#Mail Order Furniture

[dipakrao]

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[strawberrypoundtown]

Alright, hear me out I am thinking... Werebear. I just can't get my mind off of the idea of a werebear with his little round ears and fuzzy tail who gets disturbed while trying to hibernate (Which he's admittedly not very good at)

That's it, take it and run girly~

(OH it's just a quick one shot- sike, this was a lot longer than I planned and I had to cut some of it for another time lol I should have made it two parts, but whatevs

Enjoy the show - Strawberry 🍓)

Dummies Guide To Hibernation

Clayton Briggs x Fem!Reader

You move into a new apartment complex and notice your next-door neighbor being a lot more secluded and withdrawn lately as the winter creeps in. One late night, as you're walking through the hall to your door, you notice the door to his apartment is wide open...

Contains: unprotected sex, breeding kink, size kink, light free use kink (?)

You had moved into this apartment complex just shy of 3 months ago. You were still getting your bearings, having not lived completely alone before. You always had roommates or family living with you, so finally being completely alone was strange. Your apartment complex wasn't very big. There were only two other apartments on your side of the hall, yours sandwiched between the two.

The older werewolf woman that lived on your right seemed to be pretty calm and quiet, albeit a bit paranoid. She looked to be about 40-50 years old, but could have been older. You hadn't seen her leave the complex property before, so you just chalked it up to her being a bit of a recluse. You occasionally grab her mail for her when she asks, and she's always grateful, giving you a handful of candy before sending you on your way.

The man that lived on your left was a very different story. You two had met late at night when he offered to help you move a very large chair that you had bought a few days after you moved in. You were struggling to get it into the elevator after regretting that you had ordered the orc size for the chair and not werewolf of something. Damn you and your enjoyment of large furniture.

A large, burly man with a bushy brown beard had appeared behind you during your struggle. His curly golden brown hair was short and messy. He seemed to be around a staggering 7'3" tall, easily towering over you. He was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, steel-toe workboots, and a reflective vest that people used on construction sites. Of course, you assumed that he just got off of work and was getting impatient with you hogging the only elevator. You were about to apologize for being in his way and try to get the chair out of the way when he put his massive hand on your forehead, gently moving you out of the way. With a faint grunt, he easily moves the chair into the elevator. He stands in the elevator with the chair next to him and enough space for you to stand next to him. He holds the elevator door open for you as he stares at you. He notices you hesitating and looks away from you, his dirt covered cheeks turning a bit red as he looked away from you. He was still waiting for you.

"O-oh. Thank you." You said softly with a smile as you looked up at him and stepped into the elevator. You clicked the button for your floor, and he nodded in response as he moved his arm, letting the door close. "You must be one of my neighbors. I just moved in about a week ago. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He let out another grunt as he nodded once again, only glancing at your occasionally as he avoided touching you in the cramped elevator. Saying he was a large man as an understatement. You had to strain your neck to look up at him, but looking at eye level or lower was even worse. He was built like a truck with a nice layer of chubbiness. He seemed so soft, so nice to hug. You just wanted him to pick you up and hold you. It was hard to focus on anything but him as his chest was only inches away from your face. You could tell that he had a very strong build, and you love a large dad bod. He was covered in dirt and sweat, but his scent was still a bit too nice for your comfort.

As the elevator doors opened, you found yourself trying to scramble out the door and out of the way as quickly as possible. You had let out a sigh of relief, trying to calm your racing heart as he lifted the chair out of the elevator with ease. He immediately started walking towards your door.

You quickly got out your keys and jogged down the hall to open your door. He moved quickly, so he was already at your door by the time you got there. Once your door was open, you led him inside your cozy apartment and towards your livingroom. As he stepped inside, he was surprised at the decore you already had up. Pictures and posters and a few fake plants with fairy lights pinned to the ceiling.

After he put down the chair where you told him to, he noticed the rest of your furniture. It was all fairly large, at least the size for most werewolves, but all covered in pillows and blankets to make it cozy. He felt like just looking at your apartment would make him fall asleep. He needed to leave. Your heart sank a bit, following him as he immediately turned to walk towards the front door.

"Thank you for your help! I don't know what I would have done if you didn't help me. I'm sorry I bothered you on your way home-" You say, but he cuts you off by holding out his hand to you to shake. You take it gently, and he begins to speak.

"Don't worry about it. If you ever need help with anything, I live next door on your left. Apartment 400. I'm pretty handy." He says softly as he looks down at you with a blank expression. His voice was deep and intimidating, but it made you feel safe and warm. His hand was big and rough, but he held your soft hand so gently, like he was worried about hurting you.

"Oh, thank you. I really appreciate that. Um... could I get your name? My name is (Y/n)." You say with a smile, staring up at him as your other hand comes up to rest on top of his. His cheeks turn a bit red once again as he stares at your hands for a moment before looking back into your eyes.

"I-I'm Clayton..." He says shyly before pulling his hand away and taking a step back. "It was nice to meet you (Y/n). I need to go." He said bluntly, his eyes avoiding yours as he rushed off to his apartment door. For such a large man, he sure was quick. You didn't even have a chance to say anything before you heard his door slam shut. You worried you angered him, but based on his pink cheeks, you assumed that he was just shy.

Over the next month, you would start conversations with him whenever you would see him. He would always stand and listen until you were done talking. Occasionally, you would mention that you were trying to do something in your apartment and would ask what kind of tools you would need. He would tell you, seemingly happy that he could give you advice. However, he never seemed to let you take his advice, because before you could even get the tools you needed, he would be over with his toolbox ready to go.

Need a shelf put up? He did it. Need your sink unclogged? No problem. He got it cleared. Need your lock replaced because your ex found out where you lived? He replaced your entire door and got you a doorbell camera.

He never accepted any money from you, always saying he just wanted to be a good neighbor and make sure you were safe. He did, however, accept food. You always made him a big plate of whatever you were eating that night. He always seemed to enjoy it after he got home, the plates returning to your front door completely clean the next morning.

However, as the fall passed and the winter started, you saw Clayton less and less. Whenever you would see him, he'd look absolutely exhausted, and you had noticed him getting thinner. He also started to occasionally walk around with his cute stubby tail and round ears out due to how little energy he had. You had found out from your other neighbor that Clayton was a werebear, so the winter season made him exhausted all the time. You felt bad for asking for so much of his time while he should have been preparing for hibernation, so you took it upon yourself to make sure he was eating enough.

Every day, you brought a container of food over to his door and left it in front of his door. You would leave a note on the container before knocking and running off so you didn't bother him further. The clean, empty containers would show up in front of your door the next day with a note that just said 'thank you'.

What you didn't know was how much it actually meant to him that you had been helping him in return. He had always struggled with his hibernation, having been raised by a pack of werewolves after his parents adopted him. They did their best, but he was never really taught how to hibernate properly. It didn't help that he had insomnia, which was very inconvenient for the big guy when it came to his hibernation time. Thankfully, during the winter, his construction jobs slowed down a bit, but it still took a lot out of him. Cooking himself dinner at the end of a long day was out of the question, so he usually got take out or nothing at all.

Imagine his surprise when he started getting food dropped off at his door every night. He loved your food. Everything you made was delicious, and he always licked his plate clean. You were so sweet with how you helped take care of him. The smell of the fantastic food you cooked flooding the hallway was amazing, but your scent had him even more entranced.

Ever since you had moved next door, just your scent from the hallway was enough to comfort him. He had already thought you were cute when you moved in, but as time went on, he fell for you even harder. Your more domestic side showing lately had been the killer for him, though. You would check in on him and give him food, a reassuring touch, like the angel you were. He wanted to help take care of you like you took care of him. He wanted you. He needed you. He always had such a hard time leaving your apartment because of how cozy it was. The moment he would walk in, he would feel like he could pass out on the floor and still be comfortable. He wished he could sleep in your orc sized bed with you and show you how much he cares about you.

He would listen unintentionally as you would take a shower or get ready for bed. The walls were so thin, and with his hearing as good as it was, it was impossible for him to ignore your whimpers from the other side of the wall whenever you'd be masturbating. Whenever he had gone in to help you put up a shelf in your bedroom, he could smell the arousal in the air from when you had given yourself an orgasm shortly before he arrived. He struggled to hide his erection the whole time. Just imagining what you did to yourself when you were alone made his dick throb in his jeans. Being able to smell that you were ovulating didn't help.

He knew what everything meant. You were his mate. He just had no idea how to tell you without sounding completely insane. You were just a human. A very soft, sweet human that surely only had the best intentions whenever they would interact. If only he knew how further he was from the truth. You had wanted him just as badly, if not more, but didn't want to make him uncomfortable. He just seemed shy to you, and you didn't want to scare him off. For such a big guy like him, you had hoped food would win him over. Every time you had him over to help fix something you didn't understand, you would fantasize about him driving his cock into you and letting out all his pent-up frustrations. And cum.

Once you found out he was a werebear, you did some serious research. You learned about how he needed a cozy environment he could use as a 'den' and how much he needed to eat. Werebears didn't sleep 24 hours a day, but they needed at least 10-14 hours of sleep every night to function somewhat normally during the day. They tend to need to eat a lot to keep up a healthy layer of fat. They can also get very, very backed up if they don't have a mate to hibernate with as they typically don't socialize during this time. You didn't know what his apartment looked like, as he had never invited you over, but you wanted to make your home as inviting to him as possible for when he came over. Especially your bedroom.

You were happy you rented in a monster-friendly apartment building due to the fact that you had an orc sized bed from the last place you lived in. It was at least 9' long, and you were always swimming in it, so you always had it loaded with pillows and stuffed animals and soft blankets. You figured that if you got some extra large blankets for him to use, he would be more inclined to come over.

But lately, he was so tired he had let his ears and tail show, his arms and chest extra hairy as it peaked out of his clothing. He was trying to conserve energy, and you noticed him not snoring much at night when he should have been sleeping, but still going to work in the morning with dark circles under his eyes. You also noticed that as the next full moon approached, he was struggling more and more to hold it together. He was nearly falling asleep standing up and more shuffled than walked to his apartment. You started making more and more food for him to leave by his door for when he got home.

Tonight was a full moon, so you knew you had to make him a lot of food because he was going to fully tranform tonight. The containers had started coming back broken with apology notes and money attached, so tonight you had gotten some disposable containers. You made him a huge spread of various roasted vegetables and fish and put all the containers in front of his door, saying that if he needed to, he could crash at your place.

That leads you to this moment, you standing outside Clayton's door. You heard him stumble home about 20 minutes ago and growling for about 15 minutes until a loud thud hit the floor. It shook your apartment, and you instantly rushed over to see if he was okay. You noticed the door was cracked open and hesitantly pushed the door open. Your jaw dropped as you saw his living conditions. It was clean, but barely had any furniture to keep clean in the first place. All he had was a large futon in the livingroom and a TV with a gaming set up.

You hear groaning coming from what you assume to be the bedroom as you carefully creep in. You peer down the hallway to see a large furry mass in the dark. A mess of ripped apart food containers were scattered down the hallway to in front of the bed. You gingerly made your way down the hallway as you tried to get a better look at him. You could tell he was already fully transformed, and it almost sounded like he was... whining? As you got closer, you noticed that he was so big half his giant furry body was hanging off the bed. He was facing away from you, but you could hear him panting and whining as his nubby tail wiggled. He was a giant ball of fur and you slowly walked up to his face. His head was huge when he was transformed. He looked like an adorable grizzlybear, minus the giant sharp claws.

"C-clayton?" His eyes snap open at the sound of your voice. Your sweet, beautiful voice. "Are you okay?... I heard a loud thud, and your door was open..." You were so kind. He couldn't believe you actually walked in here to check on him. He didn't know what to do. He was embarrassed at how his place looked. He had been so tired lately he hadn't wanted to do anything special for his hibernation, but he was regretting it now.

He bashfully looks away from you and scoots his head closer to you. You crouch down and gently run your fingers through his fur. His fur was so soft you gently rest you head on top of his as she scratched the fur around his neck. He lets out an odd growl that almost sounds like a purr as he nuzzles into your chest. He inhales your comforting scent deeply. You smell so sweet... He had to carefully pull his face away from your chest before he tried to rip your tank top off. He had noticed you weren't wearing a bra and wanted to know what your breast looked like so badly. He caught himself staring at your chest before looking up at you with his beautiful golden eyes.

"C-can I crash with you? Please?... this is bad..." His voice was hoarse as he groaned. He regret pushing his body so much and ignoring his need for a proper den. He knew your place would be perfect based on what he had seen so far. Not only that, but he would be able to convince you to share your large bed with him. It had been so long since he could cuddle anyone during hibernation...

"Of course you can. I just need you to follow me." You said softly, and you went to stand up. He stood up with you, and you couldn't help but freeze for a moment as you took in his large form. He was nearly 9' tall, staring down at you as he breathed heavily. All he had on were some boxers that were way too small once he was transformed. You could see the outline of his thick cock through the fabric. He put one of his giant hands on your shoulder and sleepily followed you next door to your apartment, being sure to at least close his door before he leaves.

Upon stepping into your apartment, he has to use his hands on your wall to stabilize himself. Walking through the threshold of your home and being hit with a wall of your scent was overwhelming. He stumbled through your apartment as carefully as possible, trying not to knock anything over. You had to guide him to your bedroom, him ducking a bit through the doorways. As he saw your bed, he let out a sigh of relief. The mass of pillows and giant blankets looked so welcoming.

"I-I hope it'll be okay. At least better than your place..." You let out a soft giggle as you opened up the bed more for him to crawl in. He didn't waste another moment before carefully crawling onto your bed. The bed dipped under his immense weight. You thanked yourself for getting a reinforced bedframe when you got your giant bed.

"Oh fuck." He groaned out as he fully laid down, his body going limp as he finally felt his body fully relax for the first time in ages. Fully stretched out, he's just as tall as the bed, but all the pillows and blankets with the softness of the mattress are perfect. He feels like he's in heaven as he turns onto his side and closes his eyes. His breathing began to get heavier, and you assume he's already starting to fall asleep. You grab the biggest blanket you have from your couch and as you lay it over him, his eyes slowly open. He stares at you for a moment as your body is illuminated in the moonlight peering in from your window. He hadn't really gotten a good look at you yet, and it was a good thing that he didn't. He wouldn't have been able to make it over to your apartment if he noticed you were only wearing a tanktop and tight boxer shorts. He could already feel himself getting hard under the covers, your scent overwhelming as he let out a soft groan.

"Clayton? Are you okay?" You ask with a worried tone. Your caring eyes are so beautiful in the moonlight. In a flash, you were pulled under him while letting out a loud yelp. He was proped up on his elbow on his side next to you, his other hand on your hip as he leaned over you. He held your body so close to his, trying his best not to rip your clothes off of you immediately. He leans down and nuzzles his face into your neck so all he can smell is you. He was annoyed at how your scent was so comforting but wouldn't let him sleep. He was pent-up, and you were his mate that made a den just for him... he needed to do something or he felt like he was gonna explode.

He moved one of his knees in between yours as he stared into your eyes, running his hand from your hip to your thigh to guide it to hook over his leg. Goosebumps appear all over your body as you feel his sharp claws drag across your skin. As you were held there on your back, you could feel his hard cock against your thigh. Fuck you were turned on. You didn't know what to do but stare back into his glowing eyes and follow his lead. He leaned in close to your face, bearing his sharp teeth as he struggles to find his words.

"I really need your help tonight (Y/n)..." He mumbles as he moves from smelling your hair to burying his nose in your collarbone.

"Look, I'm flattered... v-very flattered, but I'm not really a fan of one night stands." You say nervously, knowing that you'd want way more than just one night with him. His large, rough tongue rakes up the side of your neck, making you let out an involuntary moan.

"Who said I wanted a one night stand?" His hot breath brushes against your neck, causing goosebumps to go down your body. "I want you.. All of you... Always." His teeth ran across the skin in the crook of your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply. "If you want me, I'll stay... please..." He pleads with a deep growl. He sounds so desperate for you. You wouldn't have thought the stoic man next door would be reduced to a horny, cuddly mess, but here you are. "My mate..." He growls as he palms one of your breasts through your thin tank top, careful not to scratch you with his claws. The pressure of his body against yours is overwhelming in the best way, every touch lighting you on fire as you couldn't help but let out soft moans.

"P-please stay Clayton..." You begged as your self-control went out the window, grinding your hot mound against his leg. Your words and actions made him suck in a breath, pausing as he stared at you. He suddenly turned onto his back, pulling you on top of him to straddle his waist. He used his claws to rip a huge hole in your shorts, exposing your dripping wet pussy. You pulled your tanktop off quickly before he ripped that off while he ripped away his boxers. His massive cock sprang to life, smacking against your wet pussy lips softly. He pulled himself up to bring you in for a kiss, groaning as he

You bit your lip before grinding your cunt down along his dick. It was too dark for you to see properly, but his dick felt similar to a werewolf's dick, but much bigger. You hadn't taken someone that big before, so you were secretly happy that you were in the middle of masturbating when you heard him come home...

"Oh fuck." He strained his head back against the bed as he moaned. His hands reached up to hold your hips in place, rolling his hips back against you to get more friction against his sensitive cock. His hands were massive, both of them nearly completely encircling your waist as he held you in place. He fought against the urge to use you like a living fleshlight immediately. He felt like he was getting high off the scent of your arousal.

You brace your hands on his soft forearms as you find your footing by his sides. His waist is too big for you to straddle normally, but you don't care. You're gonna do your best. You were getting impatient, as he could feel from how his cock was completely drenched from your juices. He raises his head up to look at you, letting out soft whimpers as you pull your heat away from his needy dick. You earn a low growl from him as you decided to grab his cock and line his dripping tip up with your aching hole. His grip on your hips tightens, and you feel his claws threaten to break your soft skin. He applauded his self control in his crazed state, although every fiber of his being was telling him to just bury his cock deep inside you now. He needed you so badly.

You press yourself down on his dick, your arousal and his precum acting as lube. His cock slides into your pussy easier than he expected, but you're still struggling to take his size. His cock was so thick it stretched your pussy to the absolute limit and you were loving every second. You had only taken him about halfway, and yiu didn'tknow how much more you could take. You were trying to hold your moans as much as possible, but the attempt was futile. You groaned out in pleasure as the shape of his cock rubbed against your g-spot with every movement.

Clayton stared at you hungrily, growl in his throat that resonated through his whole body. You could swear you felt his dick vibrate, but then again, it might have been your walls fluttering to accommodate his size.

He suddenly snaps his hips up into yours, his hands on your hips keeping you in place as he buries his cock into you up to his knot. The drastic shock to your body made you scream out in pleasure. Your pussy stung as you felt the bulge at the base of his cock press against your pussy. You feel him shudder under you as you clenched your pussy around his length. You're given very little time to adjust before he starts moving your hips for you.

"F-fuck, I'm sorry... I can't control myself right now... you drive me fucking crazy... you're so fucking tight..." He growls as he watches your boobs bounce in front of him. He may have you on top, but he's the one in control. He holds your hips so firmly it may leave bruises, using your body as his personal sex toy. He is so desperate to cum, wanting nothing more than to fill you up and get you pregnant.

He wanted you to be the mom to his cubs. You were so sweet and kind. You could teach them how to make a den much better than he could. You felt so amazing stretched out on his dick. You were just so addicting.

Every movement he made you do made you feel just as crazy as him. His cock hit all the right places, your pussy quivering around him as you felt yourself getting close to cumming. Every slight curve and bend of his dick felt like heaven as he bounced you faster to chase his own release.

"I'm so close. I'm not pulling out. I want you to take my knot and have my cub..." He grunts, whimpering as you feel his dick twitch inside you. He's close, and so are you.

"Y-yes please! I want your cum in me, please! Make me cum!" You beg him, completely giving into the pleasure. You couldn't take it anymore. You were so close it almost hurt.

"Rub your clit for me, honey." He orders and you don't think twice before one of your hands finds your clit, your fingers working your sensitive clit while he works you. It only takes a few more seconds before you throw your head back, moaning like a bitch in heat as your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami. As you begin to cum, he snaps his hips up to meet yours, thrusting his huge knot into your already strained pussy. The rough action causes you to scream, squirting all over his crotch as your quivering pussy milked his cock. His dick throbbed inside you as he let out a roar, his claws scratching your hips while he came deeper than anyone had before. He filled your plugged up pussy so much your belly bulged slightly. You both struggle to catch your breath as his grip on you slowly relaxed. He couldn't help but stare at you and your beautiful body, your sweat shining in the moonlight through the window.

"I hope you're okay... I didn't hurt you, did I?" He groans out, a bit worried that in his haze he went too far. Your exhausted giggle eases him slightly.

"I'm more than okay..." You admit with a grin. Clayton chuckles in response as he feels his knot start to go down, letting him slip his cock out of you. You whimper and whine as he pulls his cock out, suddenly feeling every empty as his cum pours out of your used hole. He lets out a relieved sigh as he turns onto his side and pulls you close to him.

