Right,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Got it.” He walked out. Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t say another word.

You didn’t go after him. You told yourself it was just a fight. That he’d come back. That you’d both apologize, maybe laugh about it later, like you always did.

But he didn’t come back, and the last thing you ever said to him was drop dead.

You wanted to talk to him.

You looked for him. Knocked on his door more than once. Checked the mess hall during every meal. But he was never there. Or maybe he was—just not when you were. Like he was avoiding you.

You waited for him to come to you. To say something first. Because clearly, he didn’t want to now. But the words you’d thrown at him—drop dead—still echoed in your mind. They didn’t sound like yours anymore. But they were. And you couldn’t take them back.

So you waited.

And waiting turned into silence.

And silence turned into the mission.

Which you weren’t on the list.

You thought it was a mistake at first. You asked Price, half-expecting him to smirk and tell you to pack your gear. Instead, he just gave you a look. Heavy. Knowing.

“We need someone grounded at base,” he said. “You’ve been running on fumes. Take the rest.”

He didn’t say it, but you heard it anyway.

He needs space. You need to sit this one out. Something’s off with you.

So you stayed on base, and Soap left with the team.

You stood at the edge of the hangar, watching them board the chopper, arms folded. He didn’t look back. Not even a glance. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. It was like you were already gone.

When the chopper returned, the silence was wrong. No voices. No laughter. No boots rushing off the ramp. Just the low drone of the rotors and the slow, uneven thud of footsteps hitting the ground like they were carrying something too heavy to name.

You stood at the edge of the tarmac, heart in your throat.

You didn’t see him.

You saw Ghost, Price and Gaz exit the chopper, but he was missing. You already knew what probably happened. But still, you asked.

“Where’s Johnny?”

He stopped when he reached you. His shoulders dropped slightly, just a little—like he couldn’t quite hold himself up anymore. His eyes met yours, something fractured in them.

“He didn’t make it.”

The words didn’t hit you all at once. They just floated there, hanging in the air like ash. You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“No,” you said softly. Then again, sharper, like if you said it enough times you could undo it. “No. He… no.”

You turned before anyone else could see your face, before anyone could stop you. Your legs carried you down the corridor, steady on the outside. Inside, everything was cracking, splintering under the weight of what you were refusing to feel.

You didn’t go to your room. You couldn’t. Not yet.

You ducked into the first empty space you could find—a storage room. Door closed softly behind you. No sound, just the quiet click of the latch, like even your grief had to be kept secret. You stood there for a moment. Still. Frozen. Like if you didn’t move, maybe reality wouldn’t catch up to you.

Then your body started shaking.

You pressed your back to the door, arms wrapped around your ribs, holding yourself together in the only way you could. Your throat burned. Your chest ached like it had caved in from the inside out. But you didn’t make a sound.

You wouldn’t let them hear this. Not this part. Not the breaking. No one knew what you were to him. No one could know what this cost you.

You slid down the door, slow and silent, until you were sitting on the floor with your knees to your chest. You pressed your fist to your mouth, biting down when the sob finally slipped out. The rest followed. Quiet. Shaking. Like you were unraveling thread by thread.

No screaming. No wailing.

Just the suffocating silence of a grief that had to stay hidden. You cried into your sleeve, face pressed to your knees, gasping softly like you were drowning in air. You didn’t know how long you stayed there. Time dissolved around you. There was only the echo of your own voice in your head.

Drop dead.

You’d said it. You’d meant it, in that awful, fleeting moment of rage. And now he was gone.

You didn’t get to say sorry. You didn’t get to tell him he was yours. You didn’t get to take it back.

At some point, your body stopped shaking. Your tears dried against your skin, leaving your face hot and tight. Your limbs felt like stone. You stood up slowly. Not because you were ready—because there was nothing else to do.

The halls were mostly empty. No one stopped you. Maybe they knew. Maybe they didn’t have to ask.

When you reached your room, something stopped you at the door. Your jacket. Folded neatly at the foot of your bunk. It hadn’t been there before.

You frowned, stepping closer, reaching out like it might vanish if you touched it too fast. When you picked it up, you felt the shape of something in the pocket.

Paper.

Your heart stuttered.

You pulled it out with shaking hands. It was his handwriting. Messy. Fast. Rushed like he hadn’t had enough time.

“You always looked at me like I was the world. I hope you know—I never needed anyone to see us. Just you. That was enough.”

No name. No sign-off. No goodbye.

Just that.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, the note trembling in your hands like it weighed more than you could hold, and you read it again. And again. Until the words blurred.

Until you couldn’t feel anything except the hollow ache in your chest, and the sound of your heart breaking into pieces so small they’d never fit back together.

[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Mad Love Chapter 24 + Premium Attire Story

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

NSFW warning

The next morning, Victor and I took the earliest train out of London.

Kate: Wow…

We arrived at a town a few hours outside of London, famous for the nearby lake as well as the large number of summer residences there. I was entranced by the lush scenery, and Victor chuckled beside me.

Victor: When I was a child, I’d be allowed to stay in my uncle’s villa during the summers.

In the distance, a bell rang to signal that it was noon. I sped up to catch up to Victor, who had began walking.

Victor: It was the one time of year that I was allowed out of my corner of the palace. Victor: I didn’t have anyone I could call a friend back then. Victor: The closest thing would be the son of my former nursemaid as we were similar in age, but we didn’t stand on equal footing. He was supposed to serve me.

(The son of his nursemaid… he and Victor’s uncle were…)

My thoughts grew muddled as I remembered Victor’s past. But he looked at me reassuringly.

Victor: It’s all in the distant past now. Don’t make that face.

The back of his fingers brushed against my cheek.

Victor: Back to what I was saying. I always looked forward to summertime. The palace was full of adults, and I had no chance to indulge in any childlike behaviors there. Victor: But here, no matter how much I played and ran about, there was no one to lecture me.

He suddenly stopped and pointed ahead.

Kate: Whoa…

The lake that spread out before us reflected the cloudless blue sky like a giant mirror.

Victor: I’d go fishing on that pier, roll around in the grass and watch the sunset. Victor: Oh, and I’d secretly go for a swim in the lake, too.

I snuck a glimpse at his profile as he reminisced about his childhood, imagining what he was like at that age.

(This was the only place where he was allowed to be a child.)

Away from the palace, he could forget about the ties that bound him to the royal family.

(I’m glad that I got to know about something so important to him.)

As warmth spread through my chest after learning another piece of information about Victor, his smile dropped.

Victor: Let’s go.

Seeing his determined expression, I closed my eyes for just a brief moment. Then I began walking with him. We made our way to the villa that had belonged to Victor’s uncle. After his uncle’s death, the villa had been granted to his wife. However, she had chosen to return to her home country, and sold off the villa. The villa had passed through the hands of many different owners since then, but all of them fell into misfortune. After being bought and sold again for a number of years, the property ended up as it was now. It had “no apparent owner”. The sound of our footsteps echoed in hallways that contained not even a single speck of dust. I looked up at Victor’s broad back as we walked, realizing that he had positioned himself as if to keep me hidden.

