#I stormed upstairs. There was no way I was going to let her sell me to a creepy old man!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

No time to play. You are being sent away.

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[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - A House Is Not A Home Part 7/8

This chapter makes me 😤 but it had to be written.

Ruben's wife dies during childbirth along with their son. Ruben hasn't been in a relationship since. Y/N is a single mother to a four year old boy. She buys a house in the small town that Ruben lives in. The house needs alot of fixing which Ruben helps with, resulting in him slowly falling in love with Y/N. However, falling in love with Y/N makes Ruben feel like he is betraying his dead wife.

Enjoy!

A memorial for Gina was held at your house on the 25th. Katarina helped you with the food and David made sure to solve any logistics so that Ruben wouldn't have to. Alot of people in town had known Gina and most of them came to honor her memory. You had never imagined your house being this full of people. Especially people you didn't know.

"Hi."

"Hey."

You found Ruben alone on the porch, a bottle of beer in his hand. It was his third one for the day. You felt guilty for keeping count.

"Food's ready if you want to head inside?" You said.

Ruben took a slow chug of his beer. "Nah, I'm good thanks."

"I could make you a plate, bring it out here if you like?"

Ruben tilted his head to look at you, a crooked smile on his lips. "It's okay Y/N, I'm not hungry."

You nodded, but did not leave the porch. "Mind if I join you?" You didn't think he would mind anyway and prepared to sit down. As you bent your knees Ruben's arm brought you down to sit between his legs on the step below where he was sitting. He tucked you in by wrapping his arms around your body, letting you relax with your back against his chest. There was a minute of silence as the sound of nature around you took over. Birds sang in the trees above your heads and a cricket lurked somewhere in the tall grass. You found it difficult to see beyond the property. There was fog in the distance. Not even the barn could be spotted amongst the evaporating clouds.

"Do you miss her?" You asked. Perhaps the question wasn't justified in a time like this,  but you wanted Ruben to feel comfortable talking about Gina with you, somthing you knew he wasn't.

"Every day." He sighed, his chin resting on the top of your head.

"What do you miss the most about her?"

Ruben had to ponder for a moment, perhaps let the memories of his wife resurface in his mind. "Her smile." He smiled. "And her kindness. Gina always wanted the best for everyone and would go out of the way for people, expecting nothing back. It's where we differ."

You tilted your head up, letting Ruben see the frown on your face. He raised a brow as to ask 'did I say somthing wrong?'

"You helping me with the house, was that not you showing your kindness?"

He nodded. "Yes, but I had my reasons."

"What reasons?" You sat up, wanting to face him.

"Like I said Y/N, that house had been haunting me for years. I was glad to sell it to you, but I wasn't gonna let you stay in a house with no roof. Helping you clear the house after the storm was not me being kind, it was strictly business."

You wanted to argue further, ask if Ruben kissing you had been strictly business as well? However, your questions silenced within you since Ruben was probably hurting. You settled down between his legs again and let his rough hands outline the contours of your face. Behind you the front door came ajar. Both you and Ruben turned around to see David, with Johnny bouncing in his arms.

"Has any of you seen Emily? Kat says she's missing."

Ruben got up almost immediately, forcing you to do the same. "I'll check upstairs." He said.

"Alright. Johnny and myself will check the basement, but I doubt it she's down there." This left you on the porch, feeling ill willed that you had no interest in looking for Gina's sister Emily. Nevertheless you grabbed a coat from inside and stepped out again. You might as well cover some ground as to say that you participated in the search. You came as far as to the fields where the fog was as thickest. But as you stood near the fence you could see the outline of the barn, it's door swaying with the wind.

"Emily?"

Light rain had begun to fall when you reached the barn. You hurried to take cover under its high roof.

"You threw all of it away?"

You turned as a shadow swept behind you. It was Emily, wearing nothing but a black dress and a pair of gummiboots.

"My god Emily, what are you doing in here? Aren't you cold?"

Emily gave you one of her fretful glares. You had gotten quite used to them since she stepped into your house. She made it seem like everything you did was wrong or insulting, weather that would be clearing a plate from a table or hand Johnny his juice. For some reason Emily seemed to constantly judge you. Obviously disliking you.

"You threw all of it away, all of her things." Emily hissed, ignoring your question.

"What things?" Emily was older than you, but only by a couple of years. Along with Gina she had studied law in Manchester, now serving as a divorce attorney at a law firm in the city. Compared to her you felt so unacomplished with your nursing degree.

"My sister things, all of her belongs. They used to be here in this barn." She said, clearly upset not to have found them there.

"They were given to charity." You said. "It was Ruben's idea actually."

"He would never." She chuckled. "What else have you brainwashed him to do, huh?"

"Pardon?" You frowned.

"You've forced Ruben to give away all the last memories of my sister, what else have you done? Tricked him to thinking that your son could ever replace the child he lost?"

You caught yourself wanting to say something that you would regret, but quickly redeemed yourself. Just like Ruben this must be a very difficult day for Emily as well. "I know you're hurting Emily." You said, your voice low and reasonable. "But making others around you hurt too, won't make the pain go away."

"Who are you to...." Emily flinched, but you interrupted her. "Ruben hasn't done anything to deserve this." You said. "But there is nothing wrong with moving on. Surley it's what Gina would have wanted."

"What do you know?" Emily's face trembled with rage as tears slid down her cheeks. "What Gina would have wanted, Ruben and I are going to make that happen, sooner than you think."

Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure what she was indicating.

"He hasn't told you I see." Emily looked amused. "I suppose he wanted to spare the time you had left together."

"What are you talking about Emily?" You couldn't stand her fretful glare. The way Ruben described Gina, she would have been nothing like her sister.

"Gina always wanted a house in the country."

"Yes, so I have heard." Katarina and David told you this some time ago.

"But she also wanted a house in the sun. Ruben suggested his home country, Portugal. The sun there definitely shines more than it does here. All he needed to do was get rid of the house. Luckily he found you."

You were beginning to understand.

"Upon my arrival I was given the green light from the land owners in Madeira, and what would be greater than me delivering the news to Ruben personally. Turns out he and you had gotten a little too familiar during the treaty of the property. A distraction, I think he called you."

"You're lying!" You exclaimed, by now you really were pissed. Emily's uneven stans also suggested that she has had a little too much to drink to cope with her emotions. What she was saying to you couldn't possibly be the truth.

"Ask him yourself." She laughed. "Am I not telling your little friend the truth Ruben?"

You turned around as Emily's gaze was focus somewhere over your shoulder. Because of the increasing rain you hadn't heard him come up behind you. Ruben, standing in the rain, looked both guilty and innocent at the same time.

"Y/N...let me explain."

He had overheard your conversation and these were his first choice of words.

"It's true?" You frowned.

"Yes ." Emily spoke behind you, but your eyes were only on Ruben.

"Yes and no." He said. "I was planing on selling the house and use the money to build a new one in Portugal, but...."

"But?" You chuckled as it was absurd. How come he hadn't told you?

"But then I met you." He nodded. "And I couldn't decide."

"So you're still contemplating it, moving to Portugal?" You were quite stunned. Ruben's answer was slilence which was enough for you.

"Y/N, don't."

You stepped outside, the rain showering you in seconds. You turned back to the barn where Ruben stood in the doorway. Emily had shied away in the back, perhaps too difficult for her to remain standing.

"For once in my life I need someone to choose me." You said.

"Y/N, please, come inside. We can talk about this inside. " He stretched out his hand, offering it to you.

You shook your head. "There is nothing for us to talk about, I have a son Ruben and like always, I choose him. But for once...." Your voice trailed off. You thought about Johnny's father and how much this reminded you of the day you told him that you were pregnant. "For once..." You said, wiping your eyes. From rain not tears. "For once I wish someone would choose me. I was stupid to think that that someone would be you."

"Y/N, wait!" Ruben stepped out into the rain, chasing after you. He didn't chase for long, of course. Emily was left in the barn, drunk and unable to return to the house by herself. And so Ruben made a choice. He chose her.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 15: A Dangerous Game

On the way back from the race we stop by the Garrison so Arthur can pick up some liquor for the house.

“Won’t take long, lads. Just a few bottles. Tommy’s been downing them like there’s no tomorrow.”

The other Shelbys head to a hidden side room to discuss private matters. I suppose I’ll just sit at the bar-

“Jesus!”

I whip my head around in time to see Grace burst through the door. She barely notices me and storms off towards the back staircase.

“Grace, what’s wrong? Did-?”

“Thomas Shelby, that’s what’s wrong,” she answers sharply before stomping upstairs. “Ask him.”

Strange. I know Thomas can be emotionally detached and isn’t always the happiest, but he does know how to treat a lady.

“Let’s go, Steenstra!” Arthur calls from the front door.

“Coming!” 

Maybe I can get more answers back at the house.

“How was your first horse race?” Finn asks when we enter the hallway. 

“It was… brief,” I try to pull my thoughts together. “Unfortunately I didn’t even get to see the race take off.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe you can catch another one some other time.”

Finn’s bouncing on his heels and I can tell he’s antsy for another lesson. I guess there’s nothing else to do now. It’s starting to get dark and I’m in no mood to cook.

“How about a nature walk?”

Finn scrunches his nose. “At night?”

“You’d be surprised at what you can find at night. Ever see a firefly?” That keeps his attention. “Go wait outside and I’ll grab my coat.”

Finn picks out a flashlight and heads out the door despite Arthur’s disapproval.

“‘S dangerous at night, Steenstra.”

“Relax, Arthur,” John waves it off. “There’s a Peaky Blinder ‘round every corner. They’ll be safe. I’m off to put the kids to bed.”

Arthur sets the whiskey bottles on the counter and pours himself a glass. “Let’s see how long these can last.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Thomas’ voice snaps my attention to the hall behind me. His wrinkled suit gives reason to believe something happened after the race, but I don’t pry. Arthur just rolls his eyes and walks off to his room, downing the glass of whiskey.

“Evening, Verena. Enjoy the race?”

“What little I could. What happened to Grace? I ran into her at the Garrison and she had the look to kill.”

The Peaky Blinder doesn’t seem fazed. “She didn’t look it to me. She’s the one who asked if I thought she was a whore.”

His words stop me dead in my tracks. “Oh God. Thomas. Did you…?”

“I told her everyone is a whore, we just sell different parts of ourselves. She should’ve known what she was getting into when she agreed to work for me. He got mine, I got his.”

This business goes far beyond my jurisdiction and I’m glad it does. How can he have the audacity to even think such a thing?

I keep a stern frown and fight the urge to slap his arrogant face. “You son of a bitch. You did a whore swap? Against Grace’s wishes? I don’t blame her for being upset!”

He seems confused by my outburst. “Don’t get a bee in your bonnet. I didn’t do anything with his woman. We just talked. Call it getting soft, but I changed my mind and went back to trick Kimber into thinking she has Syphilis before he could do anything serious.”

This back and forth routine is giving me a headache. “Same pattern, every time. You do something so incredibly stupid and then counteract it.” I unhook my coat from the wall and strut to the door before Thomas can utter another moral riddle for me to decipher.

“Why are you so uptight about it? It’s not like I offered you up-”

I pivot before I reach the door and stare him down with a glare mother would be proud of. “Thomas Shelby, do you think I am a whore? That I would belittle myself so low? How dare you. How dare you assume the lowest standards of all women. I thought you were better than that.”

I leave him to stew on that. That Thomas Shelby is going to drive me up the wall, I swear to God. I shall have to offer some comfort to Grace, despite my subtle jealousy for her attraction to Thomas. 

“Pst!”

The hushed voice leads me to the door leading to the bull ring where all the real action takes place. Through a small crack I see Finn’s face peeking out.

“Finn, what are you up to?”

“Shh! I’m hiding!”

Call me bewildered but this little game seems like the perfect opportunity to distract from today’s events. “Oh! Can I join you?”

He cracks the door open wider and we both peer out into the dim hall. Outside we hear Thomas and Polly chatting about another family meeting. After a while everyone files out and the doors are shut. Now all that’s left is one of the bookkeepers.

“What are we waiting for?” I whisper to Finn.

“You’ll see.”

A few more minutes go by. Finn’s not one to invite friends over so what-?

The door opens and a group of men sulk inside. These men aren’t Peaky Blinders. What the devil is going on?

Finn steps out for them to notice and one of them pats his head. “Good boy.”

“Finn, who are these men-?!”

Another man whips out a pistol and corners me against the wall. “Quiet, bitch!”

The gun leaves my pulse racing. “Put that down! What on Earth are you doing here?”

“We’re taking back what’s ours!” The brute sneers and turns to the others. “Search everywhere!”

My fighting instincts want to sprint for the gun hidden in my purse. But that would take too long. I’ll be shot dead in seconds. The only other option I can think of is distraction.

“Finn!” I hiss at the young Shelby, who’s idling by the door. “Finn, go get Thomas. Now!”

He does as I say and slips outside. I don’t know what or who compelled him to let these men in here but I’m not just going to stand by without a fight. 

“I don’t know who you are-” 

Slap!

My cheek starts stinging from where the man hit me. “I said quiet! We know you’re the Shelby’s housekeeper so act like one and shut up!”

Another man roughly grabs my hands and starts to bind them with twine. No, I don’t think so! I knee him in the crotch and duck to roll behind a desk to avoid the fired shots. 

“Get that bitch!”

If I could just get to my gun- AH!

“Verena! Verena? Is she coming around?” A distant voice asks.

Huh? What happened?

My eyelids flutter open and I find myself sprawled out on the dusty floor surrounded by the Shelbys. The whole room’s been ransacked. Tables and chairs are thrown everywhere.

“Jesus Christ. What the bloody Hell happened here?” John asks as he examines the rubble.

“The Lees, all of them.”

“They’ve taken everything,” Polly grumbles.

I catch Thomas’ eye and he seems to drop all other concerns as he approaches and kneels down to me. “Did they hurt you?”

“No,” I answer firmly.

“Did they rape you?” 

“If they’d tried they’d be dead.” There’s something else I notice about the room. “Wait. They left these.”

Thomas looks to where I’m pointing and examines the tool.

“Wire cutters? Why would they do that?” Polly asks. 

Thomas spreads out his arms. “Nobody move. I think they’re playing a game.”

Polly and I share confused looks. “Game? What game?”

“Back in France, whenever we gave up ground from the Germans we’d set traps and leave behind wire cutters as part of the joke.”

Thomas’ eyes search around the room. “Somewhere in here is a hand grenade.”

Polly’s eyes widen and she too looks around. “Holy Jesus.”

“Attached to a wire. Don’t move anything, don’t touch anything,” John cautions us. “Verena, do you remember anything? Maybe where they might have hidden it?”

“No.” Thomas shakes his head. “If it was in here it would’ve blown by now. It was my name on that bullet. The trap’s set for me.” He looks over to where I’m still sitting on the floor. Does he look guilty? “And unfortunately you happened to be here.”

“But I wasn’t alone. Didn’t Finn come find you?”

Something sparks in Thomas’ eyes. “Where’s Finn?”

My breathing stutters. Where is Finn? Didn’t he follow everyone back here? Apparently not because Thomas rushes out the door to find him. 

“Verena, where are you going?” John asks when I stand up to follow. 

“I don’t care if it’s not proper for a lady to be involved with this. Finn’s in trouble and I will not just sit back and wait to see if he’s safe.”

We all follow Thomas out in one big search party. Where would Finn have gone-?

“Finn. stay exactly where you are.”

Thomas’ voice leads us to the garage where the car is parked. Finn is seated in the front holding the steering wheel.

“I was pretending I was you,” he smiles proudly at his older brother.

“Which door did you open to climb in, Finn?”

“I didn’t. I climbed in.” Of course he did.

Thomas approaches the vehicle slowly. “I want you to climb out exactly the same way you came in, understand?”

The young Shelby gets a giddy smile and all but ignores Thomas’ instructions by pushing the driver door open.

“No Finn-!” Thomas sprints over and pulls Finn out just as a ticking sound starts. “Clear!”

He picks up the grenade and hurls it out into the alley, causing a loud explosion to spread hot flames across the earth. John jumps in front to shield me from the blast.

My already-jumbled nerves triple my heart rate. “Oh my God.”

But Finn is safe now.

“That’s why you should never pretend to be me,” Thomas explains to him. “Ok? Ok?”

Thomas must be proud for his younger brother to admire him but at the same time I can tell he doesn’t want him in too deep either.

“Alrighty, time for a drink,” Arthur grunts and the others start walking back. 

“Time to clean up.”

Perfect. More chores. Can’t this family go one week without fighting?

“Are you ok, Verena?” Finn comes up. “‘M sorry. ‘S my fault those blokes got in.”

“It’s alright, Finn. As long as no one was hurt.”

Both him and Thomas frown. “But you-?”

“My own health does not compare.”

Thomas wants to follow up but decides to stay quiet. Thankfully Finn wanders back to the house and leaves us alone.

“I don’t know why he’s even allowed to be involved,” I say sharply. “Yes he’s a Shelby but just look at what could have happened.”

“I know, I know.” Thomas sighs. “‘M… ‘M sorry about earlier. And now you were almost killed-”

“Thomas, relax. Like I said, I’m more concerned about other things rather than my own well-being.”

“Why? Anyone who’s not out for their own self-interest is lying. We all want something.”

I exhale deeply to calm my temper. “Yes, but not all of us are driven by it. My wants are trumped by God’s purpose.”

We stand in silence for a time, listening to the foot traffic. As hard as I try to see the positives this place will always point out the violence tied to it.

“On another note, John’s getting married now,” Thomas says after a while.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. He’s always telling me about how his kids can be a handful. They need a proper mother. So who’s the lucky bride?”

He huffs. “Lizzie Stark. It’s a joke.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because she’s a whore,” Thomas states plainly.

At this point I’m not fazed by his blunt words. “Aside from Polly, Grace, and me, is there anyone in Birmingham who isn’t?”

“It’s not just that. She’s the whore I told you about earlier, the one I’d been seeing.”

So it’s back to therapy mode now. “But you’re passed that now. Is she a decent person?”