"I'm glad you're okay..." He whispers to you as he stares into your eyes with adoration mixed with exhaustion. You can't help but smile as his large body and thick fur make you feel like you have a living weighted blanket. His presence was just so comforting to you.

"I hope you don't mind hibernating with me." You say. He pulls you in close as he arranges the pillows and blankets around the two of you, using his arm as a pillow for you. He finally pulls the blanket over the two of you and wraps his other arm around you.

"Honey, I don't think I could have hibernated without you..." He says softly, ending in a yawn as you both settled in to get some sleep. As you two embraced each other, sweaty and satisfied, you couldn't stop thinking about how Clayton would be a really good dad. You secretly hope his seed already got you pregnant as you fell asleep cuddled into his chest. He took another good look at your gorgeous face before drifting off to sleep himself. Both of you were soon dreaming of your belly swollen with his cub and little kids running around.

He could get used to this.

[bi-writes]

can we have like a pov of like what MOB would do if something did happen to simon..? luv you!

mail-order bride

your tea is cold when you pick it up to drink it. it burns you, how cold it is, and you cough a little as you set it down, grimacing as you wipe your lips.

maybe it's just one of those days. the rain is hitting a little too hard against the window. the cats have been restless. the dark one shredded your yoga mat by clawing at it under a doorway, and the orange tabby managed to knock over all of simon's plants from the windowsill (which you frantically put back inside their little pots--would plant murder be his last straw?). you left a red shirt in when you washed the whites (you apologized to all of simon's white tees), and when you noticed holes in your favorite sweats in a pattern that matched a cat's claws, you called it a day and decided to make tea (another fail).

you rub your pounding head, taking a deep breath, but you aren't given long to count down from five when your phone begins to ring.

you pick it up, not recognizing the number, but you put it to your ear as you get up to boil more water.

"hello?"

a throat clears on the other end. "do i have mrs. riley 'ere?"

you frown, leaning your hip against the kitchen counter as you turn a burner on and put the kettle over it.

"uhm...yeah. this is she," you say finally. you look at the clock; it's late, much too late. "who is this?"

"this is john. ah...captain john price, ma'am."

you clench your jaw, closing your eyes. "um...i'm sorry, i...what can i do for you? simon's not--"

"we had to call for medevac," john says lowly. "ahh...should be headin' into surgery soon. i--"

"wait--what?" you cough a little, shutting the stove off, and you're scrambling as you make your way to the bedroom. he's talking again, you realize, but you can't hear what he's saying. your eyes are moving around the room, and you frantically start to pull drawers open, grabbing a sweater, jeans, actual clothes to put on. you shed your pajamas, hopping as you slide your jeans on, and he's still talking, but you still hear nothing.

you run into the dresser, the furniture rattling, and you let the phone go, realizing you can't see because there's tears blurring your vision. you wipe them away, looking around for your purse, and when you realize what this is, an emergency--right?--you head for the bookcase in simon's study.

you toss a few books down onto the floor, your hands shaking as your fingers curl around the spine of a leather bible. you set the book down on simon's desk, flipping through the pages before you find your prized paper nestled between the pages of the book of john.

you head back to the bedroom, picking up the phone again, and you shakily dial the number that's on the back of the card. you take a seat on the bed (because where would you go anyways?), and you close your eyes as you wait for someone to pick up.

it rings for too long. you gasp a little, clutching the phone tight, and you beg for someone to pick up, please, please, please--

"'ello?"

"johnny--" you hiccup, standing up. "johnny, he...he told me--"

"wha--who--" on the other end, johnny shouts at someone to get a move on, "--bleedin' christ, who is this?"

"it's me," you whisper. "i'm...simon's--"

"ach...fuckin' hell..." there's a long, deep sigh on the other end. "oi, lass, listen, he's alright--"

"he's...b-but someone said surgery."

"right, i..." he sighs again, and you hear a door shut on the other end. "ye sit tight, luv. i'll come get ye, okay?"

you sniffle, wiping your face, "just tell me he's gonna be okay. tell me i'm worrying for nothing."

johnny chuckles a bit, and the sound soothes you just enough. "gonna be alright. lad's fuckin' dramatic, i'll tell ye tha', big brick fuckin' stepped in front of--"

"okay, johnny, please don't tell me how simon almost killed himself and get your ass over here, okay?" you snap, and johnny halts his laughing.

"right, yeah, forgive me." you hear the rattle of keys. "'m coming."

"mrs. riley?"

your head lifts up. you blink the sleep out of your eyes, rubbing them gently, and there's a petite woman in scrubs smiling at you with her mask hanging around her neck. you have two sergeants at either side of you, captain price settled leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. you have a blanket around your shoulders, and when you slip it off, johnny takes it from you gently.

"you can see him now."

you get to your feet, and when you pass simon's captain, he tips his hat at you respectfully. you hurry and follow the doctor down the hall, and when you see simon's name scribbled on a makeshift sigh on the wall, you eagerly pick up the pace until the door is opened for you.

he looks peaceful laying there. the monitors beep quietly around him, little wires and tubes falling around him, and you let out a breath when you see him blink those dark eyes awake blearily.

"tha' an angel?"

you start to cry. "you're such an asshole."

you come close to the side of the bed, taking his outstretched hand, and you clutch his big hand to your chest. you curl his hand into a fist, pressing your face against the back of his hand, kissing his knuckles there gently. he uncurls his fingers and wipes at your tears gently, shaking his head.

"gave ya a right scare, didn't i?"

"yes, you dickhead," you sniffle, and simon chuckles lowly, wincing a little as he clutches his lower stomach. you use your foot to bring the chair behind you closer, taking a seat in it as you look up at him. he turns his head to face you, giving you a pained smile, and you let out the breath you've been holding since johnny came to get you. "what's the matter with you, simon?"

"shit happens."

you try not to roll your eyes, but the anger is not lost on simon. he squeezes your hand gently, his eyes flicking up to the clock, and he grimaces when he realizes it's nearly six in the morning. you must have been here all night, waiting for him.

"is this how it's gonna be?" you ask in a whisper. when he meets your eyes again, it's more difficult this time. what you're asking isn't predictable. it isn't a straight answer. and if he gives you anything that isn't the truth, it feels like a lie, and he can't do that to you. "w-waking up in the middle of the night? hoping that the call isn't...that...hoping that--"

"not that simple," simon interrupts gently.

"well, make it simple, simon," you say firmly. even through your tears, your voice doesn't shake this time. "make it very simple for me, then."

simon purses his lips, and for the first time since you've met your husband, he hesitates. he doesn't have an answer, at least a good one.

"don't wanna lie to ya, swee'eart," simon murmurs, and you stare right back at him.

"then don't."

he sucks on his teeth, looking away, and you tug on his hand, pulling his eyes back to you.

"look at me, simon," you say, and he looks sad. he's going to tell you something that you won't want to hear. he's going to tell you something that's been the truth since he enlisted, a reality that never bothered him until he realized he had a responsibility to keep a roof over your head. there's someone waiting inside of his house. there's a place that's waiting for him on one side of the bed he shares with you. there's someone else's shoes always next to his, and someone else's name that will always be beside his own.

family.

he has a family.

"i'll try and keep ya outta here," is all simon murmurs. you smile at that. it's a promise, but he won't lie to you. always honest, your husband. he tells you things as they are. he doesn't pretend. everything with simon is the truth as he presents it, and it's eerily comforting, even if the truth isn't one that you like.

"i love you, simon," you whisper, and when you touch his face finally, the sting of the gold of your wedding is a welcome distraction.

he vows to make this the last time you see him this way. nothing is worth seeing that face of yours like this--tired, disheveled, the angry crease in your brow. you're not meant for these things. for the waiting, the crying, the worry, it's not a life he meant to give you.

for a moment, he wonders if you'd ever ask him.

will you hang it up for me? will you leave for me?

the most terrifying part, he realizes, is that he isn't sure of what his answer would be. and he isn't sure of what you would do if he told you no.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 15)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

Sleep eludes you. You toss and turn that first night, not used to sleeping on your own. Every sound makes you jump. When the sky goes black and the bushes rustle with the breeze, you have to double check the locks on the doors no less than three times, fastening it with the wooden bolt just to be safe. 

Without John around, the world is twice as loud; crickets chirp raucous melodies, buzzing so loud that sometimes you swear there must be one on the pillow right beside your head, and, in the distance, an owl hoots at an interval so irregular that each screech tugs you back from the brink of sleep. The house groans as it settles into itself; the first time you hear it, you spring upright in bed, heartbeat erratic, certain that it’s the sound of someone coming up the porch steps. 

You collapse back onto the mattress with a huff when you finally recognize the sound for what it is. 

You don’t sleep well that night. Dawn finds you awake before its arrival. The songbirds keep you from drifting off back to sleep when the first wispy rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, and you lie in bed until the possibility of sleep is well behind you. That makes you huff, bitter over the loss. 

Again, the day is slow to come over you. It seems almost reluctant to really get going, the sunlight clear and the air brisk but the day itself slow moving. An early morning chill forces you to don heavier garments than usual. 

After breakfast, you take Buttercup into the paddock to run around, watching her from the edge of the pen, humming to yourself under your breath. 

Most of the morning is spent cleaning and doing chores around the house. You muck the stables, feed the horses, scrub the dirty laundry on the washboard before hanging it up on the line, weed the garden, and promise yourself that next week you’ll work up the energy to boil linseed oil to polish and oil the furniture. As it is, you stagger into the kitchen around midday for lunch, sticky with sweat. 

Kate comes up the path on horseback not too long after that, a large swooped hat perched precariously on her head. She has to hold it in place by the brim to keep it from flying off. You watch her from the window at first, drying your hands from the quick wash you gave them after finishing your lunch.

“I ought to start making new friends,” you quip when she takes a seat next to you on the porch swing. 

“Sick of my company already?” she laughs. 

“Well, a girl’s gotta have options.” 

She snorts at that, tipping her hat lower on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. It has the effect of cutting a wide shadow across her face, leaving only a swath of white teeth exposed. 

Her beauty has always come as an afterthought. Tanned, freckled skin, and hair like golden wheat. But you look now and you see something different than the woman you’re used to seeing, and it dawns on you that what you’re seeing now is a version of Kate divorced from the idea of her that you’d always had in your head. Almost fuller; more robust. 

You tear your eyes away only when she catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow. 

She coaxes you into saddling Buttercup up and accompanying her on a trail ride. Part of you resists initially, still wounded from your last ride, and when Kate presses you for more information, you reluctantly divulge, recounting the events from the weeks prior with a tremble in your voice. She nods only once while you speak, keeping her comments to herself. That she must have already known doesn’t surprise you; she’d insinuated as much only the other week. 

You’d be wise to not keep secrets from Kate in the future, you realize. Best to keep someone as omniscient as her on your side. 

After some encouragement, she talks you into a leisurely stroll and even helps you dress Buttercup in the stables. The dizzying spell of apprehension settles over you like a heavy fog up until you blink and realize that the two of you have been riding beside each other in silence for the better part of a half mile. 

The fear doesn’t entirely evaporate, however. Any sudden dip in the terrain or unexpected noise from Buttercup makes you start. You take several breaks to breathe and walk around. At the top of a hill, you ask Kate in a voice verging on shrill if you can take a break and dismount before she’s even answered you. 

“She can sense if you’re on edge,” Kate reminds you, nodding to where Buttercup grazes in a nearby patch of grass. 

“Well, I can’t help that much. I am on edge.”

She tips her head back to look at the sky and sighs before looking back at you. “Sit down for a bit then. It’s not a race.”

And you do, for a spell. You sit and rest with your back against the trunk of a tree that branches high above you, the canopy blotting out any sunlight save for the tendril thin strands that sink through like stones in water. 

You’re striking a delicate balance between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. What the soul wants is to push itself beyond the boundaries that formerly enclosed it; after a lifetime of servitude and desires suppressed, even a simple trail ride feels momentous. What the flesh wants, however, is to shade in the shade until the urge to retch wears off. 

The walk takes the two of you by a farm with a large, fenced-in enclosure. A couple houses sit around the enclosure. The smell of the livestock is pungent at first and your nose wrinkles as you approach the farm, but you adjust after a time. 

Recent weeks so far from home have spoiled you; back in the city, the pungent stench of waste and manure was commonplace, the sour cloak of tobacco stinking up the alehouses and alleyways as much as the parlors and lounges. You’d adjusted to it back then as well. 

The grazing cows rumble and low behind the fence. It’s a pleasant bucolic scene, one lifted straight from a painting that you swear you’ve seen before, though the artist’s name escapes you. 

Looking out into antediluvian pastures sets your heart at ease. When the farmer wanders out of the barn to greet the two of you, the two of you join him and his wife for coffee in the big house. 

For a brief period of time, it’s like stepping out of your body; there’s no impetus to get a move on, and inertia doesn’t set in like a rolling fog leaving you stranded in no man’s land. Nothing like the late evenings lying in bed in your aunt and uncle’s apartment, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling and praying for something to change. 

You, simply, have a coffee.

After bidding them farewell, the bulk of the afternoon is spent at Kate’s house, a tiny plot of land just outside of town surrounded by fields of ochre prairie grass. You’re wiped by the end of the ride, sweat running in rivulets down your back. While Kate brings the horses into her little stable to let them rest and eat, you fill up the porcelain bowl in her bathroom with water to wash your face. 

It’s quiet. You help with a few affairs around the house and you learn, to your own internal amusement, that Kate hums through her chores. Soap stops by in the early evening to drop off Kate’s mail and stays for supper, glad for the company. You watch bemusedly as he scarfs down three corned beef sandwiches with ease, mildly nauseated by the way he talks with his mouth full. 

“Can he even breathe?” you hiss to Kate while Soap is busy shoveling food into his gob. 

She nods, unbothered by the display in front of her. “You should see him when he’s actually hungry.”

You pale when he belches, pushing your plate away from you.

“Ye tell yer man when he’s back what a good job I’ve done, Mrs. Price,” he says, licking a leaking trail of sauce off his thumb. 

“Won’t the town still standing be sufficient evidence?”

“Aye, but it’s sweeter comin’ from the missus, ye dinnae think?” 

Incorrigible boy. You shake your head, acquiescing even if only to get him to shut up. That mollifies him, gets him crowing about the raise he’ll get, or the commendation. You think he’ll start going on about lofty aspirations towards sheriffdom, but he never quite gets to that point. You wonder if the rest of your life will be similarly composed of assumptions that fall flat when you look at them too hard.

He takes you home at the end of the night as a favor to Kate, who watches you from the door until she disappears into the faraway. You only have to yell at Soap twice to slow down when he tries to goad you into a faster gallop. 

You sleep better that night, but only just. This time, it’s the empty spot beside you on the bed that bothers you. His pillow is cold when you reach over to touch it. Your hand lingers on the pillow; there’s a passing thought that maybe the warmth of your hand will transfer into the pillow and trick you in sleep. You have another passing thought that maybe somewhere out there, wherever John is, he’ll feel a phantom hand creep across the bed to cup his cheek. 

The blooming flower of daylight comes again to wake you up and the cycle starts anew. 

The chores never end, but there’s some comfort in routine. Regularity breeds familiarity. Any contempt has long been bled out of you, almost without you even noticing.

The days pass slowly. A horse-drawn carriage. A robin nestled in the branches of a pine tree sings at evening twilight. You look up to find it stark against the dark green needles, the fir’s red heart.

A neighbor comes by with fresh strawberries that you eat from the bowl out in the sun, lying down in the grass by the paddock. You suck the juice out of a big one when you bite into it and it drips messy down your chin. When the achenes fleck off, you wipe them off on your dress. 

Though you half expect Kate to come by, she never does. Perhaps she’s busy in town. You remind yourself that the brevity of your friendship can hardly measure up to competing priorities. Minding the shop, for instance, or stopping by to check on other acquaintances. 

And then the waiting ends when you see a dark shadow on the horizon that you recognize all at once as a man on horseback headed towards the house. 

Elation clambers up your throat. You very nearly shout at the sheer sight of him, but at the last second, you manage to reign it in. 

You wave at John from the porch when you can finally make out the face of the man riding up the path. Despite the euphoric wave that washes over you at the sight of him, you feign composure, keeping your butt planted on the porch swing until he dismounts and heads down the path towards you.

There's something striking about watching him from a distance. Like Kate, you see him now from a new angle, an added weight to him. When he lumbers up the porch steps, you don't just see the man that dragged you to the court house and forced you to marry him, but a man in his prime. Square, masculine jaw; thick thighed. Something in your belly stirs when he rolls his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of them. 

When he reaches you, he grips you under the arms to pull you up, but your arms wind around his neck without any coaxing, meeting him halfway. Every inch of your body presses into his, and he smells and feels exactly as you remembered. 

“Been missing you like hell, sweetheart,” John rasps into your ear. 

“Missed you too,” you mutter, lips smushed into a kiss against his cheek. 

And you did, didn’t you? You can say it for once without worrying that you’ll fall apart. 

The two of you stumble into the house in a daze. Your hands are already trembling well before you fist them into John’s hair to drag him into a kiss. Desperation claws up your throat, need choking you when you go to tell him how much you missed him. You missed him bone deep. 

He pulls away briefly, chuckling when you whine. “Darlin’, can I at least get cleaned up? I’m a mess.”

His beard has grown since you last kissed him, the mutton chops more pronounced now. It scratches your lips and cheeks when you tug him back down for a deeper kiss. He can clean himself later as far as you’re concerned. You’ve gone three days now without your husband and you can’t go a second more. 

You can feel his smile when he breaks the kiss again. “Honey—”

“No,” you cut him off, a whine threading your voice. You tighten your arms around his neck, pushing your bosom into his chest. “Please, John, don’t make me wait; I can’t—”

“Alright, alright,” John sighs, and then hunches slightly to fit his hands under your thighs  and hike you up his body until your legs wind around his waist. “Poor girl. Never seen you this needy before. You missed me that bad?”

“Yes,” you answer succinctly, already pressing kisses into the sweaty skin of his neck and his cheeks. His arms shake when he laughs.

He nearly trips up the stairs when you suck at the salty skin of his neck. 

John smiles amusedly when you whip your dress off, nearly getting tangled in it before letting it pile on the floor by the bed. 

In a different time, your eagerness might embarrass you, but you’re well beyond that now. It’s impossible to hear that distant voice in your head shrieking modesty when your husband watches you indulgently and unbuttons his shirt so slowly that you nearly bark at him to hurry it up. And then you actually do when he goes to fold his shirt instead of simply tossing it to the floor.

He laughs; it sends frissons of heat down your spine. 

It’s unclear who pursues and who is pursued this time. All you know is that you either push him onto the bed or he pulls you down with him, clothes long since stripped and piled onto the floor. Your hands sink into the meat of his chest when you sit astride his lap, wet folds grinding on the hard shaft jutting up between his legs. John hisses through clenched teeth, already worked up, fit to burst. You wonder if he tended to himself at all on his trip, whether he even had time. 

The hands tightening around your waist tell you that, whether or not he did, it’s inconsequential now when faced with the thing he’s been wanting most.

Your instinct is to lift your hips and line his member up with your sopping entrance before sinking down, but John surprises you by shifting up the bed and dragging you with him, not stopping until your pussy is hovering over his mouth. 

It’s easy to panic over that, easy to grow skittish. You start when the flat of his tongue runs up the seam of your cunt, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the bed altogether being the big hands clamped around your hips.  

“You try to keep your pussy off my face and I’ll give you a licking you won’t like anywhere near as much,” John warns, and then pulls you down onto his face without further ado. 

Your back arches at the first lick, his tongue burrowing into your hole, softened by the slick leaking out of you. His lips and tongue work you over until you’re a shivering, coiled mess on top of his face, hands braced against the wall and toes burrowing into the mattress. 

A stiff tongue stabs up into your hole. The groan he lets out at the taste of you vibrates through you, making you clench around his tongue. 

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you feel drunk now, grinding on his mouth. Hands running through his hair. Blissed out, sex leaking, throbbing. Shameful noises pouring out of you unbidden, your inhibitions packed up and long gone by now. His upper lip glistens with your juices and when his eyes blink open, they’re nearly black with desire. 

The hands on your bottom holding you over his head grip into you good and tight. He readjusts his hold on you whenever you try to pull off his face, yanking you back down and digging his fingers in harder, the tips wedged between your cheeks. You practically yowl when a finger prods at your back hole, worrying over the puckered flesh. 

The time for gentle words is far beyond him. When you glance down between your legs, his hair is matted with sweat and disheveled, a flush high on his cheekbones. Blue eyes peer out through slits, locked on the dripping mess between your thighs. His nose presses hard into your pubic bone when he pulls you down onto his waiting mouth, lips parting and tongue sawing over your clit. That part you can’t see, but you feel the wet slide of his tongue over your slit. 