(He keeps doing things that make my heart throb, even in a situation like this…)

Perhaps he didn’t do it intentionally, but knowing how much he cared washed away some of my nervousness.

(But soon, he’s going to–)

Victor came to a stop in front of a door. He turned to me, and I nodded as I mustered my determination. I was ready for the curtain to fall on this series of events. Victor slammed the door open, revealing an atelier. Dozens of easels were scattered around the room, each of them displaying a portrait.

(Are those… Victor?)

The brushstrokes of each picture portrayed a man with long black hair and fine features. Some of them showed him from the front, some in profile. Some paintings mimicked candid photographs taken in town. All of them were of Victor.

???: Oh, you made it.

A man in a wheelchair was sitting in the corner of the atelier. His long, dull black hair was tied back in a single ponytail, and he had brown eyes. I could see a resemblance to Victor…

Victor: Ben Brown, also known as Liberator, leader of Nox Liberator. Victor: You plotted to overthrow the government and killed many innocent people in the process. Victor: Regardless of the fact that you are my uncle’s illegitimate son, I cannot forgive your crimes.

His declaration was made with the queen’s full authority.

[TL note: Victor uses 私 ‘watashi’ in his final sentence, indicating that he is speaking formally as the queen.]

(Ben Brown is his uncle’s son…) (So he is Victor’s family.)

-----

First class was empty except for the two of us. There was no one else on the train, in fact. With a serious expression, Victor spoke. Victor: We are going to condemn the leader of Nox Liberator. Victor: He is known as Liberator, and seems to be worshipped by the other members of the group. Kate: So the person Ignis was talking about is… Victor: Indeed. It can be none other than Liberator. Nox Liberator had existed from the time that Queen Victoria ascended to the throne. Until a few years ago, they had been growing in numbers by bringing in people who wanted to form a democratic republic. But the current Nox Liberator wanted to create a republic so that Liberator could rule. After they overthrew the government, they would place Liberator in charge of the new country. They acted towards this goal with a single-minded obsession, willing to sacrifice anything and everything to make their vision come true. It was as if Liberator had brainwashed everyone in the group. Victor: Liberator excels at manipulation, and never shows his face, instead pulling the strings from behind the scenes. Victor: But his true identity is… I gulped, and waited for Victor to continue. His expression remained stone-like. Victor: Ben Brown, the illegitimate son of my uncle. Victor: My cousin. Kate: Your cousin… I recalled the past that William had told me, at a loss for words. (So now Victor has to kill another family member, after unintentionally causing the deaths of all the others…) (And now he has to kill the son of his uncle, the first life he had intentionally taken.) He smiled painfully and continued. Victor: Though my aunt and uncle never had children of their own, they were happy with each other. Victor: But my uncle was weak of heart, and couldn’t stand the mounting pressure from everyone around them. He turned away from his wife. Victor: And he spent a night with a prostitute he met in the city. Victor: That was how Ben, a half-royal child, was born. Victor told the story of how Ben’s mother tried to get him to be acknowledged as part of the royal family. But to protect his wife’s standing, Victor’s uncle could not allow the child of a prostitute to become a member of the royal family. He did not cut all ties with them entirely, however, and regularly sent them large amounts of money. Ben’s mother quickly wasted all the money, and they were stuck in extreme poverty. After Victor’s uncle died and the money stopped coming, Ben’s mother turned to alcohol and frequently beat Ben. One day, the two of them were hit by a carriage, but only Ben survived. The accident caused Ben to lose the use of both of his legs. (So that’s why Ignis said he wanted to give Ben new legs…) I dropped my gaze as I remembered Ignis’s last moments. Victor: When Ben had hit the lowest point of his life, Queen Victoria rose to power. I looked up when Victor continued speaking. Although Ben was never formally acknowledged as royalty, Victor’s uncle kept in regular contact with Ben via letters. So he knew that there was no woman named Victoria in the royal family. Also, the last letter that Victor’s uncle sent to Ben had contained this line: Victor: “If I die, Victor will become king.” Kate: Why would he write something like that…? Victor: …As I said, my uncle was weak-hearted. The closer the throne loomed, the more it rattled him. Victor: Perhaps he wanted someone he could confess his fears to. “Victoria” and “Victor”. Following his suspicions, Ben did some investigation, and discovered that a man named Victor was serving as the queen’s aide. He had seemingly appeared out of thin air, but commanded the queen’s trust and was able to speak for her. The only one who had realized the queen’s true identity was Ben, due to the letters his father wrote.

-----

Upon hearing Victor’s declaration that he could not be forgiven, for some reason, Ben looked elated.

Ben: At first, I was jealous of you.

He ran his fingers across the cheek of the Victor in his portrait.

Ben: In contrast to my pitiful existence, you could enjoy life on the throne while hiding your true identity. Ben: I wasn’t free to go where I wanted or do what I wanted because of my legs, stuck struggling for the barest scraps to get by. Ben: You had power, status, and freedom. Of course I resented you. Ben: That’s why I founded Nox Liberator. To tear you down and abolish the monarchy. Ben: But one day, I saw you when you were in the city. Ben: You were laughing while performing magic tricks for children. As if you were just another person.

The hand stroking the painted Victor’s cheek stopped, moving to the portrait’s lips.

Ben: At the time, I remember thinking, “Why?”

Then he whispered quietly.

Ben: You are trapped by your position as queen, so you’ve given up on personal happiness. Ben: Perhaps you were just as pitiful as me. Ben: Somewhere along the line, I started thinking about abolishing the monarchy for your sake.

Ben’s behavior was strange, like he was entranced by the Victor in his paintings.

Ben: I know Nox Liberator wants to instill me as ruler after we overthrow the government. I don’t care about that. Ben: I just want to remove you from the throne, and make everyone support you. Ben: So you can be free, and be the ‘liberator’ of my life.

This was the true reason he directed Nox Liberator to take the actions they did, the true reason he injured and killed so many people. It was all to grant Victor freedom, and thus be liberated from his own life.

(That’s why he hurt and killed the people that Victor cares so much for?)

Something’s not right.

He’s insane…

Is it your ability…? (+4/+4)

Kate: Is it your ability…?

Victor: Could it be…?

Ben: To feel this way for someone you hate… I know people would call me insane.

Ben pressed his cheek to the portrait, nuzzling against it.

(The son of Victor’s nursemaid also began acting obsessed like this after falling under the influence of Victor’s ability.)

I looked to Victor, who seemed to share my thoughts. He frowned and pressed his lips together grimly, before turning back to Ben.

Ben: I looked into you. I researched everything about you. I know you formed a private group of people with special abilities. Ben: I know you call them Crown. That they condemn the evil that runs rampant in England.

Victor: …

Ben: But you know, no matter what kind of magic they possess, there is no one in this world more special than you. Ben: You’re the chosen one, Victor.

He finally looked back to the real Victor, his eyes alight with zealous devotion. The expression on his face was identical to the face people made as Victor ordered them to die via his ability.