“She’s a whore. What do you expect?”

God this man can be stubborn. “Maybe whores have feelings too. Will she make a good mother?”

He kicks a stone down the alley and lights a cigarette. “John thinks so.”

“So trust his judgment. If she’s what he thinks the kids need, then go with it. She could be nice.”

I can’t tell if my words reach Thomas at all. He just finishes his cigarette and starts walking down the opposite end. He makes no gesture for me to follow so I stay put.

“Where are you off to now?” I call after him.

“Planning a switch with the Gypsies to go against Kimbel.”

Gypsies. I don’t know much about their business because Uncle Colon doesn’t either. He made a peace agreement with them to keep a distance. “Can you trust them?”

“On my mother’s side we’re kin. That should help them trust me.”

That can be a perk… Then again family ties are also methods of holding grudges. Oh well. After all that’s happened today I really need some time to relax. I get back to the house and head straight for my room. After a warm bath and donning a fresh nightgown I finally sit down on my bed for some embroidery.

“Um, Vernea? Do you have a moment?” 

I always have a moment. “You doing alright, Finn?”

He stays leaning against the doorway and contemplates what to say. “Tommy said not to be like him. But he’s always been a role model to me.”

I can see how this complicates things. Thomas does have admirable traits but at the same time can be an example of what not to be. Contradictive, as usual. 

“Sometimes in life we look up to people when we only know half their story. Not everyone is someone to admire, Finn. Sometimes you need to search yourself and decide what kind of person you alone want to be. That may not be the answer you’re looking for but it’s my honest answer. Is there anything else I can help you with?” Finn shakes his head, deep in thought. “Alright. If you don't mind, I'd like to retire for the night. Goodnight.”

Thankfully Finn gets the message and shuts the door on his way out. Deep breath. Between my conflicting emotions for Thomas and the Lees attack I certainly need a good night’s rest. 

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

Tickletober Day 12: Mischief

Fandom: Encanto

Pairing: Camilo and Bruno

Summary: Camilo uses his powers to cause mischief in Casita.

(Have to include this uncle and nephew pairing on this list ❤️😁)

"Camilo!"

Bruno turned as pounding feet came up Casita's stairs.

A figure that looked like Felix jumped up the stairs. "Ha-ha!"

Bruno watched as the Felix figure jumped away from one of Isabela's vines before turning back into Camilo.

Camilo then darted down the hall toward Bruno. "Uncle Bruno!"

The older Tio jumped as his nephew rushed behind him. "Camilo? What are you doing?"

"Hiding from them!" Camilo pointed.

When Bruno looked up, he saw Mirable, Luisa, and Isabela storming up the stairs. All three were covered in red glitter and looked absolutely upset about it.

"Wow, wow, wow." Bruno stepped toward his neices. "What's going on here?"

Isabela used her vines to spin Bruno out of the way. "Stay out of this Tio Bruno. This is between us and Camilo."

Camilo tried to run again as the three girls approached him. However, he barely made an inch before Isabela had him wrapped in vines.

"You think it's funny to prank us all day?" Isabela demanded.

"U-uhum," Camilo stuttered.

"Do you know how hard it is to get glitter out of fabric!" Mirabel demanded.

"Or out of hair!" Isabela added.

"We can't even shower yet. I have to go out looking like I rolled in something dead! And glittery!" Luisa growled out.

Camilo craned his neck away from the three angry girls.

Meanwhile, Bruno rushed forward and in between the heated debate. "Woooow, wow, wow, wow. Wow. Camilo, how many pranks have you pulled today?"

"Uhhh, sixteen and counting," the teen replied, his voice going up several octaves at the end.

"And counting!" Isabela demanded.

"I had a lot of free time this morning."

A second later, Isabela turned her cousin upside down with the vines he was wrapped in.

Bruno held up his hands. "Okay, okay, okay. Look, you three go get cleaned up as best you can and I'll talk with Camilo."

"But he---!"

"I know." Bruno turned the three around. "But ganging up on him when you're this upset is not going to end well. Take some time to destress before you have to go back out."

A few moments later, the three girls walked off while Camilo dropped to the ground.

"Thank you sobrinas. Tio Bruno loves you." Bruno brushed his hands off. "Okay, Camilo. Let's---Camilo?"

When the older uncle turned to address his nephew, he discovered Camilo was gone.

Bruno looked around upstairs. "Camilo? . . . Camilo."

There was no sign of the teen upstairs so Bruno moved downstairs. A quick scan showed Delores standing off to the side of Casita, adjusting a few paintings on the wall.

"Hey Delores, have you seen Camilo?" Bruno asked.

The older teen tilted her head then shook it.

Bruno studied his sobrina. "Are you sure?"

"Mh-hm," Delores answered as she continued adjusting the paintings.

"Uh-huh, then why are there two of you?"

Delores stiffened and turned. When she looked to where Bruno was pointing, there was indeed a Delores walking and talking with Mariano outside of Casita.

Meanwhile, the Delores inside Casita slowly turned her eyes to make eye contact with Bruno.

Bruno stepped closer. "Camilo, what are you---?"

Something moved out of the corner of the older Tio's eye. When he looked up, he noticed a bucket hanging on the railing of the second floor. Looking down, Bruno also saw a small wire just near his foot.

The older Tio deadpanned as he made eye contact with Camilo disguised as Delores. "Really?"

Then the Camilo disguised as Delores took off.

Bruno took off after him, "Camilo! Get back here!"

As he darted upstairs, Delores turned back into the mentioned teen. "Sorry Tio Bruno!"

However, before he could get far, Camilo tripped. He landed with a loud thud on the floor.

Bruno skidded to a stop by his nephew. "Gracias Casita."

A few of the tiles flipped over in response.

"Thanks for selling me out Casita," Camilo growled.

One last tile flipped up to pop the teen in the forehead.

"Ow!"

Bruno chuckled as he grabbed Camilo up by the collar. "Come along Sabrino."

"Why are you targeting me!" The teen exclaimed and struggled to get out of the hold. "They deserved it!"

"I sincerely doubt it."

"It's true-AH!" Camilo stumbled forward as he was gently shoved into Bruno's tower.

Bruno shut the door. "Camilo, you're going to get hurt if you're not careful."

"But Tio, it's just some stupid little pranks!"

"I know, but if you do too many, people aren't going to trust you." The older uncle squeezed his nephew's shoulder. "They're just going to think you're only trying to prank them."

Camilo shrugged. "Eh, I think I'll be fine."

Bruno sighed as his nephew started walking toward his door. "Camilo---."

"I promise Tio, I'm alright."

Just as Camilo reached out to grab the handle of the door, Bruno grabbed his shoulder. "I don't believe you."

Camilo turned. "What?"

"I said, I don't believe you."

"Huh?"

Bruno pulled Camilo back into his arms. "You have not done anything that has shown me you are."

"Hey!" The young teen squirmed.

"Nope." Bruno wrapped his arms around his nephew. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I said I am!"

"Uh-huh." The older uncle started wiggling his fingers into his nephew's sides. "But why should I trust you?"

Camilo broke into laughter while curling into a ball. "Becahahause!"

"Becuase yohou're soho trustwohorthy?"

"Yehes!"

Bruno spidered onto Camilo's stomach. "Even after you sprayed all three of your cousins with glue and glitter?"

"Yehes!"

Bruno dug in to the middle of Camilo's stomach. "And after you pretended to be your sister Delores?"

"Ah! Yes!"

The older uncle paused. "And after you then tried to drop a bucket on me?"

"Uhuhuh, maybehe."

Bruno tsked. "Unfortunately, due to circumstances, I don't."

"What? Why?"

"How do I know you're not just going to get ready for another prank?" Bruno asked.

Camilo's eyes went wide. "Uhhh . . ."

"Mh-hm." The older uncle placed one hand on his hip. "So you see why I don't believe you?"

"Kind of . . ."

"Hm, guess I have to be more persuasive."

"Huh? Ah!"

Bruno scooped up his nephew.

Camilo gripped his uncle's arms. "Tio!"

"This should persuade you," the older uncle teased.

Before Camilo could ask again, Bruno lifted the teen up to blow a raspberry into his stomach.

The teen squealed loudly at the ticklish feeling. The mix of vibrations and facial hair felt absolutely torturous!

And Bruno did not stop after one. He made sure Camilo's entire stomach was covered in ticklish raspberries.

"SQUEE! TIO BRUHUNOHO!"

"Have you learned your lesson?" Bruno asked.

"Yehes! Yes! I promise!" Camilo sagged in his hold. "Ihi wihill stop thehe prahanks!"

"You don't have to stop them completely." The older uncle set his nephew down. "Just tone down how much you do it. Fun is good in moderation."

Camilo brushed off his ruana. "Thank you Tiho Bruhunoho. I'll keep that ihin mihind."

"Aw, you're welcome sobrino." Bruno ruffled the curls on Camilo's head. "Now, how many pranks do you have left that we need to take down."

The teen rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh . . . A lot . . ."

Bruno gave his nephew a deadpan look. "I was afraid you'd say that. Well, better get started then."

Camilo smiled and hurried after his uncle to take down the remaining pranks.

[gabykatttt]

Velvet and Veneer in one day of Horrorland

Chapter 1

Ugh I’m so bored why can’t we go shopping? Velvet asked letting out a groan.

Cuz sis we’re not famous anymore and we have jobs to make money so deal with it Veneer said reading his book.

Eww Velvet said.

Hey at least we have a home instead of an apartment you bought back then so stop complaining Veneer said rolling his focusing on his book.

Since when did you start being so fucking mature? Velvet asked.

Veneer closed his book and placed it on the table.

Well sis unlike you I had more responsibility to take care off this our life now Velvet will you like it or not like I said we’re not famous anymore and it’s time to move on with our normal lives Veneer said heading upstairs.

But you’re famous Velvet said rolling his eyes.

In a good way why cuz Floyd helped me practice without using his talent and I actually work for it Veneer said.

Oh that little helped you sing perfectly fine Uhh Velvet said.

Yes he did Veneer said going to his room.

He entered and closed the door. Veneer went to his drawer and grabbed his song book.

Alright time to sing a song that I wrote Veneer said to him sitting down on chair and started playing the piano.

Veneer 🎶🎤

I won't give up, no, I won't give in

'Til I reach the end, and then I'll start again

No, I won't leave, I wanna try everything

I wanna try even though I could fail

I won't give up, no, I won't give in

'Til I reach the end, and then I'll start again

No, I won't leave, I wanna try everything

I wanna try even though I could fail

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Try everything

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Try everything

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Try everything

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Okay it’s perfect Veneer said closing his song book and put it back to the drawer.

Since its raining I might of just draw Veneer said taking out his sketchbook and sat on the bed.

With Velvet

Holy shit this movie gives me chills Velvet said as she heard thundering coming from outside.

Ugh great it has to be a lightning storm what the fuck Velvet said rolling her eyes and focused on the movie.

Hopefully it’s stops raining Velvet thought eating a bowl of popcorn.

Still focusing Velvet heard Veneer coming from downstairs.

Veneer grabbed a cup and poured water to start painting his art piece to sell.

Since when does my brother have so much talent? Velvet asked herself feeling a little jealous of her brother’s successful life instead of herself.

It’s just not fair Velvet thought to herself still jealous.

With Veneer

Okay let’s get this drawing started to be sold by tomorrow Veneer grabbing the paint brush and started painting.

[noforkingclue]

Hello I have another idea for slow horses (again I'm unsure if this kinda thing would happen.) The reader is dating this person and someone who she is very close to at m15 tells the reader that their boyfriend is working for their Enemy and is then tasked with bringing their partner in but when the reader gets home their boyfriend is one step ahead and instead drugs the reader rendering them and kidnaps them, taking the reader to the villian.

I hope you have a great day

You should definitely watch Slow Horses. It's amazing! It's on Apple TV but it's well worth the price just to watch the show. It's the perfect mix of tension and humour and Gary Oldman is fucking brilliant in it!

So everyone should go out and watch it.

Title: Mistake

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

“No,” you said firmly, “No. You’re fucking with me.”

But one look at your colleague’s faces told you that they weren’t.

“You’re not,” you said as you sunk into a seat.

You ran a hand over your face and looked away. River and Louisa shared a pitying look before River said slowly,

“I thought it was best you heard it from us rather than someone like Lamb or Ho.”

“Yeah,” you said slowly, “Yeah. Oh fuck, he knows everything about me.”

“Does he know you’re Service?” asked Louisa, “Christ,” she said when you nodded, “Why the fuck did you tell him?”

“We were dating for years,” you said, “and Service cleared him. I thought,” you swallowed thickly as you forced yourself not to cry, “no one else knew, not even my parents. I just wanted to talk about it to someone who isn’t Service. Just for someone else to know, y’know?”

And they did. While you were all Slow Horses, desperately clinging onto some semblance of your failing careers, desperate to get back into the action, secretly you all craved some feeling of normality. Someone to go back to in an evening and talk about your day, even if you couldn’t talk about everything.

“He was vetted,” you said weakly, “The Park said it was ok. Or maybe he wasn’t and they just didn’t give a fuck about a Slow Horse to fully care. Either way it’s going to be blamed on me.”

You took a deep breath and stood up.

“Lamb knows?” you asked

“What the fuck do you think?” asked River, “He told us to bring him in.”

“Right. Well you’re not going to do that. I am.”

“Do you really think that’s wise?” asked Louisa, “with your-”

“This is personal,”  you said as you headed towards the door, “so I’m fucking doing it myself.”

As you stormed down the stairs River said to Louisa,

“Do you think that’s a wise idea, letting her go?”

“Fuck no but I didn’t see you trying to stop her.”

*

You closed your eyes as you shut your front door behind you. You heard your boyfriend moving about upstairs and you tried to find the words you were going to say to him.

“Y/n is that you? You’re back early!”

“Yeah,” you ran a hand over your face, “Yeah snuck off early.”

“Won’t anyone notice? Won’t get in trouble will you?”

You walked into the kitchen and almost smiled at the sight you saw. Your boyfriend was cooking, apron tied around his waist and a soft smile on his face. It all looked so blissfully domestic.

All so fake

“Are you ok?” he asked walking towards you and cupping your cheeks

“Rough day.”

“Can you talk about it?”

You broke free and sat down on the sofa. After an increasingly tense pause you said,

“We need to talk.”

“Oh no. Nothing ever good evers comes from that.”

“Have you been using me?”

Another pause.

“What do you mean.”

“You’ve just been fucking using me. Trying to get information from me to tell sell onto the fucking Russians. Tell me- how much did you get out of a Slow Horse? Just sticking with me to see if I would get back to The Park. But no one gets back to The Park. Fucking no one.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe denial or anger but certainly not for him to burst out laughing.

“Oh y/n, you’re so fucking naive it’s almost adorable. Or maybe it’s just vanity? Can’t accept being cast out so you have to make everything about yourself. This was never about you.”

“Then what is it about.”

“And do you really think that I’ll tell you that.”

Then everything went black.

*

“She should’ve been back by now,” hissed River, “Why the fuck isn’t she back?”

“Something’s happened,” said Louisa, “something must’ve happened.

“I fucking know-”

“Know what,” Lamb’s voice, “what the fuck has happened and where the fuck is l/n?”

River and Louisa shared a look and River knew that this was up to him.

“We… told y/n about her boyfriend.”

“And why the fuck would you do that when I fucking told you not to.” said Lamb, his voice dangerously level

River was aware of the other’s coming in. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the inevitable argument and more than likely beating.

“And y/n went after him.” he finished

“You let y/n go after a fucking highly trained Russian spy,” yelled Shirely, “what the fuck were you thinking.”

“Clearly he fucking wasn’t,” said Lamb, “and once again we’ve got to clear up his shit.”

“She said she wanted to do it,” said River desperately, “personal.”

“And did you stop to think about how the fucking Park would see it if they both disappear?” said Lamb

“Oh. Shit.” said River

“And now we’ve got to clear up your mess,” said Lamb, “again.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Cartwright

“Weren’t you fucking listening? We’re going to do what you should’ve done in the first place and you,” Lamb jabbed River in the chest, “are going to fucking stay here. Think you can manage that?”

[daisyvisions]

This is a copypasta please don't kill me. 😭🔫

Also, Trigger Warning/Content Warning for violence, abuse, drugs, & kidnapping.

—

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

I rolled over and threw a pillow at my alarm clock.

"Y/N! Get your lazy ass downstairs!" my crackhead mother yelled. I ran to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I looked in the mirror to see my E/c orbs staring back at me. I put my long, wavy h/c hair into a messy bun. I threw on a pair of sweatpants and my favorite hoodie. I went downstairs to see my mother sitting at the table holding a bottle of vodka and a cigarette.

"Listen up whore! I needed money to pay the bills, so I sold you. Your new owners will be here any minute, so go pack!"

"You can't do that! You're an awful mother!" She shrugged and took a swig of vodka.

"I never wanted you to be born in the first place. Go upstairs and pack now!"

I planted my feet to the ground. "No! Why don't you just use all the money you spend on crack and meth to pay the bills?"

She threw her cigarette at me.

"Because I love drugs and hate you!"

I stormed upstairs and felt the tears start to stream down my face. There was no way I was going to let her sell me to a creepy old man! I grabbed my backpack and filled it with some clothes and my favorite books.

I tossed in my iPhone 4s and my The 1975 poster. I decided I was going to have to run away. Since I'm not like other girls, I don't have very many friends. My gay friend Jonathan was mean, but he lived like a block away.

I slung the backpack over my shoulder and slipped on my converse. I bolted down the stairs and towards the front door when I felt someone grab me by the hood. It was my mom's drug dealer pot-belly boyfriend.

"Y/M/N, your bitch daughter is trying to run away!" I punched him in the face which made him let go of me. But when I opened the door I saw 11 boys blocking the way. One with mesmerising hazel orbs and curly brown hair spoke first.

"'Ello Love. We're your new owners!" I rolled my eyes and pushed him.