You come with a finger lodged knuckle deep in your ass and his tongue rolling over your clit, coaxing it from you. Your whole body pulses and shivers. Chuckling to himself when you go dumb during it, slumped over him and panting hard. Tears dripping down your cheeks that John cleans up himself with his tongue when he drags you back down his chest and rolls the two of you over. 

“God, you look so pretty like this, honey,” he coos when he’s got you under him, pinching your cheeks between his fingers until your lips go plump and pursed. 

When he drags you into a kiss, his tongue still tastes of you. 

He takes you on your back after that, knees over his shoulders and bending you in ways you didn’t think possible. Whatever control he had before is gone now. He thrusts in to the hilt the second he gets you flat on your back, taking three days of frustration out on you, near punching your cervix with the head of his cock. 

“There we go— fuck—” John growls. “C’mon, squeeze me tight, honey; make me come in your pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

You feel like a creature turned inside of itself. All high yips, sharp pangs of pleasure, an ache in your hips that you know instinctively will worsen by morning, and a deep seated, unquenchable need. He mates you like a beast in heat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed; when your eyelids slip shut, he growls at you to keep them open, and you do only to find him staring down at you with that indelible, maddening intensity of his. 

“Nngh, John—John—” you gasp.

“Just a little, darlin’—shh, c’mon, just take it. Like that, yes—that’s it.” 

A dark urge flutters under your skin, blinking its eyes open. You stare up at him through half lidded eyes. “Gonna come in me and give me a baby, John?”

His eyes go black. “I’m gonna fill this tight cunt right up, you keep talking like that.”

You reach up to rake your hands through his hair. "Please give me a baby, John. Give me it, please."

His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, lost in it, your nipples tagging his chest with every thrust. 

If you could peel back your skin and tuck him into your ribcage, you would. He’s already in you anyway; everywhere it counts. Leathery musk wafting under your nose, sweat-slicked skin, his spend deep in your cunt and leaking out around his throbbing cock, the heat steaming off him and warming you from the outside in and inside out. His come spurts into you hot and viscous, so deep that you swear you can taste it at the back of your throat. 

In the aftermath, you curl up against his chest and he traces a finger lazily up and down your spine. 

“You’ve been so patient with me.” You don’t know what prompts you to say that, but you know it’s been sitting in your chest and waiting for you to put it to words. 

His fingers pause in their ministrations, his hand resting flat on your back. “Patient?”

“Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Got some nerve accusing me of playing dumb,” he chuckles softly, leaning down to butt his forehead against yours. 

You nearly go cross eyed. Doe eyed. Treacle tart soft in your chest. You wonder if you’ll look back on this someday in fear and awe, and think that is the very moment when you finally let him in. 

This is how love suffuses into the girl: you wake up gasping to find it staring down at you. 

You’re brave enough now to ask what it is that you need. The world flashes briefly before you: in it, you see every possible version of a girl, how she goes from animal skin to teeth glinting in the night. She is perforated and vibrating; lacunae as the voice drips back into the sea, papyrus crackling hot in the fire. 

Maybe new love flounders again against the rhythms of the old, the song of you now sleeping beneath an alder tree, thickening with lemon and honey.

“I’m going to…—you know I’ll tell you. I just need time.”

“Darlin’, I know. There’s no use for rushing things. It happens when it happens,” John murmurs. He drops a bristly kiss on your forehead. 

“…And if it doesn’t happen?”

He shrugs. “Then it doesn’t happen.”

It’s a shock when love finds you because you don’t expect it. You’d open the door to anything else in a heartbeat, but it’s love that finds you cowering under the stairs. 

Love is not something you’ve ever touched, not even grazed. You recognize the insidious rot of lust or the gnarled grip of possession, but love? That has yet evaded your attempts on it. Not that you’ve ever given it a good go. 

But now, when you think of it, it looks at you through blue eyes. 

You sleep on it. You don’t contemplate when it’ll happen only because you know it’s inevitable. Your lips have already grown loose. When he eats you out in the early morning hours after a good night’s sleep for once since John left, you have to swallow back the wails of I love you, I love you, tell me you love me, please, please. 

Your lips part, lax. Only sinking your mouth down over his turgid length after he’s made you come keeps you from accidentally saying the words. The soft, grunted fuck he lets out at that empties out any thought in your head.

Desperate times, desperate measures. 

If John knows, he jealously guards your secret. Would take it to his grave you think. Just for him and you to know. Any temerity from the night before is squashed in the light of day, and you sit across from him at the table during breakfast wishing that he could hear the words in your head, if only so you didn’t have to say it out loud. 

God bites the lip when you want it most to part. Isn’t that just the nature of life?

John leaves you off at the general store as always, dropping a peck to your lips before heading out on his way, but when you wander inside, you find Miles behind the counter instead of Kate. That dims the excitement in your chest a tad. It’s no fault of his, but you’d hoped to regale Kate with the revelation you’d had the night previous, omitting some of the lewder details. Instead you’ll be forced to wait until she’s back in town. When you ask Miles when abouts that’ll be, he shrugs, unable to give you a definite answer.

“Visiting a friend, she said,” he tells you, and you blink like you don’t know exactly what that means. 

Her absence leaves you in a lurch though, little else to do but wander around the store. You’d leave entirely and try to find something else to occupy your time, but you feel a bit foolish coming in just to leave right away, though you’re sure Miles wouldn’t care either way. Still, you tell yourself you’ll linger for a few minutes before heading out to the library or down the road for a coffee at the inn. 

The bell over the door jingles, but you pay it no mind. 

You linger in the aisle with the fruit preserves and canned fish, gazing into the bottles. Tins with hand-drawn labels, branded packaging. On another shelf, you find oyster crackers, National Biscuit Company on the label. Nabisco. If Kate were minding the shop, you’d pop your head around the aisle to ask her what corned beef brand she used the other day. 

The sound of spurs jangling from behind you makes you frown and turn your head. 

A hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling the yelp that leaps instinctively from your throat, and you go shock cold when the blunt muzzle of a pistol wedges against the small of your back. 

“Bet you thought you were clever gettin’ me out of town, didn’t you, girl?”

Your eyes widen.

[seungfl0wer]

*𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝘿𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙒/ 𝙎𝙆𝙕*

Pairing: Maknae Line x Reader (GN)

Genre: Fluff

A/N: I hate these came out a lot shorter but my brain hasn’t been braining so I’m sorry :(

Hyung Line | Maknae Line

-🎄

Han:

Things had been a little stressful for your boyfriend lately. All the holiday stuff he was doing and filming just had him a bit on edge. So you decided to do something sweet. You rearranged some of the furniture moving things around before ordering his favorite food. You made a comfy little fort putting all the food under, getting everything ready for when he came home.

When he came home dropping everything by the door you heard him sigh. However when he walked into the room he couldn’t help but smile. “Welcome home love” you said smiling. “Come and relax. I got your favorite and we can watch a Christmas movie” you said.

He came to you hugging you tightly before kissing you softly. “I love you” he said with a blush. You both got under the warm blankets cuddling up to one another. He pulled you into his arms kissing the top of your head. You ran your hand through his hair making him just melt into your touch. If he was a cat he’d be purring right now.

“Thank you babe” he said with a hum.

“Of course handsome, anything for you” you said smiling back.

You stayed there under the fort all night just talking about everything and everything. Until you both fell asleep curled up into one another.

Felix:

He told you he’d pick you up after he got off. He also asked you to wear something warm because you’d be out. When he picked you up he was dressed so nicely. Weirdly enough you were matching, both red plaid shirts.

He took your hand in his as he drove you to the light place. He found a really pretty place that you could drive through look at the lights and drink some warm coco.

He turned on some holiday music as you both marveled at the pretty lights. It was crazy how many they had, how cool some of them were. You pointed giggling at one of beauty and the beast showing Felix. He smiled kissing your hand.

He stopped the car at the little coco shop getting you both some before pulling off to a little spot. He pulled you to him kissing you lovingly cupping your face. “I’m so happy I have you” he said smiling.

“And I’m happy to have you too, this was such a great idea!” You said smiling back.

Seungmin:

You headed outside to get some mail, bundling up because it was so cold out. When you got outside you were met with a snowball to the back. You looked around trying to figure out who it was or where it came from.

You looked around only to hear a cackle coming from the side of the building. You packed a snowball quickly before looking around the building. You saw seungmin standing chuckling to himself.

You drew your arm back throwing the snowball hitting him in the shoulder. He jumped before meeting your eyes. “Oh, this is war” he said with a wicked grin.

You spent bit chucking snowballs at one another. Before he came running at you playfully tackling you into the snow. You both couldn’t stop laughing before he cupped your face in his hands kissing you softly. “Let’s go inside and get a nice warm shower” he said with that same grin.

Jeongin:

He didn’t really plan this date more so seeing it on his way home. He liked to plan things however he thought this would be such a cute date.

He called you on his way home asking you to get ready in something warm. He waited for you to come out opening your door for you.

When you arrived at the spot you could tell he was super excited. Getting everything out he pulled you up the hill on the sled before jumping on the back. You slid down the side of the hill fast laughing loudly as the snow hit your faces.

He kissed your cheek before pulling back up the hill. The joy on his face was everything. Those cute dimples poking out that you loved so much. He pushed you down the hill before accidentally sliding down on his butt with you. He rolled trying to stop himself only making you laugh in the process.

“You alright?” You ask still laughing.

“I think so but I think a kiss will make me a lot better” he said with a grin.

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[dsybouquet]

cant stop thinking about art atelier owner! ellie who recently moved the atelier to a bigger and prettier place.

the former flower shop has stood empty for years since the old lady running it has turned too old. when ellie bought the place from her, she saw the sadness behind the woman’s eyes who spent decades of her life in the building and now had to leave it behind. therefore ellie made the promise to keep the place im a good shape.

that being said, ellie stood by her word. couple of months have passed and the atelier is almost finished. she was missing some things here and there, but the time will bring them in - or rather, her local delivery girl will.

it was a cold november day and you regretted showing up at work. since christmas was approaching, the amount of packages was nearly unbearable. you stopped the mail-vehicle and put your head on the steering wheel. “think about the money, ______.”, you reminded yourself before grabbing the letters from the box next to you.

“williams?”, you whispered to yourself, clearly remembering that the shop belonged to a elderly woman named sophie thomson.

looking at your handscanner, you saw that you also had three packages to deliver at the adress.

thinking nothing of it, you got out of the vehicle. the cold air was immediately piercing your fingers and you wrapped your scarf closer around your neck. the side door slid open and you took the four packages all adress to ‘ellie williams - williams’ atelier’

odd, you thought, but you scanned them in and made your way inside. it was completely renovated. the walls, that used to have a flowery wallpaper, are now painted in a dark green tone, that made the atmosphere super mysterious. brown armchairs and a retro looking glass table, that was littered with art magazines, stood next to the entrance. it felt like a lobby.

“hello? im here to deliver a package.”, you called out, placing the packages on the nearby counter.

“coming!”, you heard a woman reply.

rushing from the backdoor was a woman, approximately around the age of 25. her hair was half up in a messy bun, possibly to keep it out of her face. she wore a beat down overall that was covered in paint stains.

“sorry, didn’t hear ya coming in.”, she then said, looking at you with her piercing eyes. for a second you were just staring at her tattoos, her face and her eyes.

“y-yeah don’t worry! i just need a signature for one of these.”, you fumbled on the handscanner. “can i ask your name, so i can type it in?”

“ellie williams.”, she responded, leaning against the counter, eyeing you.

“alright, miss williams, i need you to sign right on the display and then we’re done.”, you smiled, holding the scanner out to her.

she signed with a smile on her face, and placed the packages on the backdoor.

“hey! i have a few more orders coming in in the next weeks. also some furniture. if anything is too heavy just come in and yell. i will make sure to help you.”, she said, walking back to you.

this wasn’t the last time you had to go to the atelier. actually, mrs. williams was ordering a lot. you always wanted to roll your eyes when you’re collages commented how many packages the adress had, but you couldn’t.

after some time passed, she would eventually start to offer you a cup of coffee or some sweets. eventually you would drop calling her mrs. williams and call her ellie or els.

“what are your opening hours between christmas and new year?”, you asked as you placed her packages on the counter and clicked the ‘recipient’ button to confirm the package delivery.

“we’re closed, but just ring the door bell as i will be here sometimes. maybe you can catch me.”, she smiled and grabbed your to go coffee cup to refill it for you - something that she started to do last week.

“______, wait here for a second.”, she then said, turning her back to you and jogging towards the backdoor. “i got you a little something.”

she handed you a dark green, christmas themed giftbag filled with some chocolate and a little canvas. “thank you for your hard work and for carrying my heavy furniture in here”

“thank you, els.”, you smiled.

back in your car, you looked at the little envelope in the bag. there was a card inside, littered with christmas wishes and..

ellies number at the bottom of it. ‘text me if you see this xx’

[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - Three

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. - You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time. - content warning for marital rape after the second break. - ao3

previous

“Come,” says Hans, tugging on your arm, “let’s get you ready for the ceremony.”

Your husband-to-be leads you up the porch steps and into the house, long legs carrying him ahead so fast you must practically jog to keep up with him. You stumble when you enter the house—the interior is fantastically well-appointed, with papered walls and carved wood furniture, framed photos hanging beside paintings, pressed flowers, hunting trophies, rifles and knives and old farm equipment. The floor beneath your feet is polished and smooth, spread over in places with thick, fringed rugs. You don’t see much more of it after your initial impression; Hans pulls you along at a clip.

Even such a brief glimpse, though, proves your long-held assumptions about Hans and his livelihood; his family has done well for itself, over the years. The kitchen, dining room, and sitting room are all separate from each other, and the manor’s first floor alone is larger than the small farmhouse you grew up in. Your family always made an effort to present a comfortable, clean home, but it seems downright drab in memory now in comparison to this.

There’s a bit of a bustle going on as Hans tugs you along—you hear movement in the kitchen, punctuated by the clang of dishes moving to and fro. A rough voice grinds out something short, and a couple of cowboys emerge with covered dishes that they set on the dining table before they return back into the fray. In the sitting room, an older woman with short, sandy brown hair sits at a desk, spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She glances up at you, betrays no interest, and then ignores you.

“You’ll meet everyone at the ceremony,” Hans says. He directs you up the stairs. “Right now you need something nice to wear.”

“O-oh,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirt as you climb the steps. The fabric, purchased at a discount after you’d saved pennies and nickels for months, suddenly feels thin and insubstantial between your fingers.

Hans brings you into the main bedroom, equally well-designed with molded wood paneling and brass lanterns on the walls, where he goes to a chest at the foot of the massive bed four-poster bed. Everything you’ve seen so far in this house is much finer than what even the most well-to-do farmers back home could display; you used to imagine that wealth like this could only be within the reach of select few businessmen on the east coast. You never imagined you’d have the chance to marry into it.

“I think this should suit you,” says Hans, turning to you with a stack of clothing in one hand.

You take it from him when he proffers it—a skirt, blouse, and jacket, you find. The fabric is silky in your hands, glossy and cool to the touch and very fine. You shake out the skirt; yards of bustled fabric tumble open to reveal pleated gathers, elegant bows, and velvet trim. The paired jacket is much the same, with pearl buttons down the front, and the accompanying blouse is a weave of tight, delicate lace.

Your earlier fears are soundly confirmed; you are in no way dressed for a wedding to Hans König. Gaz had only been trying to be kind; being here, now, seeing the kind of splendor Hans lived with every day, no one could make the mistake that you could measure up on your own.

“Thank you, Hans,” you say, face warming with embarrassment.

“Think nothing of it,” says Hans, looking you up and down expectantly. “Go on.”

You blink. “Ex—excuse me?”

Hans raises his brows as if it should be obvious. “Why, let’s see you in it, dear girl.”

You blanch. Surely he isn’t suggesting…“But—well, Hans, we aren’t—we haven’t—”

“My dear, I’ve already promised to marry you. Why would I go to such expense on a wedding merely to fool you into showing me your underthings?”

You drop your gaze to the floor, cheeks burning. “It’s not proper.”

“Bah,” says Hans. He takes the clothes back from you, tosses them onto the bed, and brings his hands to the buttons down your front. “It’s not like I won’t see this again in a few hours.”

You are rooted to the spot. He unbuttons your dress with an alacrity that startles you; in a few short moments, he makes an opening wide enough to slip over your shoulders, and unceremoniously he pushes the collar open and lets the dress drop to the floor.

You blink several times. You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time; do they feel suddenly like they’ve been skinned? Does the air suddenly feel much closer, more real than it had before? You remember shearing season on a neighbor’s farm, the angular planes of shortened fleece cropped close to twitching flesh. The sheep had looked unfinished after the deed was done—like wooden figurines only partly whittled.

When you look to Hans’ face, you find him gazing at the tight space where your chemise tucks into the line of your corset. Then, as if in a dream, he reaches out with one huge hand and cups the mound of one breast.

The air vacates your lungs. It’s the first time a man has ever touched you this way.

When young ladies of a certain age gather to socialize, matters of discussion inevitably tend toward the prurient. Your peers delighted in sharing the wealth of erotic experience they’d accrued; trysts in larders, late graveyard meetings, dizzying accounts of hands and mouths in places that sent shame pumping hot and curious through your veins. You lived vicariously through their adventures; opportunities for your own, with three older brothers and a protective father, were nonexistent.

The embarrassing fact is that in matters of your marital duties, you received no practical education.

The one time your mother, a modest woman, saw fit to tutor you, she’d taken you out to the small enclosure in which the family goats were kept. The animals were useful for milk and occasionally meat, so there was always a breeding pair at hand. This occasion, they served the additional use of instruction; the male was rutting.

Your mother had made you watch as the billy mounted the nanny, and shoved its little goat prick into her hindquarters. The billy seemed mindless with want, ferocious, gyrating its hips uncomfortably, which the nanny took with what seemed like resigned patience, if it was paying attention at all. Once the billy finished, it dismounted, chewed its cud a little bit, and walked off. The nanny seemed unperturbed, rather detached from the whole thing, and similarly continued with whatever it had been doing before.

“It’s about like that,” said your mother, unable to look you in the eye.

So you have little knowledge of the matter.

And you have no idea what to do now, as your husband-to-be fondles you and stares down at you with what seems like only idle interest. Hans’ thumb brushes over the space where your nipple would be, hot even through layers of cotton and whalebone. The fine hairs on your arms raise, standing straight up.

What are you supposed to do now? Touch him back? Your stomach turns over at the thought. Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how. Hans is touching you so casually, as if you’ve been his wife for years, but you are as poor in wifely instinct as you are in everything else.

“Lovely,” he says, eyes locked on the place where your chest is rapidly rising and falling.

You inhale shakily. This is fine. He wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t—of course it’s all right, you’re to be married within the hour. It’s only your breast, and only his hand, and it’s over your clothes. It’s fine.

“May—” your voice comes out dry. You clear your throat. “May I dress now, Hans?”

He smiles. You note that he has a thin-lipped smile, and his eyes do not crinkle at the corners. “Of course.”

-

When the guests have all arrived, when the world around you is bathed in the orange-gold light of the setting sun, and when the mandolin plays the bridal chorus, you join Hans König under an archway of lupine and Indian paintbrush. Evening gives way to night as the last day of your old life comes to a close, ending as you say the words that until now you’ve only whispered in the night at your bedside.

For better—for worse—as long as you both shall live. Over and over again, until your tongue recognized the shape of them like the Lord’s Prayer. As if practicing them enough would speed the hour to you all the sooner in which their vow became real.

Hans kisses you for the second time, and then together, arm in arm, you turn to face the congregation’s applause.

Stars begin peeking white faces through the dimming sky as the band strikes up a tune, and as the reception commences, you must shake hands with the whole county. The priest John MacTavish insists upon introducing himself first—a younger man, with vivid blue eyes and an unusual haircut, gives his congratulations in a husky Scottish brogue entirely inappropriate for a man of the cloth. He’s followed by the sheriff, Simon Riley, who practically chases him off—another tall man, near to your husband’s height, and twice as broad. Curiously, he wears a bandanna across the lower half of his face. His greeting to you is gruff, short—polite in a way that seems unnatural for him.

Next is a slightly older woman, splendidly dressed in lace-trimmed taffeta. She comes over to kiss your cheeks in the French style. Hans ducks his head as she smiles at you; you can’t help but feel similar trepidation. She is terribly striking, with delicate creases on either side of her mouth and a mysterious twinkle in her eye.

“The hotel in town is my establishment,” she tells you. “The bath house, as well.”

“Oh,” you say, “how lovely.”

Her smile quirks at the corners; she looks at Hans, then back to you, and softly chucks your chin. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Madame, thank you,” your husband says quickly as your face sets to blazing. “I believe others would like to speak to us, as well, if you don’t mind.”