Ben: What a joke it is for the existence that guides my path, for someone so special, to be shackled by the throne. Ben: This country, these systems, every single person that holds you back… I’ll destroy it, I’ll ruin them, I’ll kill them all. Ben: So throw everything away, Victor. Be free.

His hand reached out, ever so slowly, towards Victor.

Ben: Take my hand.

The fanatic look in his eyes sent shivers down my spine. Victor took a step to Ben, who was still smiling with his hand extended.

Victor: To sit on the throne is equivalent to dying for the sake of the country. Victor: That was the choice I made when I turned 18.

In contrast to Ben, whose smile grew wider…

Victor: I have never been able to let go of my identity as ‘Victor’.

…Victor’s gaze was as cold as ice.

Victor: But when I was lost in the depths of my solitude, I was saved by a young girl.

(Oh…)

Victor: I want to create a country where she can live happily. Not just a country, but a world, a future.

Though warmth swirled in my heart at the memory he spoke about, the atmosphere chilled suddenly when Victor came to a stop.

Victor: I wear this crown of thorns willingly. No matter what you say, my mind will not change. Victor: Your hands have taken, ruined, and hurt those that are precious to me. Victor: I will never take your hand.

Ben’s hand dropped. All was silent for some time, before he began to laugh in disbelief.

Ben: What are you saying? It isn’t supposed to be like this. Ben: They lied to you, all of them! That girl, the people, all of society, this entire country! Ben: None of them need your protection, all they do is lie!

He furiously pulled out a gun from his pocket, pulling the trigger and blasting a hole into the wall.

Kate: !

Ben: We’re the same!

(No!)

Realizing that Ben was aiming the gun at Victor, I threw myself in front of Victor.

Victor: Kate–

Kate: You’re wrong!

At my yell, Ben stopped moving.

Kate: Victor is someone who cares for the country and the people, someone who has the will to sit on the throne despite everything it has cost him. Kate: He is nothing like you!

Ben: You bitch!

He pointed the gun at me and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Victor: Kate, cover your ears.

Victor’s arm reached around me, and my vision was obscured by his coat hanging off his arm. Following his instructions, I put my hands over my ears. He placed his other hand over one of mine.

Victor: It is true that I gave up on everything about myself. Victor: But even so, I still have something that is mine. And that is– Victor: …No, never mind. There’s no reason to tell a dead man anything.

I could hear nothing. When I craned my neck up, I could only see a faint smile on Victor’s face.

(Ah…)

I pressed my face into his chest as I realized what was going to happen. Soon after, I felt something large fall to the ground, and Victor moved his hands away from me. I slowly removed my hands from my ears, and Victor laughed, strained.

Victor: Everything is over now.

I couldn’t stand the sadness in his bitter smile, and buried my face into his chest again. As our arms wrapped around each other, I basked in his warmth, and let my eyes fall closed. The curtains had fallen on the battle against Nox Liberator.

Premium Attire Story: The Robin Who Fell in Love With the Reaper

By the time we returned to London, night had fallen. We returned to his office, but Victor had to leave to finish some work that had come up while he was away. I took the time to put together my report of everything that happened today.

(Okay, this should be it…)

My report ended with Ben being condemned by Crown, keeping Victor’s identity a secret. I stretched and looked over the finished report, breathing a sigh of relief that everything was done.

Victor: Are you done?

Kate: Ah! H-how long have you been standing there?

I was startled to find Victor standing right next to me, peering at my face.

Victor: Hmm, probably from around the time you were wondering how to refer to Ben’s true identity.

Kate: That was a long time ago… What about your wo-

While I hadn’t been looking, piles of documents had vanished without a trace.

Victor: As you can see, I’m done.

(Of course he is, that’s Victor for you…)

Kate: Sorry to keep you waiting.

Victor: Don’t apologize! I could watch your serious, adorable face for hours!

Kate: That does not make me feel better…

Victor laughed as I tried to cover my heated cheeks.

Kate: It’s already late, so I should go back to my room.

I stood, but Victor grabbed my arm, his expression slightly different than usual.

Kate: Victor…?

Without a word, he led me to his bookshelf and pulled a lever. We stepped into his bedroom.

(Is he going to walk me back using one of the secret passages?)

While I was thinking, the bookshelf moved back into place, concealing the exit. And Victor did not guide me to a different secret passage… …but to his bed.

Kate: …Huh?

As I stood there, unsure what to do, Victor pushed me down onto the mattress, his long hair falling around me like a curtain. The look in his eyes was entirely different than his usual kindness. Hidden desires flickered like flames in his gaze.

Kate: Nn.

My eyes reflexively slid shut as he kissed me, drawing back briefly only to press his lips to mine again and again. When I gasped for breath, his tongue slid into my mouth, tracing my teeth before sliding against my own.

Kate: Vic–

His large hands, the hands that have held onto me so many times, slid across my chest. I writhed in pleasure beneath the gentle, yet sweetly passionate stimulation of his hands. Suddenly, he stopped, pulling his mouth away from mine. Panting, I opened my eyes again to find his pained gaze staring back at me.

Victor: If you don’t want this, push me away.

When I became aware of his thick, throbbing heat pressing against my thigh, my insides throbbed with need. But Victor pulled away, pressing his hand to my cheek.

Victor: I don’t want to hurt you.

I couldn’t help but fall in love with the conflicted smile on his face.

(He must know that I won’t refuse him.) (But he still gives me a chance to back out.)

Instead of answering, I grabbed his collar and crashed my lips against his. His eyes narrowed in response to my deep kiss. And finally he threw off his jacket, choosing to give in to his desires. He pulled the ribbon of my blouse free, and his breath hitched at the sight of my bared chest.

Kate: …Don’t stare.

Victor: How cruel of you to say that when there’s such a gorgeous woman before my eyes.

Kate: Ah-

He grabbed both my wrists, easily holding them both down.

Victor: You’re beautiful, Kate.

Kate: Mm…

He took one of my nipples into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it and gently closing his teeth around it. My head was going to explode from embarrassment. And he didn’t stop there.

Kate: A-ah!

His free hand slipped beneath my underwear, his long fingers sinking into me.

Victor: You’re soaked. Have you been waiting for me to do this?

Kate: D-don’t say that… ah…

His fingers began thrusting into me at a punishing pace, making my hips buck.

Kate: Ah!

His thumb teased and circled my clit, sending jolts through my entire body. I was shaking with pleasure, unable to think of anything else as I arched off the bed. But then he pulled his fingers out of me, making sure I could see as he licked them clean. And after that, he took off his belt.

Kate: O-oh…

When I saw how large his cock was, I was overcome by a momentary fear and tried to shuffle away.

Victor: Unfortunately, I’m not letting you escape.

He seized my waist, preventing me from moving, and his lips curled into a small grin.

Victor: If you must hate someone, then hate yourself, for falling in love with the reaper.

And then, he pulled me onto him.

-----

Kate: Mm…

When I woke up again, dawn had not yet broken.

