#Wooden Toy Truck

[odinstoyfactory]

Handmade Wood Toy Truck Fat Fendered Panel Wagon Hand Painted With Bright Red Acrylic Paint and Amber Shellac 1413270977

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In a world where plastic toys dominate the market, handmade wooden toys hold a special place in the hearts of those who appreciate the craftsmanship and durability that comes with them. One example is this fat-fendered handmade wood toy panel truck.

This charming toy truck is a product of the creative mind and skilled hands of the artisan who made it. The truck's design is inspired by classic American pickups from the 1940s and 50s, with its distinctive fat-fendered body. The attention to detail is evident in every aspect of the truck, from the carefully crafted wheels to the painted exterior.

One of the most appealing features of this wooden toy truck is its durability. This handmade truck is built to last, unlike plastic toys that can easily break or wear down over time. The solid wood construction can withstand rough play.

Another benefit of buying a handmade wooden toy like this truck is that it is eco-friendly. Many plastic toys end up in landfills, where they can take hundreds of years to decompose. In contrast, wooden toys are biodegradable and can be easily recycled or repurposed when no longer needed.

When you purchase a handmade wooden toy like this panel truck, you are supporting a small business and skilled artisan and investing in a toy that will last for years. It's the perfect gift for a child or collector who appreciates classic American trucks' beauty and nostalgia.

In conclusion, the handmade fat-fendered wood toy panel truck is a beautiful and durable toy that will delight children and adults alike. Its classic design, attention to detail, and eco-friendliness make it an excellent choice for anyone looking for a unique, high-quality toy. So why settle for a plastic toy when you can have a handmade wooden one built to last?

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Trouble in Oklahoma

pairing: tyler owen’s x f! reader

summary: Tyler and Y/N reconcile after a heated argument during a tornado chase.

The roar of the EF3 tornado was deafening, but it couldn’t drown out the heated argument between Tyler Owens and his girlfriend Y/N. They were in Tyler’s truck, barreling down a dirt road as they chased the monstrous storm. Y/N, a seasoned tornado wrangler, had been trying to guide Tyler, but their differing opinions had reached a boiling point.

“Tyler, I told you to take the left at the last road! We’re losing valuable time!” Y/N shouted over the rumble of the truck’s engine and the distant roar of the tornado.

“I’m the one driving, Y/N! You think I don’t know how to chase a storm? I’ve been doing this for years!” Tyler snapped back, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Y/N’s eyes flashed with anger. “It’s not about who’s been doing it longer, it’s about following the best path! You never listen to me!”

“Oh, I listen. But you think you always know better, don’t you? You’re reckless!” Tyler’s voice was rising, frustration evident in every word.

“Reckless? You’re the one who keeps taking unnecessary risks! I’m just trying to get the best data!” Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, her hands shaking with anger. “Stop the truck, Tyler. Now.”

“What? No! We’re in the middle of a chase, Y/N!” Tyler argued, but Y/N was already opening the door.

“I said stop the truck!” she yelled, her tone brooking no argument.

Reluctantly, Tyler slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded to a halt on the muddy road, and Y/N jumped out, grabbing her gear and camera from the back. Tyler followed, still shouting.

“You’re insane! There’s a tornado right behind us, and you want to do this now?” he shouted over the wind that was beginning to pick up.

Y/N shot him a glare as she secured her gear. “I’m not doing this with you right now. I need to get closer for the data!”

Tyler’s eyes widened as he looked past Y/N. The tornado had shifted direction and was bearing down on them fast. “Y/N, get back in the truck! Now!”

But it was too late. The tornado was upon them, and the truck lifted into the air like a toy. The sound was like a freight train as debris flew around them. Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as she saw the truck lifted off the ground, and she knew they had seconds to act.

“Run!” she screamed, grabbing Tyler’s hand.

