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harryspet · 8 months ago

Note

I love rafe x reader x jj!

I had a similar idea to the previous anon, an AU where reader is Barry’s sister and in between Barry and Rafe’s schemes, Rafe and reader get friendly. And Barry tries to keep reader out of their business so she’s pretty sheltered and depends on them. And JJ is already dealing drugs with Rafe so he gets close to reader as well. And Barry gets arrested for selling drugs (or maybe Rafe and JJ framed him) and reader has no where else to go but to them! They take full advantage claiming Barry made lots of enemies (somewhat true) and reader must stay with them and never leave their side (not true) to be safe.

[warnings] dark!jj x reader x dark!rafe, reader is barry's sister, little editing 18+ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

a/n: i started writing this idea out, enjoy :):)

word count: 1.4k

When the Chateau came into view, your blistering feet thanked you. Your legs were exposed, your white nightgown only covered half your thighs, and the underbrush from the forest had scraped your skin horribly. You’d never actually visited here, and Barry would have never allowed you, but an hour ago, he’d forced you to leave the house.

Heart practically beating outside of your chest, you climbed up the porch, your cowboy boots stepping over empty bottles of beer. You knocked on the screen door, probably a little bit too softly, but you had no idea who was going to open the door, “Y/N?” You jumped, your head snapping to the side to find JJ Maybank lying down on an old couch. He takes off the hat that was resting over his eyes, tosses it to the side, and sits up. “What? What are you doing here?”

Your body was already shaking, and your voice started to do the same, “I-I don’t have anywhere–” You wrapped your arms around your body, holding yourself tightly, “I-I d-don’t–”

JJ, shirtless and wearing khaki shorts, crossed the porch, placing a hand on your lower back, “Hey, it’s okay,” He whispered, his tone not able to hide his concern, “Something happened to Barry?”

You nodded, knowing your voice would just shake if you answered verbally.

“Come inside. The place is empty. John B. has been MIA for a couple of days,” JJ explains, opening the door before smoothly guiding you inside the Chateau. It’s eerily quiet, but you welcome the peaceful sound, finding it much better than the sound of Barry shouting and police sirens blaring, “Come sit, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

He moves a pile of what looks like maps, letters, and a stack of cash before patting the couch cushion. You sit down, still holding yourself to calm your nerves, and watch as he rushes off to grab a glass from the kitchen. You were appreciative – God, he had no idea how thankful you were.

“You mind if I ask what has you hiking through the swamp this late at night?” He handed you the glass, kneeling in front of you as he began to examine your legs, “You’re lucky the mosquitos didn’t eat you all the way up, kid”

Shakily, you took a sip from the glass, “The cops, uhm, they were coming. H-He told me to go a-and …usually he tells me he’ll be back in a few days. But he was getting … he was getting all his guns out and i-it didn’t seem like … I-I just k-kept–”

JJ’s eyes were fixed on you, his lips pressed into a thin line as he listened carefully, “Hey, I know you’re scared …I’ve been in your position so many times with my Dad. And I always ran to the Chateau too.”

You nodded, tears beginning to fall. Gently, JJ grabbed your face, brushing the tears away with his thumb, “You’re going to be okay. I’m right here, you’re not alone.”

“What will-” You hiccupped, “What will I do?”

You couldn’t survive on your own with a tenth-grade education and your ten-dollar-an-hour coffee shop job. You were always a good kid, but you were never book smart, and Barry didn’t force you to go to school after you started flunking your classes. He’s happily taken care of you for your entire life, your parents hadn’t been in the picture since you were five and Barry was ten. You’d never gotten in trouble like Barry had, and he’d made sure of that, never involving you in his business.

Befriending JJ was a consequence of Barry’s business, but JJ never involved you in dealing drugs either. He was someone to talk to, and he’d always come by Sunset Coffee after the morning rush and ask how your day was going.

“Let me make a call. Maybe Rafe will have more information about what’s going down, I know he helped him with a huge shipment the other day. We’ll figure this out.”

You thought it was a good idea instantly. “T-Thank you, JJ.”

“Yeah, no problem, kid.” His smile made you forget, for a small moment, your world was crashing down.

Rafe was around even more than JJ. He could be nice when he wanted to, although you preferred him when he wasn’t acting erratically or getting into screaming matches with your brother. Besides that, you couldn’t even count how many times he drove you home from work and kept you from having an eight-mile bike ride.

It wasn’t long after you’d finished the glass of water, and JJ had started to clean the dripping blood from your legs, that a truck rolled into the grassy front lawn of the Chateau, “That’s Rafe,” JJ said, although it had only been about ten minutes since he hung up the phone, “He said he’d drive by your place, see what’s up.”

You stood instantly, and JJ followed after you as you rushed out of the front door. Rafe was climbing out of his truck when you rushed towards him, “Did you see anything?” Your pitch was raised, fear laced in your tone. That same concern you noted in JJ’s features, unexpectedly, you saw in Rafe.

A sigh left his lips, and nervous fingers ran through his light brown hair. “I didn’t see him; they must’ve already taken him down to the station. There were at least five Kildare officers, and I saw a few special agents, too. They were grabbing stuff from the house.”

You felt yourself sink at the information just as you felt JJ’s hand on your back again. Your hand found its way to your heart, and you checked to make sure your heart wouldn’t explode out of your chest: “I-I want to see him. Maybe I can talk to him, and he can … he can tell me what’s going on.”

“They won’t let you see him yet,” Rafe added quickly.

“It’s also one in the morning,” JJ spoke softly from behind you.

“It wouldn’t be a good move, princess,” Rafe said, his tone soft but somehow still sharp, “The police would just take the opportunity to try and question you about whatever they’re charging him with. They’ll try to break you down and threaten you with jail time. It won’t be worth it. It’s not what Barry would want.”

“What happened?” You shook your head, not believing that was real, “H-He would’ve warned me i-if–”

“You’re right. He would’ve warned you if he knew, so he didn’t know,” Rafe started, “I warned him that these guys he was dealing with were no good. He thought he was some kind of big-shot, dealing with those cartel guys.”

“What?” You gaped, looking back and forth between the two men. You stepped away, but Rafe caught your wrist.

“I’m sorry you’re hearing this from us, not him,” Rafe apologized.

“JJ?”

“He was starting to make a lot of enemies …” His voice trailed off like the words were painful for him to stay, “The Kook is telling the truth.”

“We’ll look after you,” Rafe said.

“Yeah, until this all blows over. It’s gonna take a minute. We gotta, you know, assess the situation. The same guys that ratted him out might be looking for you too. And there are probably people who aren’t happy that the shit they were going to buy off of him is now in police custody.”

“Y-You’re saying people might want to hurt m-me,” You stuttered out, JJ taking your other arm in his hand. Not only was your brother gone for who knows how long, your life was in danger. You found yourself leaning into their touch, letting them keep you balanced so you didn’t collapse.

“No–”

Rafe interrupted JJ.

“We’re saying we’re going to look after you until all this blows over. We’ve both had our ups and downs with him, but he’s had our backs more than once. We owe it to him.”

“I can’t ask you to–”

This time JJ interrupted you, “Trust us. Let us take care of you, Y/N.”

It was a perfect storm, both of them coming together to save you. You didn’t have the time to ponder how exactly it happened, you only cared whether your brother would be okay, I don’t have anything–”

“We’ll spend the night here. You should get some rest. When you wake up, we’ll go to Tannyhill. Everything you need, we'll take care of it,” Rafe assured you, and JJ seemed to believe it was a good plan too.

“Yeah, come on, kid. Let's tuck you in.” Neither of them were making requests, but honestly, you didn’t want to make any decisions of your own.

Together, your two protectors led you back to the Chateau.

feel free to send smutty thoughts/ideas for this pairing or anything else rafe x reader x jj!

#anon ask #dark!rafe cameron #dark!jj maybank x reader #barry outer banks #outer banks smut #rafe fanfiction #jj maybank #rafe cameron smut

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hotluncheddie · 1 month ago

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for the @steddie-spooktober day 6 prompt : haunted

rated : M | cw : mention of weed & alcohol | tags : high school Halloween party

👻👻👻👻

‘You like spooky shit, right Munson?’ Steve says, leaning against the kitchen doorframe and lighting a cigarette. He’s wearing a thrown together Indiana jones costume, with tight brown pants and his shirt unbuttoned criminally low.

Eddie had been to the Harrington house a couple of time now. Guy was on multiple sports teams and had ample space to host, and a big house full of teenagers was the perfect place for Eddie to sell.

Harrington would buy sometimes too, small talk about classes or what Eddie was drinking or whatever nothing subject he could come up with. Always acknowledged Eddie with a nod at the start of the night, which he did appreciate. He likes to at least feel a little welcome at these things, even though the host knows he’s only really there for one thing.

Get his cash and get out.

But Steve was alright, all things considered. Not too bad a guy even if some of his buddies were real meatheads. He usually slunk around Eddie after a couple beers, words a little loose, trying to get Eddie to talk about cars or movies, seemed to want to reach somewhere a little closer than dealer/client. It was sweet, in a way, and Eddie couldn’t help but notice the staring. Steve’s eyes staying on him as he cuts deals with others. Roaming his face as they talk. Dipping to his lips.

Eddie likes it. What can he say, jocks are a thing for him.

And truth be told, Eddie does in fact like spooky shit. And it is Halloween, so, he bites.

‘Sure Harrington, you gonna show me your old dead ma and kill me in the shower or are you more of a - we moved into the place and didn’t know it was haunted, and now the walls bleed sometimes, type of guy?’ Eddie rambles, packing up the last of his stuff so he can head out and join the horror movies and beer celebration at Jeff’s after.

But once he looks back at Steve, waiting for the guy to answer, all he’s met with is a smug sort of smirk, maybe a little fond.

Eddie swallows, not sure what to say, what to do with his hands.

‘Mom’s in Maine with my Dad. And while I could pull off the dress, I just don’t think the grey wig would suit me, you know?’ Steve sighs out a puff of smoke.

Eddie shoves his hands in his jacket. ‘Haunted house it is then.’

Steve slips away from the crowded kitchen, out the back door and into the cold autumn air.

He opens the old door to a pool house, stepping into the shadows and Eddie hesitates a moment before stepping in after him.

The door closes and Eddie doesn’t not jump. Steve stands beside it, leaning against the old wood. The room dark apart from the glow of the little frosted window.

‘Tommys convinced it’s haunted in here.’ Steve says, still fucking smoking.

Eddie steps towards him, taking the cigarette from his lips and pulling on it. ‘Yeah? Guess it is pretty spooky.’

‘Mmhmm’ Steve’s looking at him again. Eyes dipping down.

Eddie blows smoke in his face, Steve doesn’t flinch. Just jerks his head, motioning Eddie closer.

Eddie steps forward. Toes of his sneakers bumping Steve’s.

‘You scared Stevie?’ He asks, putting the cigarette out on the wall and letting it drop to the floor.

‘Nah. Don’t believe in ghosts.’ Steve whispers.

Eddie steps closer, their mouths slotting together. He sighs as a big hand comes up to his neck. His own finding purchase on Steve’s waist. He tastes like beer and candy and weed.

Eddie loves Halloween.

👻👻👻👻

Tag list (message to be added/removed) : @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @thecatkingsthrone @marvel-ous-m

@chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor

#hotlunch #steddie #steve x eddie #drabbles #steddie spooktober #<3 #don’t ask me when this is set bc I don’t know lol #just guys being dudes on Halloween 🎃#steddiespooktober

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munsonkitten · 7 months ago

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Sub Eddie Week - Day 1: Accidental Subspace / Manhandling - AO3 Link - @subeddieweek

Out of all the times Eddie’s been to the Harrington mansion for a party, he’s never ventured upstairs. Everything he ever needs has always been on the main level or the basement. He can set up shop in one corner of the house and have his entire stash cleaned out in an hour. Home before eleven with cash burning a hole in his pocket.

The house is even busier than usual. It’s February, and Eddie doesn’t recall ever coming to a winter party at the Harrington house. Usually people are out in the yard and in the pool, but tonight the house is jam packed, everyone keeping out of the cold outside. It’s good for business though. He’s out of coke, still has a couple grams of weed, a few odds and ends in pill form, and he could easily sell the rest out in no time if he could think about anything other than his full bladder. The bathroom in the hallway near the kitchen has had a line all night because of all the people in the house.