(My legs…)

Even now, I couldn’t shake the feeling of something pressing into me, where my sore legs joined. But still, I was overjoyed to be with Victor, and pressed my forehead into his chest. Surrounded by his warmth and feeling his steady heartbeat, I smiled in contentment. I felt the arm he kept around me squeeze lightly, and looked up. His beautiful sleeping face met my eyes.

(He’s gorgeous… I could stare at him forever.)

After staring for a little while longer, a stream of moonlight suddenly illuminated his hair. I turned over in bed to look out the window. Peeking through a gap in the curtains was the faint light of a barely-there moon. I remembered that the moon had been new the night I first arrived.

(This is my final day.)

Knowing that my time with Crown was coming to an end, I had fallen into his arms.

(Even though I still want to stay with you, is this the end?)

He must have shared my feelings. The heat we shared was proof. But he had never actually said anything. He had just let his conflicted emotions loose. When I looked back over what had happened, I couldn’t tell whether it was something like a farewell.

(Even though we’re here now. Even though we joined our bodies and hearts. Even though we spent so much time together.)

There had always been a lingering fear in the back of my mind that he wouldn’t choose me. What we had, if it was anything at all, was a love affair between two people of totally different social standings, with a strict time limit. If there ever came a day when Victor had to choose to be with someone… His partner would be some royal from a foreign country, or one of the country’s noble ladies. Not me.

(I know that better than anyone.) (But I don’t want to leave you.)

I didn’t want to give up his warmth, or the happiness I felt being at his side. Even if it led to my destruction. As pain swept through me, I turned around again and pressed my cheek against his muscular chest.

Kate: I love you, Victor. Kate: I have always loved you, and only you.

Tears rolled down my face and soaked into his shirt. Unable to contain my sorrow any longer, I let out a sob as I clung to him. The arm wrapped around me tightened and pulled me close, until there was not a single gap between us. Was Victor awake? Was he still asleep? I didn’t know. But regardless, I couldn’t make myself let go of him. Even though my heart was drowning in sadness, I could not bring myself to wish that we had never met. That would never change, not even if he ended up taking my life with his own hands. That was how much I loved him. That was how much I loved the reaper.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Stanley Pines’ Quick and Easy Guide for how to Avert an Apocalypse

Masterlist

Chapter Three:

It’s nighttime when Stan wakes up the first time, but not by choice.  Instead, he immediately runs for the bathroom, yanks open the toilet lid, and once again dry heaves over the bowl.

Sleep does not seem to have done him good.  His head is killing him, he feels faint and weak like Ford warned about, and he’s definitely got that fever.  He plans to stay in the bathroom for a half hour or so, just until he feels less nauseous, but he ends up falling asleep slumped against the wall opposite the toilet.  He’s woken the following morning to Ford shaking his shoulder.

His face looks a strange kind of concerned that Stan can’t remember seeing from him in ages.

“Hey,” Stan says, shaking his head a couple times to get some awareness back into it.  “You need something?”

“Did you fall asleep here?” Ford asks.

“I mean, not by choice,” Stan says.  “Hang on.”

He braces himself against the toilet to pull himself to his feet and takes stock.  Headache isn’t any worse than it was yesterday.  The weakness is a little better after sleeping, though the fever doesn’t feel much better.

“Alright,” he says, smacking his hands together.  “Grocery shopping, then?”

Ford stares at him.

“What?”

“You’re sick.”

“Yeah, that’s been established,” Stan says.  “So are we going grocery shopping?”

“You’re not going anywhere.  You’re staying here and resting.”

Stan barks out a laugh.  “Because of a headache and nausea?  Come on, Poindexter, you act like I’m on death’s door.”  If he could run for his life with the flu, like he had in his first winter homeless, or if he could beat up Rico’s goons with a stab wound, like he had in New Mexico, or if he could handle a week of an apocalypse, period, he could do a little grocery shopping with food poisoning symptoms.  There isn’t even anyone trying to kill him this time.

“But—”

“Look, don’t worry about it.  Just give me a pair of sunglasses and a bowl to carry around and I’ll be good to go.”

Ford looks a little disturbed at that, and Stan can’t figure out why.  He’s been through far worse than this, and he’s on a time crunch here— well, not that Ford knows that.

Unless— maybe Ford doesn’t want to go with him, which is fair.  Stan will probably be around a lot more than Ford wants him to be for the next nine days, but given the fact that Ford doesn’t know anything that’s coming, Stan feels hesitant to leave him alone.

“You need to eat something,” Ford says.

“I ate yesterday,” Stan says, waving him off.  “I’m good.”

“You threw up what you ate yesterday!”

“Exactly, so I shouldn’t eat more,” Stan says.  “We going or not?”

“I— no, you’re not.  I’m going alone.”

Stan narrows his eyes.  More than just a dumb idea, it looks like one that Ford hates.  He’s looking away and fidgeting with his extra fingers, which he always does when he’s nervous about something.

“You don’t look like you want to do that,” Stan says slowly, watching Ford’s face.

Ford hunches over, wrings his wrists.  He’s got a look in his eye like he’s talking to someone he knows has it out for him, and he doesn’t think he can lie well enough to get away.  He mutters so quietly that Stan has to strain to make it out, “He says they’re watching me.”

Uh.  Okay.

“He?” Stan says warily, wondering if that refers to Bill, or someone else.

That’s clearly the wrong thing to say, because Ford turns that paranoid look right on him.

Stan instantly holds up his hands.  “Okay, nevermind.  Look, what if I come along and look out for anyone watching you, okay?  You can handle all the actual grocery shopping stuff, and I’ll just… keep a lookout.”

Some kind of desperate relief enters Ford’s eyes, and he starts nodding before he even seems to realize he’s doing it.

“Okay,” Stan says, dropping his hands to his side slowly.  “Sounds like a plan.  “I saw the grocery store on the way in, do you want me to drive us there?”

Ford hesitates for a second, then nods again.

“Cool,” Stan says, pulling his keys out of his jacket pocket.  “Let’s hit it then.  You’ve got those sunglasses?”

Ford opens his mouth, then pauses, then winces.

“What?” Stan asks.

“I— sorry,” Ford says, and Stan blinks.  “I know how hypocritical this will sound.  But I think you should shower first, Stanley.”

Stan doesn’t say anything for a second as the words process in his head, and once they do, he looks away.  “Uh, yeah,” he mutters.  “Probably a good idea.”

It’s been awhile since he was actually ashamed of his general state.  No one in the apocalypse gave a shit because they weren’t doing much better, and before that he was too busy being on the run for his life from Rico and his goons to give a shit what he smelled like.  But it was definitely noticed by the people in the convenience store yesterday, and though they’re strangers, Ford is Ford, and Stan used to be the one forcing him to take a shower at least once a week.

“It’s upstairs,” Ford says, rather than linger on the awkwardness.  “I’ll show you.”

So Stan follows Ford back through the living room and towards the entryway from yesterday, where they go up a set of stairs across from the kitchen.  Ford leads them to a bathroom on the second floor, which is larger and nicer than Stan would have expected.  There’s a bathtub against the far wall, and a shelf attached to the wall next to it with towels.