They sprinted towards a nearby dock, the wind pushing against them with terrifying force. Reaching the dock, they dove underneath, clinging to the posts as the tornado raged overhead. Tyler wrapped his arms around one of the sturdy wooden posts, his body pressing against Y/N’s to shield her from the debris.

“Hold on tight!” Tyler yelled, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.

They clung to the posts with all their strength, the tornado ripping at them with relentless fury. The dock shook violently, and debris flew past them, but the sturdy posts held firm. Y/N’s heart pounded as she clung to Tyler, the argument forgotten in the face of sheer survival.

Minutes felt like hours, but finally, the roar began to fade. The tornado moved on, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. Slowly, they released their grip on the posts and crawled out from under the dock. They were covered in dirt and debris, their clothes torn and faces smudged, but they were alive.

Tyler looked at Y/N, his expression a mix of relief and lingering frustration. “Baby, are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Y/N nodded, her eyes meeting his. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking a deep breath. “We need to talk about this, but not now. Let’s get back to safety.”

Y/N nodded again, her anger dissipating in the wake of their shared ordeal. “Agreed.”

The drive home was silent, tension hanging heavy in the air. When they finally pulled into the driveway, Y/N bolted from the truck, storming into their house without a word. Tyler followed her, knowing they needed to clear the air.

“Y/N, wait!” he called, but she didn’t slow down, heading straight for their bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

Tyler stood in the hallway, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He knew they had to talk, but pushing her now would only make things worse. Instead, he decided to show her how much he cared, how sorry he was for their fight.

He quietly walked to the bathroom and started running a hot bath, adding her favorite lavender-scented bath salts. He lit a candle, placing it on the edge of the tub to cast a warm, soothing glow. Next, he went to the kitchen, grabbing her favorite bottle of wine and his preferred whiskey, setting the drinks down on a small table beside the bath.

Taking a deep breath, Tyler approached their bedroom door and knocked gently.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

The door swung open, and there she stood, her eyes still flashing with anger and hurt. But before she could say anything, they both blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

Their simultaneous apologies hung in the air for a moment before they both let out a small, tense laugh. Tyler reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.

“I set up a bath for us,” he said softly. “Why don’t you grab some pajamas for both of us? Let’s just relax and talk.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She grabbed a set of pajamas for them both while Tyler led her to the bathroom. The sight of the candle-lit bath, the wine and whiskey waiting beside it, melted some of the tension from her shoulders.

“Tyler, this is…thank you,” she said quietly.

He smiled softly, reaching out to help her undress. He took his time, slowly peeling away her clothes, pressing warm kisses to her skin as he did. Each touch, each kiss, was an apology, a promise to do better.

Y/N’s breath hitched as he pressed a kiss to her collarbone, his hands gentle as he slipped her shirt off. He moved down, kissing her shoulder, her arm, her wrist, before finally helping her step out of her jeans. She reached for him, and he let her undress him with the same slow, deliberate care.

Once they were both undressed, Tyler guided her into the warm, fragrant water, slipping in behind her so she could lean back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they both took a moment to just breathe, the tension of the day slowly ebbing away.

“I’m sorry for not listening,” Tyler murmured against her ear. “I should have trusted your instincts out there.”

Y/N turned her head slightly to look at him. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. We need to work together, not against each other.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

They sat in the bath for a long time, sipping their drinks and talking quietly, their earlier anger replaced by a renewed sense of connection. When the water began to cool, Tyler helped Y/N out of the tub, wrapping her in a warm towel and gently drying her off.

They dressed in the pajamas she had picked out, and Tyler pulled her close, brushing a tender kiss across her lips. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes soft with affection. “I love you, Tyler.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” he whispered, holding her close.

They climbed into bed, the day’s storms now a distant memory, replaced by the warmth of their love and the promise of better days ahead.

[pseudowho]

Raising You

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

When the reader is de-aged by an unusual Curse, Nanami Kento is forced to raise her, and grieve the absence of his fiancée at the same time.