He knows there’s a bathroom in the basement, but he knows it doesn’t have a lock on the door, and he’s not risking anyone walking in while he’s taking a leak. At least there’s less people upstairs. People tend to think it’s off limits even if Harrington’s never said anything to indicate that. Not to Eddie, at least — not that he really talks to Eddie much. He came by when he first got here, bought out half his weed, said something about making himself at home, and then disappeared somewhere, and hasn’t been seen since.

Some blonde girl with huge hair and bright eye makeup comes out of one of the doors upstairs. Eddie figures that’s probably gotta be the bathroom if no one else is following her out, so he tries that door.

It’s not a bathroom.

Steve Harrington is laying there in his bed without any pants on, and Eddie realizes that girl probably just hooked up with him and dashed, but — but no, Steve’s dick is still hard. His dick is hard and huge, and his hand is wrapped around it, but not moving at all, and Eddie — Eddie is just staring.

He’s just standing there in Steve’s bedroom doorway staring at the huge dick in his hand. And Steve glances over and sighs, like he doesn’t even care he’s been found like this. He almost looks defeated, which Eddie supposes makes sense if he’s still hard and his hookup just left.

“What are you doing? Waiting for someone to just come sit on your dick?” Eddie asks.

“What, are you offering?” Steve shoots back.

He grabs his blanket and covers himself up, hiding his huge dick from Eddie’s view. He’s not urgent in his movements, probably comfortable being naked in front of guys after all these years of playing sports and changing in locker rooms.

“Don’t cover up on my account,” Eddie says. “I’m just looking for a bathroom.”

read the rest on AO3

#subeddieweek #steddie #my fics #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve/eddie #steddie fic #stranger things #trans eddie munson

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konigsrose · 3 months ago

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König x Unhappily Married Reader pt5

Congratulations for reaching the final part! It’s FILTHY so MDNI and 18+ only, of course. Hope you’ve enjoyed the ride… Check out my AO3 if you want more König smut and fluff! Chapter Link and Full Works Link

Enjoyyyyyyy ————————

When you had arrived home that night, König came with you; he flashed a wad of cash to the taxi driver, and asked the driver to wait until König had seen you safely inside. König didn’t let you enter first, simply letting you unlock the door, then telling you to stand behind him as he checked the building. You probably shouldn’t have been too surprised, he had been an insertion specialist during his time in the field, and if any man knew how to breach and clear a building, it was him. You couldn’t help but feel he was being a little overprotective, though you had to admit to yourself, you found it kind of thrilling. König checked every room in your house, glancing through each door for anything suspicious, any sign that your husband had made a stupid decision… but there was nothing.

Nothing, but the note. Written in wobbly, drunken handwriting that seriously lacked appropriate punctuation, the note was left on the kitchen table scrawled on the back of an envelope. You read it with shaking hands, König standing behind you, reading over your shoulder, his fists clenched.

“Hope he’s worth it slut. You want a quick divorce so you can ride off into the sunset with your meathead - sell house 60/40 split I’ll go quietly. Don’t think about arguing I’m not scared of him.”

You laughed out loud, the joy that it was finally over outweighing the insult, the stupidity, and the demand. You would happily have given your husband - no, your ex-husband - the whole house, if it meant you would be free to start again. Being called a slut didn’t hurt, given that you hadn’t been touched by a man in almost a decade, though now you couldn’t help but hope that was going to change pretty quickly. You turned to König with a grin on your face, eyes brimming with tears of joy, and were surprised to see he didn’t look half as happy as you. In fact, he looked positively enraged, his jaw and fists clenched tight, eyes burning with anger. You reached up, cupping that tightened jaw with your soft little hand, and turned his face from the note, to you.

“I don’t care,” you said, quietly, reassuringly. “I don’t care what he calls me, or how much money he wants. I’m just glad it’s over.” Your fingers lightly caressed König’s cheek, and you sighed in relief. “Thank you,” you whispered, gazing up in adoration. “I could still find him, teach him his manners, test just how unafraid of me he is?” König offered, his fists finally unclenching, hands moving to your waist. “He’s not worth it. He’s not worth anything. Not like you…”

It took a great deal of restraint for König not to lean down, and press his lips to yours in that moment. He would have loved to have taken you right there, on that kitchen table, the note beneath your writhing body as he gave you all the pleasure you had been missing these last years. But he was a gentleman, at least when it came to you… And so, he kissed your forehead instead, and held you to his chest, before making you promise if anything happened overnight you would call him. He left, with an ache in the pit of his stomach, and another in his boxers, and prayed that you’d still want him tomorrow, and the day after that too. He needn’t have worried; you spent the whole night dreaming of your new life, free of your ex-husband and all the misery he wrought on you, and every dream had König at the centre of it.

You went to work as normal the next day, a little tired, and minus the silver rings on your finger. You were glad to be rid of them, you had always liked gold jewellery anyway, not that your ex had ever paid enough attention to know that. You exchanged nothing more than glances and smiles with König all day; him too nervous to approach you, too afraid of pressuring you, scaring you off, or embarrassing you at work… You, not sure how well you’d be able to control yourself, and hoping against hope that maybe tonight he would offer more than just a kiss on the forehead and a chest to lay your head on. You desperately waited for the last person in the office to leave, leaving you and König finally alone.

Only then did you dare to slip into his office, nerves welling in your stomach, heart pounding in your chest, to thank him once more for what he had done for you. You were so quiet, he didn’t even notice you enter the room, until you were halfway across it; he pushed his chair back and made to rise, but you stepped smartly behind the desk and laid a hand on his shoulder. He was closer to eye level for you like this anyway, you thought with an internal chuckle. You dithered for a moment, wondering how to start, what words you could possibly say that would express your gratitude, your desire… His eyes were wide, staring at you with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety, and you realised that there were no words for what you were feeling. Instead, you gathered every ounce of courage, leaned forward, and crashed your mouth against his, praying to every and any god that he would kiss you back.

Your prayers were more than answered, as surprise faded into delight, and König’s hands pulled you into his lap, his mouth answering yours with increasingly desperate, messy kisses. It wasn’t long before you were both unbuttoning each other’s shirts, his huge fingers fumbling with your tiny buttons, until both chests were bare, and your hands eagerly roamed one another’s bodies. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, his fingers squeezed your breasts, delving into the lace of your bra to toy with your hardening nipples as you straddled his lap, skirt pushed up around your waist to make space for his huge thighs between your own, and started to grind against him. He moaned into your mouth at the feel of you rubbing yourself against his straining hard-on, which only encouraged you to press harder, move faster, the lace of your underwear slick with your excitement.

You bucked and writhed in his lap, your clit grinding against the hard bulge in König’s trousers, leaving a patch of damp arousal on him as he kissed you passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth. His hands were all over you, grasping your thighs, hips, breasts, until you broke from the kiss to whimper against his lips. “König- I’m going to-“ a high pitched little squeak of a moan stole the rest of the sentence away as you approached your climax. König’s hands gripped your hips tight and rocked them back and forth, taking over when you’d grown too excited to be able to maintain your own movements against him. He watched in awe and delight as your body went rigid, your thighs twitched, eyes fluttering shut and mouth dropping open as you came. The fact that, still fully clothed, you could get yourself off just rubbing that sweet little cunt against his bulge was intoxicating, and the sweet little moan you made when you came on his clothed cock sent König into a frenzy. He barely gave you time to get over your orgasm, before he was throwing you onto the desk, skirt pushed around your waist, tearing your lace underwear in two as if it were made of nothing, and burying his face between your thighs to taste your dripping arousal.

You couldn’t help but let out a low, delighted moan when König’s mouth finally met your cunt. You didn’t remember the last time you were pleasured like this - hell, you had never been made to feel this good - and all you could do was lie back, trying not to let your hips buck and writhe too much as his greedy mouth explored you. His tongue was lapping at you, probing you, then swirling and teasing your sensitive clit, until he began to gently kiss and suck it… it didn’t take long for you to be whimpering once more, the coil in your core tightening, your body tensing as your second orgasm approached. König pushed two large fingers into you, making you gasp with excitement at the stretch, while his mouth continued to work your clit. When you came undone again, you writhed, thighs trying to clamp together, but König’s free hand pinned you in place. He did not stop kissing, licking, sucking, working you through your climax and into overstimulation, making you tremble.

“König!” You whined, a third orgasm tearing through you almost immediately after the second, your cunt clamping tight around his big fingers. The sound of his name on your lips, moaned in ecstasy, did something to König. His icy blue eyes, which had not left your face as he pleasured you with his mouth and hand, took on a wild, frenzied look. He had been so in control, so calm, but hearing you whimper his name as your pussy clenched and pulsed against his mouth and around his fingers tore through any restraint he had left. He stood up, wiping your glistening arousal from his mouth with one huge hand, sucking it from his fingers, and paused momentarily to look over you, surveying the delicious sight before him. You, sprawled out on his desk, him between your thighs, your skirt up around your waist, blouse undone, breasts spilling from the lace of your bra… This was everything he had ever dreamed of… well, almost. He hovered uncertainly, desperate to take the next step, to claim you as his properly, to mould your sweet, tight pussy to the shape of his huge cock… but he needed you to make the decision, he didn’t want to push you. The wild look in his eyes as he gazed down at you was more than enough for you though, and you reached out with trembling hands. As you unbuckled his belt, your eyes flickered between König’s massive, throbbing bulge, and his face, with that desperate expression.

“Please?” You whispered, your hands busily unbuttoning and unzipping, eager for more. “You want me to fuck you, Liebling?” König breathed, stopping your hands in their movements, taking them in his own. You nodded, biting your lip, and again managed to whisper a plea. The moment the word left your lips, König had his boxers shoved down, his lengthy cock springing free, slapping against his stomach. You knew he would be big, but even the bulge you had been grinding against earlier hadn’t given a hint of just how big he was. Not just long, but thick, and rock hard, veins stood out like ropes wrapped around his meaty cock. König let your hand wrap around it, and your fingers didn’t manage to touch your thumb, he was so huge. You pulled his length down, until his tip was pressed against your slick entrance, and looked up at König’s face as he held himself there. His voice was gentle as one of his hands took over from yours, holding him in place, while he interlaced the fingers of his other hand with your own. “Are you ready, Engel?” He asked softly, patiently, his throbbing cock nestled against you. Again, you nodded, and again your teeth clamped on your bottom lip in anticipation.

Slowly, so slowly, König’s hips began to push forward.

The stretch of him filling you should surely have been painful, given his size; you felt nothing but pleasure, deep, delicious, breathtaking pleasure, as he pushed inside you. It was as if you were made for him, made to take him like this, or to be taken by him, and he moaned as he hilted himself in you, one hand on your thigh, one interlaced with your own hand, both tensing and squeezing as he felt the tight embrace of your cunt. He looked down at you with awe, with worship in his eyes, and slowly, gently moved his hips back, before driving himself into you again. You felt so good around him, within a few thrusts he was on the edge, feeling your heat and tightness dragging him towards release.

The hand pressing your thigh back moved to where you were joined, his thumb pressing down on your clit, making you moan even louder. He began to fuck you harder then, each moan and gasp spurring him on, as you trembled and writhed beneath him, overwhelmed with pleasure. Soon you were coming again, the pressure of his thumb combined with the way he fucked you so deep and hard sending you into spasms of ecstasy. König roared, feeling you clenching and pulsing around his length, and managed to gasp out a question, begging to know where you wanted his load, barely able to hold back from filling your fluttering cunt with it.

“Please,” you whimpered, still wild with ecstasy, “inside - fill me!” You managed to get the words out between your moans, and felt König somehow become even wilder at the words. He pounded into you, harder, faster, thrusting roughly as you continued to come around his huge cock, until he slammed against you a final time, burying himself and shooting spurt after spurt of his release deep into you. You clawed at his shoulders, frenzied with delight when you felt it, the pulsing heat of his cum filling you to the brim, until he collapsed down on top of you, utterly spent, and you nuzzled into his shoulder, exhausted.

It was a while before König managed to gather the strength to pull himself from you, kissing you softly before he straightened up. He gazed down at you, utterly satisfied, spread on his desk, his creamy load dripping from your cunt, and knew in that moment that you were truly his. No certificate, no ring, no lawyer could change that immutable fact; you were his, and he was yours. König cleaned you up as best he could, helped you redress, and finally, took you home. Not your old home, of course, but his, or as he thought of it now, both of yours. Of course, there would be discussions to be had, legalities to deal with, but that night all that mattered was that you were together. You spent much of the night revelling in each other, giving in to those fantasies and dreams you had both spent months trying to push aside.