“There’s shampoo inside the shower,” Ford says, stepping back into the hallway and letting Stan through.  “I’m going to go check the locks to make sure they’ll be good while we’re gone.”

“Or,” Stan counters, giving Ford a look that he tries to make come off as exasperated instead of concerned.  “You could go pay those bills, before whatever mailman Gravity Falls has stops driving up here due to the blizzard you say is coming?”

Ford hesitates.

“Very sick,” Stan says, forcing a couple coughs into his elbow.  “Don’t want to be up here in a blizzard without heat.”

Ford gives him a deadpan look, but nods.  “Fine.”

“Cool.  See you downstairs when I’m done.”  Stan shuts the door.

He makes quick work of his clothes, because once he actually starts to take them off, he realizes how disgusting they feel on his skin.  He’s not going to enjoy having to put them back on.

For now, though, he just climbs into the shower and turns the water on.

Okay.

Okay maybe Ford was onto something.

The hot water hitting his back feels better than the couch did last night, and that’s saying something, because Stan is pretty sure that couch is magic.

“Fuck,” he groans, tipping his head back into the water stream.  He ends up standing for what has to be at least ten minutes and lets the hot water soothe muscles he hadn’t even realized were aching.

Eventually, he remembers Ford is waiting downstairs and grabs the shampoo, sitting on a rack that’s hanging off the showerhead.  He scrubs his hair until his hands come through without dirt or grease sticking to them, and then scrubs the rest of his body down with his hands until it’s practically raw.

While doing so, part of his arm starts stinging, and he finds the cut Rico gave him, during their knife fight that feels like it happened years ago.  And, well, he should probably wash that, so he ignores the sting and scrubs at it until he’s not worried about it getting infected anymore.

He stands for probably too long under the hot water after he’s done, but eventually shuts the water off.  He’s not looking forward to putting his clothes back on.  If he wasn’t still nauseous and a little weak in the knees, he’d feel like a million bucks.  He doubts putting those clothes back on is going to help.

But to his surprise, when he steps out of the bathtub Ford’s left a change of clothes on top of the toilet, a long sleeved gray shirt, a sweatshirt, and a pair of sweatpants.  Before Stan can even consider how he feels about Ford loaning him clothes, he glances around to look for his jacket, and finds his old clothes are gone.

Stan grabs the loaned clothes and throws them on as quickly as he can, then tosses the sweatshirt over his arm and all but runs out the bathroom door and down the steps.

“Ford!” he yells, running for the steps.  “Hey, you didn’t put my jacket in the wash, did you?”

“No,” Ford calls back, sounding like he’s back in the kitchen.  “We can do that when we get home.”

Stan slows down with a sigh of relief, and makes his way down to the kitchen.  Sure enough, his jacket is sitting with his other clothes on top of a chair.  Ford’s putting what looks like a couple checks into envelopes, meaning he is actually paying those bills, which is good.

Stan picks up his jacket and sets it down on the table, then puts the sweatshirt down next to it.  It says BMU, and looks very much like a college sweatshirt, which makes something in Stan’s chest loosen.  At least his mistake hadn’t completely ruined Ford’s future.

…Though it’s not like “apocalypse-starter” is a great place to end up.

The sweatshirt does have one glaring problem though, that being that it doesn’t have any pockets.  Stan doesn’t want to wear his knuckle dusters in public, but it’s not like he can leave them behind.  And there’s no way he’s leaving the picture of him and Ford behind.  That thing followed him through the apocalypse, it stays on his person.

So after a second, Stan picks up the filthy, tattered jacket and slips it on.  The fact that it’s not going on top of other dirty clothes makes it feel a little better, and he can still wash it when they get back.

Ford gives him a look, and though he doesn’t comment, the look seems like he’s offended somehow.  Maybe he thinks Stan disapproves of his college or something?  Stan can’t imagine why he would.  He doesn’t even know what “BMU” stands for.

Eventually Ford moves on though, and stands as he picks up the envelopes with the checks in them.  “You ready?”

Stan nods, and as they step towards the car, Ford hands Stan a pair of sunglasses, and picks up a mixing bowl sitting on the counter.

Stan wears the sunglasses, but Ford ends up holding the bowl in the passenger seat, in case Stan needs to pull over quickly.  His stomach isn’t feeling amazing, but he hasn’t dry heaved yet this morning, and the shower helped too.  Maybe his stomach finally got the message that there isn’t anything in there.

Ford seems comfortable enough as they drive, though he doesn’t say much, not even about the frankly disgusting state of the car (even if it was worse off during the apocalypse).  He tells Stan about how far it is to the town, but otherwise just looks out the window, eyes darting back and forth searching for who knows what.  Stan’s not sure what Ford sees in the woods that he can’t see, but whatever it is, it’s definitely freaking him out.

Stan’s not sure what to say that might help him feel better, so eventually, he just keeps his focus on the road and keeps an eye out for anything obviously suspicious, like he told Ford he would.

Unfortunately, all the tension and paranoid stress in the car makes the drive painfully awkward.  Stan runs through a couple potential icebreakers just to give his brain something to do.

“So, how’s the ‘hermit in the woods’ life treating ya?”

“Hey, does Pa still hate my guts then?”

…“Hey, do you still hate my guts then?”

“You know, I thought I saw a two-headed deer in the woods the other day.  Crazy trick of the light, huh?”

Oh, forget it.  The world is doomed.

Ford speaks as they come up on a hill that Stan thinks he remembers as being close to the edge of town.

“We’re almost there.  Grocery store is on the left side of this street.”

“I remember,” Stan says with a nod.  He turns the corner, and pulls onto the town’s Main Street.  There’s a small parking lot attached to the grocery store, and Stan pulls into it.  He aims for one of the handicap spots, but before he can reach one, Ford reaches across the car and whacks him on the arm.

“Hey, what?”

“I know what you’re thinking, and we don’t need a handicap spot,” Ford says.

“Oh come on,” Stan says, “it’s not like anyone else is using it!  Both of them are empty!”

“That’s not the point of handicapped spots,” Ford says, giving him a disapproving look.

Stan grumbles under his breath, but changes course and pulls into a regular spot.  During the panicked looting throughout the first couple days of the apocalypse, Stan can’t think of a single person who’d given a shit about handicapped parking spaces.

He lets it go this time, and turns off the Stanley mobile.  Ford’s gaze is already darting around nervously, and Stan gives him what he hopes is a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping out of the car.  Ford steps out after him, and moves immediately to stand next to Stan as they start across the parking lot.

The grocery store looks small, which is unsurprising given the general size of Gravity Falls. There's a handful of shopping carts just inside the doors, and Ford rushes in to grab one. With the look in his eyes, it seems as though he’d been expected someone to steal them all before he could get to one.

“Okay—” Stan starts, before cutting himself off, and ultimately deciding not to acknowledge that.  He needs to pick his battles.  They walk in through the sliding doors.  “Whadda we need, then?  What’s left at the house?”