"Aren't you guys that stupid band The Boyz? There's no way in hell I'm going with you!" I tried to run through them but I felt something hit the back of my head. I spun around to see my mom had just thrown a glass at me. I tried to jump on her but two of the boys grabbed my arms. She laughed in my face.

"Thanks for taking her off my hands boys. Bye you slut!"

"Shut the fuck up you dumb bitch! You're the one who just sold her own daughter! I hate you!"

The boy with blond hair slapped me.

"Hey! Don't curse you bitch!"

I slapped him back.

"Shut the fuck up!"

Before I had a chance to punch him, someone put a rag around my mouth. It smelled like chemicals, and it made me pass out.

Is this…. From a Wattpad? Or AO3? Hahaha wait things escalated so quick but this is def the start of a yandere fic isn’t it? 👀😂

[taiblogcomics]

Cry Havoc! And Let Slapstick the Dogs of War

Hey there, jetpack technology. We're half done this Slapstick miniseries by now! We'll be two-thirds done by the end of this one! Isn't the number six grand? Well, let's get into it~

Here's the cover:

Oh boy, this cover. One, Slapstick himself is barely integrated into it. He feels like an afterthought. If this were a larger multimedia franchise, I'd think that was his stock art down there. No, instead, we're selling this cover based on the other thing on it. That's right, furries, we're targeting you! Let's talk about that for a minute! So, obviously, the first thing the War DOGS here are parodying is GI Joe (the ninja design really sells that). That fits with the other '80s references the series has been making: Bro-Man was He-Man, the Taurs were Smurfs with a light coat of MLP. But the second thing~?

Hey, show of hands, who remembers Road Rovers~? Because I remember Road Rovers. I was super into Road Rovers as a kid. Only lasted 13 episodes, believe it or not. It was very much in the vein of the other WB shows of its era: Tiny Toons, Animaniacs, Freakazoid. Except it was an entirely action-focused cartoon with the same level of comedy, which is probably why it didn't last too long. Now, you could also argue it's a SWAT Kats reference, but A) the War DOGS are dogs, not cats, and 2) both are from the '90s, so it's odd either way~

Anyways, I could ramble about Road Rovers for the rest of this review, but Steve Harmon, AKA Slapstick, in an effort to cure his clowny cartoon condition, is conscripted by ARMOR to fight off other cartoons that invade our dimension. To that end, last issue he fought off the aforementioned Taurs, rescuing their lone female member, Taurette, in the process. Taking leave, Slapstick spends his time rebuilding the very portal that got him in trouble with ARMOR to begin with. And it's still getting him in trouble, as it starts shooting out beams that turn inanimate objects into very animated cartoons~

Steve's mom is upstairs remarking to her husband how she's glad Mike is visiting, she likes how he's a stabilising, grounding influence on Steve. Mike has a job, Mike has his own place, Mike isn't chasing some silly dream of being a superhero or mercenary or whatever the kids are calling it these days. Nothing strange happens when Mike's around. Of course, it's at this moment that the cartoon cup of coffee charges out from Steve's basement bedroom declaring he's "off the hizzy for shizzy". Perfectly normal events in the Harmon household~

Mrs. Harmon goes down to give her son a talking-to, during which the broom she's holding also catches one of the stray cartoonifying energy bolts and starts making lewd remarks about how she grips it. Slapstick snatches it away while his mom storms off, complaining "Richard, do you know what your son just did? He turned the broom perverted!" I feel like this issue alone, let alone this whole miniseries, could give me a top ten list of amazing out-of-context dialogue lines from comic books. We're only on page two!

Slapstick retreats back into his room, asking for a minute to think of something. Mike retorts that him thinking is what started this mess. While Slapstick's dirty laundry comes to life and begins a revolt, Mike reaches his breaking point and tries to slam the big red button on the portal device. Except… Slapstick didn't build the thing with an off switch. It only has an on switch, because he didn't want anyone turning it off while he was using it. I think that's more of the kind of thinking that got him in this mess, yeah.

He next tries to go for the plug, but the machine defends itself with another piece of equipment coming to life to protect it. Likewise, the fusebox comes to life before Slapstick can blow the power grid. This is getting out of hand--and out of room, as the cartoonification begins spreading to other appliances in the house. Such as the dishwasher turning on Mrs. Harmon. Now Slapstick's mad. It's one thing to go after him, but when you go after his family, it's too far. See, in spite of his attitude and lack of forethought and disregard of the law, he's still a decent guy under that clown costume.

While Slapstick holds back the other appliances, Mike also leaps into action. To fight a cartoon, you gotta think like a cartoon, right? So he manages to fight his way over to that on switch again, but this time he writes "OFF" over the "ON" and hits the button. And this works. That's absolutely fantastic, well done. However, it's only prevented further catastrophe, as it's shut down the portal but not reversed the transformations. ARMOR might have to come by and sort all that out. Which Slapstick is not looking forward to, in spite of his crush on that one agent.

Before they can further react, however, even more nonsense hits the fan. The War DOGS' tank materialises in Slapstick's room, and if he has a basement room big enough to hold a tank, maybe I'd be reluctant to move out too. Also, their appearance is accompanied by theme music, to Mike and Slapstick's bafflement. The War DOGS (which stands for War Defense Operations Guerrilla Squadron) start blasting, and their blue lasers have the effect of de-toonifying all the rambunctious furniture. Slapstick is unaffected, since he's been a toon too long.

With the active threat now neutralised, the War DOGS sound off. There's too many of them to go into detail (a full 12 characters with distinct designs, army roles, and dog breeds), but Rex is the leader of the bunch. And the only girl is named Crimson, because the GI Joe equivalent was Scarlett. And the ninja is named Silent-But-Deadly, in case you forgot what kind of comic this is. Rex reports that they were told by an informant that the Princess' champion may be here--and the devious enemy team Skratch may be after him. They can't let that happen.

So the War DOGS, Mike, and Slapstick all file out of the house, headed for the streets to do recon. Before Silent-But-Deadly can get in position, though, the dastardly felines of Skratch attack! They demand the surrender of the champion. And yes, they are indeed just a cat-themed version of Kobra. (That's the other reason why the War DOGS can't be SWAT Kats.) A brawl ensues, and in the midst of the fight, Mike gets hit by laserfire. Slapstick is pissed. He's tired of this "champion" nonsense, since every time it comes up, his friends and family around him just get hurt.

Slapstick takes off running, hoping to lead the fight to an empty field or something, so no random innocents will get hurt. But after a bit, he notices that, just like his Twitter account, nobody is following him. Looking back, he sees Skratch loading a captive Mike into a portal and disappearing. He begins shouting that they've got the wrong guy. Rex replies that of course that human is the champion. That's why they have to come to this dimension to find the champion in the first place. How could Slapstick be the champion? He's a toon like them!

ARMOR (including Agents Teresa, Isabel, and Taurette) shows up to corraborate Rex's story. Think about it: Mike and Slapstick were both at the football game when Bro-Man attacked. And the Taurs attacked the mall where Mike works, not the ARMOR facility where Slapstick was being held. Anyway, ARMOR is here to arrest the War DOGS for the dimension breech, but they explain they just used Slapstick's portal, getting him in trouble. But that's not important now. He'll deal with consequences later. All that's important is getting his friend back. So he ends the issue by leading a team-up of himself, ARMOR, and the War DOGS through the portal to Dimension Ecch…

I think, like last time, this issue a lot of fun. It's zany, it's silly, it's tiny, it's toony, it's all a little loony~ The solution to the over-powered portal is beautiful in its cartoon logic. And the parodies continue to remain on point, if a little one-sided leaning. Like, the Taurs were very Smurfs-coded (the names being "X Taur", the Smurfette type, the wizard antagonist, the hats) with just a bit of a My Little Pony coat of paint in their design. The War DOGS are the same way: very GI Joe parody with just a dash of Road Rovers slapped on top. Even Bro-Man is basically just He-Man with only a little Conan the Barbarian in appearance. So it's not really a parody fusion, it's a parody of one property with another property painted over it. I know they don't have time to run into the whole backstory of all these shows they're riffing on, just saying it's an odd amalgamation of things. I guess adding the second parody just makes it wackier or something. It's not bad in any way, just a thing I noticed about the choices.

Anyway, next issue, we're finally going to see the much-discussed Dimension Ecch and meet its oft-rumoured princess~

[ink-and-dagger]

DRINK WITH ME - The Virgin AU

Dearest Darlings 🖤

I'm sorry this took so damn long. I was smacking the back of my head like a ketchup bottle but the damn thing just didn't want to come out for a while.

But here we have it, part 2 of the DWM Virgin AU. A rewrite of ✨The Taproom scene✨ from Chapter 12.

Thanks again to my dear one @sweatandwoe for the virgin Silco prompt. I hope you all enjoy. 🖤

NSFW || 8.3k

Part 2 [Chapter 12 rewrite]

“Tap needs changing.”

“On it,” you call over your shoulder to Jasper; already slipping out from behind the bar to head back-of-house. 

Sevika’s visit earlier has replaced your dread with resolve, and you’re eager for a moment away from the noise of the club to hear yourself think. The music dampens as the door shuts behind you, and you lean back against the wood with a sigh of relief. 

You’d promised Jinx last night that you’d visit her today. But perhaps afterwards you could head up to Silco’s office; charm him into letting you stay for a drink and then fawn over him like your life depends on it.

You push off the wood and head towards the taproom staircase a little further down the corridor.

Maybe you should just show up at his door naked? It lacks finesse, but it would certainly get the point across. 

Or maybe you’d just end up melting his brain again. 

Honestly, you’re unsure whether to be flattered or concerned. Either way, your mind refuses to be rid of his overt reaction when he’d first set eyes on your bare tits. And no matter the logic behind Sevika’s theories on control, you can’t shake the niggle of unease regarding how… off his whole demeanour had been. 

Maybe it’s… been a while for him. He’s a busy guy after all. Keeps himself well guarded. It’s not hard to believe that his… excursions could be few and far between, despite his quite frankly ridiculous sexual magnetism.

You’re spared any further thought on the matter when the side entrance to the club bangs open ahead.

Silco looks even more intimidating than usual thanks to the imposing cut of his coat and his clearly thunderous mood. You can practically see the storm clouds above his head. Anyone with any sense would turn and run in the other direction if faced with this version of the Eye of Zaun.

But you’ve never been particularly sensible. Especially not when it comes to him.

He stops so abruptly when he sees you that Sevika almost walks straight into his back, and his expression becomes painfully neutral.

His Right-Hand gives you a pointed look over his shoulder, and it’s beseeching enough that you’re certain she’ll forgive you for being so blatant in front of her.

You summon your best flirtatious smile, the one that sells so many drinks, and top it off with your tried and true eye technique; the open drag of your gaze up and down his body, lingering for two-seconds on his lips, before finishing with coy eye-contact through your lashes.

It works a treat. 

You smirk to yourself as you descend the taproom stairs and hear him follow a few moments later after a muttered word to Sevika.

The arched cellar is dim, dusty, and filled with shelved rows of bottles and battered metal casks. You set straight to work swapping over the beer kegs for Jasper, and try to calm the anticipatory quickening of your pulse when the click of Silco’s boots enter the room behind you, and the door shuts with a pointed snick.

“How’s Jinx feeling?” You ask as you work.

“Better. Tired. She’s spent the day in bed.”

“I’ll go visit later. I owe her a proper apology,” you lock the coupler into place over the fresh keg.

Silco merely hums in response.

“And how are you feeling?”

No answer. You brush your hands off on your trousers as you straighten and turn. He’s barely three steps into the room, standing with his back to the closed door. His hands are clasped casually behind him, and he still wears the practiced mask of indifference he’d donned upstairs. 

You tilt your head playfully, “You seem a little irritated.”

Once again there’s no answer, but the rise and fall of his chest seems to quicken just a little in response to the tone of your voice. He watches you like a hawk as you begin to stalk your way slowly over to him, and if you swish your hips a little gratuitously that’s no-one’s business but your own.

“Rumour has it that you’ve been a little grumpy for a few days now. I wonder why that might be?”

“Rumour?”

“Mhm,” you hum in confirmation as you arrive in front of him, “Is it true?”

He considers his words before carefully answering, “I suppose I might be feeling a little more… stressed than usual."

You tut your displeasure with a pout, “We can’t have that,” you croon, stepping into his space and walking your fingers up the lapels of his coat. The cold from the outside clings to the material; a crisp contrast to the delicious warmth of his body heat.

“I’m wondering if there’s anything I can do to help relieve the tension?”

The question alone appears to crank up his tension even more. His throat bobs, “What did you have in mind?” he rasps. Unbearable anticipation hemming the fringes of his voice, as though he’s unsure if he even wants to know the answer. Unsure what he wants the answer to be.

You smooth your hands back down his chest, before slipping your arms around his waist beneath his coat and pressing your body flush against him. His hands remain clasped behind his back, but his chest hitches in a tiny micro breath and his energy thrums.

You tilt your face to press a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to the underside of his jaw. He exhales through his nose in a shivering stream that ruffles your hair.

Lay yourself at his feet.

Your hands trail down his sides as you lower yourself to your knees.

And there it is again – that edge of trepidation in his eyes. The sense that his controlled confidence is flailing within his grip like a fish out of water. 

The collar of his coat rises with the steady bunch of his shoulders.

Your brow furrows, and your palms follow the crimson seam up his thighs in a movement that’s intended to be as comforting as it is alluring. 

“I don’t like to see you so tense, Silco, sweetie,” you coo softly.

The front of his trousers strains tighter by the second, thighs quivering beneath your touch. His complexion seems locked in battle between paling and flushing, and the muscles in his unmarred cheek tic in response to the pointed snap of a single button beneath your fingers.

“No better way to unwind than with a nice massage, hm?” You undo a second button, “After all, you're always complaining about my clever little mouth,” a third button, “I’m eager to defend its honour.” 

The final, fourth button.

Silco’s throat drags in a thick swallow, and even from down here it’s impossible to miss the dilation of his pupils.

You hook your fingers over the top of his trousers and pull them down just enough to free those beautiful inky roses. You press your lips to them, one by one, and run your tongue over their velvet petals. Silco shivers, a small, gasping breath catching in his throat above you.

You nuzzle your nose into the trail of dark hair just beneath his navel, and exhale a long, warm breath out over his skin. His pelvis twitches and you grin, tightening your fingers and tugging the waistband lower—

Silco grabs your wrists hard. The fine bones and tendons within grinding together from the urgency of his grip. 

When you peer up, you’re greeted with undeniable panic. 

Ice shoots up your spine like a frozen fuse and your stomach turns with a sickening flop. You immediately unfurl your fingers from his trousers and back your head away to a less invasive proximity.

“Are you okay?” You ask earnestly, “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

As stark as a flipped coin; Silco’s fear becomes anger.

“The only thing going on is that you’re taking far too long,” he hisses venomously, “Get on with it, or don’t bother at all.”

He may as well have slapped you. 

Your skin becomes clammy. And hurt – as thick as mud and as cold as pressed oil – oozes sluggishly through your veins. You stare up at him for an age, attempting to fathom the dichotomy of his cruel expression and his fearful gaze.

Your whispered question is hoarse, “Why are you lying to me?”

His nostrils flare, and his lips thin to a sliced line.

“What are you afraid of—”

You almost fall forward as he spins on his heel and lurches away towards the door. 

A burst of fury, embarrassment, and unjustified heartache propels you to your feet; voice harsh and shrill, “If you walk out that door you won’t see me this Friday, or any Friday that follows.”

The threat stills his hand upon the doorknob – knuckles bleeding white and fingers shaking with the ferocity of his grip.

You fling your arms upwards in silent exasperation, not that he’s even looking at you to witness the gesture. They drop, and the smack of your palms against your thighs fills the silence.

“The fuck is wrong with you Silco?”

He doesn’t turn nor speak. All he offers are the bunched lines of his shoulders beneath his coat.

“This isn't you,” your throat aches as you battle the unwanted constriction, “This isn’t the man I know—”

You’re silenced by a horrific grate of laughter; cold and sharp as hewn flint.

“If you think me incapable of a little callousness then you know absolutely nothing.”

“I know your brand of cruelty and this isn’t it,” you snap, willing away the sting at the corner of your eyes and suddenly very thankful that he’s facing away, “It’s a blatant defence for whatever it is you’re hiding, and I am sick of being left in the dark.”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even appear to breathe.

“So?” you prompt, “Are you gonna explain what just happened?”

You hear the grind of his teeth. 

“I simply wasn’t in the mood.”

“Your raging boner said otherwise.”

His fingers rip from the door handle, and the silence is filled with the incisive refastening of his trousers.

“So that’s it then?! You lead me on for months. You finally kiss me. And now you’re done with me? Is it all in the chase for you? You’ve lost interest now that you’ve caught me?”

“No.”

“No? What does that mean no?! Why can’t you be honest with me? I thought we trusted each other. I thought we were friends—”

“I am nobody’s friend, sweetheart,” he sneers, head snapping to the side to glare at you from the corner of his hellish eye, “You are my employee. The other night should not have happened. It was inappropriate for us to—

“Oh you can cut that bullshit right now,” you yell, thrusting a finger in his direction, “You’re a fucking crime lord, you’re hardly concerned with workplace ethics. And even if you were, you and I both know you lost the right to that pathetic excuse long ago—”

“I would seriously reconsider your tone—”

“You can’t just use me and discard me like trash!” 

Your accusation echoes off the bricks and settles heavily between you. His scars tighten, and that one, piercing eye averts its gaze. Your lungs struggle as though you’ve just run up a flight of stairs, and you despise how small your voice is once it re-emerges.

“I just— I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

The pathetic words hang in the air just as prevalently as your previous ones. Silco’s head turns back towards the door – jaw clenching in a repetitive pulse if the shift of his ears is any indication.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he grits out eventually.

Perhaps his answer should assuage you, but it only makes you feel worse. Your anger and frustration reignite in an immediate blaze.

“Then why am I being punished?”

You receive no answer.

The inside of your skull buzzes like a hornet’s nest. Damn your pride. You’ve hardly any left at this point, and you’ll trade what remains if it’ll only buy you a little fucking clarity.