She gives you another enigmatic smile, tightens the light chiffon wrap around her shoulders, and leaves you to the banker and his wife, who both eagerly step up to talk your ear off.

Farmers, other ranchers, ramblers and gamblers and trappers; it seems everyone in the state has come to pay you their respects, and they all want to meet you at the exact same time. The rough voice you heard in the kitchen manifests itself in the form of a burly man with mutton chops, who introduces himself as John Price the saloon owner. A young woman with an unsmiling face named Ms. Boucher tells you your first purchase at her dry goods store will be discounted by five percent, as a welcome gift from her to you. She punctuates the statement with a narrow-eyed look at your husband, but you have no time to wonder at it before the next guests capture your attention.

A whole line of Hans’ cowboys, headed by the woman you saw working at the writing desk when you arrived, form up to tell you their names and pledge you their loyalty, still dressed in their wrangling leathers but bathed and combed and polished for the occasion nonetheless. The woman introduces herself as Kate Laswell, the foreman.

“I took care of the accounting after Anna passed,” Laswell says to you. “Tomorrow I’ll go through the books with you. It’ll be your job from now on.”

“Now, Kate, you shouldn’t discuss business at my wedding,” says Hans, politely, but somewhat terse. “And besides, that would be far too much for my new bride.”

“Hans, I told you,” you say earnestly, referencing a summer letter, “I want to be a part of things.”

He smiles genially at you—but the expression seems tight. “Of course, dear.”

“Tomorrow,” Kate says to you. Curiously, she looks you up and down. Then, “You’ll need to see the tailor, as well, I think.”

Her words are not said unkindly, but they shame you anyway, reminding you just how poorly matched as yet you are to this life. When you’d put the dress on earlier, it had been immediately clear to you that it was not made to your measurements, but you hadn’t thought it would be so obvious to anyone else. Only Hans’ cowboys proceeding to introduce themselves saves you from having to respond.

One is conspicuously absent.

Unexpectedly, it hurts. Even though it shouldn’t. Gaz had only driven you here, after all. You’ve known him less than a day. It shouldn’t disappoint you, as you keep your eyes on the moving line, that he does not come forward, but it does.

In between meeting the county folk, you manage to get a few bites of the wedding feast—prime rib, lamb chowder, baked fish, seasoned potatoes, collard greens, fried tomatoes, sourdough biscuits, and three different fruit cobblers still somehow steaming from the oven. You and Hans cut the bride’s cake, an impressive sheet of angel food and ivory buttercream that he must have procured at outrageous cost; you are not embarrassed to wolf it down in front of Hans’ guests. It’s the sweetest, softest thing you’ve ever eaten, more delicate than you ever could have imagined any food could be.

As the sky darkens overhead, the faint cloud of the milky way coalesces in the light of the waxing moon, and the band takes up a lively jig as the wedding party sallies forth to the clearing to dance arm in arm. Your husband whirls you along with them, arm around your waist, and then you’re dancing, too, and the familiar two-step lifts your flagging spirits as the cool night air runs quick, soft fingers across your burning cheeks.

So what if some cowboy hadn’t made it to your wedding? You’re dancing with your husband, after months of longing for him; everything and everyone else is inconsequential laid up against this triumph.

Faces blur in the lamplight the night falls indigo around you, and as the music changes Hans twirls you into a new set of arms in a jaunt that has everyone exchanging partners. They hold you only briefly before the music changes again, and off you bounce to another, the world spinning around you faster and faster, jubilant and surreal, and then another—

Suddenly you are in Kyle Garrick’s arms.

He catches you like lassoing a runaway horse, taking your momentum into the pillar of his body as he winds you in close. One of his hands spreads warm across your back, fingers spanning what feels like the entire breadth of your waist. His other cradles your own in his palm, long fingers folded around it like an envelope. You fit against him easily, perfectly, like a couple illustrated in a storybook.

“Mr. Garrick,” you gasp.

“Mrs. König,” he says.

Suddenly you realize you’re out of breath. You take deep gulps of air, and Gaz’s scent permeates your lungs. Lavender soap and bay rum, polished leather, sweet hay. The soft, dense curls of his hair are combed and parted a little, and the short stubble he’d greeted you with on the train platform is tonsured down flush to his jaw.

He leans in closer to you, hovers his lips near to one ear. “You changed your dress.”

He doesn’t keep pace with the other dancers, or swing you around in time with the music; he lets the world slow around you both, the music falling away as he brings the pace of your heart down with soft line of his mouth and the steady, still look in his dark eyes. His hand on your back radiates so much warmth that it cuts through the evening chill just beginning to set in, as if his palm is directly against your naked skin.

You smile meekly. “It wasn’t appropriate for a wedding.”

His dark brows pull together; his hands tighten their purchase on you. You watch him avert his eyes from you, take a great breath in through flared nostrils.

“Mr. Garrick,” you say, feeling too honest, “do you disapprove of me?”

He snaps his gaze back to you. “Why would you think that?”

You swallow. “You don’t seem very pleased, whenever we talk, is all.”

Suddenly Gaz smiles—lets out a short, sharp laugh that bares his even teeth, shows the points of his canines. “That’s not your fault. I promise you.”

“Then what is it?”

He gazes at you. Lamplight casts the angles of his face in shadow, deepens the darkness of his eyes. His shoulder is solid beneath where your hand rests, shaped hard by a life on the range; you could lay the entirety of your weight against him, you think, and he wouldn’t even sway with holding you up. There’s something very present about Kyle Garrick. Something real. It draws you in like the earth draws the moon into its orbit.

“Do you really want this?” he asks you.

You blink. “Of course I do.”

“You hardly know him.”

“I’ve known him for half a year, Mr. Garrick,” you say, somewhat unsure how much explanation you owe this cowboy. After all, you’d vowed to earn his trust, as his employer’s new wife. “I know you might have some reservations about me. I understand, really.”

“No,” says Gaz immediately, dark brows low and serious over his eyes. “Not about you.”

“Mrs. König!” an accented voice calls.

Immediately the world speeds up around you again, music crashing back into your ears, wedding guests spinning and leaping around you, and you turn to see your husband standing at the edge of the clearing.

The dancing comes to a halt at the sound of his voice; Hans outstretches one hand toward you.

“I believe it is time for us to retire,” he says.

Gaz’s hands tighten on you again. You feel the eyes of the other dancers on the two of you, tight lines of attention between you and them.

You have felt it all evening, really—the undercurrent lining every conversation, the askance looks tossed at you and your husband when no one thought you’d notice. The pervading sense of some drama playing out just outside of your comprehension.

You turn to look back at Gaz. His mouth is pressed into a hard line. The wells of his eyes are ink-dark, opaque, eclipsed by something of a shape beyond your knowing. He says nothing as he holds your gaze, only watches you with an expectation so stoic, so resigned, that you feel almost guilty for releasing him.

He lets you go as if his grasp wasn’t even tight in the first place. You turn away from him, from the stone-hard expression on his face, and go to slide your fingers into your husband’s waiting hand.

Wolf-whistles populate the night air as he smiles approvingly, nods, and leads you away. Short bursts of knowing applause behind you draw your shoulders tight together.

“Ignore them,” says Hans, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm. “They’re just fools.”

You look back over your shoulder. Gaz still stands amid the dancers, a wide berth around him. His eyes have not left you; they pierce you in the night, sharp even as the distance between you grows.

You have only one other point of reference, aside from your mother’s tutelage, for how the end of this evening might go. A topaz glimmering in the folds of your memory.

Years ago, before the shine had worn off as it usually does with older siblings, you’d worshiped your oldest brother like he was Jesus Christ returned. You’d trailed after him like a newborn pup, dogging his every step, hoping your devotion would earn you even the smallest scraps of his affection. You’d watched his comings and goings like you could divine the mysteries of God from the merest angle of his movements.

One night, far past the time when everyone should be asleep, he’d slipped out of the small three-room house your family shared. You knew, because you slept closest to the door, and by then could recognize him by the rhythm of his footsteps. Like any nosy little sibling, you’d followed him out once you were sure he couldn’t hear you behind him.

He’d made his creeping way toward the barn, his path and yours lit only by a waxing moon. You remember, sneaking along after him, noticing a dim glow emanating from the cracks in the hayloft door, and guessed that your brother had realized he’d forgotten to snuff a lantern before going to bed—and now he was going to put it out, rather than leave a hay fire to chance.

He went inside. You were about to follow (no sibling, however divine, was exempt from a good ribbing, and nearly burning down the barn was excellent blackmail fodder)—when you heard another voice.

A female voice. Soft, and sweet, and welcoming.

Very little preamble separated that revelation from the next, and what you heard in the following moments rooted you there in place; movement. Rustling. For the span of a few heartbeats, nothing except for the crickets in the fields—and then, like the moon rising on a cloudless night—a growing chorus, voices high and low, moaning together in staccato.

You’d stood there, frozen absolutely solid, as it went on. The high voice lifted higher, and higher, carried on frantic, rapid breaths, until it cut off with a shriek that muffled so fast you knew your brother had covered the girl’s mouth.

Then—quiet, shared laughter.

So you know a little more than what the goats taught you.

Hans leads you back inside the house, where the lanterns have been turned to low, orange specks of light. You fix your eyes on the nape of his neck ahead of you as the two of you climb the stairs, making your way back to the master bedroom. The cacophony of the wedding celebration is far away; he opens the door, draws you inside, and shuts it behind him.

You stand in the middle of the room, looking at him. This whole evening has felt like a dream, but as you gaze at your husband, you suddenly feel like you’re waking up. You have not been alone with Hans since you met him, not really, and you realize he hasn’t felt quite real to you because of it. You almost feel as if you can see him, for the first time, see the words that have made him up in your memory coalesce into the flesh-and-blood man standing before you.

This is him. This is Hans. This is the man you love.

Softly, you approach him. Reach up with two hands to take his face in them; press your lips, shyly, unpracticed, to his.

“Hans,” you say, more softly than you have ever said anyone’s name in your life, looking into the pale blue of his eyes.

He gazes down at you. “Let’s get undressed,” he says.

It’s the moment you expected, but it daunts you nonetheless. You nod, step away from your husband, and he sets to the task—he shucks his coat, dropping it on the floor, and unhooks his suspenders. Swiftly you turn away from him when he begins unbuttoning his shirt, face blazing—of course, you’ve seen men undress before, you have three brothers, but this—this—

The reality of what you are about to do douses you all at once, soaking you to the bone. When you bring your hands up to the buttons of your bodice, they are trembling; you can barely get the tiny pearls between your fingers to undo them. You hear more clothes land on the floor behind you as you struggle, and then nothing. Stillness.

His eyes are heavy on your back. He is silent as you finally get the jacket off, and the blouse along with it; he is silent as you push the skirt down over your hips, the garment piling on the floor.

Your whole body is shaking by the time you’re down only to your chemise, shivering like a foal on new legs as you bare your shoulders. You close your eyes. There’s no need to be afraid as you shuffle the garment down your back. It’s only your husband behind you, looking at you as you bare your buttocks, as you step out of the split shorts, as the cool night air caresses your naked belly.

“That’s enough,” Hans says behind you when your hands go to the ties on your stockings.

You go still.

“Get on the bed, now.”

-

You focus on your breathing. Long breaths, in and out, as you crawl belly-first onto the mattress, which sinks luxuriously under your weight, softer than any bed you’ve lain on in your life. Suddenly, before you have time to adjust, the mattress sinks even more under you, and an envelope of heat and weight looms over you, pressing hard onto you, bare skin and the smell of sweat and the sound of another person’s breathing over you invading your senses.

Then there’s something blunt nudging at the entrance of your sex. A hand on your hip, gripping tight. The blunt thing circles briefly, parting your folds, and then is pressing into you. Pressing in somewhere tight, somewhere that doesn’t want to open to let it in. You hold your breath. It presses harder, fighting the resistance, and then finally gets past it, just a half inch or so—and suddenly it hurts.

“Hans,” you whisper.

He hasn’t seem to have heard you. He pushes harder, just a bit further. There’s another wall of resistance, this one needling and far more solid. You gasp sharply at the dryness of it, the way his member seems to want to push your own folds up into you as it tries to get in, shoving, bludgeoning, and then, mercifully, Hans pulls away.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to suggest that maybe the two of you try this later. Clearly there is something about you that’s not ready for it—but then his hand is between your legs, smearing something slippery around, and just briefly he touches something that pulses with interest. You jolt as little sparks of pleasure dance through you but quickly burn out, and then, the blunt head of his cock is back, pushing in, much faster, much smoother, huge and hard—

Suddenly it is sharp inside you, razor sharp, paralyzing. You shriek in pain, tears welling acidic in your eyes, shocked, betrayed, and he keeps coming, an endless length of him forcing inside, making room where there is none, going somewhere it clearly must not belong—and then he groans, loud and guttural, and begins to pull out.

You don’t have enough time to mistake this for the end of it. He pulls out halfway and then rams back in, slamming against your body, punching what must be the very limit of the space he can make for himself in your body. Pain roars to life around his cock, radiating outward, a ripping and shredding that grows as he forces himself into you again, and then again, and then it’s happening for real, he’s begins thrusting so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs, slapping his hips against your backside as he grunts and groans behind you like a dumb animal. He batters some nexus of agony that sends you screaming, shrieking with every jerk of his hips, tears streaming down your face as you grip the blanket in clawed fingers.

“Please, Hans, stop, please!”you wail. “Stop, stop, stop—”

His hand grips back of your head, turning your face downward—pressing it against the bed, muffling your mouth and nose and eyes into the blanket—

He jerks against you as agony writes itself into your bone marrow. Your hands circle in on themselves so tightly you feel your fingernails bite into your palms. Any memory of laughter you ever had abandons you.

Then, suddenly, mercifully, he’s forcing himself into you as deeply as he can, groaning loud, and something warm blooms in you, squelches out warm and sticky as he pulls in and out a few more times. He stills then from his furious rutting, hanging over you, panting.

Then he pulls out. Your husband lets you go and rolls over, breathing hard on the bed. You lay absolutely dead still, shaking violently, every muscle in your body tensed up painfully tight.

“Hans,” you whimper, “Hans.”

“Mm-hm,” he hums.

“Hans.” Every nerve is vibrating with pain. “Hans, that hurt.”

There is a long silence after. So long, you start to believe that he won’t say anything; that perhaps, even, he’s fallen asleep, and your words have dropped like flies from the air between you before they reached him.

But he hasn’t fallen asleep. Your husband shuffles off the bed, lifts the linen, and shuffles back into it. The lantern light is dim in the bedroom, but light enough that you can see the nonplussed expression on his face.

“Anna got used to it,” he says finally, eyes closing. “You will too.”

And he turns on his side and says no more to you.

You lay there aching. When you drag your fingers through the slick mess between your thighs, streaks of red intermingle with the clear and the white.

Suddenly you want this day to be over. You want to close your eyes and dream that it never happened—or maybe, if you go to sleep, you’ll awaken to find that it was all a dream after all, and you’re still home, your mother cooking just outside the bedroom door. Slowly, you inch off the bed, finding the floor with your stockinged feet, and go to douse the lanterns.

The room is cold and silvery without their light. Darkness gathers in the corners, around the weak glow of moonlight failing to fully penetrate the curtains over the window. You gingerly swipe the cloth from a nearby washbasin between your legs, cleaning up the remnants of your husband’s pleasure, and then, with nowhere else to go, you return to the empty side of the bed and crawl stiffly under the covers.

He does not stir as you settle in beside him. You lay your head on the pillow next to his and fold your hands over your stomach.

Outside and far away, you think you can hear the band still merrily playing. The darkness deepens, and deepens, until you can’t tell where it ends and you begin.

-

next

[sidedished]

stardew valley mods

hi! 👋🏻 listing down all the mods for my current sdv save, will do my best to update this list as i play!

✧ stardew valley 1.6 (with sve) ✧ mac mini (m1) ✧ updated 04.10.24

always double check the requirements before downloading mods! feel free to ask me questions, i'll do my best to help! 🫶🏻

📝 prerequisites

✧ smapi ✧ content patcher ✧ json assets ✧ spacecore ✧ alternative textures ✧ expanded preconditions utility ✧ farm type manager (for sve) ✧ mail framework mod (for life cycle)

🎮 gameplay

✧ dying grandpa intro retexture ✧ event expansion ✧ life cycle ✧ romantic love letters ✧ stardew valley expanded + grandpa's farm

👩🏻‍🌾 farmer & characters/npc a lot of my JA clothes don't work since the 1.6 update, so i may temporarily move to using FS until i get JA clothing to work in game. keeping these on the list regardless!

✧ alternate dusty portraits ✧ coii's girl sets ✧ cozy scarves (fs) ✧ customizable baby and children ✧ fashion sense ✧ gh's peach body type ✧ rural outfitters (fs) ✧ seasonal improved leo ✧ the coquette collection (fs) ✧ yomi's retro colored dress (fs) ✧ baechu's seasonal outfits + slightly cuter aesthetic seasonal outfits (i'm using a combination of baechu's and poltergeister's portraits and sprites so unfortunately i can't share an accurate link for this) ✧ baechu's seasonal outfits (sve) + slightly cuter aesthetic seasonal outfits for sve (same for this one!) ✧ beom mung's shirts & pants (beom mung has since changed their id, so i can't share an accurate link for this) ✧ delloti's daily pants set ✧ delloti's daily shirt set (ver. 2) ✧ delloti's hats set ✧ delloti's look ✧ the teddy edit

🐥 animals & livestock

✧ elle's cuter dogs ✧ elle's new barn animals ✧ elle's new coop animals ✧ elle's new horses ✧ elle's town animals

🏠 house interior/furniture

✧ aimon's fancy farmhouse ✧ aimon's tidy cozy ginger island farmhouse ✧ cozy farmhouse kitchen ✧ dustbeauty's industrial furniture (at) ✧ elle's kitchen replacement ✧ futan bear (at) ✧ greenhouse set (at) ✧ guxelbit's furniture (at) ✧ mi's and magimatica country furniture ✧ nano's retro style furniture (at) ✧ redesigned shed layout ✧ rustic country walls & floors ✧ seasonal open windows (at) ✧ suitcase record player ✧ tile kitchen & dining set ✧ too many swatches (lite) ✧ warm cozy fireplaces ✧ west elm furniture by atlas (at)

🌱 farming/craftable retextures

✧ chest deco (at) ✧ dshi food retexture ✧ fancy artifacts retexture ✧ fancy artisan goods retexture ✧ fancy crops & foraging retexture ✧ fancy fish & tackles retexture ✧ fancy trash & resources retexture ✧ firefly torch ✧ forest wood craftables (at) ✧ gwen's lamps ✧ nano's garden style craftables (at) ✧ nyangcarecrow ✧ terracotta garden pots ✧ wallet items retexture ✧ warp totems to magic book tomes

🧸 aesthetic/map

✧ daisyniko's earthy recolour ✧ daisyniko's recolor fix for sve ✧ dustbeauty's country town interior ✧ elle's seasonal buildings ✧ elle's town buildings ✧ ellie's seasonal paths & flooring ✧ interiors of pelican town ✧ molamole's seasonal mailbox (at) ✧ more grass ✧ seasonal special order board retexture ✧ simple foliage ✧ wildflower grass field

🎨 ui

✧ cozy accent interface ✧ custom menu background ✧ farmer 2.0 ESWF looks ✧ farmer portraits ✧ generic mod config menu ✧ script font

🌻 quality of life

✧ cjb cheats menu ✧ cjb item spawner ✧ cjb show item sell price ✧ lookup anything ✧ noclip mode ✧ npc map locations ✧ ui info suite

[nickeverdeen]

Taken pt. 7 | Mom!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Pairings: Natasha x reader (family), Yelena x reader (unaware family)

Type of fic: Comfort, Comedy

Warnings: None

Parts -> 1 -> 2 -> 3 -> 4 -> 5 -> 6 -> 8 -> 9 -> 10

Age: You are 23, Yelena 32

Summary: After your eacape from the Red Room you and Yelena try to settle in a little for a few moments at least. You decide to try your luck and write Natasha a letter in hopes she’ll understand what you meant.

—————————

The small apartment was far from luxurious. The walls were bare, the furniture mismatched and secondhand, but it was quiet and safe—a refuge from the chaos of their lives.

Yelena stood in the cramped kitchen, stirring a pot of mac and cheese like it was a five-star meal. She hummed softly to herself, her expression unusually serene.

In the living room, you sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table. In your hand was an envelope, blank except for the carefully written address to Natasha’s home. You stared at it for what felt like an eternity, your fingers brushing the edge of the small photo tucked inside.

It was a picture from years ago—one of the few happy memories you had left. You were six years old in the photo, grinning wide as Natasha knelt beside you, her arm draped protectively over your shoulder.