The next morning, you woke in a strange bed which carried a familiar smell; that spicy scent of König’s cologne, mixed with his soap, and the smell of sex. You were aching, muscles sore, especially your thighs… but when the warm bulk of König’s body was pressed against your back, you didn’t care about the aching muscles. He took you so gently that morning, pressing soft, hot kisses to every part of your body as he worshipped you. When you were done, he carried you to the shower and washed your body with a tenderness that seemed almost impossible for a man his size. He made you breakfast, before you dressed in one of his shirts - a dress, on you, it was so big - and drove you to your old home. König trailed behind you as you walked around the place, picking up those few things that still mattered to you; some clothing, jewellery that had belonged to your grandmother, and a few books. It was a very small bag that you filled to take into your new life, but König took it from your hand anyway, unwilling to let you carry anything by yourself, regardless of the weight. He laughed when he saw how little you were taking with you, and you smiled too, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he took the little bag from your hand.

Now you had König, what more could you possibly need?

#konig call of duty #konig #konig cod #konig fanfiction #könig smut #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #konig x unhappily married #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x unhappily married

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klaprisun · 7 months ago

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One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley) (Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 11: Back to Danny's POV

I knew today was Haley's birthday, I had it memorized from the calendar. I've been debating all morning while I tend to my crops if I should bother to bring her anything or not. From the last thing she said to me yesterday, I don't think I want to. However, Haley may not have meant it the way she said it. Her face seemed apologetic after she said it.

Haley is so unreadable. One minute she is rude and sassy, the next she is soft and friendly, but then she is right back to being mean soon after. I don't know what her problem is with me.

I've gotten a lot of money in the past few days from throwing random mushrooms and berries I find on the ground. I've also gone fishing as much as possible. I have just enough saved up to get that expansion to my house. I have to go to the mountains to Robin. I had finally met everyone at the Egg Festival yesterday, so I know who Robin is.

The trek up the mountains was a long one, thankfully this farm has been keeping me in shape. I found a lot more fruits, berries, and daffodils on the ground on my way up. Perfect to sell later. My pockets are overloading with random stuff.

I open the door to Robin's house, and Sam passes me on his way out of the house. He is disheveled, and from what I can tell, wearing one of Sebastian's black hoodies.

Catching him off guard, Sam scrambles for words, "Oh...Hey Danny...Fancy seeing you here."

"Hey Sam. On your way home? Rowdy night?" I tease knowing full well what was going on.

"Don't say a word to anyone," he points a finger at me accusingly. I hold my hands up in surrender and zip my fingers across my lips.

Sam scurries off before his mom, Jodi, notices he isn't home since it is still fairly early in the morning. Jodi is the same lady who watched me get kicked out of Haley's house and was walking with Vincent. Vincent is Sam's brother.

When I walk into Robin, Sebastian, Demetrius, and Maru's house, Robin is awaiting behind a desk with a cash register perched on it.

"I see you got to witness Sam running out from seeing Sebastian," is the first thing Robin says to me when I walk in, "They are really bad at hiding it. I knew what they were up to pretty quickly, but I didn't say anything. They know I know at this point."

"There are a lot of things happening in this small town. It's hard to hide anything here, I'm surprised people don't know." I responded.

"I think the only person who doesn't know is Abigail weirdly enough. I think she has a little crush on Seb. Poor girl. Like I said, they do a bad job at hiding it," she chuckles and motions to the short walkway on the right that leads to a bigger hallway going the other way. I see Sebastian walk upstairs from their basement and try to scuttle past the hallway. Before he makes it completely past, he notices I am standing there and freezes

"Oh hi Danny," he says. He has his shirt off, which allows me to see the hickeys he has along his chest. I stifle a laugh, and he takes off down the bigger hallway where I can't see him anymore.

"Told you they are bad at hiding it," Robin couldn't even see Sebastian from behind her desk since the wall blocked her view, but she still knew what was up. "Anyways, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could expand my house. I'm in desperate need of a kitchen. A bedroom would be cool too."

"Of course! I can absolutely build you a kitchen and bedroom," she exclaimed excitedly, "should take only a couple days."

I handed her the money I had saved up, waved goodbye, and walked out. Unsure of what to do for the rest of the day, I walk over to the town square. From the pathway to the townsquare, I can see the fountain off in the distance when I start passing the community center. Haley is sitting along the edge of it, looking miserable. I sigh and make my way over to her.

When I approach, I hold my hand out to her, not saying a word. In my hand was a daffodil I had picked on my way to Robin's. One I had stuffed into my pocket for later.

"You remembered my birthday?" She takes the daffodil from my hand, lightly brushing her hand against mine, "I'm impressed. Thanks."

"Mhm," is all I say back. Politely, I take a seat next to her on the ledge of the fountain.

"Have I mentioned I like your haircut?" She's trying to ease the tension between us. I am too busy looking at the ground.

"You have not. But thank you." I have already forgotten I cut my hair off. I decided the other night that it just gets in my way and in my mouth when I am trying to do farm work. I cut it to about shoulder length, but it looks a bit wonky and shaggy. Today I pulled some of my hair into a ponytail, but left the majority of it down in a half-up, half-down style. A few escaped pieces dance around to frame my face.

"Nice makeup. Wait... Are you even wearing any?" she asks. I look up but when I do, I'm met with her pretty close to my face. She flinches at my sudden turn and backs up. I feel my cheeks warm up and her cheeks go bright pink. We both shyly gaze at one other, staring into each other's eyes.

"I've only worn makeup 10 or 11 times in my life. It makes my skin feel weird." I wipe my cheek with my hand as I imagine the feeling.

"Your eye is looking better. Looks less...purple?" She reaches out to put her hand over my eye. She hesitates before she does, trying to judge my reaction. I don't move away or push her hand away. She takes that as an okay sign and places it gently over my bruised eye. "It's not as swollen anymore either."

"It will still take some time to go away. It still has to turn an icky yellow, green color." I pretend to gag.

"Yuck! I hate when bruises turn that color." She says. We sit there and chuckle at our lame attempts at conversing.

"What happened here?" Her voice now sounds concerned. She lightly traces the scar on my brow bone, causing me to shiver.

"Ah big childhood accident. You know, getting attacked by bears in the forest," I watch her brows furrow as she tries to process what I just said. "I'm just kidding. I didn't get attacked by a bear. I was attacked by a marble countertop when I was 11. I was running, sprinting even, next thing you know I trip over my own foot and smack my head on the way down. Resulted in 10 stitches at the hospital. Funny thing is I can't even remember what I was running for."

"Oh my Yoba! That's crazy!" she cries out as I finish my story. She goes back to trace my scar, but instead uses her full hand. She slowly brings her hand down my scar and down the side of my face. I can't help but stare into her ocean blue eyes. She is too focused on examining the rest of my face to notice me looking at her.

This is the most vulnerable I have ever felt in my life. I don't know what it is about Haley, but I just can't seem to stay mad at her. She just has such a charm to her that keeps me coming back. I can never stop thinking about her either.

"Whelp," I smack my hands on my thighs, "I still have a lot of work to do on the farm to do still," I stammer, messing up my words entirely.

"You said 'to do' and 'still' twice," she giggles.

"Did I? Ah well, I guess I was just too entranced by you," I say boldly. I get up off the ledge of the fountain and start making my way to the farm. But before I am out of Haley's sight, I call back to her, "Happy Birthday, Haley." I leave her sitting in a daze on the ledge of the fountain.

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ughigottaheadache · 3 months ago

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Further addition to this post.

Fixer Upper.

Tommy has a realisation as he lays down the tarp, taping it down and covering the skirting boards.

Or, more of a question.

Did Wanda and Vis do this? Decades ago, did his parents prepare the walls of this house to be painted?

He could easily believe it, a picture of extreme domestic bliss, newly wed, thinking of the future. Maybe his mother wore her most messed up shirt and pants too, maybe his father balanced the paint lid on his fingers too, getting a glob of paint to lay down a colour sample. Did they ache over the paint finish like he did? How long did it take them to choose the shade?

They clearly went with a rich burgundy, he was still picking out the paint chips to prove it. He was half tempted to just replicate their choices when he started.

But that would feel wrong.

It had felt wrong when he just arranged the kitchen in an order he vaguely remembered, half memory half relying on what was left of the previously decrepit space.

An imitation of the past, just what he wanted, but it rung hollow.

Maybe he’d done it wrong. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be the same ever again.

But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be made his.

Up the Hill

A flyer.

Some poor quality photocopies of a hand scribbled address and time. A garage sale, just a few blocks down from him and Martin.

It could be worth a visit, even just for bed sheets and Tupperware.

A slightly hot early summer day is when he goes, cash in his bag and shoes tied tight. There’s only two other people on the grass out front, only one has the classic fanny pack slung on her hip, she smiles wide at him, waving him over near a tall vanity, a beautiful on at that.

“Hey.”

“Hello, you’re not a familiar face, hear about this through Facebook or something?” Her accent is so New Jersey that he can’t help but smile.

“Nope, got a flyer. Can I ask, is the sale only the stuff outside?”

“Oh goodness no, we’ve got so much to get rid of, we’ve got the garage set up, and just the first two rooms, anything with a sticker is for sale. Green is five, pink is ten, orange is fifteen, red is twenty, gold star stickers are anything above. You follow?”

“I follow.” She turns off to right some yard toys, so Tommy goes to jog up the stairs, not much on the lawn interested him. Maybe the long twin dressers and the vanity. Time would tell. There’s more people inside, and it’s only a few seconds until he sees what he’s really after.

Linens.

He didn’t know how passionately he would feel about bedding until he had a house to furnish and maintain, but life was funny like that. They were all in their original packaging, most of them stickered green, some pink, the only things he needed to know was the sizes and if the pillow cases were included. Next to the piles was a large crib, three gold stars stuck over a piece of painters tape.

Admittedly it was beautiful.

“My grandfather hand carved that.” The sale runner was next to him, her hand resting on the frame.

“Why sell it?”

“Got another one on the way, this’ll just take up too much room. Plus, sometimes grandfathers aren’t the nicest. Best to get rid of it.” Tommy had piled five sheet sets into the ones he wanted when he realised the woman’s eyes were burning into the side of his skull. Lifting his eyes brought a tighter look to her.

“We only put up flyers in the neighbourhood. I don’t think I’ve seen you… you do look halfway familiar. What street do you live in?” Tommy got the sense she wouldn’t leave him alone, he could just ignore her.

“Sherwood, up the hill, why do you ask? And can I buy these?” She went over them, telling him the cost, which he handed over.

“Not a lot of houses in Sherwood, not one of them’s been up for sale in decades.” She’s on a hunt for something, it’s obvious.

“2800 Sherwood, there, happy?” He’s intent on zipping out the door when she catches his attention.

“The Maximoff house? You’re sure? The one with the missing boys?” Missing? He and Billy were missing? Was that the story spun after they were taken from their mom?

“Missing boys?”

“Thomas and William, I knew them, they disappeared one day and their parents left soon after. 2800 Sherwood, you’re absolutely sure that’s the one you’re living in?”

“Yes, why?” She’s even closer now, so he backs up. She stares into his eyes, until some sort of realisation dawns on her, but her face scrunches like she can’t be sure.

“Tom? Is that you?”

He’s out the door before she can blink a second time.

Mandolin

Back and forth, back and forth.

The onions fly through the mandolin as he slices them, tub after tub of prepped vegetables are zipped to the front counter, his coworker busy with slotting bread loaves into the ovens, filling the cup towers and prepping the register.

Manual work had been the easiest Tommy could get into, something methodic and simple was a breeze. A quick and clean cut, like the mandolin.

Opening shift was the easiest. Martin usually woke up at ten, so opening at six to leave at nine thirty was convenient, a nice bargain his new employers struck with him. Anyone would trip over themselves to have a speedster on their payroll, no matter the job. His coworker, Ash, got to do any online work and just wait for customers while Tommy used the job as a way to zone out, expel energy and get money.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Back and forth his knife went through the tomatoes, the smells of the cooking meat to his side filling his nose.

Five minutes after Ash flipped the open sign, the bell jingled.

Red Carpet

It’s one at night when he gets woken up, a shout echoing in his ears. He’s all but flung himself out of bed, hopping over dirty laundry and his bag to burst into the hallway, already knocking where to go. Just a few doors down is Martin’s room.

“Master P?” There’s a lamp just by his door for this reason, it goes on and Tommy can see him, breathing heavy, halfway out of bed, a crazed look in his old eyes.

“Hey, P, hey man it’s okay, you’re safe.” He’s in front of the old guy, only slightly wincing at the iron grip that settles on his forearms. The orange lighting from the lamp casts his eyes in a strange shadow as Martin practically glares up at him, but Tommy has done this enough to know it’s not Tommy he’s seeing in his dream. It’s twenty seconds until the man’s face smooths, utter confusion following.