“Do you want me or not?”

Silence. Your jaw sets.

“Do you want me. Or not?” You grit out from behind clenched teeth.

Again, you receive no answer from Silco beyond the agitated curl of his fingers below his gilded cuffs, and the ever tightening bunch of his shoulders cranking higher by the second.

“For fuck’s sake Silco!” You explode, “It’s a simple fucking question! Do you want to fuck me or not?!”

He spins and swoops upon you like a storm; hand closing around your wrist in a bone crushing clamp as he drives you backwards with gale force strides. His eyes flash with forked lightning, illuminating frozen blue and flaming red set within an expression twisted in feral fury. 

“Yes, I want to fuck you,” he snarls through sharp, bared teeth. Spittle pooling at the corners of his mouth like some rabid animal. Close enough for you to taste the tobacco remnants on his breath. Your thighs hit the kegs and your spine bends backwards under his looming might.

“You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you. How often I’ve thought about it. How I have pictured every position in which I wish to take you in explicit detail.”

Silco’s venom infused rage is staggering, and you’re left completely breathless and utterly wanting beneath him.

“I have wanted to fuck you for months.”

His words snap you from your desirous daze; acting as an accelerant to the flames of your own anger. You bare your teeth right back, “Then why don’t you?!” 

“Because I have never done it before!”

Silco’s bellowed admission crushes your lungs and brings all brain activity to a grinding halt. And in the resounding silence that follows you watch painful rays of clarity break through his storm cloud gaze as he realises what his outburst has revealed. 

The space between you fills with heavy, mingled breaths, and your wrist remains clamped within his unrelenting grip; now beginning to tremble slightly from anger or adrenaline or both. Slowly, your mind begins to churn, and your lips form the first shapes of a hundred questions, until your tongue finally manages to follow through on the simplest, and most vital of all.

“You… you’re a virgin?”

Silco’s jaw creaks, and his eyes flash beetle-shell dark. The lack of verbal confirmation is answer enough. He releases your wrist as though scalded, and you drop heavily to sit atop the kegs and gawp silently up at him. Struggling to comprehend the months of loaded interactions. All the dirty comments and double entendres and the confidence with which they were delivered.

“But… but you flirt with the skill of a world-class whore,” you say lamely. 

Silco’s expression becomes even more thunderous, “That’s right,” he snarls dangerously, “Make your clever little jokes at my expense.”

A wave of nausea turns your stomach, and you shake your head, “I’m not mocking you, I’m trying to understand,” you gaze imploringly up at him, “Do you honestly believe I would ridicule you for this?”

You receive no response beyond a flicker of vulnerability that’s gone so quickly it’s a miracle you even caught it in the first place. Quiet horror prickles over your skin, and your nausea deepens.

“…Has someone ridiculed you for this?” You ask quietly.

His gaze strips the meat from your bones, and his lips become a bloodless line with how tightly they press together. Your stomach knots with disgust and indignance on his behalf.

“Silco,” you breathe emphatically, rising slowly from your perch to stand toe to toe with him, “They’re wrong. This is nothing to be ashamed of.”

The natural downwards tilt of his mouth deepens, and his eyes become steely. You can practically feel the eggshells beneath your feet.

“I wish you had just told me.”

He expels a short, sharp breath through his nose as though you’ve just made the most ludicrous suggestion he’s ever heard. His lips curl into an ugly sneer, “When did you expect me to slip such a topic into conversation?”

“I’d say you had a pretty good opening the other night,” you counter smoothly, “When I was straddling your lap and asking if you wanted to continue.” 

Your teeth ache listening to the agonising grind of his molars in the dusty, brick-lined quiet.

“What were you gonna do if Jinx hadn’t interrupted? Just… plough on ahead and hope for the best?"

“Something along those lines,” he mutters tightly after a few seconds; uncharacteristic defeat lying beneath the bitter chagrin.

Your heart aches, and the poor, caged thing compels your hand to reach out on it’s behalf. But riverside history repeats itself. Silco jerks away, spinning on his heel and stalking for the door.

But you’re quicker this time. 

You dash ahead and flatten your back against the wood – blocking the exit with barely a second to spare, leaving you trapped beneath Silco’s towering figure once more. You hold his gaze, attempting to quell the primal fear that zaps through every nerve in your body at the flash of unbridled outrage in his eyes.

“Move aside,” he warns, lethally soft.

“I’m not letting you leave like this,” you babble, desperate to make him understand.

“I will not ask again.”

“This doesn’t change how I feel about you, Silco.”

“Final. Warning.”

“I still want you—”

He shoves you back against the door hard, a rough hand on each shoulder and long thumbs pinning your collarbones as thoroughly as two needles through the wings of a butterfly. His sharp nose presses close to yours, eyes and mouth alike spitting venom as skilfully as a cobra.

“I am not interested in your pity.”

“It isn’t pity—”

“Do not lie to me.”

“If our roles were reversed would you pity me?”

Silco’s fire recoils. And dwindles, just a touch.

“Would you think any less of me?” You add gently.

He stares. And little by little the ferocity sheds away like old paint, leaving behind a tight, quiet wariness. And without his anger acting as a barrier, you begin to comprehend just how close he is. Every place your bodies touch. Every place they don’t. 

Your heart patters like spring rainfall on a tin roof, and your insides glow furnace warm. Time slows and thickens to syrup, and everything that isn’t Silco falls away – forgotten and unimportant.

You tilt your face until your lips hover barely a hairs-width away from each other. Eyelids – both yours and his – droop to half-mast as breath skims over skin.

“Would you stop wanting me?” You whisper.

Several beats precede the sombre shake of his head.

You smile, small but genuine, and your fingers toy with the open part of his coat down by his hips, pulling him carefully closer until you’re both enveloped within the same cocoon of dark material.

“I feel the same,” your words are so quiet, but Silco is so near. His hands soften upon your shoulders and you shudder at the grazing trace of his thumbs up the vee of your clavicle, “My attraction to you has never been dependent on how many others came before me.”

His gaze drags thoughtfully over your face, and your heart races ever faster. Vulnerability captures you within a tight and sudden grip, drying your mouth to dust. And yet your tongue continues to dance against your better judgement.

“All I know is… is that I look forward to seeing you. That I like spending time with you. And… and I think about you… a lot.”

Silco's throat bobs, and his eyes switch slowly back and forth between yours. You wet your lips – no more than a fleeting, nervous dart – and still he tracks the movement like a hound.

“And there’s no pressure. No… time limit.”

His green eye is barely visible anymore beneath the heavy drape of lashes, but you know from the ever exposed flame of the other that his gaze is fixed upon your mouth. You find it hard to speak. Each word heavy; an effort to form and vocalise.

“I’m not going anywhere, Silco… I’ll be here. Wh-when you’re ready. If you want me… you— you can have me.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“I want you,” he murmurs.

And you’re burning. Your heart slams against your ribs and you slowly suffocate beneath the encompassing press of his body-heat. From the depth and intensity of his gaze. From the terrifying euphoria pressing up under your skin like a damning brand. Too much. All of it. It’s all too much.

The wood at your back groans beneath your combined weight as Silco leans closer, and all at once you’re granted clemency in the form of a semi-stiff bulge at your hip.

Sex. Sex is safe territory. Sex doesn’t necessarily equate to—

Your lungs loosen, and your head clears a little.

You peep up at him from beneath the lowered fan of your lashes.

“Would you judge me,” you breathe, sliding your leg between his and grazing upwards, “if I told you that I quite like the idea of being your first?”

He sucks in a sharp breath as you reach his crotch, stiffening further beneath the teasing press of your thigh. You dip your hands through the opening in his coat and hook your index fingers over his trousers – pulling him against you with a provocative roll of your pelvis that has him grunting softly.

You look him dead in the eye, and don’t bother to hide the lust dark husk from your voice.

“That I really like the idea of making you feel so fucking good that you’re ruined for anyone else.”

Silco’s lips are forced apart by a harsh, wobbling exhale, and you feel his rapidly hardening cock jump within the confines of his trousers.

“Mmm,” a pleased grin spreads across your face, and you treat him to another roll of your hips; as well-received as the first, “Good to know you approve of my devious plan.”

He growls low in his throat, and you’re swallowed whole by the animalistic hunger that swells in his eyes. His hands steal the air from your lungs with their unhurried caress; one palm dragging down to your waist, and the other sliding to frame your throat. Beautiful fingers enfolding your jaw with a quiet command that has your chin tipping towards him.

Silco’s voice is a low, smoked murmur that you only just catch.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your heart shoots into your throat like a star, but before you can say or do anything further – he’s kissing you. 

And who are you to argue against that?

Your toes curl inside your boots, and you arch more fully into him with a gratified little sigh.

The heat between you has in no way dispelled since your office tryst a few nights prior – it only continues to mount. And yet the way Silco kisses you now is so… considered. As though he’s deconstructing every element that comprises the way in which two mouths can be joined; studying the ingredients one by one. 

Capturing first your bottom lip, and then your top. Gifting you with a soft brush of tongue, followed by a more thorough tasting. A graze of teeth which gradually sharpens to a bite. A tentative suckle that evolves into a ravenous tug. Copying you whenever you introduce a new move. Repeating anything that elicits a positive response from you in the form of a breathy sigh or an approving hum. Diligent hands map your body all the while. A slow drag over your ribs, your waist, your back. Fingers sketching your jaw, and weaving through hair. Palms sliding down to cup your buttocks, followed by a hedonistic squeeze.

The attention with which he explores you is unfairly hot, and somehow far more sexually fulfilling than any form of intercourse you’ve shared with any past partners you can think of.

And that fact is… something to examine at a later date.

Lips part with a wet pop, and your foreheads rest together as you both catch your breath. Two pairs of hands continuing to enjoy the shape of each other in slow, roving strokes.

“Silco?”

“Hm?”

“How much of a… how much experience do you have?”

He chews over his answer before admitting, “The other night was… new for me.”

You curl your fingers into the shorn hairs at the back of his head with your gentle question, “Was I… was I your first kiss?”

He shakes his head, “No. But the others were… rather they weren’t so…”

“Intense?”

“Yes.”

A small smile pulls at your mouth, “So I was your first steamy make-out session?” 

Silco’s eyes roll briefly towards the ceiling, but his lips mimic the shape of your own, “I suppose you were.”

An odd, bashful sort of pride has you pulling the plush of your bottom lip between your teeth, and Silco’s gaze ticks down.

“You’re a really good kisser,” you compliment softly, grazing the tip of your nose up the side of his.

His lashes flutter almost imperceptibly at your tenderness. “Likewise,” he murmurs, before rocking forwards to slant his mouth over yours once more.

Your stomach cartwheels, and you slip your arms tightly around his back, the inner lining of his coat as warm against your skin as his lips.

Whether intentional or accidental, Silco’s thigh slips between your legs and presses upwards so sweetly. And the inadvertent little noise that spills from you in response acts as a lit match dropped upon an oil-soaked fuse.

Within the space of a few galloping heartbeats the kiss transforms into something torrid. You can almost feel your lips swelling from the savagery with which Silco tears at them. Not that you’re in anyway discouraging such behaviour. In fact, you match it. Relishing the crush of his mouth and the sting of his teeth and the greediness of his tongue. Your head swims with it all. With the ever insistent hardness that juts into your hip.

Fuck, he lights up your entire body in a way you’ve never experienced.

His mouth drags to your jaw, and your head tips automatically to grant access to the column of your throat.

“S-Silco?”

He growls in response, but doesn’t cease his eager exploration of your neck.

“Can I— can I touch you?”

His mouth stills, and a few moments pass before he detaches himself from your skin and pulls back to meet your gaze.

He nods, slowly and emphatically.

Your pulse races as though you’re the inexperienced one. Skin tingling in a head-to-toe shiver.

Your fingertips trail down over the golden edging and shining clasps which adorn his abdomen. Further – past dark-clad hip-flexors to gently trembling thighs. Carefully watching his expression the entire time. But the uncertainty from before is gone, and beyond a few nerves which you’d consider standard given the situation, all you see is desire. 

His lashes flutter as you lightly trace the length of him over his trousers.

“We’ll take things slow,” you whisper, popping open the top two buttons on his pants, “Okay?”

A single dip of his chin is his answer.

You slip your hand down the front of his underwear, and wrap your fingers around him. 

His pelvis jerks with a sharp inhale at the contact, and his forehead hits the door beside your ear with a dull thump. You hush soothing noises against the skin of his neck, and offer one long, slow stroke of his heated length.

And the sigh that drops from his lips is one of bliss. It makes you smile into the crook of his neck to feel how his tension ebbs away with each languid pump that follows. You press deep, lingering kisses beneath his jaw, and hum in encouragement when his hips begin to rock to compliment the work of your hand.

“That’s it sweetie,” you praise, “Tell me what you want. Tell me what feels good.” 

You rub your palm in a circle over his sensitive cockhead, smearing his leaking wetness into your skin for better lubrication. He sucks in a shaky breath, body shivering against yours and pelvis stuttering once more.

“Ha-everything you’re d-doing feels good,” he mutters, tightening the wrap of his arms around you.

You hum again, adjusting your grip to something a little firmer, and enjoying the low, throaty rumble you receive in response. The tip of your tongue meanders through the curving shell of his ear, tracing down to his lobe which you suck into your mouth with a kittenish tug and a playful nibble that has his cock twitching.

“I’m glad,” you coo, pressing more slow kisses to his neck between words and pumps, “But you can tell me what you want too.”

You emphasise your point by increasing your tempo and adding a gentle yet effective twist that has him groaning softly before cutting himself off with a snap of teeth.

“No need to censor yourself with me, handsome,” your fingertips drum a chiding tease against the underside of his shaft. His mouth falls open with a quiet inhale beside your ear, “The noisier you are, the better I can make you feel.”

You reestablish your hold, this time with your thumb closest to the base as you work him. Squeezing your fingers in a rewarding, rhythmic pulse when he begins thrusting a little more earnestly into your fist with a series of halting grunts.

You brush your lips over the thrumming artery in his neck, repeating in a whisper, “Tell me what you want, Silco.”

His forehead unsticks from the wood of the door and he draws back until you’re nose to nose. Finally you’re able to take in his fogged expression. Lips still kiss-bruised. Eyes pleasure glazed and dark as sin. Facial muscles contracting in micro twitches to accompany the continuing efforts of your fist.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, “Y-hou were going to u-use your mouth earlier?” He asks, voice as quiet as it is ragged. 

“Yes,” you respond with a small smirk.

“I want that.”

You tip your face to his and take the opportunity to slip your tongue beneath his upper lip in a tantalising sweep along his gum-line.

“You want me to use my mouth on you?” You murmur; directly into his.

He nods jerkily, unable to offer anything verbal beyond heavy breaths and a small, rough whine as you suck his lower lip between your teeth and tug, before releasing it with a slow grin.

“I want that too. Been thinking about it for a while. What it’d be like to get my lips around your cock—” 

“Don’t tease, sweetheart.”

You pout demurely up at him and remove your hand from his pants. He whines like a wounded animal and you huff a laugh, palming him over his trousers, “Shh, you’re awfully impatient.”

Teal eye narrows, and he grabs your wrist – keeping your hand exactly where it is as he pushes his clothed erection harshly into your palm with a ragged, commanding growl, “I said, don’t tease.”

Your thighs press together at the show of dominance. Undoubtedly a taster of what’s to come once he finds his sexual confidence; knowing Silco as well as you do.

And the automatic submission that spills from your mouth isn’t faked.

“Yes, Sir.”

His pupils swell further, and darken to an otherworldly shade of obsidian.

“Good girl.”

You clench around nothing, and a small, high peep catches in your throat, much to Silco’s quiet amusement. His lips curl into a sly smirk, and he begins to walk backwards, tugging you along both by your wrist and by the gravitational pull of his eyes.

He leads you towards a stack of wine crates at the side of the room, and the drab wood may as well be ornamented gold for how he manages to transform such a rudimentary seat into a throne. You stand between his legs in a bewitched haze, gazing down at him despite feeling for all the world as though he’s the one towering above you.

His hands alight upon his thighs; needing nothing more than the calm, velvet power of his voice to make you yield.

“Kneel.”

You sink to your knees in a daze, and shuffle yourself as close as you’re able between his boots. But as soon as you place your hands on his shins – the spell breaks. The confidence he’d momentarily gained begins to crumble when faced with the reality before him, and the waters of anxiety begin to seep in through the cracks once more.

“Do you still want to do this?” You ask gently, smoothing your palms up over his knees to his thighs, “It’s okay to change your mind.”

After a split second he dips his chin, sliding his fingers around your wrists and guiding them higher towards his crotch, “I want this. I want your mouth.”

As though to emphasise his point, he shifts a little closer to the edge of he crate, and thumbs open the final two trouser buttons himself. 

Anticipation fizzes behind your sternum, and sets your cells tingling as you push the open material of his pants out of the way and hook your fingers over the top of his underwear. You meet his gaze, and offer another sincere reminder. 

“You’re in full control, Silco. I’ll stop the second you give the word, and you’ll receive no judgement from me.”

His throat bobs above his tie, but you wait for the tiny dip of his chin before continuing.

You tug the fabric down, and he springs free.

You stare openly, mouth going a little dry. Sure – sticking your hand down his pants had given you a pretty good idea of what to expect, but it’s one thing to feel it, and quite another to find yourself face to face with it. As long and elegant as the rest of him is, with a beautiful scimitar curve that you know is certain to hit all the right spots. Particularly with such a shapely cockhead.

“What’s wrong?” He asks sharply from above, the shift of his hips giving away his self-consciousness.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you reassure quickly, flashing him a grin, “I was just thinking that it’s no wonder they call you King of the Lanes.”

He blinks slowly, and it occurs to you that his lack of sexual experience would mean he has no way of knowing how he sizes up to the general populous. No previous reactions to go by. No chance for comparison.

“You’re huge,” you inform candidly, tucking the waistband of his underwear beneath his balls to free both your hands, “Easily the biggest I’ve been with.”