“Uh,” Ford says, looking around the store like he’s trying to scrutinize it for flaws.  “Not much?”

“Gotcha.”  Stan gives the store a quick once-over for anyone suspicious.  Unsurprisingly, there’s no immediate red flags, so he starts towards the first row and slips a jar of peanut butter into his jacket.

“Stanley.”

Stan glances back over to find Ford glaring at him.  “What?”

“Put it in the cart,” Ford hisses, gesturing down at it.  “You can’t just take things.”

Stan looks back at the peanut butter, a little surprised.  He almost hadn’t realized that’s what he was doing.  Right.  Fully functional grocery store in a fully functional society, in a tiny rural town that probably doesn’t expect much petty theft.  Apocalyptic raids also aren’t considered normal behavior yet.  Actually, that could work in his favor…

But for now, Stan puts the peanut butter in the cart with a sheepish smile.  Ford huffs in irritation, but steps forward to grab other groceries.  Stan can’t help but notice Ford puts a box of extra-sugary cereal next to the plain Cheerios he prefers.  He decides not to comment on this.  After all, their agreement is that while Ford collects groceries, Stan keeps an eye on the other customers in the store.  So, he pushes past the slight haze in his vision and gazes around.

There’s a red-headed woman with cat earrings picking up some flour at the end of the aisle.  A woman who looks like she’s there with her son is pulling said son away from a box of cookies, saying “Get out, get out,” in an exasperated tone.  There’s another young boy tugging on his father’s sleeve, looking like he wants to throw him the egg he’s holding like a baseball.  That’s not going to go well.  Overall, they seem fairly harmless, but Stan knows better than to let his guard down so easily.  It’s unfortunate Ford understands this now too.

They reach the end of the aisle when Stan’s eye is drawn to a man who wasn’t visible from the entrance.  He’s on the other side of the store, looking at the cantaloupes and muttering, looking almost as paranoid as Ford’s been acting.  He’s not moving towards them, just pulling on the sleeves of the red cloak he’s wearing and whispering something to himself.

Well, Stan’s goal on being lookout had been to show Ford there isn’t anything to worry about, but Stan’s not liking the vibes on that guy.  He’s about to turn and suggest that Ford go look for some noodles, when he sees Ford also staring directly at the guy, wide-eyed and panicked.

“Hey,” Stan says.  Ford jerks around to face him, startled, like he’s just remembered Stan is there.

“I got eyes on him,” Stan continues, and he nods down the aisle they’re now standing in front of.  “Go get stuff for pasta.”

Ford looks back at the man, and for a second seems like he wants to walk over to him, though that can’t be right.  Besides, what would the point of lookout be if Ford just walks up to the first crazy guy they see?  Then Ford ducks his head as if ashamed and quickly moves into the next aisle, out of sight.  Stan looks after him for a second, then back at the man on the other side of the store.  Maybe Ford said something rude to him one time?  He has always been bad at letting that stuff go.

Either way, Stan keeps an eye on the man as he gathers some fruit, though that’s more difficult than usual.  Even if he's still feeling nauseous, his mouth is watering at all the apples, strawberries, oranges, and more just… sitting out, ripe for taking.  The fact that Stan is going to actually pay for them is an insane thought.  He slips a couple apples and oranges into his jacket, just to keep the balance of the world in check.

He tries to steer clear of the muttering man along with everyone else, but at some point the man turns and looks right at him.  Both of their eyes widen, and Stan tries to decide if he can take him despite the slight shake in his legs.  But before he gets a chance to figure it out, the man turns to walk quickly in another direction.  Stan does the same.  He doesn’t want to stick around and find out what he wants, and he also doesn’t want to let him find Ford.

He meets up with Ford in front of the dairy section; Ford’s looking around again like someone’s going to steal the milk he’s holding, and Stan decides he’s not going to leave him to go off alone again.

“Hey,” he says, drawing Ford’s jumpy gaze, but thankfully not making him drop the milk.  “I got fruit.”

“Thanks,” Ford says.  Stan can hear him fighting to keep his voice level.  “I want to get some vegetables too, things for salad.  Do you still hate carrots?”

“I don’t hate nothin’ anymore,” Stan says.  Living on the streets beats a lot of sensitivities out of you, like food preferences or ‘allergies’.  “Get whatever you want.”

“You don’t hate anything.  Grammar,” Ford mutters, and Stan rolls his eyes.  “We should also stock up on toilet paper and toothpaste and shampoo.  Since we don’t know how long the blizzard will last.  Has your nose been bothering you at all?  Do we need kleenex?”

Stan shakes his head.  “Nah, I’m good.”

Ford nods to himself, then pauses like he’s remembering something.  “Let me know if you need to go back and rest, okay?” he says, turning back to Stan.  “I can come back later if I need to.”

“What?”

“You’re still sick?” Ford says, like that should mean something.

“Oh, come on, I’m fine,” Stan says, rolling his eyes.  Well, his head is killing him and his legs are shaking a little, but none of that is new.

Ford gives him a once-over.  “You don’t look fine,” he says.

“I can push through a little sickness, Ford, geez,” Stan says.  “We gettin’ ice cream or what?”

Ford doesn’t say anything, just looks at him for a minute.  He almost seems like he’s concerned, which is honestly taking it a little too far.  Stan isn’t worth that.  Ford is the one worth pulling away from homework, or sci-fi novels, or nerdy weirdness research when he gets sick— he needs a sharp mind.  Nobody has to think that way about Stan.  A little food poisoning won’t stop him.  Especially not now, when he knows how to throw a punch whether the room is spinning or not.

Eventually, Ford must realize this, because he turns away and walks down the aisle a little bit to grab a tub of ice cream.  Chocolate, which is weird, because it’s Stan’s favorite, and he doesn’t like it that much.  Stan would steal another tub for him, but the ice cream would be liable to melt tucked up inside his jacket.  So instead he looks around for something else.  Across the aisle is a bottle of caramel topping.  And while Stan used to prefer to overload on chocolate by adding even more chocolate sauce, Ford tends to enjoy it.

Stan pauses for a moment, staring at it.  When was the last time he was grabbing Ford’s favorites at a grocery store?  He remembers tons of times he’d done it as kids.  The two of them had often made a game of it, trying to sneak each other’s favorites into the cart when Ma wasn’t looking, and hoping she bought them instead of taking them out of the cart when they inevitably couldn’t afford them.  Now that Stan thinks back, Ma probably knew exactly what they were doing, and just took pity on them one too many times.  But they’d stopped going to the store as they’d grown older, and gotten too old for games like that.

Stan never forgot Ford’s favorites, though.  He wonders if Ford still knows his.

He thinks back on the sugary cereal and a lump builds in his throat.  He stubbornly swallows it.  He glances around as he crosses the aisle, and when no one’s looking, tucks the caramel topping into his jacket next to the oranges.

A prickle rises on the back of his neck, and Stan spins around again, pulling the bottle back out of his jacket.  “Hey, I just don’t have a cart, I swear I’m gonna pay for this—”

No one’s there.

That is not a good sign.