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The girls (twins, affectionately nicknamed the 'Nanaminis' by Satoru) played with a painted wooden truck and other cars around your feet, hampering the already limited view you had with your bump, big and still growing. Trying to cook dinner, you were flustered with sweaty strands of hair in your eyes, overstimulated by the noise from the cars, the casual bickering of the girls, your aching back, the steam from dinner, and--

"Girls, I'm home!"

You were nearly taken out by two frantic little girls tangling through your legs to run to the front door-- "Daddy! I've got two cars but she's got three and that's not fair" -- and you smiled to hear Kento, low and reassuring, tackling toy diplomacy with your daughters.

Kento walked into the kitchen and living room, loosening his tie, still having his ears talked off by his daughters. He stepped over cars, before scooting them to the side so you wouldn't slip, and hugged you warmly from behind, peppering loving kisses along your sweaty cheeks and neck.

"Daddy, rough play!" One of your daughters cried, and the other shouted her approval, both descending on Kento with screams and tiny punches. Kento dropped to one knee, dramatically groaning, feigning a fatal wound and pretending, with his head stooped, to have been beaten.

Your daughters paused their assault, and approached Kento slowly, "...daddy?" Kento stood and roared, taking one daughter under each arm and they squeaked with terror and delight, being tossed onto the sofa. Kento rolled over the back of the sofa to them, nobly defending himself in battle.

Pausing for breath while you watched affectionately, Kento hung one daughter behind his shoulders by the ankles, jumping lightly up and down while she squealed, and the other daughter held onto his ankle, yelling.

"They're just like you at this age, you know," Kento pondered, pretending to choke slam a child onto the sofa as she laughed, completely uninjured and thrilled. You wrinkled your nose into your tea.

"You make it sound so creepy when you say it like that...cradle snatcher."

Kento scoffed at you, gravely offended, continuing to defend himself against his daughters, "Behave. You know it wasn't like that."

You smirked, memories flooding back to you.

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Seven years previously...

"So what you're saying is...she went on a practice mission with Inumaki and Gojo, and now-- she's--" Nanami Kento gaped, reeling.

"...a child, yes." Shoko took a long drag of her cigarette. Behind her, in the treatment room, came the happy squeals of children playing. Kento delicately reached towards Shoko, clearing his throat. Quietly seething, and without breaking eye contact with her, he squeezed the embers at the tip of her cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, snuffing it.

"There are children around, Shoko," he hissed, darkly sarcastic. Shoko swallowed, but smiled fondly at Kento.

"It seems the Curse preferred to hunt children," Shoko purred, "obviously easier to catch, I suppose. Gojo dispatched it, but not before it had already de-aged those two in there." Shoko flipped through a pair of charts, "They're both in good health. I imagine this will wear off within a couple of days. But in the meantime...congratulations. You have to be a daddy until then."

Kento lifted the screen covering the small window in the door to the treatment room. There you were, roughly five years old, bouncing a blown-up rubber medical glove between yourself, Inumaki, and an amused-looking Satoru. Kento was filled with dread; what if you didn't come back? What if his fiancée was...gone?

Satoru beckoned Kento in. Taking a deep breath, Kento stepped into the room. You and Inumaki stopped in your tracks, round-eyed and stunned as this man, enormous and cross-looking, stepped over the threshold. You and Inumaki both shuffled closer to Satoru, who laughingly reassured the children.

"Now kids, I know Nanamin looks scary, but he's not. At all. I promise," Satoru urged, mouthing furiously at Kento; smile, damn you! Kento caught himself, dulling his own Cursed-energy, and kneeling down to the floor. He smiled at you, crinkled eyes warm and honeyed. You gave him a nervous smile back.

"We should introduce ourselves," Kento spoke softly, "I'm Nanami Kento, and I'm your-- I'm..." Kento swallowed thickly, trying not to cry, "I'm your mum and dad's friend. They've had to go away for a few days, and asked me to look after you." You stared at Kento, uncertain, tearing up.