With a deep sigh, you slid the photo into the envelope, followed by a short note you’d written:

“Find me.”

You didn’t trust the letter falling into the wrong hands, so you added a fail-safe. Numbers and letters, scrambled and seemingly random, filled the rest of the page. It was a code you’d used as a child, a puzzle Natasha would need to solve to piece together your location.

Budapest, Szentlőrinci út 1, 1238.

It would take her time, but she would figure it out. She always did.

Closing the envelope, you stood and grabbed your coat. “I’m going out,” you said over your shoulder.

Yelena turned, raising an eyebrow. “Where?”

“Just to send this.”

She studied you for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Alright. But don’t take too long. Dinner is almost ready.”

You nodded, slipping out the door.

When you returned, Yelena was still in the kitchen, fiercely guarding her domain.

“Need help?” you offered, setting your coat on the back of the couch.

Yelena scoffed, waving you off with a wooden spoon. “Help? Please. I am the queen of this kitchen. You would only get in the way.”

You smirked, leaning against the doorway. “Fine, but if it’s terrible, I’m ordering takeout.”

Her mock-offended gasp echoed through the small apartment as you laughed and made your way to the couch.

Across the world, Natasha Romanoff had settled into a life she didn’t think she’d ever have. The house was small, the routine simple—groceries, chores, missions with the Avengers when needed. But it wasn’t living, not really.

Seven years of pretending she was okay. Seven years of placing a small birthday gift on a gravestone and whispering apologies to someone who could no longer hear them.

She returned home from the store with a bag of groceries in one hand and the day’s mail in the other. Tossing the bag onto the counter, she sorted through the envelopes absentmindedly—bills, advertisements, the usual.

But one envelope made her pause.

It was unmarked except for her name and address. She frowned, tearing it open.

A photo and a note fell onto the counter.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat as she picked up the photo. It was old and slightly worn, but she’d recognize it anywhere. You. Her daughter.

Her hands trembled as she unfolded the note.

“Find me.”

The words were simple, but they hit her like a freight train. She read them again and again, her mind racing.

And then she saw the random string of numbers and letters scrawled beneath the message. It was a code she hadn’t seen in years. When you were little, you used to send her puzzles like this—secret messages that only the two of you could solve.

Natasha’s fingers brushed the edge of the paper as tears welled in her eyes.

She grabbed her laptop, opening a map of Budapest as her heart pounded in her chest. The numbers and letters blurred together as she tried to decode them, her mind flashing back to the way you used to smile when she finally cracked one of your puzzles.

It would take time. She didn’t care.

Somewhere, somehow, you were alive. And Natasha was going to find you.

[ronearoundblindly]

Time and Tines (2/3)

Reasons (see previous or series)

Steve Rogers x Villain!Reader

Summary: With the Winter Soldier on your side, Steve races against time to figure out why...and how to stop you.

Warnings for basically DARKFIC: talk of unspecified terminal illness, medical malpractice, gaslighting, revenge, gun violence, not overly graphic death but still death (not of Reader, Steve, or Bucky), and decidedly too-little editing. MINORS DNI. There's plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this isn't for you! WC 5242 (which is, yeah, way longer than it was supposed to be)

Steve will do anything to avoid a fire fight with the Winter Soldier. There are too many people involved now, and he has to approach this situation delicately from all angles.

Steve just does not understand yet.

After hours waiting with agents in the dark of Doctor Avani’s house, convinced you’ve ordered Bucky to come right over and kill the man with brute force, nothing happened. There was no sign of anyone. Steve has to try something else.

A small army protects Salvatore while he searches your apartment. If the key to activating his friend is here, he needs to find it, destroy that information, and get a handle on why this is happening.

“This can’t be right,” Steve mutters, pushing past Agent Palmer (who drove) for a better look. “It’s too clean.”

Your one-bedroom would pass a white-glove test.

There’s so little…everything. It’s a far cry from the chaos Steve woke to find in the police station. His head throbs at the memory. He forgot what it was like to have his bell good’n’rung.

“Supe says she’s been selling off furniture,” Palmer calls from the doorway, “but he thought it was replaced. Boxes kept coming.”

Steve inventories a mattress with no frame, half a dozen hanging garments, no shoes. What were you buying? Where did it all go?

The desktop is bare. You’ve taken any laptop with you, it seems. That’s a small comfort. You clearly planned contingencies for your attack andor escape; it’s fitting you had the foresight to hide your research on the Winter Soldier.

Steve is still scared, however, because he sat with Bucky many times, listening to horrible tales of being trapped in his own mind, powerless, isolated in the midst of everyone, unable to control thoughts much less actions.

This one’s gonna take a few more beers for the friends to contend with, but with any luck and quick work, they’ll get through without bloodshed. He and Bucky will decompress somewhere peaceful. It’ll be okay.

He hopes.

Steve scans the lone bookshelf. The most curious edition is a history book about WWII, a few flagged pages open to reveal passages about Bucky’s service record, an underline beneath the location where the sergeant fell from the train, and a mail receipt for an address on Forsythe Avenue keeping your page. That’s all.

It’s not even a unique read. The book isn’t any more specific than an average school text. No other notes are made in the margins, so Steve turns the book upside-down and shakes, hoping for something to fall out. He rips the other books from the shelf and shuffles their pages until a picture comes loose—a polaroid of three women.

You’re on the right, fuller faced but it’s you. On the back is scrawled “the girls” with hearts on either side.

The book is handwritten, no label on the cover or spine, only an embossed mandala design. Steve’s stomach drops, but he opens to the front flap.

Property of Faith Williams

He swallows roughly and closes it, unable to step over that line of privacy. At the moment, he needs evidence of where you could have taken Bucky, and slow-reading someone else’s diary won’t give him that.

Forsythe Avenue might, but that’s just one tiny piece of the puzzle. 

Steve checks a different unlabeled book, but it, too, doesn’t have your name inside, just a ‘Z’ fancifully drawn amidst doodles.

Damnit. This is no help.

“Palmer, you finding anything?”

“No, Cap. Bills all paid. Nothing under the mattress. No mention of Barnes on any papers in the drawers. Not even a Cyrillic symbol.”

No trace, just like how you two disappeared from surveillance.

Steve shuts his eyes, head still throbbing from how hard the Soldier landed a blow to knock him out.

The agent wanders through the tiny kitchen. “Fridge is empty. Doesn’t look like she intended to come back here…if…actually, it looks like she barely ate. No condiments, no spices, nothing.”

“How long has she rented here?”

“Over two years.”

Shit. This is a dead end.

“Keep looking,” Steve orders, but he takes the two journals and heads for the car, pulling up your thin file again. You don’t hold any clearances or a government footprint. You were let go of from your last job with a severance package. Nothing overly generous. No medical leave mentioned. Benefits, including health insurance, would be intact. Based on your appearance earlier versus you in the photo, Steve chews on a few wisps of theories, but it’s not solid proof. Without more, Steve has no leads.

“Friday, any connection to properties on Forsythe?”

He adjusts to get comfortable in the back seat of the SUV alone, firing up a view screen.

There’s a low, sad sound that means the AI found nothing in your records.

"For her or him?"

Womp womp, it comes again.

Steve lets out a tense breath, “Where are we with bank statements?”

“Authorizations just came back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y chirps.

“What about medical records?”

“That one’s a lot harder, Captain Rogers. We have to—“

“Just analyze the financials first,” Steve sighs. His head throbs again, and he knows he needs sleep. There’s no time though. If he could just get answers…

Protections exist, of course, for good reason, but Steve feels the frustration of any detective. He’s trying to find a bad guy, and by 'bad guy,' he means you, not the man you’ve taken, not the man you are certainly going to order to kill for you.

Steve rests his head on the chilly glass and pinches his eyes shut. He’ll take a minute, review the money trail, and then interview the doctor. It seems a miracle that man was able to go home to his wife and sleep, even with security inside the room, down every hall, surrounding the house…Steve wouldn’t do it; he can’t even keep his eyes closed long enough for the dry sting to subside.

How could he be so stupid?

You weren’t staring at him from across the room; you were watching your mark, waiting for an opening. Sadly, it occurs to Steve that if he’d just let you inject Avani, Bucky would be fine, here by his side, and safe.

You are the threat, not his friend, but that’s a hard distinction. If anyone else sees James Barnes—who is the stealth assassin Winter Soldier, as far as they know—they’ll shoot. No questions. Steve has to find him first. He has to get to you first.

Bucky is compromised, but Steve won’t let it come to that. Buck shouldn't do anything he doesn't want to do just because some enemy hijacked his mind and body.

“Feel better?” You twirl in the chair as soon as the motel bathroom door opens, steam billowing out.

Winter’s face is shadowed, pointed to the floor.

“Or…at least, okay? Here—“ you offer the seat next to you at the tiny table “—sit. Eat. Let me—I’ve got bandages for your knuckles.”

“Heals,” he grunts, sitting easily but with stiff posture, “fast.”

You let out a heavy breath, muttering, “makes one of us.”

The soldier reaches out for the file in front of you, but your hand pins it down.

“Uh-uh. Food first, and palm up here, please.” You wait for him to flip open the takeout container then blot antiseptic on the split skin. “Does that hurt?”

He shakes his head, focused on the meal before him.

Several months ago, an article was published about Bucky Barnes’ affinity for this one particular deli in Brooklyn, a third-generation shop. It listed his usual order.

You’ve made sure the bread isn’t soggy. You kept the spicy mustard on the side.

He makes a strange face, looking around for your portion.

“Not hungry,” you assure him, “I’m rarely hungry.” You secure the bandage like boxing wraps and spin the file around.

“Eat your food—” The command is soft, encouraging. “—while I tell you the story of how we ended up here.”

Buried in the file you’ve put in front of the Soldier is several lifetimes of horror. Maybe not everyone agrees with you, maybe not everyone cares, but that bastard Avani has to atone. For the next hour, you explain what’s expected of him, glancing every so often at the fancier hotel entrance across the street from your motel room.

It’s too early; you’d be very impressed if the Captain had followed those bread crumbs yet.

You planned so carefully for every obstacle. You anticipated so many setbacks. Men like Avani go down like great stone pyramids, not houses of cards, because their lives are built with safeties.  For him to fall, a thousand others have to be damaged, and each one of them will put up a fight to remain untarnished. That approach—the truth, and nothing but the truth—has gotten you nowhere. Diaries aren’t enough proof. The placebo effect is not a crime. Two women are worth far less than a functional, marketable drug.

Plus, they’re two dead women. The pyramid is now their tomb. Nothing ever changes.

No.

You alone cannot topple a pyramid. You’re too far gone. You’re just one person. For justice, you have to go straight to the top, to the man himself. One on one.

Well, one on one-plus-one. Your addition is the sharp-shooter who can get you the top, the target, Doctor Avani.

Winter’s mission is very simple, but he’s thorough, asking all the right questions, thinking of all the right options. You knew he would be perfect.

“Now,” you clap at the end of your story, rubbing boney hands together, “a rundown of my meds. Sound good?” You grab a zippered case from the foot of the motel bed. “Nothing complicated, but here—“ nudging out a syringe and one glass vial “—this is the emergency one. Use 10 milliliters of this if I pass out. Got it?”

The Soldier takes an enormous mouthful of his sandwich and nods, eyes flickering back to that single bed.

You smile sadly. “I…rarely sleep. I’m keeping watch for now. You’re safe. You’ll need the rest.”

He chews and adds more mustard before his last bite.

“Okay? Good.” Your smile fades, fatigue and restlessness swirling in your empty gut as you remove another medication. “Next is this one. Every four hours, twent—wait, no, I’m up to thirty CCs now…”

“Sir,” Steve grits out with far less patience than he intended, pinching the bridge of his nose as if it will stop the throbbing inside his head, “you realize I am trying to save your life?”

Dr. Avani purses his lips in annoyance. “And you realize I am required to keep my patients’ confidence, right?”

Yes, Steve thinks, he’s said that several times.

“Are they current or former patients?” Steve tries to clarify.

So far, Salvatore slipped up only once. When Steve showed him the photo from your apartment, the doctor muttered something about ‘Faith’ and ‘Ziva’ knowing each other, looking confused, then immediately shut down.

Steve has to switch tactics. He doesn’t have time for this.

“Ok. We found over a dozen hotel reservations made with your assailant’s credit card, so look at this list—” Steve taps the smart screen to lay out a map with the names highlighted “—and see if anything stands out.”

“What have this crazy woman’s travel plans to do with me?” Avani bites out, rattling the tea his wife hands him.

A tremor. Not unlike how your hands shook at the table last night. Steve wonders if yours was because you are ill or because you were lying to him.

“Darling, your blood pressure…”

Steve sighs sympathetically to Mrs. Avani. “Thank you, ma’am,” he whispers, taking the next cup and saucer and clearing his throat. “Doc, please. I’m just hoping you can narrow this down for me. We still have no motive.”

“Insanity. Jealousy, maybe!”

“Jealous of what? Do you know what she might want?”

No answer, but Avani chews his cheek, eyes wide, while staring northwest on the map of hotels. Steve files that away in his mind.

The doctor returns to sipping his tea. “Do you know what they call people obsessed with finding patterns in chaos?”

His wife drops the plate of biscuits unceremoniously down on the side table between the men’s chairs.

“Salvatore,” she snips with the same frustrated fatigue wrapped around Steve’s neck like an albatross, “behave.”

“No. None of these are familiar,” the doctor grunts.

Steve can’t accuse the man of lying unless he wants to risk an all-out breakdown in communication during this active threat, but he’s running out of options. He needs real information.

Usually Steve would have more respect for a man staying within the parameters of his vocation, but this is a unique and complicated situation. This is Bucky on the line. Steve’s had enough of secrets and red tape.

“Any idea why she’d mail something to Forsyth Avenue? Do you know anyone there?”

“Forsyth Avenue? No, I’ve never been in that area before, as far as I know.” Though Avani wrings his hands together, no indicates that’s a lie.

Wonderful. Steve’s never been this unsuccessful at gathering intel, and Avani’s status as the newly-appointed Avengers’ lead physician makes it tricky to push harder.

So Steve recommends Avani and his wife consider staying in a more secure location before he sets off to personally check the hotels in the northwest quadrant of the map.

He takes Agent Palmer, riding in the SUV while the two diaries sit in his lap, knowing now—as sure as he can be—that ‘Z’ is for Ziva, and she knew you and Faith Williams. Those are ‘the girls’ in the photo.

Without Ziva’s last name, he can’t do a general search, but there is a death certificate on file for Faith.

Three women. One confirmed dead. At least two ‘former’ patients of the doctor. All visibly ill in either the picture or in person. One mourning the loss of person(s) and out to kill the doctor.

The pit in his stomach grows. Something very bad is happening, yet while Steve has anything else to go on, he will not be reading another’s diary.

He can only hope that your medical records are finally available once the hotel searches are complete.

There’s even a possibility he’ll find Bucky at one of these. Maybe he won’t have to concern himself with the rest at all. Maybe he won’t have to think so hard about your motives for activating a Soviet sleeper agent.

Steve does think, however. He thinks hard enough to spiral as each reception desk is questioned, as all security footage is combed, as every building is cleared. He has to make some assumptions to make the pieces fit.

You believe Avani is responsible for your friends’ deaths—both of them, since when Steve interrogated you, you accepted his condolences—and believe their cause of death was whatever treatment Avani administered.

It’s sad, of course, but it happens everyday. Experimental treatments are just that. If you’re concerned about gross negligence, the doctor could easily be reported to the Medical Board. Considering the amount of research, forethought, and planning required, the Winter Soldier is one of the slowest possible solutions to your problem.

But…Bucky was just your contingency plan. You had an opportunity to kill Avani yourself, yet you still set other options in motion. You used a weapon theoretically deadly to only the doctor 

Steve still can’t understand, and it’s driving him nuts.

Finally, after the hotel reservations prove fruitless, Steve sees no other choice. He has to read the diaries.

He combs through the pages, growing nauseous as darker and darker layers of the situation reveal themselves, disturbed by everydetail except updates from the units on Forsyth Avenue or those stationed at the doctor’s house. Nothing is unfolding save the landscape in Steve’s mind.

He asks F.R.I.D.A.Y about the disease Faith and Ziva mention. He asks about the public records of the drug trial Avani lead and its results published just six months ago, after the last entries of the diaries. He notices the treatment was a huge success…for those not in the control group. Finally, he can’t continue.

His head pounds while his stomach churns.

In the early afternoon, Steve lays down to rest his eyes and reevaluate, but he’s met with only a blank  canvas and drifts to sleep instead.

He’s woken by a shrill ring of his phone.

“Yeah, Palmer, what’s—what? What do you mean he’s gone?” Steve jumps up, straps on his shield, and races to his bike. “The hell were you thinking letting him make a house call today? Where did agents—“

Steve’s foot slips right off bike for an instant.

“Avani led the driver to some suburban neighborhood. Forsythia Commons.”

It dawns of him just as the garage door squeals open.

Steve never showed Palmer the receipt. No one else saw the numbers to the address. Steve’s rattled brain finished the label with a street name he knew.

He was wrong.

Including battles in Germany way back in the day, he has rarely driven so recklessly, but Steve is nearly a half-hour behind now. He has to catch up.

Palmer tells him Avani went into the residence alone—for patient confidentiality—and after a while, agents couldn’t get an answer at the door. Upon forced entry, they found the woman who lived there bound to a chair with tape over her mouth and the doctor nowhere in sight.

Steve gets lucky.

On his way to exit the freeway, he notices a hole in the noise barrier wall past a slope of grass. He pulls over and asks Palmer what the backyard of the residence leads to, but Steve can hear the reverb of agent comms before anyone is visible through the brush.

“Friday, I need traffic camera footage from my location from thirty-five minutes ago. Were there any vehicles stopped on the side of the road?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers. A standard maintenance truck with the department’s logo shows up and leaves seven minutes later, based on ten second intervals.”

“The license plate, can you read it?”

“Quality insufficient.”

“The highway department, do they have any registered cars out here today?”

A long pause follows.

“Friday?” Steve barks.

“Negative, Captain. Inspection is slotted for the end of next week, not today.”

“Alright, follow that truck on the cameras. Tell me exactly where they went.”

He doesn’t bother to tell Palmer where he’s going because Steve doesn’t want them to know really. He needs a head start to find Bucky—to make sure it’s Bucky who is found and rescued, not the Soldier who is cornered and subdued.

The trail ends at a dilapidated office park near the river miles outside of the city. With his own, short fingernail, Steve peels away the Highway Department magnet slapped onto the white truck parked by one building.

Nobody else is in sight, and the truck cab is empty.

Across the nearest door is sun-shriveled lettering. “-alv—re Ava—, M.D” marks the third name in a list.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He can’t. He walks right in, eyes adjusting to a cave-like darkness without electricity.

The voices are faint behind another set of double doors, but he hears them.

“I don’t owe you anything, bitch. I hope you die like they did.”

There’s a sharp slapping noise and someone spits loudly.

“Admit it. Admit what you did and you won’t die today.”

You don’t beg him to talk. You don’t plead with him. You sound weak but sure.

“Rot in hell,” Avani annunciates, and Steve flings himself through the doors, knowing what comes after such a taunt.

You give him every opportunity to come clean. He could save himself, but Avani refuses while the camera records behind you. He calls you names. He calls your friends worthless. He says they were ’whores,’ but you will still send him back to the correct authorities if he tells the truth.

He doesn’t, he won’t, and you’re honestly pleased this is how it ends.

You don’t have a choice really; you must honor Faith and Ziva somehow.

Instead of the truth, Avani curses you, though not much could be worse than your current fate, even with Winter standing a few feet away, his gun drawn.

You have readied the syringe in your unstable hand and lift it to the doctor’s throat when—crash—Captain America bursts in and scans the whole room.

“Don’t do it,” he tries plainly. “You don’t have to kill him.”

You’re impressed. That’s faster than you expected, but Steve is looking at his friend to stop, not you.

“Shoot him, you idiot,” the doctor snarls.

As if Winter thinks the order somehow applied to him, he turns toward an open palm and a raised shield.

“SHOOT HIM!”

Winter doesn’t move the gun away from you and Avani.

Steve steps closer. “Bucky,” he starts slowly, “I’m not going to do that. I’m not here to hurt you. No one has to die.”

You need to buy more time.

“Soldat, show him.”

Only then does Winter lower his pistol and reach into a pocket at his chest, revealing the tuning fork that controls his own mind. Doing this will forfeit your exit strategy, but you’ll accomplish you mission. Winter’s mission is now secondary.

Steve’s eyes flicker from the fork to you.

After a tense breath, you give the command, confident the soldier will obey, locking your focus on Steve.

“Fetch.”

Winter sprints to the other end of the room and explodes through a wall and then a window to the lawn banking the river.

Cap makes a choice, his sad blue eyes full of pity, and it’s then you realize he knows.