Stan’s instincts don’t mislead him like that.  He’s had ten years of honing and perfecting them as his best tool to keep him alive.  If they tell him something is up, something is up, period.  If he can’t see anything obviously wrong, that means something is very wrong.

They need to get out of here now.

Stan makes his way quickly over to Ford.  “Hey, are we ready to hit the road?” he says, trying to keep his voice level now.

Ford glances back at him with a knowing glance.  “I told you to tell me if you couldn’t do this.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, look, do we need anything else?”

“I wanted to get some chicken and some Pitt Cola,” Ford says.  “But that’s it.”

The meat is in the freezer section close to the checkout, and soda is along the way.  That’s fine.

Stan sweeps his gaze around as they walk that way, looking for the reason his hair is standing on end.  He hasn’t found it by the time Ford puts several packages of chicken breast in the cart.

Stan's nerves are on edge as they head for the checkout and stay alert during the agonizingly slow process of scanning, paying, bagging, and walking to the car (which would have been shorter if they parked in handicap).

Stan helps Ford put the groceries in the trunk, still scanning the parking lot.  He walks him back to the door despite Ford’s weird looks, turns to walk back around the car— to see Dundgren lining up his gun to Ford's head from the shadows.

“Hey, Ford, check the glove box, would ya?”  Stan grabs the first excuse he can think of.  “I think I got an extra pair of shades in there— uh, here, you can have these back!  Shades are either there or in the back seat, keep lookin’ till you find ‘em, ‘kay?”

Ford gives him another weird look, but says, “Alright?” and ducks his head just out of Dundgren’s line of fire to look inside the glove box.

“Keep lookin’,” Stan calls over his shoulder.  “I’m gonna take the cart back.”

He walks fast towards Dundgren, and Lolph comes into view behind him.  Stan completely disregards the inside of the store, and walks with confidence until he puts himself right in between the car and Dundgren and Lolph.  He does not move, just stands there and stares them down.

Lolph scoffs, like Stan’s being ridiculous, and maybe he is.  So Stan pushes the cart over towards them, keeping it in front of his body as the best shield he’s got access to right now.

Dundgren doesn’t lower his gun from being aimed at the Stanley mobile as Stan approaches, but he does shift his gaze up to meet him.

“You should have known better than to try something this stupid,” Lolph says behind him, standing up straighter and crossing his arms.

“Oh, yeah?  I think you should have known I’d try something this stupid,” Stan says, raising an eyebrow.  “How much recon did you do?  Because it clearly wasn’t enough.”

Dundgren moves the gun threateningly, but Stan isn’t worried.  If they wanted to kill him, they’d have done it while he was walking over here.  They have to keep aiming at the Stanley mobile in case Ford moves his head.  But to hit him, they would have to kill Stan first, and that would alert Ford that something’s going on.

Still, he lowers his hands from the cart, discreetly slipping his fingers through the knuckle dusters in his pocket.  It’d be stupid not to.

“We thought that maybe the end of the world might make you not take such an unbelievably stupid risk,” Lolph snaps, sounding irritated that Stan’s still not looking at him.

Stan does respond to him, though; a slight smirk and a shrug.  “Always been a gamblin’ man.”

“Listen,” Dundgren says.  “I understand what you’re trying to do, but it’s not going to work.”

“Why, because you failed?” Stan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you understand how many times we tried,” Dundgren says, a definitely fake gentleness in his voice.

“Did you ever even manage to get inside the house?”

No response.

“Well, sounds like I’ve already got a leg up, then,” Stan says.  “You should back off and let me try.”

“There’s too much risk if you get things wrong,” Dundgren says.  “If your brother finds out what’s going on—”

“I’m not going to tell him,” Stan says.  “I’m not that stupid.  How would that even go?  ‘Hey bro, guess what, I’m from a future where you ended the whole world.  You wouldn’t happen to know why that is, huh?’  He’d stare at me like I was crazy.”

Dundgren and Lolph exchange a look, and Stan is definitely going to have to figure out what that means later, but for now, he slams the shopping cart forward into Dundgren’s stomach, eliciting a small “oof” and knocking the gun into the cart.

He reaches in and grabs it before they can process what happened, then points it right at Lolph, who’s got the other gun already aimed at him.

Stan sees Dundgren move the shopping cart behind them all and then look around, likely looking to see if anyone is watching them.  Stan can let him worry about that part, then.  He doesn’t seem to react in any way that indicates someone is, so Stan doesn’t move.

“Okay,” he says lowly.  “So how about we both put these down now?”

“Or what?” Lolph says, like an idiot.

Stan considers for a moment, and decides to take a gamble.  He turns the gun in his hands and presses it against the side of his own head.

Both of them react exactly how Stan expects them to— instant panic.  They do need him that badly.

Stan steps a couple steps back, out of their reach but still hidden behind the brick side of the grocery store.

“That’s what I thought,” Stan says.  “So are you going to let me try, then?”

Dundgren looks at Stan for a long moment, and Stan can’t read what he’s thinking.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally.  “But I can’t.”

He looks at Lolph, and Stan has just a moment to wonder what that means before Lolph disappears, and reappears a second later right next to Stan.  He grabs the gun before Stan can process this, and disappears again.

Then he appears on Stan’s other side, and Stan jerks aside just in time to avoid a fist to the head.

He aims a swing back at Lolph, but Lolph vanishes before his fist can connect, and reappears to kick Stan in the back.

Stan stumbles forward and bites down a cry of pain, then dodges Lolph reappearing in front of him and aiming another fist for his head.

Okay, he needs to get rid of that stupid time tape.

Stan moves towards Dundgren, then makes a show of dodging to the side when Lolph appears again.

He does both things a second time to get Lolph comfortable with the pattern.  Then, when he moves forward the third time and Lolph appears to his left, Stan braces himself and takes the punch to his cheek.

His head all but splits open, but he forces himself forward anyway, taking in Dundgren’s surprised eyes and landing a kick right between his legs.

Dundgren hunches over with a surprised and pained gasp, and when Lolph turns to face him, Stan reaches forward and snatches the time tape out of his hand.

When Lolph turns to try and grab it back, Stan jerks to the side and swipes Dundgren’s off his belt, then hurls them both at the ground and stomps on them several times, until they’re both sparking and thoroughly broken.

He stumbles to lean back against the store and press a hand to his head, pushing out a couple of pained breaths and forcing his legs to stay upright under him.  The adrenaline is wearing off, and now Stan’s really regretting that punch to the head.

“What… what have you done?” Dundgren whispers.

Stan turns back to face them and finds them both staring down at the time tapes in shock.

“You can’t… we don’t have the tools to fix these,” Lolph says.

“Good,” Stan says.  “That’s what I was hoping.”

“But you didn’t— you can’t— what are we supposed to do now?” Lolph asks, turning desperately to Dundgren.

“Don’t worry,” Stan says, pushing himself off the wall.  “You can sleep on it.  Left hook!”

…

Ford isn’t looking in the glove box or the backseat when Stan gets back to the car.  Instead, he’s staring down at his lap, and a couple items in it.