"So, I was wondering," continued Kento, "could you help me do my shopping today? We need to make a list. You see, I don't know what treats you like, and I'm not sure what to make for dinn--"

"Eggs," you chirped, "I like eggs. Can we have eggs with dinner?" Kento smiled, heart melting, delighted by you but missing you desperately at the same time.

"Eggs. We can do eggs. And maybe we can bake something tasty to eat after?" You were warming to Kento now, your eyes sparkling, becoming more animated. You were dressed in just an adult t-shirt, all that Satoru could find in his locker, and Kento realised that he suddenly needed...everything. He had nothing child friendly in his house.

"Nanamin?" You asked him, tugging on the front of his shirt, "I've got an important question." Kento raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

You continued, "When we do baking, can I lick the bowl?"

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The old women in the supermarket were full of delighted whispers for this tall, handsome man doing the shopping with his cute daughter. Kento overheard them all, trying not to blush, as you chattered to him, stood in the trolley. Nobara had taken her mission seriously, and you were now very much appropriately dressed, albeit in very designer clothes, Nobara having taken full advantage of Kento's generous card limit.

You had, in your hand, a pen and some paper, and had written a shaky-lettered shopping list. You pointed down aisles, directing Kento.

"Eggs!" You commanded, a little dictator, "Flour! Sugar! Chocolate! Sweets!"

"Those last two definitely aren't on the list, young lady, nice try."

You huffed, dramatic and pouting, giving Kento the side-eye. Kento raised his eyebrows at you, gently chastising. Continuing round the shop, Kento had left you in charge of the barcode reader. Twice, he had needed to wrestle it off you and put items back on the shelves-- adult incontinence pads, a large bottle of bleach-- and once, he had had to stop you from trying to scan an old man, hastily apologising to the man and putting you back in the trolley.

He had allowed you to push the trolley, full of regret as he knelt, rebuilding a mountain of cans of beans-- "I'm sorry Nanamin, it was an accident, I'm sorry," you had sniffled, wiping your snotty nose on your sleeve before Kento could get to you with a handkerchief. The shop assistant supervised Kento's efforts with a tapping foot.

You had disappeared for five minutes, and Kento couldn't find you, panicking so badly for a moment that he considered knocking all of the shelves over to make it easier to spot you. Kento gave a description of you to several women, charmed by this flustered father, when you reappeared with a toy; "Nanamin, can I have this?" and Kento knelt, one hand on his chest and the other on your shoulder as his panic fizzled away.

At the tills, you packed the bags haphazardly as Kento hurriedly tried to correct the bags and be polite to the cashier and pay for the shopping and keep you from disappearing again and--

Back in the car with a sigh, Kento sat, head hitting the head rest hard, flicks of sweaty hair looping forwards over his brow. Frazzled, he let out a slow breath, until your little voice piped up in the back.

"Nanamin. You didn't do my seatbelt. The police will get you in trouble."

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"So you tap the egg here-- not there-- here-- GENTLY, gently...ahhh." Kento slapped a dishcloth to his cabinet doors as egg dripped sadly down them. You looked to him for answers, hands covered in crushed shell and raw egg. Lifting you to the sink under one arm, he washed your hands off under the tap. Putting you down, he washed his hands.

"-- then the eggy goes in there--"

"Yes, the eggy goes-- NOT THE SHELL--"

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"Make sure you eat the broccoli too."

"No. Don't like it."

"It's tasty. And it's good for you. Eat up."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

Kento sighed, a deep, weary sigh. Rubbing his fingers against his temples and counting to ten, he looked back to you with a smile.

"I'll give you some chocolate if you eat it."

Kento had never seen broccoli disappear so quickly.

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"IT'S IN MY EYES, IT'S IN MY EYES--"

"Calm down, it's not in your eyes, I'm washing it out--" Kento tried to hold you, naked and wet and thoroughly uncontrollable, still, as he poured water over your head. You stamped, spitting water away dramatically, and Kento considered he may as well have just got in the bath with you, his shirt now drenched.