The golden details on Silco’s waistcoat catch the dim, chem-bulb lighting with the swell of his chest, and the green of his eye gleams.

“Oh?”

“Definitely the best looking,” you purr, wrapping your fingers around his shaft and pulling back the soft skin in a long, indulgent stroke, “Not that I expected anything less, given your proclivity for immaculate grooming.”

His gaze is as sharp as his small, creased smirk.

You lean forward and ghost your mouth over the head of his cock, and your whispered words fan over his flushed skin, “Bet you taste good too.”

There’s a small whistle of air through chipped teeth as you brush a kiss to his leaking tip, before tilting your face to blink innocently up at him; knowing full well the centre-most plush of your angelic smile is now glazed with his precum.

His chest depresses with a harsh huff as you glide your tongue out over your lips, savouring the glistening salt tang of him with an involuntary flutter of eyelashes.

His left hand twitches at the side of his thigh, “You look so v-very pretty – down on your knees.”

There’s a hint of dark wildness curling at the edge of his features, and fool that you are, you’re determined to coax that particular beast from its cage in earnest.

You reach for the uncertain hand and guide it to your head, encouraging him to tangle his fingers in your hair as you pout, “Down on my knees for who?”

His eyes flash, his spine straightens, and your heart skips a beat as the true Eye of Zaun emerges.

“Down on your knees for me.” 

The pure, predatorial power in that growl worsens the slick between your own thighs, and you nod with a breathy sigh. 

“For you,” you agree, before dragging a lengthy lick over the head of his cock, curling the tip of your tongue against his frenulum as you pass.

There’s a smack of skin above you as Silco slaps his free hand over his mouth; muffling a strangled moan that accommodates the backwards roll of his eyes. 

It makes you even more determined to please him. To make him feel good. He deserves it. He works so damn hard.

And if this is his reaction from the first touch of your tongue, then you’re about to blow his fucking mind.

Rough, muffled grunts continue behind Silco’s palm as you pamper the head of his cock with rolling caresses of your tongue and little suckling kisses. Working his length with your fist all the while. Gradually easing him into the more intense sensations you’re able to offer.

You dip forward and grant his balls the same careful attention whilst your thumb continues slow, circular stimulation at the tip.

“You want more?” You mumble against his skin, peering up through your lashes.

Silco’s palm drags up his face, and his fingers fist at the crown of his head just as tightly as he grips your hair. His brow twisting in pleasure-filled yearning to accompany his husky response.

“Yes.”

You paint a long stripe up the underside of his cock from balls to glans with the flat of your tongue, and finally grant him the full wrap of your lips; bobbing forward to take the first few inches of him into the heat of your mouth.

Silco’s hand slams down onto the crates, fingers curling around the edge hard enough to for the wood to buckle slightly under-palm with a painful creak, whilst the other fist tightens in your hair until your scalp stings perfectly. You grind your pelvis down upon the heel of your boot to try and alleviate some of your aching arousal, and he responds to the vibrations of your needy, muffled moan around his length with a desperate rasp of his own.

You ease him deeper with incremental bobs, and his breaths quicken and become increasingly jagged the closer your lips travel towards his rose adorned pelvis. One hand steadies the base whilst the other cups his balls in a gentle fondle, cheeks hollowed with the tight vacuum of your mouth as you glide up and down his length. A little faster. Lavishing the underside of his shaft with your tongue. Unperturbed by the squirming rock of his hips or the wet, lewd sounds which echo off the bricked arches. Focusing only on your breathing, on relaxing your throat until you’re able to go for gold; taking his whole cock in one smooth slide and swallowing around him—

“Stop.”

The single word is urgent enough that you immediately pull off him, snapping the string of saliva connecting you with your sleeve and rising up on your knees to capture Silco’s face in your hands. A pang of concern echoing through the chamber of your ribs at his painfully screwed expression, green eye locked away behind squeezed lids.

“Are you okay?” You rasp quickly, “Was I doing something you didn’t like?”

He shakes his head, taking a few laboured breaths before speaking, “I was— I was going to…”

You huff a small laugh, borne more from relief than humour, “You can cum in my mouth,” you inform in a sultry lilt, “I’d quite like you to, in fact.”

“I would like that too, I assure you,” he opens his eye to peer at you, “I’d just rather it didn’t happen so quickly.”

“You’ve already lasted a lot longer than most people in your position would.”

“Regardless, that isn’t…” he trails off, scanning your features as though only just realising how close you are… how tenderly you’re holding his face. You hurriedly drop your hands to the lapels of his coat instead, and it snaps him from his thoughts, “I’m very much enjoying all that you’re doing, and I would like the experience to last as long as possible.”

A kernel of warmth plants itself inside your chest, and your lips twitch into a small smile.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, dropping your palms to his thighs and sinking back onto your heels, “Let me know if you need me to back off. And when you’re ready…” you scoop the fresh pearls that have gathered on the head of his cock with your tongue, and take your time in savouring, and swallowing, “I’ll not waste a single drop.”

Silco watches slack mouthed, and you flash him a winning smile before sliding your lips over him once more.

Only four bobs of your head have his fingers tightening urgently in your hair again. You pull back, and lavish the dark, flushed tip with teasing kitten licks, waiting for his grip to loosen as a sign to continue.

Over and over this happens. A game of stop and go. Stop and go. Until you barely make it one bob before he’s quietly whimpering and yanking your head urgently backwards, panting above you like an overheated dog. 

Beads of sweat cling to his brow and upper lip – sliced scar hooked high from the grimace which displays his teeth, and dark, mussed hair fighting the waxed pomade that coats it. You stroke comforting palms over his thighs and rise on your knees again until you’re eye level with him.

“Silco, sweetie,” you reason softly, “You’re torturing yourself. This is supposed to be pleasurable.”

“It is,” he whines roughly through his teeth.

“It’s alright to let go.”

He shakes his head. “Too soon,” he grits.

“It’s not,” you breathe, reaching a hand to continue pumping his twitching shaft; just enough to keep him near the edge, but not enough to send him over it.

The internal battle he’s waging is evident, and so you seek to offer candid reassurance. 

“If you think that this is the last time I’ll have my mouth on you then you’re badly mistaken.”

His eyes burn into yours, scarred mouth open with heavy exhales and large hands petting messily through your hair as though you’re his only tether to reality.

Janna you want to kiss him so badly.

“Let go for me Silco? Please?” You beg sensually, spine arching in a provocative display that pushes your clothed breasts against his chest, lips hovering just over his with your silken pleas. Suddenly feeling as heavy with thick, molten want and desperation as though you’re the one teetering on the edge of climax, “I want to taste you. I want to feel you unwind. Please. I’ll give you total control. I’ll let you fuck my throat—”

“Fuck—” Silco chokes, “Y-yes, yes okay.”

You drop like a stone back and recapture the head of his cock between your lips, hands landing purposefully upon his thighs as you wait; peering dutifully up at him. 

He stares at you like you’ve just offered him the moon and her stars. His fingers wind a little tighter in your hair, and he pulls your head down in an experimental bob. And when he realises just how pliant you are for him, he does it again. And again. Gaining in confidence, speed, depth, until he’s fucking your mouth like a sailor on leave. Hips snapping forward upon the crates with enough zeal to send tears streaming down your face.

You gaze up at him and try to communicate just what he does to you. How crazy he makes you. How much you’re enjoying this. How much you’d worship him if he’d let you.

But of course it isn’t long before the inevitable happens. Before his head snaps back to hide his expression. Before his ragged grunts transform into a wrecked, drawn out moan. Before he loses all control of his hips and hands, and you take over once more to work him through his orgasm; sliding his throbbing cock deep into your throat again and again to draw out his pleasure, swallowing the hot fountain of his release and massaging his shaft with your tongue until he’s near sobbing above you.

And only then do you work yourself back up the length of him, wiping your mouth and tears clean on your sleeve before tucking him carefully back inside his trousers and refastening the buttons. You curl your hands around the backs of his calves and pillow your cheek on his thigh, gazing up at the underside of his jaw.

His chest rises and falls heavily still, and at least half a minute passes before he finally dips his chin.

The man looks like he’s just seen the face of God.

Green eye apple-crisp, the left swirling like liquid fire, the rest of his features awe-slackened.

“Marks out of ten?” You ask cheekily, voice hoarse.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

You chuckle softly, and gnaw your swollen lower lip.

He gazes down at you, scanning your face in silence, but amusement creases his features when he looks at your hair. He begins to brush his fingers through it; no doubt smoothing his handiwork back down to a more work–appropriate style.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you practically purr like a cat in his lap. Relishing in the tender touch, sinking your cheek deeper to the wired muscle of his thigh.

“I’m suddenly struggling to remember why I ever believed you overpaid.”

You snort and crack open a single eye, “Way to make me feel like a prostitute,” you smirk.

“A noble profession.”

“Sure, but it’s not my profession.”

A low chuckle floats down to you, and you open your eyes fully to an expression you can only describe as a soft. The fingers that had been running through your hair now skimming to your cheek… tracing the swollen shape of your lips. Lingering upon the central part when you purse them slightly, capturing the pad of his finger with the lightest brush of a kiss.

“How do I taste?” He muses; hushed and dreamlike.

His hand falls away from your mouth as you rise slowly, slipping a knee either side of his hips and sinking into his lap. You wind your arms around the back of his neck.

“Why don’t you come see for yourself?” You murmur.

You dip your lips to his and he opens for you with a hum that deepens when your tongue slides against his. His hands grip your waist and tug you closer as he leisurely explores the inside of your mouth.

You grin lazily as you draw back, and he reciprocates with an indolent smirk of his own.

“Good, huh?”

The nature of his smirk softens a little. You might almost call it a smile. His gaze drops to your mouth and he nods absently whilst you play with the cowlick at the crown of his head.

“Can I ask a personal question?”

The curl of Silco’s lip falters, and he hums warily.

“If being a virgin bothers you so much, then how come you never visited a brothel?”

His dual-gaze searches yours for a time, jaw shifting as he sucks his teeth in deliberation. 

“I considered it on occasion…” he begins eventually, “But ultimately could never go through… When I was younger all my spare coin went straight into the cause. Then after the river the idea of being physically vulnerable with another person was… too difficult. And a stranger? Impossible.”

You fiddle with the edge of his coat collar, “I get that… these things – first experiences – they need to be with someone you can…”

“Trust.”

You meet his gaze, and the air between you takes on weight.

Nerves rise in your throat, and you attempt to swallow the thick lump they form back down. Your cheeks heat as warm as the palms which alight now on your thighs, and your breathing shallows with their slow, northwards slide.

Silco watches your face intently, ocean eye as heavily lidded as both of yours, his thumbs skimming steadily up the inside seam of your trousers. Desire thickens your blood, and your pelvis begins swirling in tiny, unconscious circles to match the ones Silco draws with his pads as he nears the apex of your thighs—

An irritated call of your name sounds from the top of the stairs outside.

You empty your lungs and sag. Silco’s jaw tightens, and his gaze flicks darkly towards the door.

“Yeah?” You call grudgingly.

“It doesn’t take twenty minutes to change a keg,” Jasper snaps, “What are you doing down there?”

“Felt a little woozy, so decided to sit down for a few.”

There’s a pause, and then his boots begin to sound on the stairs. “You alright?”

“Yeah!” You respond quickly, “It’s just I— I didn’t eat much today.”

Silco’s eyebrow ticks upwards, and he tilts his head with a suggestive little smirk. You swat his chest silently.

“My fault really. Should’ve remembered breakfast,” you continue, glaring back at him in warning despite the twitch of your own lips, “I’m feeling better now though.”

Jasper’s footsteps pause, “Sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back up in a minute, I promise. Count this as my break.”

“Alright then,” he answers carefully. Pausing for a few heavy beats before finally retreating back up the stairs.

You let out a heavy sigh, and twist your mouth to the side, “Guess I’d better head back up,” you mumble.

Silco hums his reluctant concurrence, hands moving to a less salacious position on your hips.

You go to stand, but his fingers drill into your flesh; stopping you. His expression is placid, but there’s an expectation in his eyes that has your heart fumbling half a beat. The corner of your lip hooks up, even as you press them to his in a slow, deep kiss that he eagerly reciprocates.

“See you on Friday?” You ask as you draw back, ensuring he doesn’t miss the sensual promise in your tone.

His throat bobs, but he responds with a deep, even, “I look forward to it.”

[house-of-slayterr]

could you write thomas hewitt & bubba sawyer (separately) x reader that comes out as bi ?? ty :-D

Of course, I can little love bug!

Bubba Swayer:

You were held up in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the sawyer boys, your boys. You'd grown to love them dearly, but none more than Bubba himself. You fell in love with those big dough eyes and his pudgy, round stomach, and those arms that could lift a pig over his head without breaking a sweat. He caught you staring sometimes and got self-conscious, but if he could only see what you saw, he'd be blushing up a storm.

Bubba snuck up behind you at the sink, something that was hard to do for someone his size. He put his hands on your waist and you almost jumped, the poor man looked just as startled as you were. You turned around, placing one hand on your heart and the other delicately on his cheek.

"Jesus, you scared me bubs."

A nickname only you were allowed to call him. He loved the way it sound on your tongue.

"What'cha thinkin'" He signed.

You blushed heavily. You couldn't tell him you were busy daydreaming about him and that sinful smile of his. The one that could drop you to your knees in five seconds flat. They weren't bad thoughts, not that it mattered. You were drawn back out of your brain by Drayton bringing in a new victim.

You have grown used to the screaming and pleading living with the boys, but something was different about this one, the way she looked at you while Drayton dragged her off downstairs, made your heart flutter.

"You ok?" Bubba asked.

You nodded, turning back to cooking.

"Just swell, cupcake."

Later that night, you snuck down to the basement. Something was drawing you down there. You weren't supposed to go down without one of the boys by your side, but no one would know, right? You looked at the mess Drayton had made, out of all the siblings, he was one of the most clean.

You gently lifted the sheet off the girl's body, revealing just what he had done to her. This time, Bubba didn't want to startle you, so he knocked on the door frame at the bottom of the stairs.

"What are you doing?"

It was hard to see his signs in the dark.

"Don't know Bubs, couldn't sleep."

"You know her?"

You shook your head. Bubba was beyond confused by your strange behaviour. He thought you'd grown used to seeing victims, even though he tried his best to protect you from it.

"Sad?"

"No, it's- it's not like that Bubba, she was rude, she deserved it."

"Then what?"

You sighed heavily.

"She was just really pretty Bubba. It's a shame, we don't get to see many pretty women around here."

While Bubba had to agree, they were still a tad confused. You noticed and chuckled slightly. You grabbed his face and made him look at you.

"I'm Bisexual Bubs, but I've only got eyes for you. Come on, let's go back to bed."

You grabbed their hand and dragged them back upstairs. Bubba thought about what you said all night. They'd have to make you something to show his support in the morning.

Thomas Hewitt:

Things were crazy around the Hewitt house. And the heat was getting to you. A new group of teens rolled into town, and you knew there was much work to be done. Hoytt wouldn't let you get away with "sitting on that pretty ass all day" So you played your role well, luring in the half-drunk college kids, with your pretty face and southern charm.

It worked every time without fail. The tourists tended to trust you since you looked so non-threatening.

"Gas stations just down the road boys, I'll head to the back and get the sheriff out to help ya"

"The sheriff is at the gas station?" One of the idiot jocks asked.

"Someone tried to rob little Miss Mae, Hoytt ain't gonna let that happen again. The poor woman was scared out of her wits."

Of course, you played up the story to sell the whole innocent tale. The real story was the man who tried got beat to shit and served for dinner three days later when Tommy was done with him. Nobody disrespected his mama.

"That must have been really scary." the blond one said.

"You guys get lots of crime out here?" A boy asked, draping his hand on your shoulder.

"Nope" You popped the p "Towns pretty sleepy. Perfect place for tourists like you to rest your head for the night."

You pushed off of him, running forward playfully and winked. The longer you got them to stay, the easier it would be to split them up and pick them off. Once you made it to the gas station, you heard the familiar chime of the bell.

"Afternoon Miss Mae, these boys here looking for the sheriff. Car troubles, tree down in the road."

"OH golly, ain't nobody got hurt did they?" She winked at you when they weren't looking.

"Just their pretty city vehicle, they'll need a place to be staying while they sort themselves out don't ya think?"

You watched as some of them looked through the snacks in the store, talking amongst themselves. As Mae went to the back to talk with Hoytt, you sat up on the counter and swing your legs. You didn't notice Tommy watching you from the shadows. The blonde girl from earlier approached you, her shirt is hiked up a little.

"Sorry about this, but my friend over there dared me $50 to do this>' She began.

"Do what?" You questioned.

She quickly kissed you. At first, you were shocked, you don't been kissed by a pretty girl before. Though you thought about it often. You kissed her back, pulling her head closer to yours. You made a mental note to ask Hoytt to kill this one last. When you plled away, her gum was in your moth and you popped a little buble.

"Well shit, Sugar, all the city girl kiss like that?" You asked.

She blushed a little at your compliment. You'd certainly kill the boy who dared her yourself. Sure, the kiss wouldn't have happened without him, but daring someone to kiss someone they aren't into sexually is performative. She seemed pretty straight to you, and it's clear the boy just thought it would be hot to watch. Gross.

"Just when there's money involved." The other girl said.

You rolled your eyes.

"Hope it was worth it." You rumbled, hopping off the counter.

You went into the back room to mope, but Thomas was quick to comfort you.

"What?" he signed, pointing to the group.

"You were watching, weren't Ya big boy? You like the show? Think its all funny like they did? Bunch of no-good city folk!"

"Not funny"

"Then you think it gross." You challenged, you knew his mama was a religious woman.

"Them gross. You sad. You gay?"

You chuckled a little, wiping the tears from your eyes. You didn't even notice them starting to fall.

"I'm Bisexual Tommy. Sure, I like pretty girls, but I like pretty boys more. Pretty boys like you."

You stood on your tippy toes and kissed his check. A difficult feat since he was a giant.

"Want to help me show them my sexuality aint a party joke?"