He read the diaries. He understands what Avani did.

Steve bolts after the Soldier.

The doctor shrieks for his Avenger to come back, to protect him from his earned fate, but the hollow thuds of a vibranium arm and a vibranium shield colliding hum through the hole in the building.

The sound of fighting continues as you return the syringe to Avani’s neck.

Enough. Enough excuses. Enough lies. Enough time has been wasted on this man already. Enough is enough.

The end is more peaceful than he deserves. It’s quick and not nearly as painful as it should be. There’s no time left for suffering.

Salvatore convulses after collapsing on the stained industrial carpet, foam gently dripping from his mouth, a symptom of his condition when mixed with a common resuscitative cocktail, one you have to take frequently, one that spiked Steve Rogers’ adrenaline and nothing more. It kills Avani. His heart nearly explodes in his chest.

If there was ever a human that medicine should fail…

You only know he’s susceptible because Ziva knew. Heart conditions and caring for them are the sort of thing one knows about a person they love.

Avani promised to marry her, to leave his wife, to be with her after the drug trial succeeded. He promised she’d live, but he told Ziva she was taking the real medicine, ensured she took the placebo, and then gaslit her until the day she died.

Ziva spent the rest of her life loving a man who would make her happy and healthy, but instead, Avani made her life as short as possible.

He was not even that kind to Faith.

In her own words, Faith wrote how dying scared her, how she begged the doctor for the actual medication, how she offered anything to get it. Avani accepted. Faith did whatever that bastard wanted for months, all the while told she was healing.

Relief never came.

Faith was bedridden when a package arrived for her—a diary willed to her by a friend she’d lost touch with once you three weren’t gathering in the same hospital suite for the old treatments. That’s when she put it together, but Ziva had passed two months prior. Faith lasted only four more days, just long enough to bequeath the two journals to you.

The victory doesn’t feel as euphoric as you expected. You thought somehow you’d know that Ziva and Faith were proud and at peace, but you’re just empty and tired.

You stare down at Adani’s body, unfazed, when the tuning fork slams against a dangling metal doorframe and Cap shuffles through the rubble.

He’s scraped and beaten which isn’t what you ever wanted, just a necessary evil to fight evil. He watches as Barnes walks in from the grass.

“It’s me, punk. You can put that thing down.”

Bucky doesn’t wait for Steve, snatching the prongs right from his hands and tucking it back in his jacket.

There’s a moment where they almost hug before Steve remembers the doctor and rushes to the man at your feet.

“Call for help! I'm starting CPR.”

Barnes simply holds your gaze.

More sad blue eyes. It brings you hope that he will complete his mission.

You step away from the others to make for a cleaner shot, nodding that it’s okay, breathing a rough but weak “please” for emphasis.

“Buck?” Steve looks up as Bucky points his gun at you again. “What are you doing? STOP. It’s over!”

“His mission was never to kill Avani,” you hiss, unable to take your eyes off the perfectly-centered muzzle directly in front of you. “He’s here to kill me.”

“The hell—“ Steve climbs to his feet “—why would you shoot her?”

“I’m not going to jail!”

“You know what they’ll do to her, Steve.”

Both men take one step closer.

“There has to be another way.”

“I did this because it’s the only—“

“—can understand doctors who taking advantage and manipulating their patients better than anyone—“

“Put the gun down!”

“Pull the trigger! It'll be—“

“—told me he could do better than me,” Bucky barks. “Doc said, to my face, that he could make a better me. He wanted to make soldiers, Steve. More soldiers. Avani didn’t give a shit about what was right.”

You jump in. “If you found the diaries, you know what he was capable of.”

“That’s not how this works. We don’t condemn a man from—“

This time you step toward Barnes. “Just do it. Shoot me now.”

Steve lunges to take your wrist in his hand, your limb comically thin and delicate beneath all his enhancements.

“She doesn’t deserve to rot while they sweep this under the rug,” Bucky adds, voice low and serious.

“This is for the best.” You look at Steve now, and something heartbreaking swims in those morose pools, something unspeakable.

His head shakes, dirty, sweaty hair falling in his face. “What if there’s another way?”

“I don’t want to be saved, Cap. Let me go.”

You offer one final, soft smile, and Steve moves just as Bucky pulls the trigger.

Steve completes his testimony before the panel opposite him. None of the questions are a surprise.

They’ve painted you as completely insane, demented, psychotic, and he can’t argue. What would he tell them? Yeah, but she had kind eyes, so, you know, remember her fondly? No, he can only remain quiet until he has something pertinent to add which is very little. Bucky had far more to offer, and he already spoke.

When Steve steps out of the counsel chambers, Maria Hill is waiting for him.

“Shame she ordered the Soldier to dispose of her body. Took the coward’s way out.”

“You make her sound like a rabid animal that had to be put down,” Steve grit out. 

“No, you’re right,” Hill admits, “but it was lucky she left the sound thing for—”

“Tuning fork,” he snaps, “which I destroyed. No one should have that. No one should even know about it.”

Buck does his best to calm Steve down with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “S’okay, pal. The interrogation footage has been wiped and unless someone with perfect pitch was walking by observation--”

“You know that’s not reassuring, right?”

The two huge men look at each other.

Steve finally mutters, “what about Avani’s widow?”

“All the blackmail sent to his mistress in Forsythia Commons was removed before Gloria even knew Sal was kidnapped, and I think it’s fair to say that lady is so grateful her name wasn’t dragged through the press that she won’t be bothering the wife. Good thing the doctor put her car and house in her name, or legally, this would get ugly.”

“Yes. We’re very lucky he was such a skilled adulterer,” Steve quips dryly. He regrets handing over the diaries for evidence. They weren’t mentioned once in any of the hearings.

Bucky flashes Steve a warning glare that reads, don’t start.

Hill obliviously flips through the folder in her hands, nodding. “All in all, this report amounts to an incredibly long lead-in of ‘use that PTO, boys!’ You earned it.”

“Understatement of the century…and I would know.” Bucky is a much better liar than Steve.

Thank god, they are fleeing to the middle of nowhere indefinitely.

Hill heads back to her office. “We’ll be here when you get back. Keep in touch.”

“No,” Steve counters. “I don’t think I will.”

Bucky and Steve leave in an old truck the next morning. They can’t seem rushed or impatient to get to their destination.

Casually accumulating supplies, Steve loads their bags in the flat bed with space for all repair materials they are likely to need. The cabin needs some work; the guys need to get their hands dirty and live simply for a while.

The team is happy for Steve; it’s been so long since anyone saw him moving forward in life, and, of course, he and Bucky deserve some peace and quiet.

No one else has any idea how hard-won this vacation is.

The drive takes all day because they can’t be in a hurry.

Steve takes pictures at every scenic outlook. Bucky climbs up onto some rock ledges to take selfies which Steve is not into. This earns him being featured as a blurry grump in the background of all of them, purposefully.

Eventually, the GPS-free truck pulls up to the place, a large A-frame style cabin that should be plenty big for two super soldiers.

Parked on the gravel path, Steve is careful not to ding the other car when he swings open his door. As Bucky heaves two duffels from the trunk, he calls out, “got the meds, too” and heads inside. Steve gathers up the remaining bags and trudges over, smelling something hearty and delicious cooking, listening to the tinkling, copper-coin wind chime hanging somewhere above him.

He doesn’t stop looking at his feet until they hit the top of the porch, spotting two smaller bare feet on the welcome mat.

There you are, holding the door open, layered in warm knits, more tired before but better than expected.

“Hey,” Steve breathes finally.

“Hey,” you say, your mouth twisted to hide an excited smile.

“Yes, hello,” Bucky grumbles from the living room. “Now shut the damn door. I’m hungry.”

Steve steps inside.

[Last Part]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

a/n: Sorry this took so long a fucking year! Tags will be in a reblog.

[subarashiihibi]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEAUTIFUL ANGEL WIFE IZAYA ORIHARA!!!!!!! 🥰😘👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨😭😎🔥🫶🩷

i can't quite put into words what exactly izaya has meant to me over the past 8 years. one, it sounds really corny and i go off into at least 30 different tangents about all the little things that make him so endearing to me, but also i just dont really know how to sound eloquent and stuff. that being said, a lot of the person i am today is (for better or for worse) thanks to izaya, so i think if i leave it at that you can at least get it a little bit. ^_^

i was really excited to set this year's display up. i changed the room i used this time, since i got a new desk, and it was...kind of a challenge at first, but after moving around a bunch of furniture and whatnot, i made it work...!

i had to forego putting up a few other things... namely the rest of my bromides and postcards, but also all my shikishi. i need to invest in some way to display them... i also had two(!!) dakimakura... i had to leave out this year. </3 and the cardboard cutout i made when i was 16. 😭

as usual, i have a lot of stuff to say about this entire thing and the stuff around it, so i... will leave my rambling under the cut. (^□^)

my god putting this thing together was hell. i said 'challenge' earlier no this shit was like a fucking war omfg. the clear files kept falling i was miserable and praying to god (im not even religious). and then i had to tape behind the big izaya balloon poster cause it's covering my doorway and it kept getting pulled back to the door...? and it looked stupid. 🤦‍♂️ i wasn't originally gonna put the tables in here either. i really wanted to be able to fit the bed sheets on the walls. but i couldn't... and i needed more room to put the pillows and stuff, so it ended up working out perfectly.

(the only reason i didn't want to use tables was cause i didn't want something covering up izaya's sexy exposed feet in the china poster... 😟)

i was (finally) gonna get a cake this year, but after having the stress of two exams back to back this week and exams next week, i...was too exhausted lol. hopefully next year i won't have an awful overnight job or school making me miserable. (as if i'm not still gonna be a student next year☠)

the amount of durarara merch that's come out the past few years has left me feeling so spoiled... i hope they do a mail order for the 20th anni merch... i want all the izaya stuff without the crazy markups from resellers online🤬

also plz don't judge my toploader deco skills too much... i am not very experienced... and i also don't have a lot of stickers to work with... 🥺

at any rate... at this exact time last year, i was suffering inside the confines of my local walmart... i was working overnight, and my break was at 12am, so as soon as it hit, i ran out to my car to excitedly celebrate the date changing to may 4th...!

and then during my lunch break, i drove to the whataburger next door and did another 10-pull on the izaya birthday kuji while in the drivethru.

i didn't realize this until i started taking stuff down in my room (this is my bedroom... i can't realistically keep two large tables in here and a poster covering my doorway. i had to crawl under the table just to get in and out. my knees still hurt.), but... i actually forgot something i wanted to include... my izaya lightstick... 💔💔💔 it's okay. i will live. i'm happy with my setup as a whole so i have no qualms with this. i just need to make sure i don't make the same mistake next year.

on a (slightly) unrelated note, yesterday (may 3) was the 19th birthday of my favorite album ever from my favorite band ever, fall out boy's from under the cork tree! i was so happy when i found out it's right before izaya's birthday cause fall out boy as a whole has so many izaya coded lyrics it's crazy. (btw, their debut album tttyg came out on the 6th as well...!)

and then tomorrow is cinco de mayo... it's not a coincidence... latina izaya truthers rise up...

anyways...! i'm finally learning how to draw properly. the reason i was always so miserable when i tried before was cause i never knew what i was doing. i didn't know where to start from. because...i didn't use references...so hopefully i can draw something cute for izaya's birthday next year. ^_^

that's all i have to say...! i woke up early this (yesterday) morning at 9am so i could be there at 10am when midnight hit in japan, and it's already 3am on the 4th, so i'm exhausted lol...

i was so excited seeing all the izaya bday fanart on twitter though. all the beautiful artists making beautiful art...

but i've spoken too much now. sorry. i'm going to spend the rest of my night listening to fall out boy before i eventually pass out. bye bye !!!! ^_^

[wooahaeruby]

Chapter 36: Four Million Steps Back

Chapter Word Count: 7,035

TW

Vomitin. Stalking, Mouse continues to get traumatized. I'm sorry. IT IS GROSS SO BE WARNED. Alcohol mentions/drinking (mentioned) I can't think of anything else personally so let me know if I missed something

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Even though you moved into a safer place, you were still hesitant to go anywhere, one alone, or two, out of your routine alone. 

You have become relatively settled into the new place, ordered furniture online or someone took you to the store. The TVs were at least out of their boxes so you could use them. Wonwoo’s admission of checking the closet was an event. Along with the TVs and PS5, inside the closet was a new Xbox and wall mounts, all covered in bows as well. You also managed to kick Wonwoo’s ass figuratively since he gorilla glued the bows to the boxes which was not fun to find out when you unboxed everything. 

You didn’t really have the time (or motivation) to set the systems, your computer, or mount the TVs. Jeonghan, Joshua, or both were almost always around, which you loved and appreciated, and they loved to take up your time and get your mind off whatever worried you. If they weren’t able to take you places, Sona was around. Since having a somewhat normal schedule now that she was your ‘assistance’, Sona made you at least leave the apartment to go food shopping once a week. 

“I’m just picking up a package from my old place.” You said into the phone, hearing Joshua hum in return. 

“Okay, I’ll order some food for when you get back.” 

“Order Hannie something too, please. He said he’d be back later tonight.” Punching in the door code, you sighed, passing the mail room. “ Rheia said one of her ladies left the box in her place for me.” 

“Mhmm, I’ll see you when you get back.”

Hanging up, you took the elevator up to your old floor, making it to Ms. Nina’s door. She texted you the entrance code to her home when you informed you about the package, along with a comment that she is doing well and hopes the move was alright. You don’t remember ordering something and forgetting to have it shipped to your new place, but…you have been ordering a decent amount recently from different places. 

Thankfully it wasn’t hard to find, placed neatly on the console table near the door. It wasn’t too large, maybe a foot long, wide, and high if you had to guess. Lifting it was light and it was tabled up well, maybe a little excessively to keep whatever you ordered protected. 

Rush hour traffic gave you time to wrack your brain on what it could be, but there wasn’t a thing on the packaging to give any indication, only a nicely printed label with your name and old address. Unless you forgot something, nothing came to mind. 

“I’m back!” Yelling into your apartment, you dropped your bag on the kitchen island, along with the box. 

“Hey.” Joshua came from the master bedroom, shuffling over to circle his arms around your waist when he got close enough. “Food should be here soon.” 

“Thank god, I forgot to eat lunch, Busy day.” Kissing his cheek then his lips, you leaned into his hold. “Can you do me a favor?” 

“Anything.” Joshua kissed the top of your head. 

“Can you grab my laptop and charger? I need to finish a few emails before I forget tomorrow.” 

He smiled down at you, nosing scrunching up. “Of course.” 

With him off to fetch what you asked for, you grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer, starting to cut the tape to open the box. You were met with styrofoam and an…unpleasant smell reaching your nose. You almost gagged but it wasn’t too bad. 

“What the hell did I-” Lifting the lid on the styrofoam, the rotting smell hit you hard, and as you looked in, a nearly blood curdling scream left your through. 

There was a crash as you stepped away, sliding your back down the fridge until you hit the floor. Joshua yelled out your name but you slapped a hand over your mouth and scrambled to the trash can to throw up. 

“Oh my god.” Joshua gagged, but he kept his composure the best he could. He placed the lid back on top to lessen the smell and made his way over to check on you. “I’m gonna call-” 

You threw up once more, barely holding your hair back the best you could for yourself. He stayed at your side, helping hold your hair as he called everyone . 

Sona was the first to show up, already in the building, the first call on Joshua’s list. She took over Joshua’s place for a moment, allowing him to talk properly. She rubbed your back and held your hair through your second bout of sickness. You asked for water, which she hurried to get you, even an ice pack to cool you down. You couldn’t get the words to tell her what happened but when your boyfriend came back, he was able to fill her in. 

Seokmin, Jihoon, and Jun were in the penthouse and showed up not long after Joshua hung up. Wonwoo, Soonyoung, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Mingyu were only a few minutes behind. 

“Jesus Christ.” You heard Wonwoo stutter out, surprised at the contents. “Dead mice?” he was really trying to whisper, yet you honed in on it and the image in your head had you throwing up stomach acid once again. 

Jun cleared his throat, speaking quietly. “Guys, there are thirteen of them.” 

“Shut it.” Joshua warned. 

“Sona,” You huffed out, barely able to speak from the burning in your throat. “Can you help me?” 

You didn’t realize tears had fallen from your eyes until she whipped them away. 

“Yeah, come on.” She easily helped you up and out of the area. Sona got you into the closest bathroom in the makeshift storage room, setting you down on the closed toilet seat. 

“Why me?” You weakly managed to ask and Sona sighed, taking a hand towel to wipe off your makeup. 

“I don’t know,” She pushed your hair back, being gentle with you, maybe scared you’d break at a moment's notice. “But you know we will figure it out.” 

“Will you…drive me to and from work when Seokmin can’t?” 

Sona gave a sad laugh, nodding her head. “Yeah, of course I will, Mouse.”

She easily got your makeup off, brushing your hair back more. You could hear talking from the guys and it’s like every other stalker attack all over again. Everyone was in your home, talking about it, trying to whisper, and keeping you protected. There was a large chance Wonwoo wasn’t going to find anything significant, you’d be back to square one, and you wouldn’t know how to get anything without risking yourself. 

You thought about it, probably shouldn’t have. None of them would let you execute the horrible plan you concocted in your head. They’d never let you use yourself as bait, no matter how much it was planned out and followed to a T.

“Mouse?” Sona broke you out of your train of thought, “Let's get you up and into your room.” 

You let her lead you out of the room, placing herself behind you so you wouldn’t look over your shoulder to the guys. She pretty much forced you to change and lovingly brushed your hair before braiding it loosely to keep neat. She asked you a few times if you needed anything, but you shook your head, knowing you weren’t going to be able to eat now. You had a headache and you were dizzy, yet you only asked Sona if she could lay down with you for a little bit. Though she looked worried, she did, more sitting up as you curled up under the thick blankets beside her legs. 

You didn’t know how long you laid there, but without any warning you sat up and left bed, quickly followed behind by Sona. 

“Guys-” You coughed weakly and cleared your throat. 

They were littered around the living room and kitchen, the box was gone but they all looked as tired as you felt. 

Seungkwan was the closest to you and he tucked you into his side, resting his chin on your head to provide comfort. You let out a shaky sigh and stepped back from him, straightening your shoulders. 

“Are you hungry?” Mingyu tried to offer but you shook your head. “Do you need something?” 

“No, fuck, let me-” You shaked out your limbs, groaning in frustration. “I can’t fucking think.”

Joshua approached you, holding his hand out and you took it, you didn’t see Jeonghan or Seungcheol, but you know they had a meeting tonight, which was why Jeonghan would have been home late. 

“I don’t even know why I came out here-” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you balled your free hand into a fist. “I’m frustrated, I’m fucking angry to the point that I should definitely not be around any weapons right now, and I’m fed up of this bullshit. How can this person just…” You almost let out a growl in anger. 

“How can this person slip through our fingers every time? Why the hell is he obsessed with me? It doesn’t make sense and I’m-” You could feel yourself boiling, the internal pot ready to spill over in rage and you needed to keep it below the surface. “This isn’t going to stop.” 

“Mouse, you don’t know that.” Wonwoo spoke up, shaking his head. 

“No offense, Wonu, but I can’t believe that at the moment after everything.” You pushed out a long breath, closing your eyes to center yourself. “You’ve all done everything to find this person – people –, but nothing has come up so far.” 

“I’m sorry.” Joshua whispered, tightening his hold on your head, dropping his head some. 

“I’m not asking you to stop looking, I want you to continue, I just…I don’t know how much gas I have left in me before I’m at my full wits end.” 

“I’m not…saying you should come over, but it would be nice.” You muttered into the phone, hearing the bright laughter from Seungcheol. 

“Yeah, I’ll ditch the fight ring tonight.” 

“Good, I could use some help setting up the two game systems you got me.” 

“Don’t know what you are talking about, I’ll see you in about an hour, Mouse.” 

“You can let yourself in.” 

“Got it, see you soon.” 

You weren’t going to tell him you were curled up on the couch, not wanting to be alone since Joshua and Jeonghan wouldn’t be home until late again. Everyone, however, knew you had barely left the apartment. Seokmin and Sona went back to driving you to and from work, you ordered groceries or someone picked them up if you asked. You hadn’t slept alone since the box incident. 

Nearly three weeks since then and everyone either said nothing or tiptoed around the issue. The only time you got a proper, straight answer was when you sat both your boyfriends down and asked. They confirmed Jun’s statement, that there were thirteen dead mice in the box, however further investigation showed each of them had the guys’ initials carved into them. When being disposed of, there was a picture of just you with Xs cut into your eyes. 

Wonwoo was your next target of information, you cornered him at the house the first weekend after but there wasn’t much to say. The tracking number, barcodes, and everything else was a spoof, fake. Security footage showed the usual mail currier dropping it off but a further look into it came up just as short. None of it made sense, whoever sent it was incredible at covering their tracks and knew of SVT. 