"Come on," Kento huffed, trying to sound upbeat but feeling absolutely exhausted, "let's get you out and brush your teeth--"

"--I don't want to brush my teeth--"

"Well you've got to brush your teeth--"

You ran, streaking away out of the bathroom as Kento stumbled, reaching for you and missing, then chasing you down with a towel and a toothbrush.

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You padded to Kento, damp and pyjama'd as he stripped his wet clothes off and got dressed into his own pyjamas. Your teeth now brushed, and your hair neat and tidy, you looked mollified, a new book under your arm.

"Can you read?" You asked Kento suspiciously.

"I-- of course I can read."

"Good," you stated, chin out, "we can do my bedtime story then."

You plodded away to the spare room, while Kento placed both hands over his face and screamed into the void for a few moments.

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"Was the bear hungry? Or did he just want to be friends?"

Kento pondered, closing the book thoughtfully, "I think...he just wanted to be friends. He was lonely in his cave."

"Or hungry."

"Or hungry," Kento agreed, "but if he were that hungry, he'd have run faster, don't you think?" He asked, tickling under your chin as you squirmed and kicked, giggling.

You rolled over to face Kento, your little hand on his cheek. He rolled over to face you, taking in your little nose, round cheeks...all you, but so far away from the you that he was in love with, and so unable to share that burden with you, that he felt his nose sting with tears again.

"Nanamin?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Ah, "I do. We're going to get married soon."

"Ooooh!" You squeaked, your hands coming up to cup your own cheeks, before your little face dropped. Kento peered at you, one eye open.

"But where is she?"

"She's...away working at the minute. But she'll be home soon. I hope."

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The next morning, the sunlight glinted in past the curtains, the room warm and comfortable. Kento slept the sleep of an exhausted parent, never quite enough to catch up. You were draped uncomfortably over him, head in his armpit and legs stretched out across his tummy.

Kento woke, a warm feeling spreading over him as he reached out a sleepy hand, patting you on the head. This was a really warm feeling, a bit wet--

"Nanamin. I've had an accident."

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The days had ticked by, and you seemed a little bigger every day, growing up at an accelerated rate. Kento settled into this bizarre, unwilling parenthood, wondering where this left you as a couple once this was all over. Fear twisted like thorns in the pit of his stomach, wondering if the romantic love you'd shared would be sullied by this paternal love he had been forced to convert to.

Kento met often with Satoru, now inadvertently raising a tiny Inumaki, talking-shop together as unlikely new fathers. Aside from Satoru having to occasionally put out fires caused by Inumaki's Cursed-speech, the playdates were soft, sweet even; babyccinos-- "marshmallows please, Nanamin!"-- in little cafés, pushing-- "higher, Nanamin, higher!" -- on swings, teaching-- "like this? Or this?"-- you both how to control your Cursed-techniques.

It was only at night, when you were asleep, and Kento was decompressing from the eternal labour of mealtimes, laundry, and emotional regulation, that Kento allowed himself to cry. Your little voice called out in the dark. Kento wiped his eyes, fixing a reassuring smile on his face, as he went to resettle you-- "It's alright, you're safe. I'm here."

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The days turned to weeks. The curse was wearing off, but slowly. By Shoko's estimation, you were about thirteen years old now. You had been raised by the motley crew of Jujutsu High-- being taken to theme parks by Yuuji and Nobara, running through the woods with Maki, helping Shoko organise her medical equipment-- around Kento's work days. He went to work now with new trepidation, having you to consider if he was injured, or killed, and overtime was a thing of the past. Kento's tie only ever came off when he walked through the door to your warm welcome.