Thomas thought you would never ask. Who cares what his mama's bible said. He loved you, and if you also loved women, then he'd defend you all the way.

Bonus: Chop Top

You were busy doing Bubba's hair and makeup. They looked really pretty with thier new face mask on. You helped them pick it out, the girl was the right build, it was hard to find one face that could fit Bubba's with minimal alteartions. The wig you picked was perfet, and you amde them a pretty dress out of some old overalls. It still had lots of pockets so they coudl get work done aroudn the hosue. Bubba was feeling mroe feminine today so you wanted to helpher out.

You turned her around to look in the mirror. The twinkle in their eyes made your heart melt. Chop Top walked by at that moment and stood in the doorway. You grew uncomfortable and cleared your throat.

"Don't ya think Bubba looks real pretty Chop?"

"Sure, he does, but you look more prettier."

You bit back the blush on your cheek. Always the charmer, that one.

"She, They're using She/They pronouns today Choppy."

"Sorry Bubba, didn't know. You're looking like one of those city girls, with the nice face paint. And I like that hair color on you." Chop corrected himself.

It was one go the things you loved out him. He loved his sibling no matter what. These boys may be cannibals, but they were raised right.

"I might just have to take you out on a fancy date." You said to Bubba.

Even with the mask on, you knew she waw blushing up a storm.

"Ain't you come here with that one boy all that time ago?"

Chop asked. You giggled a little, hearing the jealousy in his voice.

"Yeah, my idiot boyfriend and his band of losers? I'm over him Chop. Besides, I always thought girls were real pretty. Bubba's the prettiest, with or without her mask." You pinched her cheek lovingly.

You then walked up to chop.

"I'm confused. This one of them City things?"

"It's called being Bisexual Choppy, I like Men and Women. Cis or trans, don't matter to me.

"So you kiss both?"

"Yes Choppy, I kiss both. I can do more than kiss to, but that doesn't matter."

You were pleasantly surprised that it didn't seem to care. He wasn't making a huge deal out of it, and you appreciated it.

"Wanna know what does matter?"

You inched closer. He started to get clammy.

"What?"

"You."

You pulled him in for a kiss.

"Now, I'm gonna go get dinner ready for my pretty, pretty people."

You left both of them blushing and swooning in your wake.

[arrowflier]

Omggg my heart is aching with the small Mickey and Ian one 😭😭 please do a part two fuckkkk

I’M SORRY ANON BUT LOOK LOOK I FIXED IT.  Moved this to the top of my prompt list so I wouldn't leave you hanging.

Part 1 if anyone needs their heart broken before I make it better.  The parallels will make more sense too.

--

It's early on a Saturday afternoon when Mickey sees it. 

They're over at the Gallagher house, watching Franny while Debbie works and Liam studies upstairs.  Mickey has just finished chasing Franny around the house in a rousing game of liquor store robbery and collapsed on the worn sofa next to Ian, letting the other man drape an arm over his sweaty shoulders.

"She wear you out?" Ian asks, amused, as he turns down the volume on whatever comedy show rerun he was watching.

Mickey shakes his head, letting the movement tuck him more thoroughly into Ian's hold.

"Nah, just gotta give Little Red a break," he claims, but grins when Ian raises his eyebrows at him.

The both turn back to Franny, still zooming around the living room like a ginger Tasmanian devil, and Ian laughs.

"Yeah, looks like you really did a number on her," Ian quips, and Mickey elbows him in the gut.  Ian lifts him arm to grab Mickey by the hair, shaking him lightly.

Mickey smacks ineffectively at his husband's hand.  "Hey man, watch the..." he trails off.

Because from the corner of his eye, he can see what Franny is up to.  She’s bent over a box Debbie had brought down from the attic that morning, digging through old toys and papers, pulling out an old, raggedly, doll.

A doll that looks oddly familiar.

Mickey stares long enough that Ian notices, and releases him.

“Mick,” he starts, sounding worried.  “You okay?”

Mickey clears his throat.  “Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he says, then, “where’d that old thing come from?”

Ian gives him a confused look, so he nods his head at the doll that Franny is now happily playing with on the living room floor.  She bends it’s limbs in all sorts of unnatural directions as they watch.

“Oh, that?” Ian says casually.  “That was Fiona’s I think.  Debbie lugged it around for a while too, back before she stole that kid.”

Mickey’s head snaps toward him.  “Stole the...” he shakes his head.  “No, never mind, I don’t wanna know.”  He sits quietly, feeling Ian’s eyes still on him, and thumbs the side of his nose.

“Why?” Ian finally asks, and Mickey huffs. 

“Not important,” he says, then stands abruptly from the sofa.  “Hey, why don’t we take the kid to the park today?”

Franny hears that.  “Park?” she asks excitedly, jumping up from the floor.  She runs over to Mickey, dragging the doll by an arm, until she can wrap her own arms around Mickey’s leg.

“Yeah kid, why not?” he offers, ignoring Ian’s confused face behind him.  “Go get Liam too, little Einstein probably needs a break.”

Franny eagerly runs off to do as she’s told, and Ian stands to move forward next to Mickey.  He wraps his arms around him from behind, loose but present, and Mickey leans back into it.

“What’s this about, Mickey?” Ian asks softly, but Mickey just shakes his head again.  

“Tell you when we get there,” he promises instead.  “It’s fine, Ian.”

Ian tightens his hold briefly, then lets go when the kids come storming back down the stairs, relenting.  He helps Franny into her coat while Mickey helps Liam track his down under a stack of laundry, and then they’re out the door, and off.

--

The route to the park is familiar.  They pass the building where Ian had pressed him against the wall in broad daylight to kiss the life out on the way to the L after a family dinner.  And the alley where someone had tried to mug them one night only to run away when he saw Mickey’s tats, leaving them both laughing so hard they had to hold each other up.  

When they got to the park itself, Mickey made straight for the bench where Ian had sat on his lap two weeks ago just to piss off some holier-than-thou, gentrifying housewife.  Franny and Liam immediately made for the playground together, but Ian followed him, sitting close at his side this time with an arm around his waist.

For a moment, they just watch.  Liam is helping Franny climb the jungle gym, no small feat considering that she still hasn’t let go of her new favorite toy: that dirty, torn, raggedy doll that Mickey had somehow recognized from twenty-odd years ago.

“So,” Ian finally starts.  “We’re here.”

Mickey hums.  “We are,” he agrees.  He leaves it at that just long enough to feel Ian’s chest heave in a sigh, then smiles and scoots even closer.

“You come here a lot as a kid?” he asks Ian, who’s surprised by the question.

“Uh, I guess,” he answers slowly.  “I mean, Monica brought us sometimes, but she’d kinda forget we were here, so we usually told her we didn’t want to go.”  He turns his gaze to Mickey’s profile.  “Why?”

Mickey shrugs.  “Met you here,” he reveals, and can tell by the way Ian’s arm stiffens around him that the other man doesn’t know what to make of that.

“No, you didn’t,” Ian disagrees.  “I think I’d remember that, Mick, come on.”

“Nah, I did,” Mickey insists, still not looking at him.  “You were like, a baby then, you wouldn’t remember.”  He knows Ian wants to respond to that, but he doesn’t let him, pushing on instead.

“Musta been you, Lip, and Fiona,” he tells Ian.  “All together over by that sandbox.”  He points at the broken plastic turtle that’s seen better times, now barely holding any sand at all.  “Your idiot brother stole that damn doll from her and ran.”

“Franny’s doll?” Ian asks, intrigued.  “How are you so sure?”

Mickey snorts, and finally turns to face him, one leg coming up onto the bench between them.  Ian’s arm falls from his back, his hand landing on Mickey’s knee, where his thumb starts to stroke back and forth.

“I’d know you anywhere, Red,” he shares.  “Your hair’s like a fuckin’ target man, can’t hide that shit.”

Ian blinks at him.  “But you said I was a baby.”

“You were.  Like, one or two, I guess?  But you already had the hair.”  Mickey reaches up with one hand, ruffles it through Ian’s close-cropped curls, and laughs when Ian goes cross-eyed trying to see what he’s doing.  “Even then I wanted to fuckin’ touch it,” Mickey muses.

Ian finally catches that hand and brings it down between them, linking their fingers.  “Why didn’t you?” he questions.  “I mean, I didn’t know you for years after that, why didn’t you come talk to us?”

Mickey’s lips twist.  “Tried to,” he admits.  “Well, sorta.  But Fiona was protective, and you started fuckin’ cryin’.”  He looks down, then back up through his lashes.  “Scared the shit out of me, man.  Thought I fuckin’ broke you.”  He shrugs.  “So I left.”

They’re quiet for another moment, before Ian breaks the silence.

“Too bad,” he sighs.  Mickey looks at him questioningly, and he grins.  “If I’d known you were that soft earlier, I might have made a move before you tried to kill me.”

“Uncle Mickey, Uncle Ian!��� Franny shouts, interrupting their moment.  She runs toward them from the playground, Liam trailing behind her.

Mickey shifts to put both feet back on the ground, leaning forward to catch her as she barrels into his legs for the second time that day.

“What up Little Red?” he asks, but she’s too busy poking at the tattoos on his hand to respond.

He looks up when Liam answers instead.  “Time to go back,” Liam says, “I gotta finish that workbook tonight.”

“Says who?” Mickey asks, and Liam rolls his eyes.

“Says me, because I don’t want to do it tomorrow,” he responds, and Mickey mumbles nerd under his breath, but obediently stands and hoists Franny up onto his hip.

“Nooo, Uncle Ian!” she cries, wriggling, and Mickey scoffs as Ian reaches over to take her with a shit-eating grin.  

“Fine, take her,” Mickey says, “we all know I’m still the favorite.”

It’s Ian’s turn to roll his eyes, turning to carry Franny back toward the house.  Liam follows behind them, but Mickey lingers.

He looks out over the playground again.  He’s been there more in the last two years than he ever had been as a child, sat on that bench with Ian and run through the woodchips with Franny and even pushed Fred on the baby swings once.  The kid had smiled up at him like he was the king of the world, even fucking reached for him after.  It was a far cry from the days he prowled the edges, selling drugs and spotting targets for his pops.  Even farther from the days he had wandered back on his own when his mom wasn’t there, just hoping to catch sight of that splash of fire-red again.

“Hey Mick!” the owner of that red hair calls from behind him.  “You coming?”

Mickey smiles.  He casts one more look over everything, then turns.  Ian is waiting for him, Franny in his arms, Liam at his side, and Mickey goes to them.  They know the way home, but he’ll walk it with them anyway.

[murderslugs]

Getting To Know Them || Slasher x Reader Bf/Gf Scenarios Pt 2

Jason Voorhees

When you woke, you were lying in a dim living room. The windows were boarded with thick, rotting oak planks and the doors were bolted shut. The only light left to illuminate the room was a small lamp on the old, rustic coffee table in front of you. Beneath you was a somewhat scratchy couch, clearly taken off of someone's front line with a paper labeled "free to take" on it, or from some dump. However, you were thankful that it at least wasn't the creaky wooden floor instead. You scratched at the rope around your wrists, loosened from being wriggled around and messed with.

You sat up and allowed your vision to re-adjust, and saw the same man in flannel and ski-mask in an arm-chair on the other side of the coffee table. He didn't seem to notice your awakening, or he at least didn't acknowledge it. He was reading a book with a maroon cover, and you couldn't make out the small copper-shaded title. You studied his movement. He was calm and showed little emotion in his body language, simply reading in peace.

In a split second, you decided to break the peace and silence. "Who are you?" The man put down the book in his lap, but only looked up at you for a moment, silent. You could see him think, then make a few hand gestures. You came to the realization that it was ASL, but you never really learned the language, despite your interest in it. You saw him take a deep breath and get up, grabbing a pen and a notebook off a table to the side. He slid the items onto the coffee table before you and slowly unbound your wrists. You wrote your question out again, "Who are you?" and slid it around for him to see. He read it, and wrote quickly, in slightly messy handwriting, "Jason. any more questions?" and slid the items back.

From here, you two went on for hours, listing out questions on the notebook and answering them for each other. You filled out pages and pages, ranging from basic questions to things like "what was your childhood like?" Certain things like that, he would pause and then write that he didn't want to talk about it. Through the night or day (due to the lack of natural light, it was hard to tell,) this game went on.

Michael Myers

Though you tried your best and struggled and squirmed, the man who had taken you still had gotten you tied to a chair; where you sat with a belt tying your wrists to the wooden beams, thankfully with a cushion underneath your rear. You shut your eyes for a second and groaned, throwing your head back. You always thought of yourself as strong and independent, a fighter who didn't need help from anyone. Alas, this was one ass you couldn't kick, and you hated yourself for it.

Across the kitchen, the bright lights shined on the tiled floor, and a tea kettle whistled ceaselessly. The sound of running water stopped as the man who had taken you walked from the bathroom and into the kitchen. The man dried his hands on his pants and took the kettle off the burner, shutting the flames off. You observed him take two random mugs from the cabinets above, and place them on the white countertop. He carefully poured the tea into the two cups, and a light herbal smell filled the air. After a moment, you recognized the smell of hibiscus tea. This was a familiar smell, something your aunt made every morning when you spent the night at her house in the summers between school years.

The man walked over and brought the two cups with him. A low, slightly muffled, silky voice came from behind the mask as he slid a mug across the table to you. "Careful, it's scolding." The tall, built man walked across and unbuckled one of your arms from the chair for you to pick up the mug with. "Drink." He said, before taking a seat before you. This is when he slid the mask off, to reveal a face beneath that you never would have expected. Dark brown, shaggy, messy, wavy hair fell over his forehead, and he blew it out of his grey eyes. His face was scarred and his lips were chapped, but it somehow wasn't unappealing or revolting.

"What's your name? Who the fuck are you?" You asked, leaning as far as you could with your restraints still intact. The man pushed his hair back and sighed heavily, sipping the near boiling tea. "Michael. 24. Libra." He said in a monotone voice. You rolled your eyes. "This is an introduction to your victim, not The Dating Game." You told him harshly. "Well, is there something specific you wanna know? It's not like your giving me anything to go off of, sugar cube." 'Michael' replied with the same energy in return. "Fine. I'm (Y/N). What else is there to say?"

Carrie White

Like the pale girl suggested, Carrie if you remembered correctly, you came back to the public library next Sunday, around noon. You had finished the book you had most recently checked out, so you had to return it anyways. Walking down the pavement, you saw here in a light sundress, walking up the few steps and into the library. You ran to catch up and followed her, careful not to startle the girl. As soon as you got inside, you carried yourself to just behind her, and tapped on her shoulder.

The girl turned around, and a look of confusion appeared on her features. "(Y/N). We met here last week? I suggested you check out Narnia." You reminded her, an eager smile painted on your face. A spark formed in her eyes, and she returned your smile. "Oh! Yes, yes, I remember. I'm sorry, my mind is awfully clouded lately." You assured her that it was alright, and you two went along.

The two of you walked down the aisles of bookshelves, and she looked for something new to try out. Maybe she would check out a cook-book and try a new recipe, or read up on WW1. Although, you DID notice that she avoided the religious aisle. However, you didn't comment on this, out of respect. You two checked out a few books, and on the paved outdoor steps, you stopped her. "Would you like to go for coffee or tea? Even a pastry? There's a little shop down the street, I'll buy. I'd just like to talk a bit.

Carrie obliged happily, and the two of you took your books and walked down to the small cafe. It had a dim, rustic theme, and brought peace to anyone who entered it's walls. There was a faint vanilla sent in the air, welcoming you two. For about an hour, Carrie sat down with you and talked about your life, your week, basic things. It was nice to get to know her. She seemed kind, and gentle. Everything about her was graceful, from the way she sipped her latte to the way she tucked her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. As you two finished up your chats, you grabbed your things and greeted each other farewell, agreeing to meet again next week.

Jennifer Check

The pair of you had become half-decent lab partners over the last few weeks, but she didn't seem to be doing well with the subject. As a result, you decided that you would volunteer to tutor her in the subject after school. So, there you were, on your way to her house after school to hang out and help her study up on the subject and with the homework. It was a cloudy day, and you could tell that a storm was brewing in those clouds above your head. Because of this, you decided to walk a bit faster to avoid being soaked.

As you arrived at Jennifer's house, you knocked gently on the door. When you received no answer, you hesitantly knocked harder. Very suddenly, a slightly older woman answered the door, assumingly Jennifer's mom. The woman looked you up and down, then quickly turned to yell over her shoulder, "Jenny! Your new friend is here!" She then quickly invited you in and brought you a small tray of white-chocolate macadamia nut cookies, offering you to take one or two ((If you have an allergy to nuts, then M&M cookies.)) "I made these for you two while you were studying. There's also sodas in the fridge in case you need a drink." Jennifer's mom said joyfully, before scooping the strap of a purse onto her shoulder. "I'll be off now, I have a job interview to get to. Jen's room is upstairs, first door on the right. Have fun you two!" She informed you before heading out the door.

You walked up the stairs until you found an oak door, and knocked before coming in. "Uh, hi, it's (Y/N), I'm here to help you study..?" You said as you slowly walked in and shut the door behind you. Jennifer was standing, looking in the mirror and smearing concealer under her eyes. She sighed and looked over to you. "Sit on the bed. You know, I was gonna gut you like a fish and drink your blood like a Slurpee, but my mom seems to like you, and I don't think you're too bad. Shame, would have been a great opportunity." She said nonchalantly. As she turned to you, you saw that her face was pale and broken out in acne.

Your heart skipped a beat and the color drained from your face. "I'm sorry, w-what...?" You tried to gulp down the fear in your words. "I'm a succubus, idiot. Don't think that I didn't notice you staring at the blood on my shoes the first day we met. I feed on people's bodies and sexual energy so I can feel good and look good. But I've decided you're worth keeping around, so I'll save that for the next chump. So, shall we get to know each other?" She said calmly as she sat down beside you on the bed.