So, whenever you are alone, you’ve been online shopping for everyone’s Christmas presents. When one came in, you made Sona open them as a precaution (except when it was hers that came in, Jeonghan did that) and hid most of them in your ‘storage’ room closet under a bunch of other boxes. All of them were there, except for Jeonghan’s, whose present was at Sona’s since he was nosy. Joshua was more patient. 

It was only two-ish weeks until the holidays and you weren’t in any proper Christmas mood. Mingyu and Chan were decorating the house, seeing as all of them would be home for the holidays. Joshua was alongside them with the holiday spirit with them, helping every chance we could. 

“I brought tacos.” Seungcheol called through your home, giving a sympathetic pout when he noticed you wrapped up in a blanket. “Mouse…”

You focused back in, getting up quickly. “Hey- I was going to clean up but-” 

Placing the bag of take out down, Seungcheol hurried over, shaking his head. “No no, it’s okay. It isn’t a problem.”

Sucking in a deep breath, you felt him pull you into his arms. “Things have been difficult.” 

“I know. No one is expecting you to be perfect.” His voice was as soft as the gaze he set down to you. “You don’t have to explain.” 

You stayed in his hold for a few moments, basking in the warmth you didn’t have when alone. “Do you want to eat in the game room and get everything set up?” 

He nodded, tracing his fingers down your arms until he would hold your smaller hands, letting his thumbs run over your knuckles. “Maybe…we can watch a movie too? I can set stuff up and turn this into a little…date?” 

“Yeah. I’d like that, Cheol, a lot.” 

You and Seungcheol sat on the couch in your game room, eating as he worked on getting the consoles set up. Previously, you at least removed them from their boxes once an entertainment system was bought and built. He really tried to have you pick a dumb tag name each time, liking the joke of Mighty Mouse . You absolutely denied his pressing, laughing at his pouting and whining even when he fell into your lap. 

Seungcheol did relent nonetheless, but he was content with settling in your personal space, not that you minded. You let him rest most of his weight against you, laying between your legs with his back to your chest. He easily finished the job, making sure both systems were up to date and operating properly. When things were to his satisfaction, he logged into one of the many streaming services they shared, scrolling through movie options until one was agreed upon. 

He got up and ran to your living room to get some blankets as it loaded, settling back between your legs after silently asking permission with his eyes. This time, he had his head barely over your chest, arms wrapped around your waist. It was new for the both of you, but everything felt comfortable. He felt comfortable. The weight was welcoming, calming, and you weren’t really plagued with the intrusive thoughts you’ve been dealing with. 

Halfway through the movie, you were dozing in and out. A peek down showed Cheol he was in a similar state, eyes half lidded and lips parted as his breathing slowed. Reaching up, you ever so slowly threaded your fingers through his hair and he sucked in a breath, groaning out a question. You huffed out a chuckle, curling a piece of hair around your finger. 

“Go back to sleep, you were cute.” 

Seungcheol scoffed, snuggled back into his place playing on your front, arms tightening around you. “ ‘m not cute.” 

“Mhmm, keep telling yourself that.”

He grumbled, muttering something you couldn’t understand, eyes fully closed and you assumed he fell asleep. You couldn’t reach the remote or control to turn either the TV or console off so you simply let yourself join him in slumber.

“That was a great set of fights.” Jeonghan hummed, stretching his arms above his head, a satisfying pop leaving his body. “I’d like for Jihoon to be a regular but that’ll never happen.” 

“Absolutely not. He’d only fight in free-for-alls. You saw him.” Joshua rolled his neck, waiting for the elevator to reach Mouse’s floor. 

Jeonghan chuckled, quiet and airy, dramatically letting himself lean against the elevator wall. “He uses my club for anger management.” 

Joshua rolled his eyes, laughing as he shook his head. “And you used his club to lure Mouse and I together.” 

The other man huffed, rolling his eyes. “Touche. He can free-for-all whenever we have it, which I’m thinking should be after the holidays.” 

“Man, I’m ready to crash after a shower. It was packed and the heater was somehow still blowing all the hot air out.” 

“Yeah, I gotta get the heater checked out.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “Sorry about that.” 

Joshua waved his friend off, stepping into the hallway and down the hall to the door. He tapped in the lock code, frowning at the majority of the lights on. Joshua looked to Jeonghan but the latter shrugged. 

“She forgets sometimes.” Was all he said. 

Frowning, Joshua started to shut off some of the lights as Jeonghan strolled down the hall, coming to a stop at Mouse’s game room. Joshua joined him, seeing the grin on the other’s face. 

Glancing into the room, he was met with Mouse and Seungcheol asleep, with the leader curled comfortably on top of her. Jeonghan only snickered, nodding his head almost proudly. 

Joshua…He of course knew that Mouse was going out, kinda , with Seungcheol. She was honest, there were multiple long conversations to make sure the three were on the same page and comfortable. He knew everything was moving slowly at her request. With everything throwing her life into a constant state of chaos, this was the first, if he remembered, that they had been together alone in a bit. Seeing them laying there wasn’t uncomfortable, they – he – trusted her to talk to them. Really it made him feel at ease that when he or Jeonghan weren’t able to be with her, Seungcheol would be. 

Jeonghan nudged him with his elbow, crossing his arms. “It’s cute.” He whispered, a fond gaze in his eyes. 

Joshua hummed, giving a small nod. “We should wake him up at least. He will wake up really uncomfortable if he stays there.” 

Nodding in agreement, Jeonghan shuffled into the room, shaking Seungcheol awake, but that also woke up Mouse. Joshua hurried in, hearing them both grumble and whine at the disturbance. Quietly, the second oldest managed to get their leader up while Joshua tried to keep Mouse from fully waking up. 

She latched onto him like a koala, letting Joshua lift her up and get carried to her bedroom. Mouse muttered a goodnight to Seungcheol on the way out of the room but her head was nestled into his neck. 

“Let’s get you into bed.” He whispered, pulling the blankets back but she whined and held on tighter. “Sweetheart, come on, I’m covered in sweat. I need to shower.” 

Mouse pulled away quickly, staring up at him with wide eyes but furrowed brows. “What did you just say?” 

“That I need to shower?” 

“No, the first thing.” 

Joshua’s eyebrows furrowed together, confused. “That I’m covered in sweat?” 

“No-” Mouse sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “What did you call me?” 

“...Sweetheart?” 

“Yeah! That! You’ve never called me a pet name before.”

“Bullshit, yes I have.” 

Jeonghan’s laugh made his way to Joshua’s ears. “No you haven’t, not once.” 

Cocking his head to the side, Joshua thought back, running quickly through handfuls of conversations he has had with his girlfriend. There had to be- wait…no, he really didn’t call her a single pet name. 

“Oh.” He blinked, coming to the realization. 

“Yeah.” Mouse fully let him go, crawling under the covers. “Both of you shower, you woke me up and I want to sleep through the night.” 

Joshua scoffed a laugh and stole a kiss to her lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

[DJ Leaf Blower Fanclub]  {Yoyojun 11:19 AM}  Who changed the GC name?  {Yunhooooe 11:35 AM} Not me {Hyeonie 11:41 AM}  Same, I blame Chan or Woo  {WooBoo 11:59 AM}  It was me Anyways, sluts, who wants to go out? 

You peeked down at your phone, one arm linked with Sona’s as you strolled through the grocery store aisles. She had stopped by and practically dragged you from your home to ‘ get some fresh air, sun, and food’ . 

“Who’s that?” Sona raised a brow, unlinking your arms to get something off the shelf to her side. 

“99 line chat.” You sighed at the near continuous notifications. “They want to go out – or at least Woo does.” 

“Are you going to join?” The question had you already saying no internally. 

Shaking your head, you snatched something off the shelf and tossed it in your basket, a bag of expensive chocolate. “Nah, not feeling it.” 

[To DJ Leaf Blower Fanclub 12:05 PM] I’m out, no thanks. Have fun without me. Sorry guys.  {BunBin 12:06 PM}  Boing, come on, Mo.  {Hyeonie 12:06 PM}  Please don’t leave me alone with them {WooBoo 12:07 PM}  Us? Don’t leave us alone with her, she’ll kill us. {Channie 12:08 PM}  Mouse come on. You haven’t left the house in days.

“And that is where I mute the chat.” You tapped away before sliding your phone into your shoulder bag. 

Sona questioned if you needed anything else but you had a nearly full basic and you let her lead you towards the registers. You were thankful to her, really, if someone ever walked too close, she placed herself between you and the random. Her head was on a constant swivel and beneath the sweatpants and oversized sweatshirts, she concealed a gun. 

Once through the line and out the doors, Sona spoke up. 

“So why aren’t you agreeing to meet with a group of trained killers that are your friends?” She closed the car door behind her, getting the car turned on. 

“Because I don’t wanna go out?” 

“Mouse,” Sona rolled her eyes, looking over unimpressed at the answer. “You’d have more guns and knives there than with me.” 

You pushed out a deep breath, buckling your seatbelt. “I’m just not feeling it. Can we just get home? Please?” 

The apartment was silent when you arrived back. You were going to head up to the house, but something urgent came up for the oldest three and multiple of the others were covering things for them. Staying at your apartment was your best bet and you wouldn’t know what to do if you were truly alone in that house.

While you could have cooked with things you had in your fridge, you decided to order food, informing the doormen to deliver it up to you once it was checked. You were thankful as well for them too, having the entire building staffed by SVT personnel that were kept up to date with need to know information. 

You sat curled under a blanket in the corner of the couch, your favorite take out on your lap. The TV was playing a random rerun but you were focused on your phone, going through the abundance of Tik Toks multiple of the guys sent you and some of 99 line members. 

A knock had you lifting your head, confused at the intrusion to your quiet. Another knock, louder than the last, harder, and quiet murmurs heard just beyond the door had you curious. 

Moving to stand, you placed your food aside on the coffee table, grumbling quietly until you reached the door. Standing on your tiptoes to peer through the peephole, you hit your head against the door as you unlocked it, pulling the door open. 

“I told you guys I’m-”

Pushing past you, Wooyoung and Yeonjun skipped in, bright and loud as always. Now that you could see them and take them in properly, they all wore what you assumed was lounge or pajama outfits, a few with pillows in hand. The rest of the 99 line, Chan included, stood at the doorway, bags of snacks and small, apologetic smiles on their faces. 

“They said if all of us couldn’t go out then we wouldn’t.” Yunho bowed his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He bowed his head once more when you moved aside to let them in.

“Then Chan said to come to you, Mo.” Changbin gave you a pat on the shoulder as he stepped inside. 

“Sorry.” Chan meekly apologized as Gahyeon kissed you on the cheek and skipped inside. “You haven’t gotten out much recently…” 

You scoffed but smiled, pulling him into a tight hug. He wrapped you up in his arms, sighing quietly. “It’s okay, bub.”

“Bitch, this place is amazing!” The excited squeak of the other woman in the group was heard, hearing the pitter patter of multiple pairs of feet against the hardwood floors. 

“I’m thinking tacos.” Wooyoung said to San, sitting on your kitchen island. “Mo, do you want tacos?” 

Closing and locking the door after finishing your hug with Chan, you moved over to the kitchen, shaking your head. “I kinda already ate. Order what you want.” 

“AKA, order you some so you don’t steal our shit, got it.” Mingi snickered, opening your fridge. “Alcohol?” 

“Bottom cabinet to the right of you. I only have wine right now though.” 

He cringed, pushing his glasses up. “Woo, add fireball to the list, and maybe tequila.” 

Typing away on his phone – or you thought it was Changbin’s from the phone case –, Wooyoung kicked his feet, probably placing an order. He had the phone passed around so everyone could get what they wanted off a delivery app. Chan called down to let the doormen know things were coming, along with the second separate delivery of alcohol. 

Your little group already started getting comfortable on the couch, blankets and pillows thrown about to settle in. Chan and Gahyeon were at both your sides once you sat down while they argued with the rest to figure out the next step of the evening. You stayed quiet, chuckling at their attempts as negotiation. 

“Horror movie drinking games?” Yeonjun suggested, looking at the group. 

“You, San, and Hyeon won’t last with how little you can drink.” You laughed, feeling a hit to your arm from the mentioned woman. “What? San taps out at two, you get clingy, and Yeonjun can’t stay away and gets sentimental!” 

“And you,” Chan nudged you, “Don’t know how to keep your mouth shut. Ms. I’ve worn heels higher than your dick size .” 

They caused an uproar of laughter and you covered your face, trying to control the blush creeping up your cheeks. “I can’t believe I said that out loud and challenged him after.” 

“It’s okay, Mouse, you won’t shut up to begin with.” That had you tossing a pillow across the way, aimed at Wooyoung’s face. 

“This is my apartment, you know.”

“Okay, and? I ordered tacos for everyone.” 

“Yeah, on my credit card.” Changbin rolled his eyes. 

You don’t really…remember a lot after all the alcohol and food got devoured. Drinking games started rather quickly and it got loud first. 

Cracking your eyes open, you groaned at the headache that plagued you. It felt like a hammer was beating rhythmically into your eyes. The curtains were open and that wasn’t helping the massive hangover you were sporting- 

Wait. 

When did you get into bed last night?

Lifting your head, you were met with Gahyeon cuddling up into your chest and another body pressed against your back. As you looked around, wincing at the light, you were definitely in your bed and Yeosang was back to back with you, knocked out cold. You would see someone was on the other side of Gahyeon but the blanket over the person didn’t let you know who it was. 

Though extremely slow, you managed to remove yourself from Gahyeon and stumble out of bed and shut the curtains to spare the rest when they got up. You made your way to the bathroom for pain killers, shivering at the cold tile beneath your feet. Despite the lights being off in the bathroom, your reflection looked pale, maybe a little green but you weren’t feeling sick, thankfully. You were glad you could hold your alcohol better than in college. 

Creeping your way out of the room, you weren’t too surprised to find the apartment almost completely silent, but the aroma of coffee floated you to the kitchen to find Chan awake. He was sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, with one of your mugs in hand. Almost all the lights were off except for the one above the stove. As you shuffled closer, you noted most of the others sprawled out, tucked comfortably on the couch. 

“Hey.” You whispered, quietly pouring yourself a cup of coffee and joined him on the floor. “I have a table, you know?” 

“Floor cold. Head hurt. Don’t wanna move.” The words were slow and he punctuated it with a long gulp of coffee. 

“Do you know what time it is?” You had forgotten your phone – or well, you didn’t know where it was in the apartment currently. 

Weakly, he shook his head. “No clue. Don’t care.” 

You scooted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “We really overdid it. I’m surprised my place is clean after a blackout.” 

Chan huffed a sorry excuse for a laugh, resting his cheek on your head. “You shit talked with Mingi while you cleaned up all the trash. That’s really all I can remember that late.” 

“I vaguely remember everything from the first movie and some from the beginning of the second, but everything after that is fuzzy. I know we finished it but there was a lot of alcohol.” 

“You went toe to toe with Yunho and Changbin. I’m not even surprised.” 

Sitting (kinda) comfortably, you let the painkillers and coffee do particle work on the headache that still pounded. Then…both of your stomach grumbled and you managed to share a quiet laugh. 

You reluctantly got up, tiptoeing around the room until you located your phone half under San’s sleeping form. He stirred when you moved his arm but further cuddled into one of your couch pillows. With Chan’s help, you pretty much ordered a whole buffet of brunch for everyone, minus the mimosas after the rager last night. 

As you waited, you finally went through any messages from the night and morning.

[Threeway]  {Hannie  2:41 AM} I know it’s late, love, but we aren’t going to be home until tomorrow evening.  {Shua 2:46 AM} I heard Chan went over, hopefully you slept well, Sweetheart. {Hannie 10:31 AM} I miss my Mouse.  I say we order in and stay in bed. Actually I demand it. 

Shaking your head, you smiled, typing out a reply. 

[To Threeway 11:44AM] Hi, goodmorning, I just got up a bit ago. Chan ended up bringing all of 99 line here and we…drank a lot. Ordered us some brunch so we could at least eat.  I’ll see you later. I miss you both.

Almost instantly, they both replied. 

{Hannie 11:45 AM} Ah, my baby, make sure to take care of yourself until we get home.  {Shua 11:46 AM} I’m glad you had a good night. I was worried. I missed you too, I’ll see you soon.

“You guys are cringe.” Chan read over your shoulder, sipping his coffee. 

“You’re just mad you are single.” You elbowed him gently, and shook your head. “Please start waking them in the living room and I’ll get the three in my room and whoever took the couch in the game room.” 

He gave a thumbs up as you shuffled off to your room. Your first stop was the bathroom, fetching the large bottle of painkillers everyone would definitely need. 

Stepping towards the side of your bed, you smiled softly at the peaceful look on Yeosang’s face. You shook him gently, trying not to spook him but he got startled, head whipping up, only for a painful groan to follow. You apologized and hushed him, taking out a few pills and handing them over. He gave you a puzzled look, like he was trying to turn on his brain and understand what you were offering him. Once he understood, or you thought he did, Yeosang sat up and downed the pills you offered. Rounding the bed, you silently chuckled seeing Changbin curled beside Gahyeon. Unlike Yeosang, they didn’t startle but they whined in pain. You handed them some painkillers as well before letting the three of them know food would be arriving soon. 

Leaving them to fully come to consciousness, you found Yeonjun in your game room. He, surprisingly, was awake when you walked in, mumbling a good morning and thanking you for the medicine. You got him up and into the living room, just in time to see the others at least awake. The bottle of painkillers was passed around to the rest of the group as Chan made everyone a cup of coffee, pulling out the sugar and creamer. 

No one said much, not even when your sleepover buddies left your room to join the masses. You made quick work getting plates and utensils for when the buffet arrived, being careful to not make too much clinking noise and not wanting to waste too much time getting them fed. 

You moved quickly when there was a knock at the door, eyes wide when you saw three men from the front desk and Sona carrying multiple bags of food between them all. Apologies fell from your lips as you took them one after another and placed them down but the four brushed your words off. The men bowed before they walked off, however you stopped Sona before she left. You raised a brow at how dolled up she looked for a Saturday morning. 

“Got a date?” You asked, only for her to shake her head and attempt to wave you off. 

“Date? No-” She frowned, averting her eyes. “I’m going to brunch with Lex.” 

“Oh.” You stopped yourself from laughing, watching as a blush crept up her neck and to her cheeks. “Ooh~” 

“Don’t-” She stuttered, pointing an accusing finger at you, cringing and begging. “Don’t do that-” 

“So we like her?” You wiggled your eyebrows, smirking. “We like like Lex?” 

“Mouse, I hate you. I’m gonna be late.” Sona left in a hurry and you closed the door, knowing you’d be annoying her soon about it. 

Chan and Yeosang, two of the best boys around, unpacked a majority of the food with a line of hungover and hungry killers. Yeah, that was a funny statement to think, seeing it was funnier with their rumbled clothes and tousled bedhead. The moment the two moved (after grabbing their own plates), food was being taken and distributed and conversations started to flow. You grabbed food last and Yunho saved you a space for a chair so no one took up too much room. 

“Ah fuck, I forgot I had a meeting this morning.” Wooyoung placed his head down on the table beside his plate, phone in hand. “Hongjoong is gonna kill me. It was supposed to be with a distributor.” 

“Give me your phone.” You held out your hand. “I can make him not be mad.” 

“How do you plan on doing that?” Mingi questioned as Wooyoung handed the phone over, Hangjoon’s contact up on the screen. 

“Easy, Hongjoong liked me, and I can be a pretty decent liar.” You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath. Dialing the number, you motioned with a finger to your lips for everyone to stay quiet. 

“Wooyoung, I’m going to kick your ass, This meeting was-” 

You let out a shaky breath, making your tone sad and slow. “Hongjoong, it’s Mouse.” 

“Mo- Where is Wooyoung?” He sounded concerned under his annoyance. 

“He is here. It’s my fault he wasn’t up in time, I’m sorry- Wooyoung and everyone showed up yesterday because they wanted to cheer me up with everything going on-” You fake sniffled like you were crying and continued to ramble. “They stayed up late trying to calm me down and get me to sleep-” 

“Hey, okay-” His tone was panicked. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll lie and reschedule it. Tell Wooyoung we’ll talk later-” 

“Please don’t be mad at him,” You pleaded, a shake to your voice. Everyone’s eyes were wide. “It’s my fault, please don’t get angry at him-” 

“Fine, fine, I won’t, just- get them back here soon-” 

“I will, I’m sorry.” 

Hongjoong said goodbye before hanging up and you shook your head, clearing your throat and placing Wooyoung’s phone down on the table. All pairs of eyes were set on you and you went back to eating. 

“She’s a witch.” Changbin whispered, jaw dropped. 

Wooyoung looked at his phone, astonished by your entire skit. “Mouse, I know you have two boyfriends, but I think I’m in love with you.”