“A bad dream, Martin, you had a bad dream.”

“Nightmare.” The man corrects, softly, looking around his room warily, probably expecting his demons to jump out at him.

It’s late, if he doesn’t get Martin back down for sleep he’ll stay awake for hours, confused and tired. But when he does try to coax him into the sheets, he refuses, nearly growing belligerent so he relents.

He offers him a drink, some sleeping pills, music? And book?

But what comes out in a soft voice is;

“A walk, please.” It’s the middle of the night, he’s got a class to go to, getting active would make it even harder for Tommy to go to sleep, he shouldn’t agree-

“Okay, we’ll go for a walk.”

Less than thirty seconds later, Tommy has shoes and a coat on, Martin the same.

“The carpet should be red.” They’re walking down the hall, the stairs just a ways ahead.

“Why should it be red?”

“A red carpet always made me so happy.”

#marvel #marvel comics #tommy shepherd #speed #Martin Preston #master pandemonium #roo writes #tommy and his extreme capacity for kindness and empathy will always be famous in my books #even if he hides it behind a persona to protect his softer parts

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 years ago

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Swipe

Summary: The reader runs into Dean while working a job but when he pops back up in her life, she has to decide if she’s willing to go out on a limb for another criminal...

Pairing: Criminal!Dean x criminal!reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, angst, breaking & entering

______

“Oh shit,” you said as you heard police officers enter the building. You turned back at the masked man in front of you holding a bag and watched him take off in a sprint. You ran after him. You had no idea who he was but he seemed to know a quick way out of the warehouse. He ran on a gurney up top and made a jump in the dark space. You were right behind him but barely made the jump, clinging onto the edge. You looked down at the cement warehouse floor, much farther away than you thought before.

The old railing you were hanging onto broke off and you started to fall back, a hand shooting out in the darkness and grabbing you. You stared up at what looked like green eyes before you were being yanked up and onto the ledge. You fell onto your back and a hand came over your mouth as you heard a door below open. You were both quiet, listening to the police filter through the place before they went through another door. The man over you got up and you followed after more carefully this time, eventually getting out through a different warehouse and winding up at an old car.

He stared at you for only a moment before he was moving to get in the car and you followed after, the man driving off.

Twenty minutes later he stopped just outside a bar and pulled off his mask, giving you a look.

“I saved you. I keep it,” he said, glancing at the small bag he’d dropped in the console.

“I can live with that,” you said, putting a hand on the door. “Thanks for back there.”

“I’m a criminal, not heartless,” he said.

“Be careful out there,” you said as you opened the door.

“You too,” he said before you climbed out and he pulled away. You walked down the block and ducked into an alley, reaching into your inner left jacket pocket. A smirk spread across your face when you pulled out a small black bag. Opening it up you saw the box you were looking for.

Not the fake one you swapped out and left in the handsome guy’s car.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, buddy.”

Three Days Later

Humming you worked in your kitchen, half watching a movie as you worked on baking some fresh cookies on the chilly day. The heat was cranked up, you had your fuzzy socks on and you had an entire lazy day to yourself. You cracked a few eggs in a bowl and threw out the shells, going to the sink to wash up before you spun back around and froze.

The guy from the other night was standing not five feet away. You jumped back against the counter, the guy holding up his hands.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need what you took from me and then you never have to see me again,” he said.

“You broke into my house,” you said, glancing over to the butcher block on the counter quickly, Dean stepping in front of it.

“Let’s not involve knives or anything deadly, alright? Give me that box and I’m gone. I swear,” he said. You swallowed and he dropped his shoulders. “You don’t have it anymore, do you.”

“No,” you said quietly. The man closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He seemed...upset almost.

“Who’d you sell it to?” he asked.

“I’m not telling you that,” you said. His jaw clenched and you saw his anger fill in his features, his chest heaving. “Buyer confidentiality. You know that.”

“I will give you whatever the fuck you want. I’ll do whatever you want. But I need that name,” he said. You bit your bottom lip and sighed. “Please.”

“It’s bad for business,” you said. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“I am begging you,” he said, taking a step forward. “A name and I’m gone.”

“Why do you need that box back so badly? If you’re short on cash I can give you a few tips. You could get your money today,” you said. He shook his head and took another step forward, realizing he was boxing you into the corner of the kitchen. “Listen, buddy.”

“This is not about money. You tell me of your own free will or I will make you tell me. Either way, I’m not leaving this house until I get that name,” he said. He quickly walked over to you, forcing you to walk back into the pantry doorway. “What’s it going to be?”

He went wide eyed when you both heard the garage door open.

“That would be my dad and if I were you, I’d get out of here before he sees you threatening his daughter,” you said. The man was gone like that out and you sighed, removing your hand from the spare remote control you kept on the shelf in there. You quickly left and grabbed your keys from the hook, opening the door to the garage and spotting the man standing there.

“Nice trick,” he said, stepping inside and pushing you backwards. “A name. Now.”

“What is your fucking problem?” you said, gripping your keys tight, ready to use them if you had to.

“Right now, you,” he said, reaching behind his back, cocking a gun and letting it hang by his side. “Tell everyone whatever you have to about me to save your reputation. Just give me the name.”

“I don’t know who you even are.”

“Dean. Winchester.”

You stared at him and cocked your head.

“This is not your style,” you said, nodding towards the gun. “You’re a good theif but you’re clean. You don’t hurt people and you certainly don’t kill them.”

“Circumstances have changed,” he said. “I am done asking politely.”

“50 grand,” you said.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“50 grand. 25 for the interest my buyer will charge me for buying it back and 25 for dealing with you breaking into my house and me being nice about this whole situation. Cash by six tonight and I’ll get you your box back by nine. Do we have a deal?” you asked.

Dean stared at you but tucked his gun away and nodded.

“You know dock 34?” you asked and he gave a simple nod of his head. “Bring me my cash there in a duffel bag. At nine I will have your box and meet you back there. Understand?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“What the hell are you involved with?” you asked. “The box isn’t even that valuable.”

“The less you know, the better,” he said. “I’ll have the money.”

He left without a word and you shook your head.

“So much for a lazy Saturday.”

“Here,” you said, shoving the box in Dean’s hands that night. “I can’t ever work with that client again so thanks for that.”

“Fuck off. There’s more to life than money,” he said. You rolled your eyes and started to walk away, a loud sigh coming behind you. “I’m sorry. About earlier.”

“Don’t ever break in my house again,” you said.

“I promise,” he said, tucking the box in his backpack before zipping it up. “Y/N. I really am sorry.”

“I know your reputation, Dean. Whatever you’re dealing with, get out of it,” you said. “Fast. You’re not prepared to deal with it.”

“You have no idea what I’m prepared for.”

“The safety was on that gun,” you said. “After you cocked it on an empty chamber and clip. You weren’t going to hurt me. It’s why I helped you out.”

“So you caught my bluff,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Be careful of turning over things when you’re desperate. It makes you expendable very quickly,” you said.

“You’re such an expert?” he asked.

“My parents were career criminals so yeah, I know a thing or two. Business works better than violence and being desperate is always a bad sign,” you said.

“What would your suggestion be?” he asked.

“Neutral drop with the bag already in place. Get your cash delivered and then give the location,” you said.

“It’s not money,” he said. “It’s a person.”

“That is beyond my paygrade,” you said. “Call the cops.”

“You know as well as I do they’re dead if I do that,” he said.

“Follow the same method and hope for the best,” you said.

“You sound like you know your way around a gun. Y/L/N,” he said. You dropped your head and sighed. “Your grandfather was a mob boss.”

“That isn’t how I or my parents do things,” you said.

“I bet they still taught you a few things,” said Dean.

“I know where you’re going with this and no. I don’t do that sort of thing. I’m not even qualified,” you said.

“I understand,” said Dean. He started to turn away and you closed your eyes.

“Wait,” you said, Dean staring when you opened them again. “I have a friend. He owes me a favor. He knows all that stuff.”

“Y/N,” said Dean.

“When is your drop supposed to happen?” you asked.

“Midnight.”

“Alright,” you said as you pulled out your phone and dialed, the other end ringing a few times before you heard a voice. “Hey, Ketch. I got a favor to ask.”

Three Days Later

You were flipping through a cookbook trying to decide what to make for dinner when your doorbell rang. Humming, you walked over and pulled it open, Dean Winchester standing there.

“Hey,” he said, holding a plate of cookies. “I uh, wanted to say thanks...and apologize again.”

“Cookies. Always a good start,” you said as you let him in. He took off his shoes and followed you back to your kitchen, glancing at your cookbook.

“You like to cook?” he asked.

“I enjoy it,” you said, digging into one of the cookies, finding it not half bad. “How’s your brother doing?”

“He’s okay. Your friend, Ketch...he uh…” said Dean. “He’s intense.”

“He doesn’t care much for other people. He’s very good at what he does though,” you said.

“He killed the guy,” said Dean.

“This guy you were dealing with was not going to give back your brother. He was either going to kill him and you or keep him and have you steal more things on his behalf. Either way, you needed that guy dealt with,” you said. “You feel bad about that?”

“Using a hitman? Kinda.”

“Arthur didn’t kill him. He injured him and collected him, turned him over to someone the guy had wronged in the past for a hefty sum of money apparently. It was a business deal was all,” you said. “The guy took your brother. I wouldn’t worry so much about what happens to him.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Try not to steal from me again though.”

“No promises,” you said with a smirk as you went to your cookbook.

“Want to go out for a bite?” he asked. You looked over at him, Dean smirking back at you. “My treat seeing as how I found 50 grand dumped back in my account.”

“I wonder who did that,” you said, shutting your book.

“What do you say? My brother will be there. He’d like to thank you in person,” said Dean. “You in?”

“You are definitely paying,” you said, eating another cookie, Dean breaking into a smile. “Oh, don’t get too excited. You owe me.”

“Yeah. I do. I’ll swing by at seven. Nothing too fancy. I promise.”

“I’ll see you at seven then, Dean.”

________

#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #one shot #dean winchester #au #spn fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #supernatural reader insert

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thetoaddaddy · 6 months ago

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learning how much an S rank mission pay and the average royalty/event/movie deal fees for a best selling author we can accept Jiraiya is basically a self made billionaire(or whatever it would be considered in ryo maybe a googolnaire?) but lives like a little rat with not much to his name is funny af to me. He could be petty and buy out so many businesses and basically own half of the village and create a monopoly. He could probably bribe the feudal lord(s) to swing whatever way he wanted. He could literally buy a mansion and fill it with weird over priced art, a kitchen he won’t use, a hundred mail order wives and gold diggers.

Nah. Lives the humble life. Steals money from his students and lives frugally. Bruh 😭 we gotta pen an au where he casually lays out the cash for things.

Surprises his s/o with a lofty house. Takes his s/o on an extravagant date. I’m talking like flies you to Italy for pasta type of dates(just as an example idk do they have a rich person type of run for that shit? Maybe the crescent moon island resort that could be a fun prompt). Buys out a hotel or park just for his family to occupy it. Casually spoils his s/o with very expensive things. Bro could be the end all be all of sugar daddies. The silver fox with the deep pockets. An iconic playboy shinobi hybrid that the world hath never really seen before. But he’s like nah… cheap hotels, simple clothes, and maybe spend 1% of my savings on love bar hostesses.

In his hand with all this money he could have really fucked things up but picked to live as basic as he could with no fucks about flashing the cash or being like most self made rich folk and broadcasting it. Nah he scrimps and lives so vagabond for the hell of it.

What a goblin.

#q #uhhh headcanon?#how you single fr #come on daddy lay out the money and treat yo baby to something nice #hed very much spoil his partner #he could probably retire anytime with his book royalties and movie deal but doesn’t 😭#he could buy ur ass anything

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norinenglish · 6 months ago

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Stardew Rancher AU - Quest: Introductions 2

Meeting BDubs

Bdubs has to be Marnie. There's no other possibilities.

Read below the cut. This takes place immediately after "Getting Started". Don’t hesitate to request things about this au!

>> Part One | Next Part

Once Jimmy is done for the day, he decides to take Grian’s advice on exploring the town. He starts with his own land. He goes south of his house and the small field he made, observing the terrain. There are 3 ponds total, varying in size, and what looks like different kinds of trees. He’s not familiar enough with them to be able to name them. Moving around is a bit of a challenge with all the wood and rocks that are everywhere but clearing them will have to wait another day.