Shoko kept thrice-weekly checks on your growth and progression, reassuring Kento constantly that you were on your way back to yourself. You both did and didn't retain memories of the previous days and weeks. Some days you treated Kento as if you didn't even know him, a stranger to you, wondering where your parents were. Some days, you seemed to recall events from days (years?) previously where Kento had cooked something special for dinner, or bought you a new outfit. Some days, you seemed haunted by memories that were yours, but not, too big for a child of your age to handle-- losing friends in battle, fighting Curses and Curse-users, failing tests and exams-- and Kento reassured you through your screams and cries in the night.

Raising you had been a confusing, tender whirlwind. Now that you approached your teens, you would see fit to argue with Kento over the barest of insults or inconveniences, pushing boundaries and being hurtful without true intent or realisation of its effects. Kento stayed outwardly calm throughout, an unshakeable presence in the turmoil of your bizarre second childhood.

When Satoru had suggested you come to live in the Jujutsu High dorms and attend classes, as you would have done at this age the first time, Kento found himself bitterly protective.

"No missions, Gojo," he threatened to Satoru one day on a park bench, you and Inumaki swinging and chatting idly in the play area that you both suddenly seemed much too big for.

Uncharacteristically serious, Satoru agreed immediately, "I wouldn't do that to her, Kento, you know that. The way I see it, these two," he gestured to you both, sipping his coffee, "are...recovering from injuries, I guess. But Inumaki's nearly caught up to where he should be...she's got a bit further to go. Shoko can watch her more at Jujutsu High. She can have peers. And maybe you need a bit more separation as she gets closer to your version of her."

And so, you went to Jujutsu High. Kento dropped you off like a concerned father, carrying your suitcases to your room, helping you unpack and put up shelves. His heart clenched with fear, waving you off, and you acted as if it was nothing, making it so much worse for him. He loitered by your room, in case you called him back...but you didn't.

At home again, Kento folded and packed away little clothes, smoothing them over with his big warm hands, musing how you really had only been tiny, what felt like yesterday. He gave you some distance, but gave Shoko none, her phone pinging at all hours, asking for updates, asking her to check on you.

Within a few days, Inumaki fell asleep. When he didn't wake after 24 hours, he was carried to the treatment room. Kento hung around the corridors of Jujutsu High when he heard, hungry for news of Inumaki's condition, deeply concerned about how you would be at the same stage. Shoko was cool and collected, certain that Inumaki would wake up his own self again. Kento worried he wouldn't wake up at all.

Shoko, as always, was right. Inumaki woke as if from a long dream, after two days. Kento visited him, bringing gifts of manga and sweets, while Inumaki recounted his odd half-memories of having been raised by Satoru, alongside his true memories of his first childhood.

Fighting the urge to go and see you, knowing that you were traversing your teenage years again in a way that was too intense for him to offer help with, Kento swallowed down his guilt, his longing to see you, and left. He passed your room reluctantly, his gut wrenching as if caught on your door handle, and remaining there, stretching, pulling, as he walked away from it.

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Another week passed. Shoko was sure your long sleep was close. She recounted tales of you to Kento, seeming excited that her old friend was nearly back to the her that Shoko knew. Kento's voice seemed tight and reluctant as Shoko suggested he come and see you. He declined, feeling awkward about seeing you in almost the form that he knew you.

Passing through the ground of Jujutsu High, ready to drop off a report to Yaga, Kento rounded a corner and bumped into a young woman, reaching out to grab her wrist before she fell to the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorr-- Nanamin!" Kento stuttered, flustered, resisting pulling an eighteen year old you into his arms. Before he could step back, you threw yourself into his arms with a happy squeak, hanging on around his neck, flush against him and clinging for dear life.

"Oh Nanamin, it's been so long," you breathed, flushed and excited. You gripped his hand, somewhere between a little girl and the you he was still madly in love with, "come on, let's go and get coffee! My treat." You pulled Kento's hand, bright eyes full of delight.