Billy Loomis

You were home alone yet again, but this time it was mid day. You were watching horror movies out of boredom on your couch, when you got a call. You hesitantly answered, to hear a familiar voice on the other side of the phone. "I'm here, come let me in." You carried the phone with you. You figured one of your friends had stopped by to say hi, and their voice just sounded messed up due to shitty reception. You went to your front door, and looked through the peephole to see someone in a shitty costume, probably from Walmart, as it was October, and stores were starting to sell Halloween costumes and decorations. You hung up the phone and stuck it in your pocket, opening the door slightly with the chain lock still intact.

"Cut it out, prankster. That's not a very creepy costume. Ooo! I'm so scared!! Listen, I've seen the original Japanese film The Ring a million times, I'm not too scared of much." You heard the person sigh and push the door forward aggressively, breaking the lock. You jumped back in shock. "Hey! You're paying for that, asshole!" You yelled only for a quick response. "No, I don't think I will, beautiful. The man said, taking off his mask. To your shock, it was someone that you went to school with, Billy Loomis. You remember him graduating just the year before you, and were a bit shocked at his sudden appearance. You two had talked a bit, and you could consider yourselves acquaintances, but never really close friends.

Billy took a step forward, and in turn, you took one back. He put his hands up, showing he had no weapons in his hands. "Look, I'm not gonna hurt, that's not what I came to do. I just want to...get to know you. Look, you can pat me down, if you really feel the need. I don't have any weapons on me." You lowered your defenses a bit, but still kept them up. "Why would you want to know me so bad?" You asked hesitantly. "Well, I looked through your window and realized I'd found you again. And I wanted to get to know the pretty (girl/boy/person) I used to look at in the hallways every day." He said in a smooth tone. And that's where your night started.

Thomas Hewitt

It was a lovely Texas summer day. A warm breeze carried through the semi-tall grass in the fields, and the smell of fresh bread filled the small wooden house. On this fine afternoon, you happened to be listening to some old music, from the 50s-60s, and baking. When you least expected it, you heard a loud knock on the door. You figured it might have been one of your new neighbors looking to get to know you, or ask to borrow something. You strolled to the door and opened it, to see a rather large man in a butcher's apron, curly dark hair, and a rather scarred face on the other side. Though he had somewhat of a threatening aura, you knew that there was more behind his appearance.

You saw him open his mouth, but then stop and think for a moment. He hesitantly put his hands up and made a few broken and hand signals. You realized quickly that it was sign language, as you had an uncle growing up that happened to be deaf, so you learned it so that you two could talk. "I'm not deaf, I just don't like to speak." You watched him sign apprehensively, and responded allowed. "That's okay, hun. What can I do for you?" You asked, and he thought for a moment. "Do you have some salt I can use? Papa shot a..." He stopped for a moment, then looked back up to meet your eyes. "Papa shot a deer, and we ran out of salt to dry out the hide and season the meat." He asked, and you replied. "Of course! Come right in, I keep a few bags in the cupboard, I have a half-full one you can take home." You told him as you allowed him to come in and shut the door behind him.

Your bread sat warm in the window-sill, cooling down. As you handed him the salt, he pointed over to it. "Oh, do you want a piece?" He nodded aggressively, and you smiled. You grabbed the metal baking sheet and put it on the counter, slicing a few pieces. "Here, you can have more than one. I make it all the time, and it's just me here to eat it anyways." You told him. "Would you like to sit down and chat for a moment? I can make you tea or coffee too if you like? You can tell me about yourself. That is, if you don't have to be home right quick." The man nodded again, and set the salt down on the counter. "My name's Thomas. I'd like some...Peppermint tea, if you have it." The man signed to you, his guard down as he clearly felt welcomed in the household. "Okay, Thomas, right on it." You smiled warmly and handed him a thick slice of warm bread with butter and mulberry jam smeared over the top. "Take a seat, dear."

____________________________________________

~Author's Note~

Hi guys, I'm so sorry it took so long to get this second part out :( I've just been really stressed and not in a great mental place, plus the factor of writer's block and being scared to burn myself out. But thank you for those who have stayed through the hiatus to continue reading!! Please comment below if you have any character or scenario requests. Goodbye for now, loves!

[tokkionline]

🎆

29. — pie

34. — cinnamon

Evelyn had expected her day to go many ways. She did not, however, think that she’d spend it trapped in a bakery baking pies with a handsome semi-stranger.

Let’s rewind a little. It’s morning, she’s happy (for once) and ready to face the day (for once). Leefside definitely took some time getting used to, but now she has the feeling she can do this. She can write a proper article about it without being a total bitch. She can learn to appreciate this village. So she gets breakfast, brushes her teeth, gets dressed, and heads outside in order to scout the most interesting, tourist trap places.

After hours of visiting bookstores, skating rinks, coffee shops and weirdly specific stores (who knew a store selling only plastic flamingos existed!), she decided to spoil herself a little. Nothing better than getting cozy in a bakery and watching the snowfall as she feasts on a cinnamon roll. Yes, yes, this is it. Yum.

You see the gist, now? Today was supposed to be a nice day. However, Evelyn is overall unlucky. Evelyn has some god that is against her and refuses to let her have one good day. So of course (of course!) as soon as she gets comfortable in the empty bakery with her pastry, the biggest snowstorm she has ever seen hits.

And here she is now, baking pies with a handsome semi-stranger. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”

Theo chuckles as he mixes the dry ingredients. “Nothing goes better with a snowstorm than pies, don’t you think? I’m thinking of hand delivering a few to people once the storm lets up. Best way to feel better about the fact that your house is buried under snow.”

And that was no exaggeration. As she looked outside the window, all she could see was white. Blinding white that could frostbite her ears off. Oh, great. She sighs as she cuts apple slices. Why did she accept this already? Because he was kind enough to let her stay in until the storm calmed down? Because his smile is weirdly charming? Because she’s too nice? Probably the latter. She’s way too nice, and now here she is helping him out while she could have napped in his apartment upstairs (his offer). 

Leefside is known for being a tight knit community, and Theo is proof of that with the way he speaks of each villager with a smile on his face, as if he knows them all personally. It astounds her, really. After all, why care? People come and go, there’s no need to get to know them that much. Back in New York, she didn’t know everyone who lived in her building, and she was perfectly happy with that. Connections might seem good, but in the long run? They hurt. She’d rather keep away from that guaranteed pain.

Maybe this is why you don’t have many friends, hm?

“It’s just…” she begins slicing another apple. “You don’t owe them anything.”

Theo gives her an amused smirk. “Do I have to? Can’t I simply want to be nice?”

Well, she can’t counter that without sounding like a complete asshole. That makes her grin. “I suppose you have a point.”

And really… this is fun. This is really fun. She hasn’t baked in a good while, so she had forgotten how good it felt. The entire bakery smells of apple and cinnamon as they bake the multiple pies they’ve made, and the entire time, they talk and talk and talk. 

“Are you kidding me?” Theo hands her a steaming cup of hot cocoa. “Legally Blonde is totally the best movie.”

“I mean, I guess it’s nice, but really? To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before is the best romcom.”

“Please, fake dating is anything but realistic. And predictable,” he takes a sip from his own mug. “I mean, of course they’re going to end up dating! It’s literally written in the stars!”

“Should we test it, then? Fake date, and then part ways” she grins, fully determined to tease him. “I’m telling you, fake dating without getting feelings is doable.”

She does notice the way he blushes a little, and really, she’s blushing as well as she stares into those dark brown eyes. When the light hits them just right, they turn into a delightful honey color that she wants to stare at for hours.

Theo grins. “Well then, this only leaves us with one option.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Fake date?”

“Nope. We deliver these pies, then watch the romcoms later to decide which one is the best.”

Evelyn had expected her day to go many ways. Now, however, after delivering the pies to happy villagers and sitting down on Theo’s comfortable couch to watch romcoms, she finds herself pleasantly surprised.

[hyunjilicious]

100 ways to say ‘I love you’ Christmas Edition [bucky barnes]

Summary: it’s pretty self explanatory, I guess. (FLUFF) 1.6k

Warnings: absolutely none, just Bucky being cute, awkward and madly in love with you!!

-

In 2018, you were in Namibia, hunting down an American terrorist that had been on the run for the better part of the year. In 2019, the avengers were scattered around the globe, executing a 'shoot first, ask questions later' type of mission that ended long after the new year began. But this year, all of your friends were home. For the first time in years, the Stark Tower was shining from top to bottom with Christmas lights, carols echoing down all of its long, secluded hallways. It was the first time you'd get to actually spend the night of 24th of December with your true family. That is, if you made it in time. Back on December 19th, you and Bucky got stuck in the depths of Louisiana, with absolutely no means of communication, let alone transportation. You decided to make the best out of the situation and turn it into a road trip, but time flew by so much faster than expected, that it was now 2:13 pm on Christmas eve, and you and Bucky were sprinting down the snow covered empty highways of the east coast, dead set on making it home in time. He wasn't that eager to get back and tried to get you to rent a hotel room and spend the night alone, but you weren't having it. He huffed and puffed about not giving a shit about Christmas, but it was the first one he could celebrate with people that loved him, in over 70 years. With every motel that you passed, he'd turn and look at you from the passenger seat, begging you to stop. You didn't even consider it. You wanted him to have the full Christmas experience. A storm was brewing and you were whiteknuckling the steering wheel, fighting back the urge to yawn for the 3rd time in the last 10 minutes. After driving for 7 hours straight, you were close to passing out, but nowhere near ready to give up. "Pull over, love" he smiled, grabbing your thigh, "Let me drive. I'll wake you up when we arrive"

-

And of course Bucky refused to decorate. You spent the better half of the day rummaging through boxes and looking up diy tutorials on the Internet, doing your absolute best to make your bedroom as cozy and Christmasy as possible. Candles were scattered all over the furniture, their soft light and delicate cinnamon scent filling up the room, a small Santa Claus figurine was sitting neatly by the window, garlands dripped from every corner and your Christmas playlist was on shuffle for probably the 4th time that day. As you kept busy, lowkey exasperated whenever one ornament didn't fit in as planned, Bucky laid on the bed, making nasty comments with every chance he got. He complained about the music, said the room was too hot, that the candles made his nose feel funny and not for a second did he stop begging you to drop the fucking decorating and join him in bed. You didn't wanna hear it. You kept going, bringing in box after box of ornaments, each one making Bucky more and more frustrated.

"Buck!" you whined, turning around in your hands a little remote controlled reindeer. "His leg is stuck... he keeps falling"

"Throw it into the trash" he scoffed, plopping down on his back and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

Of course you didn't listen to him. "No..." you mumbled, more to yourself. You sounded like a child, but you didn't care. Instead, you just sat down on the edge of the bed, all your attention focused on the broken toy in your hands, "I'll fix it somehow"

"Just throw the goddamned thing away, Y/n" he groaned, "Only on my nightstand there are other 3. We got enough"

You just shook your head, focused on getting the reindeer to walk again. It was no use. You got no utensils and your nails were threatening to break as you kept trying to open up his battery container. 5 minutes of painful silence followed, ending with you finally giving up, "I'll just put something under his leg and use it as a decoration" you whimpered, legitimately heartbroken over the toy.

"Fuck, just come here. Give it to me. I'll fix the damn thing for you"

Your heart swelled up, "Really?"

"Yeah..." Bucky sighed, grabbing a screwdriver out of his nightstand and picking up the toy. "Master assassin and I'm fixing toys" he mumbled under his breath and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek.

-

Your version of paradise started just when you arrived at the tower on Christmas Eve. Bucky did as promised and then offered you a weak smile, full of warmth as he helped you out of the car when he parked in front of the Tower. You were beaming with excitement for the days that were to come. When the next morning arrived, you were sipping your coffee on the balcony, waiting for everyone to wake up so that you could all start unwrapping the presents. When the door opened you didn't expect Bucky to come out, as he never - ever, failed to sleep until noon, if given the chance. But there he was, wrapped in one of your comfy blankets, padding over to you with a coffee mug in his hand. When he reached you, he opened his arms and welcomed you against his chest, closing his hold around your body and engulfing you in the warmth of the blanket. It didn't take long until you noticed the little paper bag lodged under the elastic of his sweats, and when you asked about it, he cursed himself for ruining the surprise. He handed you the bag, and urged you to open it, insisting that it wasn't your present. When you did, your eyes landed on a knitted bunny clutching a heart to its chest. "An old lady was selling these a few weeks ago at a boutique I saw while waiting for you to meet me. I know you love to call me Bucky Bunny because you know how much I hate it. I forgot about it and came across it this morning at the bottom of my bag while searching for my charger. Now I think its stupid, a dumb rabbit and his eyes are a little bit fucked up, but he's cute and it reminded me of you, so here you go"

-

As much love as some of you had for the holiday, it still wasn't enough to convince the whole group to actually watch a Christmas movie. So, in true avenger spirit, you all decided to watch Terminator. After finishing dinner, you all scattered around the Tower. Some people left to change in more comfortable clothes, some helped clean up the kitchen, and some, like Bucky and Thor, remained in the living room, plopped in the middle of the couch, fangirling over Arnold Schwarzenegger's acting and the great sense of humour of the 90s. Eventually everyone gathered around them, you and Wanda being the last ones to show up. She cuddled against Vision's side, but Bucky was lodged in between Thor and Steve, and there was no way you'd ever ask any of them to move. Seeing you eye an open spot, Bucky waved you over as he stood up. "Here, take my seat". You wanted to object but he didn't want to hear it. Eventually, you sat down, and so did he, on the floor, right in front of you. Nonchalantly, Bucky pulled your legs apart and settled between them, with his back against the couch. He gathered your Christmas themed sock clad feet into his lap and rested his head against your knee as the movie began.

-

And like any other Christmas dinner, of course yours wasn't an exception. Natasha's recipe for apple pie was by definition the best that ever blessed the earth and none of the attendees was any stranger to that. Considering how many of you there were, as you made a point of spending the end of the year together, 2 batches had to be made. It was hectic, everyone fuzzing around the Tower, preparations on tow the whole day. And of course there would be repercussions for the chaotic atmosphere, but you'd only find out about them later. After burning through the first meal courses of the evening, it was finally time for her sweet delicacy to grace the table. Natasha neatly placed the two pies on either end of the table, proudly announcing you could all dig in. Bucky was seated to your right, and he unlike you, managed to grab a piece of pie from the first batch. You didn't think too much of it, until you started eating yours, only to realise the bottom was burned. Despite all of you trying to assure Natasha that it was not her fault and that she shouldn't beat herself up about it, she promised she'd make another one tomorrow. The night carried on as planned, but no matter how much you tried to push away the thought, you couldn't help but feel bitter about missing out on the good pie. Just when you were about to come to your senses and realise what a dumb reason for you to get upset that was, Bucky sent you text, asking you to come to the bedroom. Curious as to what this could have been about, you hurried upstairs and burst into the room, nearly crashing into Bucky's chest. He slammed the door behind you and handed you his plate - his slice of pie only halfway eaten. "I saved you a piece. These are jackals, I had to hide it. Dig in before anyone comes!"

-

On December 27th the buzz was starting to die down. When you put up the lights in your bedroom, Bucky said they could stay on for two days and two days only, and you reluctantly agreed to make a compromise. Just this time. The time to turn them off came last night, and since he offered to let them on until the morning, you felt like an unreasonable little shit if you were to ask him to turn them on again. It was about 7pm and you were two seasons deep in The X Files, and Wanda asked for your help. Bucky pulled out his phone and assured you he wouldn't watch ahead until you got back. It took you about 30 to help your friend with her problem, and when you returned to your room, confusion washed over you. The Christmas lights were on and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck" he grunted.

You turned around to see him behind you, standing in the doorway, two cocoa mugs in his hands, "I made these cause I know you like them. And I wanted to surprise you with the lights but vision is a dumbass and forgot to text me and tell me when you were almost done"

"So she didn't actually need help folding the bed sheets?" you laughed, endeared by his antics.

"Of course she didn't" Bucky shook his head, handing you one of the mugs, "She's not an imbecile"

"Oh my god" you giggled in disbelief as you sat down on the bed.

"I'll squirt shit nuggets out of my ass for two days, so please tell me at least I got the recipe right" 

He was so adorable, anxiously waiting for you to taste the cocoa he just made. "It's so good!" you rolled your eyes in pleasure, taking another sip, "Thank you, you're too sweet, Buck"

"Yeah, I know-" he chuckled, grabbing the mug from your palm and placing it on the nightstand. "I got one more present for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands"

"No, Buck-" you whined, "I didn't get you anything else-"

He dismissed your words in an instant and kissed your lips, before guiding your hands up. You opened them up and closed your eyes, curious about what he could have gotten you. First, you heard him shuffle around the bed, and then you felt something rather itchy touch your palms. You nearly burst into laughter when you realised it was his chin.

"Ok, open your eyes"

And as you did so, your eyes landed on Bucky's face, as he had placed his head on your hands. He was wearing a tiara with reindeer ears, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You're my present?" you beamed, throwing yourself against his chest.

"My face is the present-" he corrected you. "Guess what it does. Take your leggings off and you'll find out"

[pixie88]

On Pause

Chapter 22 - Always the Bridesmaid.  

A/N: Please don’t hate me for this chapter. 1 Chapter left of ATB, that will be out within the next week. Thank you again to all those following this story and continue to follow it, you have no idea how much it means to me that you take the time to read. 😘 

Please if you don’t like this series ask to be untagged or don’t read.

Read previous chapters HERE!

Warnings: Fluff & Mild NSFW

Word Count: 1967

Pairings: Laila x Harry

Enjoy! 😘 

"Laila....?" he looks over to her for a second, "Like give up my flat permanently?" her voice is a whisper, she quickly sobers up "Well, yeah or I could move into yours if you don't want to move to mine?" she goes to speak but nothing comes out "Laila? What do you think?" he asks.

"Erm...I...errr....don't you think it's a little too soon?" he seems a little taken aback by her answer "But you're practically living there now, so what's the difference?" she knows what he's saying is right "But I..always have the option to go back home. If I move in to yours I don't have the option anymore"

"So you don't want to move into mine because you won't have an option to go back home?" he asks her confused "Harry, it's a big step....we've only been together 3 months. If this doesn't work out....I'd have to go back to square one again. Buy a new flat, new things" he pulls up outside his flat "That's what you're waiting on? Us to fail?" he seems a little hurt when he asks.