At some point, he sees the fences that border his land and a small opening leading down to a forest. A few steps in, he starts to hear the moos of cows. Following them leads him to a big building which, frankly, is more deserving of the name “ranch” than his own farm. He can see silos on the side and a fenced pasture with several animals. Mostly cows and horses, though.

Jimmy gets close to it and the brown cow who was grazing next to the fence raises her head curiously at him.

“Hi, you,” Jimmy says, offering his hand like you would to a cat.

The cow bumps her head against his palm and he laughs as he starts to pet her.

There’s a sign next to the door. It says “The Stable | open 9 am - 4 pm.” His watch tells him he’s five minutes before opening time.

What? It’s barely nine? he tells himself. It feels like a full day has passed already, with how tired he is. But that’s a given, really, since he’s not used to this type of physical labour.

He decides to wait here. It’s nice. The cow’s fur is soft and warm under his hand and the rising sun is shining upon him. There’s a pleasant breeze, brustling the leaves. Even the scent of animals won’t bother him.

“You know,” he tells the bovine, “I think it’s the first time I’ve ever petted a cow.”

She flics an ear, undisturbed, and pressed subtly against the fence. He wonders what her name is.

A few minutes later, he decides to push the door of the Stable and see what’s inside this house/shop before he loses his nerves. He looks around, feeling like Alice in Wonderland. The building, in hindsight, is incredibly normal. But it’s warm. There are plants around, a homily light reflecting on the half-wood half-wallpaper walls.

Right in front of him, there’s a counter with a cash register – so this is definitely a shop.

“Hello?” he calls out, wondering why no one’s there.

Did he get his time wrong?

“Yes, yes, I’m coming! Etho, what are you doing awake already-”

A short man bursts out behind a curtain separating the main room from probably another part of the house. He’s wearing a green apron and holding a knife in one hand and an onion in the other.

“You’re not Etho.”

Jimmy gets flustered under that blank stare. He clears his throat and gestures awkwardly behind himself. “I’m sorry, the sign on the door said it was open- uh. I’m- I’m Jimmy. I just moved in.”

The man recovers quickly. “Ah, yes Mayor Grian told me you just arrived,” he proclaims, putting the onion and the knife down, reaching out for a handshake.

Jimmy had always thought ‘proclaiming’ was just a word people used in books to avoid using ‘saying’ and that it didn’t really mean something different. But listening to this booming voice, he realises he was wrong.

“I'm BDoubleO!” the man continues, squeezing his hand firmly but not painfully. “ I sell livestock and animal care products at my Stable. You’re free to swing by any time, during opening hours of course.”

“Oh so this is a shop,” Jimmy says a bit stupidly. He doesn’t have anything smart to say, but at least he feels less guilty about barging in.

“Yes. You will need to have proper infrastructure to receive the animals, though. And, from what I’ve seen, you live in a shack.” BDoubleO pauses and eyes Jimmy. “Do you even have a kitchen?”

Jimmy’s first instinct is to open his mouth and defend his lamentable shack’s honour. He’s used to the passive-aggressive attitude of people of the city, of comments that feel like needles trying to tear him apart, so that his natural reaction.

He takes in a breath - forcing himself to take a figurative step back from the defensiveness he feels. BDoubleO’s inquiry seemed genuine. Probably. He hopes.

“I don’t,” Jimmy says because that’s the truth and he raises his chin defiantly, bracing himself for contempt of pity.

Instead, the other man just picks up the items he had set on the counter and asks, “Have you eaten breakfast, then?”

Jimmy blinks. “No?”

He hates how it sounded like a question but he’s just taken aback.

“And you’ve been working on your farm since when?”

“Uh, I woke up at 6?”

“You must be famished. Come on in.”

“What?” Jimmy asks, dumbly. His brain can’t catch on to what’s happening.

BDoubleO goes back towards the room he came out of. As his arm raises the half-curtain, he stops.

“Well, don’t wait there, follow me.”

The imperious tone triggers Jimmy’s automatic obedience, as a result of all his years in the corporate world. He numbly follows the man into a kitchen and sits at the table when he hears the command. He feels a bit out of place, just sitting there, but BDoubleO’s chatter about fresh organic eggs as he makes an omelette with potatoes, ham and onions doesn’t really need his active participation.

“It’s a lot, living here,” he says when he puts a plate down in front of Jimmy, “but you’ll probably do great.”

They start eating. The food is simple but somehow, it tastes better than anything Jimmy has ever eaten. And he doesn’t even like omelette all that much.

“This is good,” he says.

Gosh, can you be any more rude? He chides himself. He just inhaled his plate of food in what feels like one munch.

BDoubleO just beams, though, accepting the lame compliment.

“Thank you! It’s all fresh eggs from my lovelies. Think about it when you wanna extend your farming operation.” He hums pensively then.“But you’re not there yet, are you now? First, you need seeds. You should get to Trader Scar for that. Follow the river to the east until you get to the houses. Then it’s at the north of the town square. You can’t miss the huge name sign. Always had a sense of flare, Scar. He’ll probably give you good deals. The saloon not far from it will provide you with hot meals while you don’t have a kitchen.”

Here it is again. How can people be so generous here when there’s nothing they can get out of it. Jimmy’s been welcomed, fed and advised just like that.

“Thank you.”

Jimmy leaves soon after that, his stomach warm from the food and everything else.

#nor writes #trafficblr #stardew ranchers au #traffic stardew au

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crplpunkklavier · 6 months ago

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Hey there! I might be applying for a PhD program in Germany next year and I was wondering if there was anything about Germany that's normal for natives but foreigners are confused about that you'd like to share? For instance, I was once told virtually nothing in Germany opens on Sundays, things like that <3

that's correct yeah, definitely get your shopping done BEFORE sundays and official holidays, because all stores will be closed. that includes places like pharmacies and doctor's offices! if you have a medical emergency on a weekend it's basically like having one in the middle of the night, so you'll have to find your local emergency numbers to call. the only places that ARE open on sundays/holidays are gas stations and some kiosks, so if you just need drinks and/or snacks, you're fine.

every bottle or can you buy that has this symbol on it:

you can return at stores with Pfandautomaten. theyre machines in grocery stores that you can feed your bottles/cans into, and they print a receipt that you hand over at the register, and youll get a little bit of money back. depending on what it was, it can be like 25 ct per can or something. its money you already paid when you bought it, so you dont get free money or anything, but its nice. also my non-german spouse just loves standing in front of those machines and watching.

our infrastructure is pretty bad in comparison to, like, most other industrialized places lol. its highly unlikely that there will be public wifi where you are, so get set up with a sim card asap. reception/data might still be pretty bad if youre not in a big city. the plus side of how backwards we still are about many things is that germans still looove cash. there will be places that do not take cards. usually its smaller places like bakeries or a farmers market stand. but it will happen

do go to a bakery whenever you can. you can get bread rolls for 30 cents and entire loaves for 3 bucks. theyre good!

there will be no a/c unless youre in a store or in a place with properly funded trains/trams. no residential buildings have a/c. i will be very surprised if your university does

if youre moving into any sort of student housing deal you might not have to deal with this, but if you're going to rent an apartment here, chances are it won't have a kitchen, and potentially it won't have flooring either. you have to get that yourself. it then ~belongs to you~ and you can take it with you when you move again, or try to sell it to the next tenant, and apparently people think that thats a good way to do this? i dunno lol. you can get kitchens at ikea. i'm sorry.

i'm not entirely sure where you're from, but if you don't get cold winters there then it might be worth to read up generally on how to dress for central european winters. you're not going to get fully snowed in unless you're moving all the way south to the alps, but we get snow sludge pretty much everywhere, and temperatures will drop to around 0° celsius.

april and may will feel crazy. you'll get 27°c one day and a thunderstorm will cool things down to 10° the next day.

most people speak english! we learn it in school. some will be apprehensive to do it, many will have a thick accent. but you will probably get through to people if your german isn't solid enough yet.

we have a large turkish population! try their food, go to their supermarkets, it's worth it!

good luck!! i will rb this if i think of anything else <3

#kermit lover #ive consulted my spouse about it too since theyre still new here

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periwinklefox13 · 2 months ago

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hellooooo im gonna tell you about my sims world because i think its pretty awesome and im having a good time but feel free to ignore if that doesnt interest you

i started by creating myself because i pretty much always do. decided i was going to do a rags to riches challenge type thing

the rules:

i start with an empty lot and 0 money

i am not allowed to get a job

any sims that join the household must also quit their job

try to earn as much money as possible as fast as possible and build the house of my dreams

so i started off with absolutely nothing. started fishing and digging for collectibles to earn some fast cash. collected wild plants and replanted them to create a farm. sleeping on park benches and using the grills to make hot dogs.

bought a bed and a mini fridge. couldnt afford to build a room yet so sleeping outside. fridge got rained on and broke a couple of times

saved up enough to build a tiny house! literally just one room with a bed, mini fridge, toilet, sink and shower

expanded the farm by buying seeds. also got bees! bees fertilise the plants and make them improve in quality so you can sell them for more money. also they produce honey which you can sell.

started dating one of the neighbours!

expanded the house to two rooms! bedroom/kitchen and bathroom. with a stove we can now cook food at home rather than using the grills at the park!

expanded the farm again. it now covers half the lot. also bought an easel so i could make paintings for additional income.

married boyfriend and had him move in with me. he writes novels to earn supplemental income.

added bedrooms and had baby number one! a little girl, named her lily :)

saved up 60000 simoleons and decided to demolish the house and build a better one. much bigger and very nicely decorated. (im very proud of it)

just had baby number 2! a little boy i named sam. lily is a child now! she just had her birthday.

im now thinking about getting a dog. i love dogs.

anyway uh yeah! thats what ive been up to this week lmao

That sounds interesting! /gen

Now that I think about it, I never really played Sims before.

#periwinkle answers #etherealspacejelly #periwinkle loves etherealspacejelly/p

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smolvenger · 2 years ago

Text

Miss Narracott and The Captain Part Five (Cpn. James Nicholls x fem! Reader miniseries)

Fandom: War Horse

Word Count: 6K

Chapter Warnings: Angst and fluff. Pining. Drunkenness. Mentions of sex but no smut. Inspiration from Jane Austen and Little Women. Attempts at historic accuracy. I choose violence at the end.

Series Summary: It is 1912-1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six Coming Soon!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! I always love doing period pieces like this! Feel free to ask to be tagged in this and/or my other stuff! Thank you!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510

He offered you to sit down at the table. Once you had, he took the place across from you.

“Why do you wish to speak to me alone, Mr. Lyons?" you asked.

He rubbed his hands together. Then he began.

"Miss Narracott, I have taken notice of you these past two years. Despite the low station of your family, you impressed me. Your sweet nature, work ethic, good sense, and pretty face. All admirable. However, your father is unable to provide for his own family. Or afford his own farm. You are trapped by a family that cannot provide for themselves, or you. But…there is a solution a compromise, if you will."

You folded your hands on the table. Looking right at him. Trying to see if your heart would stop in its place. You could attest truth in some of his words. Right now, bad luck took away your cash crop. Ruined crops meant no rent. The eggs, the milk, and your wages could only cover so much. You could sell the animals as a last resort. Though not Joey, it would break your brother's heart too much.

You knew where this was headed.

He looked around at this place. Though your family rented it, it was truly he who owned it. He owned the stone walls. The staircase. The windows you looked out so many times. The sink. The doors. He even tried to own Joey. And now you were only more thing he was trying to add to his collection of ownership.

But this house! So familiar and safe to you! It was filled with so many things that made it a home. Your embroidery with flowers and sentences sewed in hung on the walls. On the fireplace mantle was a clock Dad loved to polish. Mum’s pans hung over your head in the kitchen. The seats and fireplace could make a cold winter's night cozy. At this very table, you would gather to eat, read, sew, have cups of tea, and live. And now, all of that had to be packed up and squished to move to your uncles. Or sold one by one to make ends meet. To buy time for the plants to grow. Or until you all had to beg.

It was dark inside. It was the late shine of afternoon becoming evening, but still bright. But the stone walls blocked the sunlight.

It was summer after all. And it mocked you in its sunshine and youthful joy outside. You heard the chickens clucking and Joey's hooves trotting about without a care in the world. Unlike you.

“Sir, you are proposing marriage to me,” you said directly.

“Yes, I am.”

Panic made parts of you see stars. But your vision came to normal. You looked down at the table, to regather yourself, then back at him. You swallowed. Keeping it down. You would not give into “hysterics.” Not yet.