He looks contemplative enough that Stan doesn’t bother with an apology and excuse why putting the cart back took so long.  Instead, he just climbs into the car and looks over at what Ford’s looking at.

He’s holding Stan’s 2-weeks-newer pair of knuckle dusters, a Grifter (the Grime Lifter!), and the picture that was taped to the back of the visor.

“Uh, you good Sixer?” Stan asks, pulling the door shut.

“Stanley,” Ford says.  His voice is shakier than Stan would have expected.  “Why does it look like you’re living out of your car?”

Oh, yeah.  Stan hadn’t really considered it when he saw a gun pointed at Ford’s head, but he did kind of give him free reign to poke around his car, huh.

But right now Stan’s head is still screaming at him from the punch, and the fight didn’t help how exhausted he feels, so he just sighs.

“Because I am,” he says.  He pulls his keys out and starts the car.

“Stanley,” Ford says, turning to face him with a pained expression.  “Why didn’t you—”

“This is for you,” Stan cuts him off, pulling the caramel topping out of his jacket and passing him over to Ford.

“What are you— I didn’t pay for this.  You stole it, didn’t you?”

“I stole a bunch,” Stan says.  He reaches inside and pulls out the apples and oranges too, now probably more than a little bruised from getting tossed around during the fight.

“Stanley,” Ford says, but it doesn’t really sound as harsh and judgmental as it would have at the beginning of this trip, which is what Stan had been hoping for.  Instead it just sounds upset and a little pitying.  Dammit.

“Let’s go home,” Stan says.  “Check if the mailman has picked up your bills yet.”

“Stanley.  We need to talk about this.”

“We really don’t,” Stan says.  “We have bigger fish to fry.”

“No, we don’t!  What fish?  How long have you been living in your car?”

Stan turns to face him at that, baffled.  “You were there.”

Ford looks at him for a second, puzzled, and then his eyes go wide.  He looks back down at the items in his lap.

“But— no,” he says, sounding confused.  “He— he said—” he stops.

“Who said what?” Stan asks.  “Pa?”

Ford, however, doesn’t answer, and instead gets very quiet and looks down at his lap again.

Stan looks at him for a second, then sighs.

“Honestly Ford, don’t worry about it,” he says.  “It’s nothing I didn’t do to myself.  Let’s just head back.”

He shifts the car into gear and pulls away from the parking spot.  He can feel Ford’s gaze on him, but he ignores it until he feels Ford look away again.

The sunglasses help a little, but the drive back is still murder on his pounding head.  Stan’s gotten good at hiding when he’s in pain, so he’s sure Ford doesn’t notice.  He does, however, swerve a couple of times on the road, and Ford definitely notices that, even if he doesn’t say anything.  By the time they get back to the house, he feels about ready to collapse.  Thankfully the mail has been taken, meaning they don’t have to head back into town to make sure they’re not going to lose power in the middle of whatever blizzard is coming.  

Stan helps Ford carry the bags of groceries in and puts them all away, learning the layout of the kitchen as he does.  Ford doesn’t say much throughout.

Once they finish putting stuff away, Stan says he’s going to lay down and retreats back to the guest room with the fantastic couch.

So.  Whether it was Bill who said it or not, someone is actually watching Ford, though it’s not the townspeople like Ford thinks.  It’s going to be hard to convince Ford he’s being paranoid if someone really is out to get him.  Trying to kill him, no less.  Maybe Stan expected these guys to show up at some point, and maybe he took the time travel element out, but that doesn’t mean things aren’t going to be more difficult now.

They can’t just stay cooped up in the house, isolated.  Well, they can because there’s a blizzard coming, but after that it’s a bad idea.  If Stan’s trying to break Ford out of a con, keeping him isolated in the woods isn’t a good choice.

But leaving the house doesn’t seem like a great idea either when there will be two time travelers actively trying to kill him.

Stan groans and shrugs his jacket off.  He pulls out the photo of him and Ford and his knuckle dusters, sets both on the couch, and hangs the jacket on the door handle.

Dang it.  He forgot the BMU sweatshirt in the kitchen.  He should probably put his jacket and clothes into the wash too, he doesn’t have any spare outfits.

He sighs, takes a deep breath, and prepares himself to push through his screaming headache a little while longer.  He reaches down and grabs his jacket, and heads back into the kitchen.  Ford is putting together a bunch of sandwich ingredients on the counter, but he must hear Stan walk in, because he turns to face him.

“Okay, seriously, go lay down,” Ford says, pointing behind them both.  “How hard is it to get you to rest when you’re sick?”

“Not enjoying a taste of your own medicine, then, Poindexter?” Stan says with a smirk.  Ford crosses his arms and doesn’t reply.

“Relax, I’m here to grab the clean sweatshirt you loaned me,” he says, picking up the BMU sweatshirt and draping it over his free arm.  “I’m gonna do some laundry and then go rest or whatever.  Where’s your laundry room?”

“So it’s only good enough for you when we’re not in public, then,” Ford mutters, completely ignoring Stan’s question.

“Uh.  What?”

Ford glares down at the table.  “Nothing,” he says.  “Laundry room is next to the bathroom, behind the living room.”

“Okay, no seriously, what,” Stan says, because he doesn’t have enough time to just let comments like that slide.  He’s been here over a day now and barely made any progress.  “What’s the ‘only good enough in private’ comment?”

“Well I know it’s not the greatest college in the world,” Ford snaps, gesturing at the sweatshirt.  “You don’t have to rub it in.”

Stan looks down at the sweatshirt.  “So this is your college sweatshirt?” he says.  He’d guessed as much, but Ford sounds really bothered by the fact that he didn’t wear it.  Where had Ma said Ford went to college?  Back at something?  His head is pulsing too hard to think of it.

“Obviously,” Ford says, rolling his eyes.  “What did you think BMU meant?”

“Big Majestic Unicorns,” Stan deadpans, as the first thing that pops into his head, in a hope to ease some of the tension.  It doesn’t work.

He sighs, and takes a minute to rub his forehead, which despite what he hopes does not help his headache.  “Look, Ford, I wore my jacket to the store because it’s easier to steal or hide stuff if you have pockets to shove it into.  I don’t give a shit where you went to college.”

Ford levels a gaze of cool fury at him.

“Uh, wait, no, that’s not what I meant,” Stan stammers, holding up his hands.  “I— shit, Ford, I didn’t even go to college.  I’m not trying to pass down some statement of judgement, or whatever.  I think it’s amazing that you even went.  You’re already leagues smarter than I am, we both know that, you don’t have to prove it to me.”

Ford sighs, and turns to look back at the sandwich ingredients he’s set up on the counter.  “Whatever,” he says.  “Laundry room’s where I said it is.”

Stan picks up his dirty clothes, still sitting on the chair, kicking himself.  He can’t afford to make stupid mistakes like that, he’s gonna lose enough time with this stupid food poisoning.

He puts on the BMU sweatshirt before he walks to the laundry room, but Ford’s turned around at that point, so Stan’s not sure he even sees it.