You laughed, throwing your head back. “It was nothing! Not a problem.” 

“How were you not a part of an underground group before this?” San asked, staring blankly. 

“You aren’t the first to ask me that. I blame the foster care system for that.” You let your shoulders shake as you continued to chuckle. “Eat, come on, we all drank too much last night.” 

“Okay, mom .” Yeosang snorted, going back to his food. 

99 line left not long after everyone finished eating and helped clean up. Anything left over was taken with them or quickly finished from their containers. You told Chan he could stay if he wanted, but he inevitably went to the penthouse and most likely knocked out. They all made promises on the way out the door to check in more and keep an eye out and you hugged each of them tightly as they left. 

You, though sleepy, managed to clean up the rest of the living room, change your bedsheets, and two full loads of laundry before your boyfriends came back. 

It was nearly five in the evening when you heard the door to your home open and the thud of a bag against the floor. You jumped up from the couch in the game room, playing one of Wonwoo’s games since he shared his account, and nearly sprinted into the living room. You collided into the two of them, arms wrapping around both of their necks and pulling them close to you, sighing out happily to have them near. 

“I missed you both.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes.

Jeonghan tiredly laughed, placing a kiss on your temple, one arm wrapping loosely around your waist. “It was only a night and I wished you were there.” 

“He would not stop complaining.” Joshua teased, running a hand up your spine to keep you close. “Not that I was much better.” 

“I need all my missed attention and more food.” You pulled away, smiling lovingly up at them, giving each  a short kiss. “What shall we order?” 

It took all of ten minutes to decide on what to order, only to usher them off to shower and get out of their work clothes. You insisted on them cleaning up so you could finish getting the room clean despite them wanting to help, only to cite Jeonghan’s text from the morning of wanting to just stay in bed. You could see how tired they were, both probably stayed up all night to get whatever work done. 

You pulled up a streaming service on your TV in the bedroom while one showered in the ensuite and the other in the bathroom in the hallway. The blankets were just pulled from the dyer, which Jeonghan would greatly appreciate, and you also had Joshua’s favorite fluffy blanket on his side of the bed. 

By the time both were showered and ready for a chill evening, the food had arrived and you set everything up on the bed to devour. One movie turned into two, along with a change from you cuddling one or the other to both scooting in closer, two pairs of hands on you. Their warmth was always welcoming, not suffocating as some people could get from such proximity. Joshua had his arm under you, your head resting on his shoulder while Jeonghan was pressed into your side, head resting over your chest. 

The peace was blissful, calm compared to the chaos of the previous evening. Jeonghan’s eyes were droopy, barely able to stay open, and his breathing was slowing. Turning your head showed your second significant other in a similar exhausted state that he was almost losing the fight to. 

But the vibration of your phone pulled you away. You tugged it from your sweatshirt pocket, seeing Cheol’s contact name lighting up the screen. Hushing Jeonghan’s whine, you answered, speaking softly. 

“Hello?” 

“Did you talk to Hongjoong earlier?” 

You had to stop yourself from laughing, hiding your face in Jeonghan’s hair. “Yeah, I did.” 

“What did you do to make him feel bad? He called me saying that he was concerned.” Thankfully, he sounded amused.

“Had to get Wooyoung out of trouble by pulling some heart strings and using the fact that he likes me as a friend to my advantage.” 

A tired chuckle was heard and you melted into bed. “Just don’t do it again, okay?” 

“Cheol, you and I both know that I can’t promise shit.” 

He laughed louder, bright and cute. “ That’s my girl. Have a good night.” 

Joshua stole the device from your hand once the call ended, turning off the TV and snuggling into you. “What was that about?” 

You snickered, kissing the top of Jeonghan’s head then kissing Joshua sweetly on the lips. “Just played a little trick on Hongjoong to save Wooyoung earlier. Nothing to worry about.” 

“I have zero trust in that.” He tugged the blankets up under your chin, even making sure the man on your other side was warm and cozy. 

“Maybe you and Hannie are just bad influences.” 

“Never said we were good ones either.” 

You let him get comfy, his other arm coming down to wrap around your waist just above Jeonghan’s. “Go to sleep.” 

“That is the plan.” He murmured and you followed behind quickly thereafter.

Tag List is Open! Comment on the BSH Master List to get added!

Tag List:

@unlikelysublimekryptonite @iiaweirdo @aurorajoye @gaslysainz @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @vanteel @clownprincehoeshi @kpopandbookschild @honeybunchcrunch @black-swan-blog27 @peachie-wonu @kpopsimpsblog

(this tag list not working is kicking my ass, I'M SORRY)

[caelwynn]

New Additions to Caelwynn's 1.6.9+ Mod List (1/2)

Updated: 01/20/25

Expansions/NPCS

Boothill Honkai Star Rail Mod — adds Boothill from Honkai Star Rail along with his daughter. Has only one heart event (his intro) currently available.

College Boy Mike — adds a nephew for Gus who's currently currently attending university for an engineering degree. Romanceable.

Eli & Dylan — adds a pair of brothers Eli (cryptozoologist) and Dylan (marine biologist) to East Scarp and is easily one of my favorite NPC mods ever.

Eugene NPC — adds a lonely gardner to the Cindersap Forest.

Fievel Goes East Scarp — adds Fievel the Hat Mouse to East Scarp. Based on the movie An American Tail

Fostoria — adds three new NPCs, two shops, forage, fishing, and quests as well as a walking path to Stoffton

Hat Mouse and Friends — adds fourteen new mice that randomly takes turns with the original Hat Mouse to man the shop

Kids for the School — adds additional children to the Little Red Schoolhouse

Law and Order SV — adds a sheriff's office, two npcs, and questlines to potentially put Pierre and Lewis in jail. I have not made it far in the mod

Meet Niki - A Stardew Valley Tribune Journalist — adds a new NPC who works for the Stardew Valley Tribune and writes the articles that appear in vanilla, as well as adding a few more. Romanceable

Mouse Friends in the Forest — Possibly the cutest mod I've ever come across. Adds mice around the forest to interact with. You may find them... familiar

Ranger Taro — adds a new NPC, a new location, heart events, and lore to the world

Stoffton — another large expansion, adding two new large maps, thirty-nine locations, eleven shops, forty-eight NPCs (at least fourteen of which are romanceable), and a progressive storyline. Still in beta

Wild Escapades — adds additional content for Passerby Cemetery

Dialogue/Character Changes

Canon Friendly Dialogue Expansion SVE Patch — what it says on the tin: makes minor changes to CFDE to make it compatible with SVE

Letters from Shane — adds new mail and gifts from Shane as you reach each heart level

Part of a Saloon Breakfast — adds a questline to help the Stardrop Saloon open up in the mornings for breakfast as well as adding in new schedules and events

Unique Winter Star - RSV — expands Winter Star dialogue for RSV NPCs

Gameplay/Quality of Life

Abilities — Experience Bars 1.6 — Adds additional information to the experience bars, such as how much XP you have and how much you need. Also makes it easier to show such information for mod-added skills.

Archaeology Skill — Adds a new skill tree based around digging artifact spots and panning mechanics as well as a couple of new machines, new food, and a way of displaying artifacts.

Better Truffles — Adds the capability for pigs to dig for truffles in tall grass and provide a bubble to show that the truffles are there.

Bigger Fridges — Increases the size of the fridge from 36 slots to 70.

Build and Place Anything Anywhere — Lets you build, farm, or place furniture / objects anywhere.

Cornucopia - Artisan Machines — Similar to PPJA Artisan Valley, this adds ten new artisan machines, over eight new goods, four new special orders, and vanilla-style balance.

Custom Wedding Ceremony — Adds seven different wedding locations, more decorations, changes Lewis's speech, and other delightful small details.

Display Monster Health — Adds an indicator of monsters' health.

Forager's Nooks and Crannies — Adds new maps to the valley that unlock as you upgrade your foraging skill and/or befriends certain NPCs.

The Geology Mod (Update 1.6) — Adds new nods, minerals, and weapons to the game.

Harvest Seeds - Continued — Gives a configurable chance for crops to drop seeds when harvesting.

HxW Mixology 101 — Adds over fifty new recipes and crafting items focused on craft cocktails, mocktails and mixology.

Livestock Bazaar — Displays animals for sale at Marnie (including modded animals) in a grid and allows you to choose which skin it has, as opposed to the game randomly assigning one.

Lost Book Menu — Adds a menu to the library that shows you all of the lost books you've restored to more easily find what you want to read.

Lumisteria Progress Toward Perfection — Receive letters and gifts (with bits of added lore) as you progress towards perfection.

Mailbox Menu Continued — Replaces the mailbox's click-to-open-next mechanic with a fully-functional mailbox menu that shows new mail and old mail with titles and customizable envelope icons.

More Books — Adds sixteen new books and powers.

More Lively Farm Cave — Makes the vanilla FarmCave map more fancy with extra space, tweaks and additions.

Pet Overhaul — Adds new pets that can be purchased, including foxes, ferrets, hedgehogs, mini pigs, fennec foxes, capybaras, red pandas, bears, bearded dragons, and geckos.

PIF - Personal Rooms — A framework that allows the addition of PIFs, rooms that are reached via a purchasable door warp. Allows for the addition of rooms/space beyond what's provided on the map.

Remapping - Minimap Project — Adds structures from installed mods to the mini-map to more accurately reflect the lay of the land.

Romantic Revenue — Spouses contribute a portion of their income to the general fund via either dialogue or mail. Configurable.

Saloon Second Floor — Adds a second floor to the Stardrop Saloon that provides modders with a place for their NPCs to live.

Saloon Speakeasy Space — Provides a basement area for NPCs to hang out in. Three different sized spaces to choose from, plus a quest you can enable to have a special order required to unlock it.

Spacecore Luck Skill — Adds a luck skill via Spacecore instead of trying to unlock the unimplemented luck skill in vanilla.

Special Power Utilities — Allows modders and mod users to easily see what new powers are added by what mods and navigate through them away from the vanilla powers.

Spouses React to Player 'Death' Continuation — Modifies 'death' event at Hospital, Mines, or Island to include your Spouse (or Ex). Compatible with 1.6+.

Stardew Aquarium — So excited this updated! Adds an aquarium you can donate fish to and get special rewards.

Train Station — Creates a train network and allows mods to add maps reachable through the train station.

Traveling Skill — Adds a skill, Traveling, that allows the player to unlock faster walking speeds via, well, walking around.

Vanilla Plus Professions — Expands the vanilla skill system by adding additional professions at level 15 as well as adding in a who knew talent system.

Wildflour's Atelier Goods — An all in one artisan good expansion mod. Add as many or as few categories as you like to run the atelier (shop) of your dreams. Highly configurable.

For my masterlist of Stardew Valley Mods, please look here.

[bi-writes]

MOB thots….simon teasing MOB all day by putting her in diff suggestive positions. she gets all excited everytime but alas. still no dick

mail-order bride (lightly 18+)

"hmmm...y'think this table for the study, yeah?" simon asks. you shrug, walking around it, crossing your arms over your chest. you tilt your head to the side. the fluorescent lights of the furniture store make it a little hard to envision your house, but you try to make due with some of the sunlight that's peeking through from outside.

"y'think this is the right color? i mean...i really liked that sage paint color, so i think going with a darker wood might look--oh!" you gasp when you feel him right behind you. your husband's hand finds your waist easily, smoothing around the band of your jeans before he pulls you back and presses you against his front. you jerk a little when his pelvis presses right up against your ass, but he's so cool, so calm, so collected--it's so hard to be normal with him, and yet he behaves so nonchalant. as if nothing phases him, even though you can feel how much you affect him right against your back.

your eyes flutter shut when he slides his hand a little lower, using his other hand to push against your back. your hip hinges, and you mewl as your palms hit the surface of the desk. you bend, easy, and simon hums when he notices the height is perfect, right at your hip. even bent over, your feet are planted firmly on the ground, and he smacks his lips under the mask as he pulls you upright again, right against his chest.

he leans over your shoulder, kissing under your ear through the mask.

"this one," he grunts, chuckling. "suits us just right, yeah, baby?"

"y-yeah, simon. i-i like this one."

[atarathegreat]

TR Boys Crackhead Headcanons

Kazutora Hanemiya

Man spreads because why should you have space on the train

shoves puzzle pieces together that don't match because "this part fits, see!"

broke his own finger just to feel what it was like

moves furniture so people bump into it on purpose

crops everyone else out of photos he's in and doesn't even use the photos for anything

sometimes wears shoes on the opposite feet just to see who will notice

has and will break granola bars on anyone's bed

Mitsuya Takashi

learned to bake so he could put laxatives in cake (fuck around and find out)

hates who his sisters hate

definitely shit talks kindergarteners with Luna

wore a matching dress with his sisters to the movies, pummeled the guy that tried laughing at him

doesn't stop the conversation when he enters the public restrooms

Nahoya Kawata

walks down the upward escalator

smacks everyone in the back of the head because he feels like it

had court once, laughed on his way out because he was falsely found not guilty

has and will drink milk from cereal bowls without having cereal

sits and stares at Souya without blinking until Souya gets uncomfortable

knocked out a guy's teeth and kept them to send back to him via mail

Souya Kawata

Prefers to sleep in a pile of stuffed animals

the bed hasn't been slept in for three years

actually writes poems and hangs them around the city, ended up on the news for it

Cries to ASPCA commercials

Gets angry when Nahoya falls asleep on the couch, drags him back to bed by his feet

completely believes he could solve true crime

Keisuke Baji

Sharpens his teeth with a nail file

tried wearing contacts once but didn't soak them in contact solution so he only dried his eyes out

calls everyone babe platonically

if he can't find both shoes he only wears one

has a scrunchy collection

thought he was spiderman once and jumped off a roof

will shake his ass when standing still (mad tango skillz)

Kokonoi Hajime

Has a book of rare coins

has a button collection

uses chalk hairdye

plucks his eyebrows too thin

can ballet dance

TikTok feind

Manjiro Sano

Calls in sick to places he doesn't work

Got fired from three places he didn't work at

always orders kids meals

has a tantrum until Kenny cuts his hair

uses clear nail polish regularly

has debated getting a trampstamp

does his hair straight up before fixing it so he can look like a unicorn

Ken Ryuguji

has gone bald, does not work for him

draws in tattoos on the side of his head

has a collection of fake earrings that he tried once (Howls Moving Castle theme)

keeps flavored lube in his room just so he can taste it when he wants something sweet

Taiju Shiba

Thinks he can pull of orange (makes him feel like a baddy)

carries an eyebrow pencil everywhere

fights random females for fun

punches himself in the face for being late to things

had frosted tips in middle school

has staring contests with himself

Hanma Shuji

eats ice cream with a fork

eats soup off a plate

has a closet full of plaid clothing, irons it before wearing because "who tf fights with wrinkles in their clothes"

swears by hair gel

tried hairspray once, didn't taste nice so he threw it out a window

after being dubbed the Reaper, he wore a grim reaper outfit

will kiss and the homies and say no homo

Chifuyu Matsuno

plans to name his first child after his cat

has a Baji shrine next to his Peke J shrine

reads his Yaoi books in public and has outburst when things don't go how he wants them to

locked himself in a pet store and threatened to kill himself if he didn't get a cat, his mom beat the shit out of him for it

screams "real or cake" before biting literally anything

Tetta Kisake

puts milk before cereal

writes cursive only to annoy others

once slept on the roof of his house to make his mom feel bad for yelling at him

has a dog name Roscoe (it's a female)

definitely has little man syndrome

thinks girls are into his "mysterious" vibe (literally just doesn't speak to anyone and has RBF)

once pretended to be gay thinking he would get into a girls slumber party

Hakkai Shiba

the only girl he can talk to is his sister (that's just a fact)

moves the family photos around to see if Yuzuha will notice

is regularly on discord but he pretends to be a girl so he can troll guys

swings from trees like hes a monkey because he thinks its faster than running

worked at a haunted house and crawled across the floor like some messed up spider, he was playing as a scarecrow, it was a childrens haunted house

Takamichi Hanagaki

tries to scale buildings by the fire escapes

copies the others fighting styles hoping to look just as cool

eats a raw egg every morning

crops himself out of photos so no one can find him

unironically calls Hina his little princess

colors in the boxes to crossword puzzles

[scaredshadowsswap]

hello hello I love your stuff so much! how would each staff respond to being pranked? would they prank back? tattle?

Thanks! I love writing stuff so it works out great!

Clef:

The one piece of advice with Clef is don’t dish out what you can’t take. Clef’s response to being pranked would be considered a grand overreaction, and even the most minor of pranks would have him responding with a prank that could ruin your week, month, year, or life depending on how generous he’s feeling. Clef would not fight in a prank war, he would end the prank war immediately. That being said, you can prank Clef, he won’t tattle. He may or may not kill you, so be careful (we all know what happened with that D-Class Costume Party). It also depends on how well he knows you and if he sees you as an asset. If you prank him without knowing him well, it better be a damn funny prank or you’re not going to survive his counter-attack. Clef would be willing to “team up” in a prank war against someone else, but it would just be him sending you to go do his dirty work.

Kondraki:

Kondraki does not like pranks, don’t try it. He won’t tattle on you, but I just feel like he would have no issue holding you up against a wall by your collar and bashing your head in on it. I imagine Draven tried to prank him once, and was lectured for hours and grounded for weeks. He’s no snitch, but by the end of it, you’ll probably wish he was. Kondraki would absoutely not form an alliance with you in a prank war, and would fight anyone in participation.

Gears:

Why would you prank someone with no emotions who is so high-ranking? Like it’s an option, but not a good one. In terms of what he’d do, I don’t think it would be interesting. He’d call you in for questioning, call witnesses, and file a full-fledged incident report. Then, he’d let HR decide on an outcome. I don’t know if he can tattle to anyone since he’s at the top, but it would probably be the most boring outcome, until you find yourself mysteriously on 82 different mailing lists, all which send you daily emails…

Iceberg:

I feel like Ice would try to start a prank war and would want to have some fun rivalry going on, but he just doesn’t get pranks? Like, he’ll try to get back at you, but what he does just isn’t as funny. Like instead of moving your furniture three inches to the left, the he’d just throw a cup of water at you in passing, which would make anyone who sees it in passing just think he’s an asshole. He’s not trying to be, he just really wants to participate in a prank war with someone. Feel free to team up with him against another group of people, as long as you come up with the prank ideas. He’d be more than happy to help you execute your plans against other people, and would have a lot of ideas for how to better your pranks.

Shaw:

It’s a blast. Shaw is the reigning champ of prank wars, and has had ones that go on for months with Clef. Shaw has had so much time to come up with new pranks, and can reuse old pranks when people die, so they have a ton of material. Shaw is also nice to prank because they’ll match the intensity of your prank and won’t go much past it. Occasionally, a prank will push the boundaries, but when that happens, it is Shaw’s way of trying to egg you on to continue the battle. Usually, someone just kinda stops or you both will call a truce (for the time being), but once Shaw knows that you find pranks funny, they won’t really hesitate to prank you again. You may team up against someone sometimes, but Shaw holds no alliances and is really just doing this for fun.

Glass:

It depends on the nature of the prank. Glass will take harmless pranks in stride and enjoy them, but he is more aware than anyone else that not all pranks are harmless. Hurting someone’s self-esteem is a no-no for him, and so are any pranks that result in physical injuries. So, he might laugh if you wrap all his pens in wrapping paper, but he would not be a fan of someone ordering a singing telegram as a joke at his expense. Surprisingly, even with tame pranks, Glass will not prank you back. I think Glass is too concerned that his actions may hurt someone, so he will be unwilling to partake in your prank wars or join a team to prank someone else. If it goes too far, Glass’s reputation could be ruined, and he is not willing to do that when so many people trust him.

Rights:

When I talk about “prank alliances” forming in other people’s, I’m talking about Rights. She’ll form a prank alliance with someone to pull off some pretty crazy pranks, which’ll mean you may also need a partner to match her level. She does value her work, so I don’t recommend messing with that, but she’s okay with modertate-intensity pranks generally. She doesn’t really like long prank wars like Shaw, and prefers hers to last a week or so but not much longer. She will definitely ask for your help, maybe even if you’re a stranger. She has a ton of fun with these and likes to use it to bond with some coworkers.

Strelnikov:

It depends but generally not recommended. He won’t tattle on you, but he probably won’t find it very funny, and it’s not as fun if the person you’re pranking doesn’t really think it’s funny. He doesn’t get upset, he’s just completely stoic about it, and will maybe give you a look, but not much else. He wouldn’t really participate in prank wars because 1.) he’s the leader of an MTF, anyone below him wouldn’t dare, and 2.) people got sick of him not really finding it funny. His lack of reaction has really dissuaded people from pranking him, and he probably wouldn’t join your prank alliance simply because it’s not really his sense of humor.