If only there could be a distraction. A bird at the window. A thundercloud. Albert's owl whistle. Joey poking his head through the window for a snack from the kitchen, even! No, there was none. Only this. You put your hands on the table, fingers curled up. Everything in you sensed danger though you were at home and very still.

Part of you knew this would always happen. That it was only a matter of time. And now here was the moment. But why did you feel so horrible?

You wished you could run away. You wished you could run out the door and never speak to him again. To catch a cab out of the city to never deal with this! But…you forced yourself not to. Even if you didn’t want to be here, you knew it would come eventually. You would not flee. You would face him. You would stay here and deal with it.

Father used to fight in the Bower wars. He was brave then. Mum's brave. Albert's brave. I can be brave too, you thought.

He leaned a little closer to you. You felt yourself flinch back. He then put a cold, soft hand over yours. He showed no nervousness, usual for some suitors. His eyes were sharp on you. Lyons cleared his throat with his other hand. He began speaking.

“Miss Narracott… you have been the greatest surprise about this farm. About this family. And through these past two years, I have grown more and more affectionate with you. I think of all ladies here in town, you have my utmost opinion of superiority. Though I understand your family’s situation and standing more than anyone else, I can be a forgiving man. I can be a tender man beneath all this.”

He gestured to his overdressed striped waistcoat. He looked like an English zebra. If only Albert were with you. Then you both would bite your lips. Then flee to a corner and laugh at him. Then the next sentence hit you like a slap.

“And I will forgive your family's rent if you consent to be my wife.”

You heard the clock on the mantle tick.

“That was what you were discussing with my father?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said if you said yes, it was alright by him.”

You forced your breaths to slow. Your hand shook beneath his and your belly boiled. Was this a trap? An idea struck you.

“You are a businessman, not a charity man, Mr. Lyons. Said so yourself, I recall. You cannot seriously mean you would forgive my parent's rent all the time. You need income from your tenants,” you reasoned.

“You are correct. I could extend the forgiveness for a year at most.”

A year without rent. More than enough to recover the loss of crops. It was too good to be true. Was it?

“You say that you like me. What will my life be like after I marry you?” you queried.

Lyons smiled.

“You will live with me in my house. All my servants shall call you mistress. You won’t have to feed chickens for the rest of your life…You will have anything you could want- you have my word! Anything is yours!” he elaborated.

“Breakfast in bed delivered by maids every morning?” you asked.

“Of course, you can, I don’t see why not. It will be a comfortable, glamorous life. That is what I offer you.”

It seemed like the life of being a Wealthy Lady was finally in your grasp. Just like the ones in the catalogs.

“I-I…I don’t know what to say…this is a lot…” you babbled.

Tears were welling up in your eyes, slowly falling. One drop curled in a minuscule puddle on the tablecloth. You got out your handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

"It's natural for women to cry with joy when they are proposed to! Especially like this!” he commented.

But you were crying for a different reason. The pure overwhelm of everything.

"Let me ask again-Would you like to be my wife, live a life of ease, and easily have your family keep their farm? I will make you happier more than any man here in town could."

He even from his pocket got out a velvet box with a ring inside. It was encrusted with a diamond that glittered when the sun hit it. You must admit, it was beautiful and right up your alley. Costly, too. But it felt tight on your finger as if preparing it to be chopped off by a knife by squeezing the life out of it.

"That is what I have to offer you- whatever you want. Anything you wish for is yours, Miss Narracott.”

"Like gloves?" you asked.

"Your pick of them!"

"I have one that's missing...where is my glove?”

He tilted his head.

“Your what?” he asked.

“My cream-colored glove! One’s been missing for a year now! Did you take it? I thought you stole it out of fondness for me. I’d like it back, please,” you explained.

He blinked, shaking his head.

“I never took your glove!” he confirmed.

“Oh…I was mistaken….” You sighed.

Your head was spinning. Breakfast in bed every morning. Motorcars. Fancy hats and all the dresses you craved at last. Servants. Never having to do a minute of work for the rest of your life. Afternoons spent lifting your feet up like a queen in town. Knowing your family’s house was safe. They had time to recover the lost crops. That they had stability…

“Miss, you try my patience. I do expect an answer- immediately,” he said.

But all while married to Lyons.

You looked up at him. You did not feel an ounce of attraction. You knew several older men who were far more handsome than he. His ridiculous red mustache! Could you kiss those whiskers on your wedding day? Would they tickle? Would they make you sneeze or even laugh when you kissed him- not from joy but from how silly they looked on him? Could you sit with him and talk with him every day? Spend every meal with him? Could you attend every Sunday service beside him? Could you call David your stepson?

Then it came to the marital act. You were taught about what happened by your mother, your friends, and the farm animals. Could you see yourself wanting to bed this man? Could you… do these sorts of things to this man? Let him do all sorts of things to you? Could you crawl into the same bed as Lyons nightly? See his naked body? Let him see yours? Feel him on you? In you? Wake up next to his face every morning? You could push him away, but not for long. And what if you got pregnant? Would you want to carry this man’s child? Make more of him into the world?

He wasn’t old enough to die soon. And you doubt you could get away with murder. Or file a divorce.

Perhaps you could learn to love him. Even if he wasn’t a handsome man in your eyes, what about his character? Men didn’t have to be handsome to be kind, gentle, respectful husbands who treated their wives well.

Thinking back, you recalled every interaction. How he scoffed at rabbits as “vermin.” His behavior toward your family when they desperately tried to get the field plowed. He harassed your father and mother. Taunting their worries. Speaking with cruelty and superiority. Not even a whisper of sympathy for their situation. And not only to people beneath his power but to the people he wanted as in-laws!

He hadn’t changed a bit.

Was that a man you wanted to marry?

You thought of the field. The storm. The brokenness on your father’s face. The relief on it if you walked out, flashed the ring on your finger, and said, “The rent is forgiven for a year, Dad!”

Then you remembered your mother’s words. About being a woman. About self-sacrifice. About happiness.

How much you gave and sacrificed already for your family. If you made this one sacrifice; If you married this man, it would be no different than plunging a blade into yourself. Or tearing at each part of yourself until barely anything was left. An empty husk from your wedding day until death did you part. An empty, unhappy shell all your days.

That wasn't worth it.

You looked up into Lyon's eyes and said one word.

“No.”

He blinked. His smile was unfazed.

“What did you say?”

“I said no,” you clarified.

“No breakfast in bed?”

You took off the ring and placed it in the box. You slid it back to him. You stood up. Trying to feel taller than him as he sat.

“No to your offer. I cannot and will not accept,” you said.

“Your families rent! This is quite an incredible opportunity. Think of my generosity. Think of it!” he argued.

“You’re not proposing to me. You’re extorting me,” you accused.

You began to shake even more, tears poured out of your eyes. Yet you kept speaking.

“You’re not a nice man. And you wouldn’t be a good husband to me. So, do you hear me? My answer is no!”

You dipped your head down. You wiped the tears off with your sleeves, then looked back up. He got up as well, putting the box in his pocket.

“You will be our landlord. But no more. And you will respect that boundary. Or we will live somewhere else…” you told him.

“Very well then…My business here today is done. I’ll leave,” he replied.

You walked over and opened the door. Mr. Lyons stepped right outside, tipping his hat with a solemn look. His face frowning.

“You lost quite an opportunity, Miss Narracott,” he said.

You heard a familiar honk. A smile returned to you at the sound.

“We have no servants here. Harold will see you out,” you announced.

Harold charged onto Lyons. Wings flapping and feathers flying. Lyons struggled to run out. The goose bit his leg. Lyons let out an “Agh!” in pain. He lost any dignity he had left shaking away the offensive gander. The landlord couldn’t take a step without dealing with Harold’s nipping beak. He retreated to the door of the gate pursued by the goose.

Your parents had been sitting on the large rock near the bottom field. They jumped up and ran over to watch. Harold kept honking and flapping his wings at the threshold when your hopeless suitor got out. Off Lyons ran to his motorcar, his servant driving him far away. Harold let out a few final, triumphant honks at the gate. Then shook his head and waddled away like a parade of victory.

You heard Albert yelling out and his running footsteps.

“Y/N! Y/N! Don’t you worry, I’m right-“

Albert burst forth to the front yard. You saw he had a pitchfork in hand.

“Albie!” you said.

He looked around you, getting your shoulders with his free hand.

“Are you alright? I heard no screaming, but lots of raised voices, I did! He didn’t…didn’t hurt you, did he?” he asked.

“You…. you were going to attack him…to protect me?” you asked.

“Yes, like I promised you! Always will!”

You clutched him and cried. Finally releasing the urge to sob for the past hour. Dropping the pitchfork, he hugged you back. You heard your parents from behind.

“He made you an offer, didn’t he?” Mum asked.

Letting go of the hug, you turned to them and nodded.

“He said he’d forgive the rent for a year if I did. And I refused him,” you explained.

You began crying to your parents, wiping off a tear with your sleeve like a child who broke a teacup.

‘I’m so sorry…I know that…I know how much it would…it would have saved us…” you babbled to your parents.

You dreaded seeing two disappointed faces. Hearing disappointed words. But instead, your mother stepped forward.

“You’ve no reason to be sorry, come here, darling, come here…” she consoled.

She wrapped you into a hug. You dug into her purple blouse, crying into it. She rocked you as you stood, letting you cry. Then you peeked your head up at your father. Releasing the hug, you approached him.

“Dad I’m…I’m so sorry…I failed you; I know…I could have saved us, saved you and…and I didn’t!” you cried.

“Are you mad at me, girl? That’s what I’m worried about…” he asked.

You shook your head.

“No…you could have forced me, but you didn’t…you…you gave me a choice…you let me choose!” you answered.

He squeezed your arm. Then all three of them hugged you. A circle of warmth and love, safe to cry, safe to release.

“We’ll figure something out…Shhh, it’ll be alright…” Mum consoled you.

Releasing the hug, you saw Albert’s eyes light up with an idea.

“We have an uncle. We’ll ask him to hire us!” Albert suggested.

You then looked up at your stone house. The farm that had been your whole life. The farm that you refused them to keep at the price of your happiness.

“Where will we live, mum?” you asked.

“I’ll tell you. We’ll live together,” she answered.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were grateful for the chores on the weekend and work on Monday. You were relieved to see customers, organize items, and hear your co-worker’s chatter. Anything to not obsess over what happened. They were a welcome distraction. When you returned from work, Albert was all a-chatter. When you walked through the gate, he approached you and jumped subjects like a squirrel jumped through trees.

“Dover’s fair’s coming up and Joey’s got to win a prize again! He has to! And oh! Captain Nicholls stopped by to draw Joey today! Oh- and Andrew! Andrew’s winnin’ all the bees at school! Right clever, he is! And Dad says we got some eggs hatched up! Not too many washed up in the storm! And Mum’s making beef and gravy for dinner! It’s already making my mouth water thinking about it! And there’s some fuss goin’ on in Austria-I heard this fellow was in his car and-“

When he saw the look on your face, he shut his mouth. Then looked at you.

“How’re you today? Sad about Lyons?”

“Some. But it’s better,” you replied.

“I’m glad you said no, Y/N. Don’t want him as my brother-in-law, I don’t!” Albert confessed.

You let out a small laugh at the words and he gave you another hug.

Dad did what he always did when times were tough- go out to the pub. He left after dinner. No one said a peep when he walked out. All knew it was worthless to stop him.

That night, sleep was not easy to achieve. Your mind reeled about the confrontation with Lyons. Thinking through and playing each moment over and over, troubling and tormenting you. Unable to sleep, you got out of bed. You gathered a shawl and went downstairs to the fireplace, starting a fire. Curled up on a chair, you stared at it, the sound comforting you.

Then there was a knock on the door. Answering it, you saw Si Easton with your father’s arm over his shoulders.

“Bloody sloshed, he is! But got him home safe!”

“Si, thank you so much. Be careful getting back home,” you said.

Si tipped his hat and then left. Stumbling in his steps, you led dad to a chair, he was mumbling, humming a song.

“Here… Just relax now…I’ll get you a blanket and some water…” you comforted him.

Leaving, you fetched an old quilt and put it over him. Dad looked at you, his cheeks red and eyes glazed. You were lucky Dad was never a violent drunk. Only a happy, chatty one.

“Hmm…. you’re something of a princess, Y/N…” he slurred.

“I wish I actually was,” you commented.

“There was a row at the pub over you,” Dad continued.

You turned your head. Were these drunken ramblings over nothing? Or did this really happen?

“What do you mean?” you pressed further.

You sat down on the floor and held his hand as he rambled on.