He takes the keys out of the ignition "NO! I didn't say that, I just meant we haven't been official for long and moving in...together...now. Well, it's a bit too soon!" he sighs, "Basically, I'm good enough to keep you safe from Vicky but to permanently move in I'm not?" he almost hisses at her "NO!! Don't put words in my mouth! Harry...I would love nothing more than to live with you permanently but when the time is right"

"That's the thing.... I don't think the time will ever be right," he gets out of the car slamming his door, without looking back at her, he walks through the main entrance and heads towards the stairs.

She sighs, knowing she's hurt him, but she doesn't want to rush into things for it to blow up in her face. She knows it's not just living that she's scares her... it's also losing him.

She gets out of the car and makes her way up, when she steps inside, the flat is dark. She wanders towards the living room which is dark flipping the lights on she saw him sat on the sofa with his head in his hands "Harry, I'm sorry, but I'm just not ready," he runs his hands down his face "I was thinking maybe I should go back to mine..." he stands and turns towards her "Do what you want! I don't want you to think I've taken that option away from you" he says as he passes her.

"Harry, don't be like that! I just think it would be moving too fast..." he cuts her off "You think we are moving too fast? OK, then sweetheart lets slow it right down....I think we should take a break to figure out what we want" Laila's blood runs cold "What?! Harry..." he turns away from her walks into the bathroom and closes the door.

She realises this isn't up for discussion.

After he closed the bathroom door, Laila heard the bath starting to fill, she stormed into the bedroom, grabbed her bag and packed just the stuff she needed before leaving the flat without waiting for him to finish in the bathroom.

She takes the tube as she's had too much to drink to drive home.

The next day.

She wakes her head is pounding, she woke up hoping last night was a bad dream, but reality hit and she realised it wasn't a dream. She turned off her phone when she got in last night, she didn't want to speak to anyone today.

After she got up and dressed, she needed to get some shopping in. She was in the supermarket trying to decide which pizza to get "You alright Laila?" she turned where she spots Ivie "Oh hey Ivie! How are you?" she puts on a fake smile, "I'm great thanks! You? How's your boyfriend?" Laila tries to smile but Ivie notices her eyes start to gloss over "Oh dear! Laila what's happened? Why don't we grab a coffee from the cafe upstairs and have a chat"

Ivie takes Laila's arm and leads her upstairs "You take a seat and I'll get these. Coffee is it?" Laila nods as she sits down at a table, she watches the shoppers below. The couples buying groceries together... Why didn't I just move in with him? Would be better than how I'm feeling now! She thought.

"Here you go, duck," Ivie says placing her coffee in front of her, "Do you want to tell me what happened?" Ivie asks. Taking a deep breath Laila relaid what happened last night to Ivie when she's finished Ivie sighs "You know me and my Archie split for 2 years in the begin, then we had 45 wonderful years together before he passed away. So, Laila don't see this as the end, it's the beginning you both just want to make sure you are ready for the next step that's all!" she smiles at her.

After her talk with Ivie, Laila feels a little lighter. She decides to go and pick up her car from his place, when she arrived his car was gone. She was a little disappointed, but knew they needed space.

Over the next few days or so Laila went into a routine she'd get up, shower, have breakfast, head to work, work all day, lock up head home, have dinner, a bath then bed. She worked on her days off and was the first to offer to cover another stylist if they needed, the truth was she didn't want to go home because it was quiet and she would do nothing but just sit there thinking about Harry and what's he doing.

She still ignored the world she muted all chats after she told her family, she was fine, but she needed time.

She saw Harry had messaged her, she sent a quick message back.

One week turned into two of the same routines .

That night Laila ordered a pizza after she had a shower and decided to binge on Netflix, the buzzer went she went over to the intercom and buzzed up the delivery guy. As she opens the door, she's greeted by a big bouquet, she can't see the delivery guy behind them, "Oh, wow..." the flowers drop revealing his boyish smile and his ocean blue eyes.

"Harry?" she wasn't expecting to see him, suddenly she becomes self conscious of how she looked "Can I come in?" he pleads with her, she nods moving aside, so he could come inside. They make their way into the living room and he takes a seat on the sofa, placing the flowers down on the table. A ringlet of his hair drapes down wet from the rain as his coat was also wet "You look beautiful," he says as she sits down with space between them.

"Thanks, how are you?" she asks, he lets out a small laugh as he shook his head "Honestly?" She nods "Absolutely miserable!" he moves closer to her "Laila, I miss you!" he cups her face and she smiles "I know it's stupid considering I was the one that said we should take a break, but I thought maybe that's what you needed because things were moving to fast for you. Worst idea ever, I've done nothing but pine for you! I may have even walked passed your work a couple of times just to get a glimpse of you"

She laughs "Stalker much," he laughs at her comment "But I miss you too" his lips crash to hers, its rough and passionate "Laila, please can we resume this," he whispers against her lips, she smirks "Resume? Harry, we aren't a video game," she laughs, "Fine, get back together, unpause, take me back, be mine! If you aren't ready to take that step..fine, but I just want you back" he says as he reclaims her lips.

Laila can't help smile against his lips, he pulls away "Is that a yes?" He asks her "I'm not sure I need a little more convincing" she smirk, his lips brush against her ear electrifying every nerve ending "Let's see if I can convince you" he peppers kisses along her neck and up to her lips.

He pulls her onto his lap until she's straddling him, her hands tangle in his hair. The kiss turns intense, they're both trying to catch, their breath but they don't break apart. Harry grasps the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it over her head and quickly moves to unclip her bra as his lips move down to her collarbone before he flings her bra off.

His lips move down to her chest, his tongue glazes her nipple making her gasp. His hand slips between the waistband of her shorts, the pads of his fingers parted her fold, he worked circles around her clit. She pulls his lips back to hers, her hands wander to push off his jacket, soon both their clothes have created a puddle on the floor.

His hips thrust up to meet hers "God, I've missed you" he hisses as he enters her, she's missed him just as much and he could tell by the way her body reacted to his touch. He drags his nails lightly against her spine, making her moan. Her hips moved faster, riding him harder. He groans against her collarbone..

Later.

Pulling their clothes back on, Harry pulls her to his chest "Was that convincing enough?" he kisses the top of her head. She pretends to think "Hmm...it depends!" she laughs,"Depends? Depends on what?" he smirks at her "If there is a round 2" she winks "OK, just give me 5 minutes to catch my breath"

She tuts "Harry Taylor, the personal trainer is out of breath? How disappointing!" she jokes, he lets out a small laugh, "But yes! I want to resume this....this break made me realise I was being silly. So, Mr. Taylor, will you level up with me?" she sits up to look at him "Level up?" he cocks his head to the side not understanding her question.

"Will you move in with me? Over the past 2 weeks I hated coming home and you haven't been here. It made me realise maybe I was more ready for the step than I thought" he smiles, his hand moves a strand of hair away from her face, "Of course, you didn't even need to ask. Could've just moved my stuff in!" she laughs, "We aren't living here!" she smirks.

"Oh, you could've just moved your stuff to mine..." she cuts him off "Nope, I want us both to sell our flats and find somewhere new"

"Whoa! Are you sure? Laila, that is a big step!" she looks at him confused "One, I want to take but I want you to be one hundred percent about," he says as she rolls her eyes at him and cups his face "Harry, I'm sure. I just want a place that is both of us! One we can decorate together, where it doesn't have yours or my stamp on it but ours"

She has no idea how happy she has made him, he watches her relay her ideas on what kinda place she wants.

He's missed that smile, those eyes, her laugh.

She stops talking realising he's just staring at her "What?" she asks, he gets up picking her up with him, "Come on, we'll get started on round 2" he walks them to her bedroom.

Continue reading this story here - Chapter 23.

@lem-20​ @irisofpurple​ @aussieez​ @secretaryunpaid​ @khoicesbyk​ @txemrn​ @gloriousalmondvoiddreamer​ @tea-me-kah​ @casualpostqueen​ @beautifuluknownvoid​ @wombatsxkookaburras​

[ssson-of-sparda]

A Trip To The Beach - Part 1 (Dante x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Dante's tab is nearly erased. After Patty finds a letter you wrote to Dante years ago, the girl decides to pay you a visit to know why and how things ended between you and Dante. (Part 4 of A Tab To Erase) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Tags: Pre DMC3 Dante / Dante is Tony Redgrave / Love / Fluff / Blood and Gore / Minor Character Death / Violence

Author’s note: I've decided to divide "A Trip To The Beach" into two parts because it was way too long. The next part will be the end of this story. Thank you for reading and sorry for keeping you waiting.

MISSION 4

Despite the menacing grey clouds fading the picturesque view before her, there was something adorably charming in the house Patty was looking at that should have made the girl feel rather at ease. And yet, she couldn’t move a muscle. Stress probably. Stress, yes. She thought as she glanced again and again at the letter she was firmly holding in her hands.       She repeated the address out loud, checking again for the umpteenth times if she was at the right place and wondering if she should be here.    What if Dante learnt about her being here? What if he learnt about her sneaking into his personal stuff? About her stealing this letter in the drawer of his desk? The one Y/N had written him years ago. The questions popped up in her head one by one as quickly as Dante’s devastating bullets and tied her stomach in a knot. She had never been afraid of Dante. Not really. And she wasn’t sure she was afraid of him right now. Maybe she was simply afraid of hurting him.

“This was a silly idea.” She sighed and finally turned around to leave. Maybe if she hurried up she would be able to catch the next train back to Red Grave before the storm and be home early enough to make Dante a strawberry sundae.

The wind suddenly blew hard, so hard it was gusty enough for the pink ribbon in her blond hair to be blown away. Patty gasped and quickly ran after the long piece of silk trying to catch it back. But it somehow landed right in the flowered garden she hadn’t dared step foot in and Patty couldn’t help but see it as a sign of fate. “Can I help you?” A sign of fate she couldn’t ignore now.

Y/N was as pretty as Patty had imagined, maybe even more. And as she kept on observing her, her little turned-up nose purposely plunged in the tea mug so that she would not have to speak (a premiere in her life), she wondered how and why Dante had let her go (She had jumped to this conclusion when she had read the letter she found at Dante’s in which Y/N was asking him to come back to her). “ Would you like another biscuit, Patty?” The blond girl shook her head nervously. “Or a strawberry sundae maybe?” Patty froze and her blue eyes fixed at Y/N in panic. “If you’re friend with Dante I assume you must have them quite often.” There was no bitterness in her voice, just a motherly sweetness tinted with a bit of sadness.             “ How?”                “ The letter.” She nodded at the envelope sticking out of Patty’s pocket. “How’s Dante?”     “ He doesn’t know I am here!” Patty confessed rapidly as if to exonerate Dante of her presence here. “And he doesn’t know about the letter.”    “That’s alright. Relax.” Y/N smiled, amused, as she put her mug on the coffee table. “I was just asking. Curiosity.” And care also.                   “ Oh … Then I guess he’s … Dante.” The young girl finally said after searching for the perfect word to describe her friend.  “You know eating pizza and strawberry sundae everyday … and sleeping all day long.” Y/N frowned. That was not the image she had kept from her ex-boyfriend at all. A lazy pizza and sundae lover sure but there was something off in Patty’s description. “Oh and losing at gambling which probably led to why I’m here.”            “ What do you mean?” Y/N raised an eyebrow; genuinely curious though amused to know Dante had not improved his gambling skills since the last time they met.       “ Let’s say he owed me so much he started selling pieces of his past to pay me back.” The woman laughed. That sounded like Dante for sure. “He started telling me about you because I asked him why he loved strawberry sundaes so much. And then he kept extorting me and used my curiosity at his advantage.” “ How much did he owe you?” “ Six strawberry sundaes. A dozen ice-cream cones. Two dresses and one trip to the beach. He stills owes me a trip to the beach though.”              “ Of course he does.” Y/N scoffed as she took a sip of her tea.                 “ Fortunately I’m a very patient woman.” Patty declared as she started drooling over her homemade raspberry-filled biscuit.       “ Well, I guess you have to be when you hang out with somehow like him.” Patty’s eyes darted back at Y/N who was now stirring her tea even though she hadn’t put any sugar or milk in it. A defence mechanism, Patty thought.         “ Is that why you two broke up? Because you lost patience?” Patty dared ask even though a part of her had a feeling she shouldn’t.             “ No. No. That’s not because of that.” Y/N admitted. “We broke up because Dante couldn’t help being Dante.”        “ I always tell him his uncouthness drives women away.” Y/N had a sad smile that Patty immediately noticed. “Sure he lacks manners but that’s not why we ended things. We ended things because … I guessed he cared too much for me.”

A TRIP TO THE BEACH - Part 1

She could remember that day as if it was yesterday, every detail of it. From the moment Dante kissed her good morning to the moment he kissed her goodbye. She could remember his smile, warm and beguiling. She could remember his tears, cold and desperate. She could remember everything about him, everything about her.

She was wearing a red summer dress. Dante’s favourite. He used to say it was because of the colour. “You know how much I love red, baby.” But she knew it was because of the way it hugged her figure so beautifully. He could pretend to be a gentleman but he couldn’t fool her. She could tell he was lying just by the way his hands would grab her curves each time she was near him in that dress.

They had parked the car by the beach. An old red convertible he claimed to be vintage when it was just a piece of junk. If he thought any sort of romance would happen in it, he was clearly wrong.

Don’t tell he already had this awful car! Don’t tell me he still has it!

But Y/N wasn’t sure Dante was in the mood for romance or any sort of distraction. He looked preoccupied, very preoccupied, and she knew him all to well to know that this anxiety – or whatever Dante was feeling right now – was nothing good. After all, one could use many adjectives to describe Dante but anxious and preoccupied, no. He was too carefree and devil-may-care for this.

“Something’s wrong.” Y/N said as she looked up at him, her head on his shoulder. Dante sighed. “Nothing.” “That was not a question.” She clarified and watched him leave her embrace to pick a beer in the cool bag they had especially prepared for their picnic at the beach. “Talk to me.” But he didn’t. “It’s better if you know nothing.” She frowned, not enchanted at all to be left in ignorance.                  “Better for whom? Me?” He remained silent again and she felt anger starting to grow in her chest. “Answer me, for god’s sake! It’s been days, Tony! Days since you’ve been acting strangely. Days since Enzo came to visit to tell you god knows what.” Dante’s eyes met hers and he could finally see how furious and sad she truly was. “What? Do you really think I can’t put two and two together? Do you think I’m that stupid?”          “No.”     “Then what’s going on?” Dante opened his mouth but was quickly interrupted by a strange noise coming from Y/N’s purse. It was her pager furiously vibrating and ringing.

Pager? Welcome to the nineties, Patty.

“It’s my parents. -Emergency at the restaurant. Need your help-.” She read and sighed. “I got to go. But this conversation is not over, Tony.”             “ I know and I promise I’ll tell you everything. Just … just give me time to make sure …” But he didn’t finish his sentence. And why would he? The last thing he wanted was for her to worry and telling her ‘Just give me time to make sure you’re going to be okay.’ didn’t sound very reassuring, right? “Make sure of what?”  “ I love you, Y/N. You know that?” He cupped her soft cheek and caressed her delicate skin with his thumb. She nodded. Of course she knew. He didn’t have to say it. But she hated secrets and right now he was too secretive to her taste. Nevertheless, she indulged his desire for a loving kiss when Dante’s lips came to claim hers. “I love you too.”  “ You’re staying at my place tonight?” She nodded. She could never deny him, especially when he was so sweet.

So that’s why you broke up? Because he had secrets? No. Not because he had secrets. Because of something more complicated than that.

The second the bus dropped her off at the stop a few meters away from her parent’s diner, Y/N knew something was wrong. The reddish pink neon sign of the restaurant was not shining like a beacon in the street and inside the lights were all off. Weird for a Friday night.            She walked to the door anyway, holding on tightly to her purse, a worried frown creasing her young face that soon became as pale as milk when she noticed that the door was slightly ajar. She should have called the police or even her boyfriend. Surely that would have been the wise decision but when she heard a loud noise coming from the inside, she instinctively rushed in.

It had come from upstairs, from where her parents lived. Y/N climbed the stairs one by one, quickly but cautiously, with a lamp she had picked on a table in her hand to use as a weapon though she wasn’t sure that would be enough to knock out whoever had broken into the place. She could hear her heart beat loudly in her chest, ready to explode, Thump Thump, and her foot creaking the wooden floor more and more with each steps despite all her attempts at remaining silent. Creak Creak. Creak Creak. Splish Splash.

Y/N suddenly stopped and looked at her feet. Her sandals were wet. Water? But the bathroom was too far away and the liquid felt weirdly warm and way too dense. She squatted down and slowly touched the flooded floor with her fingertips. She shivered at the sensation. This felt weird, slightly sticky even. Oil? No. It wasn’t slimy enough to be oil. It was something else.                 She looked closely, searching for a source of light. Fortunately she didn’t need much to realise that the liquid tinting her skin was dark and … red?

Her eyes widened when she understood she was squatting in a pool of blood. Horrified she tried to get up and run but eventually slipped and squealed when she fell on her butt and the red splashed and drenched her dress and her naked legs.

Her half-eaten biscuit in her hand, her mouth agape, Patty was staring at Y/N, unable to move or to look away. This story was fascinating … scary but fascinating. And Y/N had better storyteller qualities than Dante. He always had the tendency to exaggerate.           “What happened next?” Patty demanded with an over-excitement she knew was certainly inappropriate. “Next …” The doorbell rang loudly and Patty jumped and squealed. Her heart skipped a beat and her eyes widened when the bell rang again, this time almost furiously. “I guess we have an impatient visitor.”         Needless to say, Patty exactly knew who that was. “Oh no.”  “Don’t worry. I’m sure a nice strawberry sundae will calm him down.” Y/N smiled and got up to welcome the person impatiently waiting under the porch.