“Hmph…some fellow…I don’t know how he found out, but he did. Grabbed Lyons by his suit- big, tall man. Slammed him on the wall! Yellin’ ‘What were your intentions with Miss Narracott?’ and Lyons couldn’t answer. The man was ready to box him with his cup, he was, if the others hadn’t pulled him off. Right before he could get a good box on ‘im. All the men pulled ‘em apart, they did. Old Jonesy ran to ‘em. Scoldin’ about how he doesn’t like rows in his pub. Pulled ‘em apart and told to go home, sober up. Hmmm, good to know… didn’t think Devon was that small…but…interesting, isn’t it? At least he got him, so I didn’t have to!”

The fireplace crackled. You fetched him a cup of water. But it stood on the table near the chair, untouched.

“Did you talk about the proposal? Who fought Lyons?” you asked.

“Don’t remember, no…Hmmm…didn’t see nothin’ who he was…” he murmured.

He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and soon snored.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next day, work was welcome again. Perhaps at break or at lunch, you would recount to your friends what happened. But when the thought occurred, the bell over the door rang. In walked Sarah Corbyn again. Back on her trail. Her dress was in a yellowish hue so that she shone like gold in that brown shop. She approached you.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

“I hear there are some new books that have arrived. I’d like to see them, please,” she requested.

“They’re over there,” you pointed, guiding her to the books.

She looked at two, then turned over to you with a smile of concern. But this time, you did not smile back. Maybe the rejection had emboldened you. You stiffened your body as if preparing for a fight with knives rather than the sugary cruelty of her words. You would not tolerate her viciousness anymore.

“I hope you are well!” she chirruped.

“I am,” you answered.

“How is work, Miss Narracott?”

“Good, as always, Miss Corbyn.”

She leaned in closer with a smile. But this time, you folded your hands in front of you. Not smiling back.

“Though, I must tell you, as I have before- as you are a friend of mine. About Captain Nicholls…

You looked into her eyes.

“Miss Corbyn, I do not like to discuss one’s personal matters at work. I have many things to do. I like to be productive with my time. Please do not discuss such things with me in the middle of my shift.”

She blinked her eyes. Her nose scrunched in disbelief. Then she shrugged. She turned to the books, purchased two, and left.

Once work ended and you left the shop, you saw her. She waited for you like a spider waiting for a fly to enter its web. But you were not going to be prey this time. Not without a fight.

She walked over to you with that same smile.

“Oh, how glad I am your shift is over!” she said.

You turned over and folded your arms, glaring into her eyes.

“Work is done, so let me speak frankly. Miss Corbyn, you can at least be honest with me.” You began.

She only smiled, with a slight tilt of her head.

“I am always honest with you!” she shrugged.

You stepped forward.

“Miss Corbyn- I do not want to hear your boasts about Captain Nicholls. I understand what you are doing and why it’s to me. I am tired of hearing it! I’m tired of your attacks and insults! Don’t think I don’t understand what you’re doing! I heard about your soap comment-it’s only because my family and I work hard! It’s not funny and it’s not right! I want you to stop. If you do this one more time, I’ll tell Nicholls himself- I doubt he would think you more admirable! If you think tormenting and bullying me will make you look better for your fiancée, you’re wrong!”

“Fiancée!?” she repeated.

“Is he your fiancée? He’s a respectable man! Not the type to leave a woman hanging! I thought he should be by now! Is he?” you asked.

She took a step back. She had a frown. Then she took off her gloves and showed her hands-no rings.

“We’re not engaged. I wish we were,” she said.

With that, she put her gloves back on. She turned on her heels and left.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That Sunday, once church was over, you went up to Captain Nicholls.

“Good morning, Miss, what did you think of-“

“May we please talk outside?” you interrupted.

He blinked. He gave a glance at Major Stewart. Stewart tightened his lips.

“Of course, we can,” Nicholls answered.

Joining the filtering congregation, both of you walk out to the street. A few feet from the church crowd.

“Are you in love with Miss Corbyn?” you asked directly.

He dropped his jaw, and his face became pink.

“What- no! She’s mad for me, but not I for her!” he cried.

“I ask because…I see her with you. All around you! Dancing with you!” you elaborated.

“Her father is a Lieutenant in the army. It’s impossible to say no to him when he invites me over. And so, it’s been impossible to avoid her,” Nicholls explained.

“You dance with her twice per social!” you argued.

A few heads turned, then they walked away. You stopped caring who overheard. You had to get the truth out of him.

“I made one promise in winter so she would not be partnerless at her first dance. Then in spring, I told her only one! She frowned but relented.”

Shame made a rock in your stomach. You realized you turned away from the two dances that spring out of spite. Not even looking. Had you turned back then, you would have seen only one dance between them. Not two. Flustered, you kept speaking.

“You’re always smiling at her!”

“I’m nothing if not polite, Miss Narracott!” he reasoned.

You stepped forward, your hands curled into fists on your sides.

“Did you lead her on?”

He held your gaze.

“I thought she was jolly, pleasant company at first. Then I dined with her family at their house. I saw her with her servants...and I confess, her behavior shocked me. Always demanding, never grateful. Her lack of…she seems to lack consideration of any person’s feelings but her own. I do not wish to speak ill of anyone, but it is the truth. I still owe her decent treatment, like any person. Especially a lady. No more, no less,” Nicholls finished.

You took a step back, bowing your head. Shame washing down on you. Were you no better than a jealous, clingy hen?

“Oh…I’m sorry, I just…if she was who you wanted, that was fine…I just…”

You took a step back. Then looked away. He walked around to see you, stopping in your tracks.

“I accept your apology. And Miss…your farm is still open for me to draw there; I’d like to visit today. If it won’t bother your duties …” he suggested.

“No, you may…you may visit,” you permitted.

Sure enough, around teatime, he did. Though he did not drink a drop of tea or eat a bite of his biscuit. But got his chair and sketchbook and set to work. You were in the laundry area to hang up wet clothes. Your father went down to the bottom fields. Mum stayed inside to scrub the floors. Albert went up to chat with the captain as Joey pranced about the grass. He took a deep breath. Surrounded on that lovely summer day, the sun shining and a light breeze blowing through.

“Joey’s quite wild today! Excited for the fair, he is! He’s got to run, sir! Too much spirit! Sorry for that!”

“You can ride him out, Albert. I can draw the chickens or Harold instead,” Nicholls permitted.

With that, Albert swung his leg over the horse and galloped off. But once he was gone, Nicholls approached you.

“But Miss…are you alright?” he asked, softening his voice.

“You mean about Miss Corbyn?”

“No, Mr. Lyons…” he clarified.

You stopped pinning up laundry, setting the shirt down on the basket.

“You heard?” you asked.

He nodded.

“Albert told me…how do you feel now?”

You let out a deep breath.

“I feel…I feel relieved. And worried. But…I feel free…” you confessed.

“And you’re safe? He has not…bothered you since then?” he continued.

You shook your head.

“No. Never brought it up again,” you said.

“That’s good…”

He stayed there. You hung up the wet shirt to dry. Then you took down and folded some dried socks in a separate basket. Nicholls looked away to the field but stayed still. He began to fidget with his hands. He then walked out but did not return to his chair and sketchbook. He paced a little about the yard. You then paused and took a step towards him.

“Sir, is something the matter? Are you feeling well?” you asked.

“Miss Narracott…could you come here, please?” he asked.

You took a few steps closer. Out into the sunshine where birds carried their songs, the breeze was gentle, and summer was in bloom. His hands kept fidgeting, though he took a deep breath.

“May I be frank?” he asked.

“Of course…”

“I’m so sorry for this misunderstanding about her…I wish you confronted me sooner…” he confided.

“It’s all done now! I know you’re heartbroken because you were in love with Miss Corbyn!” you assured him.

He looked into your eyes with gentleness.

“I never loved Miss Corbyn. I’m not in love with Miss Corbyn.” he confessed.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He reached into the left front pocket of his uniform. And pulled out your long missing glove.

You dropped your jaw and let out a gasp despite yourself, yet you felt yourself smile. You gaped at the glove then at him then the glove then him again. He offered you your glove and you felt it but didn’t remove it from his hand. Your heart raced, again trying to believe this was real. Everything- these words. This-this was real. If he was real.

He then looked at you with eyes wide.

"You...you took my glove...you had it for a year..." you wondered.

"You lost it at church. It was a hot day. You took your gloves off and kept them in your hand. As you left, this one fell on the pew. I kept meaning to return it...but...I...I wanted a reminder. Always there. To think of you...remember you..."

"Captain Nicholls…” you gasped, wondering if your mind could form words now.

“Can I speak more?” he asked.

You nodded. He took a step closer, placing a hand over yours. Warm, calloused, and gentle to touch.

"Miss Narracott, I've admired you. You’re a lovely woman. Your kindness, your loyalty, your heart...how much you cared for your family. How strong you always were. How gentle you were with all the animals-even Harold! And I..."

You looked at him. His eyes began to brim with a few tears.

"It was not one day. It was every small day, every small hour I spent with you. Each time, the more I met you, the more I knew you, the easier it became. The more I felt for you. And every corner you turn, every time you turn away and leave…I pray for one more minute. One more chance. One more instance, only to see you, only one glance. To hear you say only one word. I cannot keep it a secret anymore-I love you, Miss Narracott. I adore you. I worship you. And I want you, more than I ever wanted anything…”

Such words were not easily recovered from. Nothing else registered. Only him. He blushed, then glanced down at your hand. He gave you the glove and let go.

"So, tell me and relieve my torment...do you feel the same? If not, I will never set foot on this farm again and bother you again," he said.

You took one step forward and placed a hand on his. Holding it and looking him in the eyes.

"James...James, I feel the same..." you answered.

It was the first time you ever said his first name. His shoulders relaxed. He broke into a beautiful, adoring smile at you.

"I was...was never sure...and... The day Albert told me you were proposed to, I knew I had to gather the courage to tell you. That some gentleman with money would arrive and swoop you away. Then I'd have to stifle my feelings and let it die. I worried in that moment...I would lose you forever...not that I didn't want you to be happy. I only... I worried in your situation; you would marry out of desperation. That I had rivals I never expected..." he continued.

You placed the glove in his hand and put your second hand in his. You recalled your father’s drunken recollection.

“Albert told you about Lyons and Dad said there was a row at the pub. Did you-?”

“I had only one sip too many that night. I was tipsy, but I wasn’t drunk. And Lyons said something about being alone with you- it struck me. If he…took advantage of you …then you would be forced to marry him. Out of reputation.”

Nicholls lowered his head, then looked back at you.

” I lost control and…and I grabbed him onto the wall. I raised my voice at him. I threatened him if he did something. But…I did it because…I was frightened for you, and I didn’t want you hurt…” he finished.

He looked down, blushing red.

“I’m not proud of it. I’m not usually like this…I’m so sorry,” he apologized.

You shook your head, giving him a smile.

“But you did this because you worried about me. You cared for my well-being. You wanted me safe. How could I think less of you knowing that? It’s no matter,” you cooed.

He was breathing heavily.

"But the matter Is I love you, Y/N."

He finally said your first name. You could have glowed from happiness. You looked up and smiled. There were tears in your eyes- this time from joy.

"I love you too, James."

Suddenly there was the sound of clucks and a honk. Both of you jumped as Harold chased a bunch of chickens through the yard, Captain of his own charge. Both of you let out a laugh as you stepped aside, then reclasped hands. In the distance, you heard a familiar "neigh!"

"But James your intentions are honorable, are they?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“This means...you will talk to my father, yes?" you asked.

His smile widened.

"Happily."

Your heart stopped in your chest, and you felt giddy.

"I never thought you’d feel towards me...never believed I was worthy of you..." you confessed.

"You are, oh, sweet Y/N, you are!" he whispered.

There again was the sound of hooves. Albert’s brown head in the far distance.

"Albert will be soon...may I kiss your hand?" he asked.

"Yes."

He took a brief glance down at it, feeling your palm and enjoying the touch.

"Y/N... darling..."

He smiled; eyes bright as he brought it up to kiss it. It was short, but his lips were soft. He breathed in as he kissed you, savoring each bit of you. And you savored the second you felt his lips on your hand. Then he released. Much too soon, you let go.

You took returned to the laundry room, to fold and sort clothes Nicholls went back to his chair near the stable field. Albert galloped back in on Joey.

"Woah! Easy-boy! Aren't we a team, Captain!" Albert bragged atop the stallion.

"Indeed, you are!" James- for now, he was not only Nicholls but James! – replied.

Albert got off Joey and began to brush off the dirt on the horse.

"Nice and handsome- isn't he?"

"Yes, very. Do you agree, Miss Narracott?" James asked, turning towards you.

Both of you shared a smile at each other.

"He definitely is,” you answered.

Though after a few minutes of drawing, you saw out of the corner of your eye that James set his pencil down and closed the book. He got out of his chair and with a determined expression. He then looked over at you with a nod. You clutched the drying bed sheet you were getting off its line. James turned it over to your brother. Though you turned innocently to the laundry, your ears focused on them.

“Albert…where is your father now?”

“He’s down in the bottom field putting in seeds. Do you need him, sir?” Albert asked.

“I just want to speak to him.”

“Whatever for, sir?”

But before he could give the boy an answer, the gate swung open. Harold honked with an alert at a guest. You turned and saw Major Stewart rushing in.

“Jim! Jim! We’re needed immediately! Headquarters!” cried Major Stewart.

He turned his head.

“I need to go now, goodbye,” he wished Albert.

Albert dipped his head in farewell. Nicholls went over to you. Major Stewart at his heels.

“Goodbye Y/N, I’m sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

He leaned forward, giving you a whisper. Stewart stood back with folded arms and a raised eyebrow. His lips tried not to smile.

“Don’t worry…the minute I am free...”

“All the time you need, James.” You replied.

He put on his hat and tipped it at you. Saying his last goodbyes to his hosts, he left with Stewart.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were smiling brightly the next day. You put on the nicest of your white blouses and darker-colored skirts for work. But you took extra time that morning on your appearance- in case James entered! And you saw him! You even found yourself grinning and humming as you restocked items throughout work.

“Why, someone’s cheery today! You were all doom and gloom last week, Y/N!” Alice commented as you both swept up some leftover dirt on the floor.

You leaned against the brush.

“Alice…can I confide in you?” you whispered.

“Oh, of course!” she said.

You softened your voice, the thought bubbling inside you like a hundred butterflies.

“Something…wonderful has happened. And something even better is about to happen…” you began.

“Ooo, don’t leave me in suspense! Tell me!” she urged in excitement, with a toothy grin.

As you leaned over, the words were right on the tip of your tongue. “I’m in love!! I’m in love and he loves me too! He finally told me yesterday! He’s going to talk to my father! And this means that-“

But instead, there was the sound of a loud engine and yelling. Muffled over crowds of people bursting into loud talk right outside the shop. The church bells were ringing, and they never rung outside of services.

“What’s all the fuss? Stay here girls- I’ll be back!” Mrs. Snow offered, opening the door.

All of you peeked outside. People were handing over newspapers. Some gathered around one gentleman in a motorcar with a brown mustache. And no one looked happy.

When Mrs. Snow returned, her face looked like a ghost.

“Ladies…we are at war with Germany.”

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viscerax · 1 year ago

Note

You asked for requests, soooooo I am going to give you two!

Jam reunion or Jay gets eeby deebied back in time after he died, you choose when

Go crazy!!!

Reunion

Tim stares out the window while his hands absent-mindedly fidget with Jay's old camera. It had been awhile since he needed to use it. Who's counting?

Tim was. It had been 457 days since Jay died. Tim never moved away. He wanted to so badly, but it turns out being a minimum wage stock clerk doesn't exactly provide him with enough funds to move out. So he's stuck in that miserable house, with those miserable memories, and that miserable feeling in his gut.

He was tempted to sell Jay's camera, get some extra cash. But he couldn't. Anytime he opened Craigslist or e-bay, he stared at the web page for a moment before closing it. He couldn't bring himself to do it. The camera was the last proof that any of it happened, its scuffed edges and cracked lens. Without it, he might as well have just been crazy. No one else believed him. He knew damn well telling his therapist would just land him in another facility and numbed up on so many meds that he probably wouldn't even be able to remember his own name. He's been through that, and he wasn't going to do it again.

He sighs, setting the camera down again. He's about to get up when he feels something rub against his leg. He flinched a bit, looking down and finding a furry face staring back up at him, his new cat, affectionately named "Jay". He reached down, scratching her chin and earning a satisfied purr. It wasn't much, it certainly wasn't a replacement for Jay, but it was better than nothing.

He pulls his hand away, earning a needy chirp from the feline. Tim sighs, standing up with a grunt. "I know, i know. You're hungry, I get it." Tim makes his way to his kitchen, reaching up to the top cabinet and grabbing a bag of kibble for the feline.

He's standing on his tiptoes, and curses himself for putting the bag so out of reach. Normally he'd keep it on the floor, but he learned very quickly that wasn't an option with Jay, lest he wishes that she tear the bag open and feast upon it's contents in a single night.

He has the bag just barely pinched in his fingers and dragging it over the edge, when a sudden barrage of knocking at his front door catches him off guard, and the bag comes falling down, spilling open over his head.

"God damnit!" He shouts, allowing the now half-empty bag to fall to the floor. He turns to his cat, eyeing the pile with a look that could only be described as gluttony. "Jay, don't you fucking dare." He mutters to the cat, before picking the bits of cat food from his hair and off the front of his shirt.

"Just a moment!" He shouts to whoever is knocking at the door as he does his best to shake the kibble from the inside of his shirt.

"Tim?"

Tim freezes at the voice. He thinks its got to be another auditory hallucination. After all, there was no way it was him. He saw Jay's dead body. He buried him himself in the woods, mainly because no one else even knew who "Jay" was. His parents said they only had a daughter, not a son named Jay.

Except, it can't be a hallucination, because it catches his cat's attention too.

Tim takes a shaking breath. Maybe he just heard it wrong. Maybe it was just the mail man. Or a neighbor. Or one of those missionaries. Yes, that must be it.

Still, he trudged towards the door, hand shaking as he reaches for the knob. What if it's the Operator, back again. Playing tricks on him?

Tim slowly unlocks the door, slowly turning the door knob. He squeezes his eyes shut, not worrying about how he might look crazy to whoever is on the other side.

"Tim? Timothy?" The voice is there again. Tim can't take it anymore. He opens his eyes. He sees both his best dream and worst nightmare.

Jay Merrick standing at his doorstep.

He wants to speak, move, but he can't. He doesn't know what to do. Jay, Really Jay, is standing there, staring at Tim like he was the walking corpse.

"Tim, oh my god." Jay breaks the silence, and Tim can't stop the choked sob that spills past his lips. He almost falls forward, but catches himself on the doorframe. Jay flinched back a bit, and he can't tell if Tim is still angry or not. Not like he would blame him.

"Tim I didn't- im sorry- I don't know what I was doing and-" Jay starts rambling, tripping over his words and fidgeting with his trembling hands.

Jay almost topples over when suddenly a very heavy weight is crashing against him. But he doesn't fall. Instead, he's enveloped in warm, trembling arms. Tim is hugging him, and Jay is practically stunned.

"I know, Jay. I... I saw the entry. I-" his words are choked off by another sob as squeezes Jay again. "Y-you're here. Y-you can't be. You're not real." Tim is trembling, face buried in Jay's neck. Jay doesn't know what to do, so he just follows Tim's actions, wrapping his own lanky arms around Tim and trying to comfort him.

"I'm... yeah. I'm here. I'm real. I promise." Jay mumbles, a hand tentatively reaching up and petting Tim's hair.

"Jay... I... I buried you, though. I- how are you- I don't get it." Tim rambles as he reluctantly pulls away, partly worried that he'd crush the man if he squeezed him for any longer.

"I don't... I don't know. And for once I don't think I want to find out." Jay lets out an awkward chuckle, and the statement earns a snort from Tim.

"Well thats a first." He takes a step to the side, allowing Jay in. He tries to catch his breath, trying to wipe away his tears but they just keep coming and he can't stop them. This had been the most he cried in... ever. Even during the whole Operator fiasco, he never really shed any tears. He felt emotionally blocked up, and now they were all flowing out of him like a broken dam.

"Tim... I... I missed you- I'm sorry for... coming back and drudging this all up again but I- I couldn't- i didn't know who else to go to and-"

Tim practically slaps a hand over his mouth. "Stop apologizing. I- I want you here, I-" he takes a deep breath, and more tears are spilling again. His voice cracks when he finally speaks again. "For years, I couldn't even shed a tear. And then you showed up. All these emotions that I haven't had a chance to experience or didn't realize I had all came out at once because of you." Tim takes a deep breath, swallowing and hoping it will make speech easier, but it doesn't. His voice still trembles. "I can't stop crying, I'm sorry." He lets out a sarcastic laugh, to which Jay just reaches a hand up and wiped away the tears before cupping Tim's stubbley face in his hands.

Tim had been so numb since Jay's death. He'd been... sad, sure. But he had been doing so good at shoving it all down, focusing on other things and eventually drowning out the world-shattering sadness that was currently flowing out of him like a river. He couldnt stop it now. He couldn't drown it out or focus on anything else because Jay was right there, staring down at him with those big sad eyes, and speaking to him with those cracked lips that Tim sometimes wished would just shut up and kiss him.

"Tim... I... I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd- I don't want you to cry. I'm sorry... shit, I-" his words are interrupted by Tim's lips crashing into his with a kind of ferocity he could only expect from the man.

Tim wasn't thinking straight. So many emotions and chemicals swimming around in his brain is what caused him to do this. He's about to pull away and profusely apologize him for his irrational activity, but Jay is kissing him back and holy shit, Tim doesn't think he could pull away if he wanted to with the way Jay is practically clawing to hold onto him. They're both trying to prove to themselves that this is real, and that this is really happening and that it's not just some dream.

Reluctantly, they pull away, damn the need for air. They stay in silence for a moment before Tim finally breaks it.

"Please... please stay. Just for a while." Tim hates how desperate he sounds but he can't bring himself to change it because he is. He's so desperate for Jay to stay that he can't bring himself to be angry at him in any way.

"I will never leave you behind again, if you'll have me." Its a promise, a promise that means so much to the both of them. Tim is so used to people running once they see all of him. Once they get past his bitchy exterior, once they see the sad man that he is. But Jay's seen it all. He knows so much more about Tim then most. And yet he's staying.

Tim answers him with another kiss, albeit shorter than the last. He pulls away and just holds Jay, hands roaming over his back, to his waist, and up and down his arms, still trying to lock in the fact that Jay us really there.

"Mrowww?" The two men are broken apart as their attention falls to a very needy feline.

Tim sighs and picks the cat up, holding her gently and allowing Jay to pet her.

"What's her name?" Jay looks back to Tim, still scratching behind the ears of the purring feline.

Tim panics. Surely it's not... normal to name your cat after your dead "best friend." But, Tim can't think of any creative lie in the moment, so with a defeated sigh, he mumbles his confession.

"I named her... Jay. After you. It was uhm, a recommendation from my therapist. She was supposed to be a therapy pet, but really she mostly just takes up most of my money and attention." He complains about the cat, although its clear from his tone that he doesn't really mean it. The cat means a lot to him, even if he's too stubborn to admit it.

"That's... cute." Jay chuckles, and Tim would give anything he had to make sure he hears that laugh again, even if it's at the expense of his own embarrassment.

"Yeah, whatever." Tim mutters, which only earns another chuckle from Jay. Tim thinks he's going to die from embarrassment, and very quickly sets the cat down, deciding to change the subject. "I have to uhm, clean up a mess, that she made earlier. Before she eats all of it."

Jay is a bit confused, until he looks over Tim's shoulder and sees cat food spilled all over the floor. He giggles and follows behind Tim, helping him clean it up, despite the others protest.

They're both so tired by the time they're done cleaning. It's not like it was a very difficult task, but Tim's pretty sure he's just worn out from the emotional Rollercoaster. He barely makes it to the bed, and tries to opt for passing out on the couch, but Jay practically drags him away to his bedroom, forcing him to lay down.

Jay is about to turn and take refuge on the couch, but Tim grabs his wrist.

"Don't leave. Please. Just for tonight. We can get you a bed tommorow." Tim groggily requests, and who is Jy to deny him, especially when he's looking up at him with those wide eyes that Jay adores.

Jay kicks off his shoes and crawls in next to Tim, relishing in the way he's practically enveloped in warmth.

"I love you. Welcome home, Jaybird." Tim sleepily mumbles into his neck.

Home. Jay hadn't had a home in so long, and he thinks he wouldn't mind if his home was Tim.

#marble hornets #jam mh #jay merrick #timothy wright #mh #jam #implied trans jay #wooo boy #this one made me tear up while writing it #hope you enjoy anon #this was fun to write actually #but i did cry

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