"As if I'd let you pay," Kento grumbled, straightening his suit and tie with one strict hand, his other still clasped by you. Reluctantly, trying not to blush, Kento took you for coffee. He was done-for within thirty minutes, reminded of exactly why he had fallen in love with you in the first place. He restrained himself easily, remaining kind and fatherly, but...distant, in a way you found confusing.

You looked at him through new eyes, wondering how you had ever seen him as a father-figure as a child, lost in thought as to how he still looked so young. His huge, warm hands, the way he was built, so much of a man beneath the confines of his suit, and you felt something stir in you that you never had before, an alluring obsession, a delicious agony of needing to know him differently. Kento's stoic distance was magnetic.

When he drove you back to Jujutsu High, you were full of blushes, unable to take your eyes off his hands smoothly turning the wheel, the sharp cut of his nose and jaw in profile, the stretch of his tan trousers against his thick thighs.

Kento had bricked a stone wall around his affections rapidly. You remained, to him, a little girl under his guardianship. You were the girl he had fallen in love with, but not the woman he was in love with now. His mathematical mind found separating the two of you easy. Grown men did not fall in love with little girls.

As he walked you back to your room, he asked you if there was anything you needed. He pulled you in for a gentle squeeze. He kissed you on the forehead. He bid you to call him for anything. He waited until you were safely home before he left. You were besotted. Completely smitten.

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Kento sat in the staff room, legs crossed, reading his newspaper. The door clicked open, and he heard a satisfied "ah!" as you slipped in, locking the door behind you.

Kento looked over his glasses at you, eyebrows raised in questioning. You smiled at him, demure, curious, before idling over to him. As you sat beside him, Kento felt a strike of dread through him like ice, and he tensed, frowning at you.

You made light conversation with Kento, thigh to thigh on the sofa, your heart fluttering with anticipation. You spoke about the news, his insight so mature and informed, and you hung onto every word, desperate to be closer and you leaned against him, pretending to read the newspaper with him. He remained sincere, measured, neither pushing you away nor pulling you closer.

Kento turned to you, your face centimetres from his now, and you leaned in eagerly, his lips brushing against yours as your fingers grazed his jaw--

"No." Kento grabbed your hand, turning from you and pushing you gently away by the shoulders.

You froze, stunned. Cold embarrassment crept through you as if you'd been kicked in the stomach by Kento's immediate, categorical rejection. Kento folded his newspaper, standing and putting distance between the two of you. His back was to you, one hand clasped over his face and mouth as he sighed. Was he angry? Disappointed? Disgusted? You couldn't tell.

Hot tears of rage and mortification rushed down your cheeks, your vision blurry. Your hands twisted together in your lap. You heard Kento clear his throat lightly, and looked up to see him knelt in front of you, his face smooth and unreadable. He gently pressed a neatly folded handkerchief into your hand, and clasped his hand firmly around yours to close it.

"I'm sorry you feel this way about me, and I'm flattered. But I don't feel this way about you, and you shouldn't trust any man my age who pursues a girl your age."

Anger coursed through you as you stared furiously at him, still crying; "I'm not a girl," you snapped, standing and tossing his handkerchief to his feet. Kento sighed, collecting his handkerchief, rising from the floor beside you.

"I thought we had something-- I thought we were--" you stammered, your throat thick and constricted with humiliation. Kento nodded, understanding.

"You are special to me, and always will be," he assured you, the unspoken words remaining apparent as he shattered the pretences of any romance between you. You seethed with embarrassment.

"Like this fiancée of yours?" You shot, cruelly, with intention to wound, "You told me about her years ago. Where's she, all of a sudden? Did you shove her away, too?"

Kento's stern face gazed down at you, impassive, unreadable, and he spoke to you with measured coolness, "I appreciate you're upset. I don't believe my fiancée has any further place in this discussio--"

"Well I doubt she's coming back!" You spat, furious tears still threatening to overspill, "And I'm not interested in you either. Stay away from me."

You rushed from the room without looking back. The door slammed, a sudden waft of air ruffling the pages of Kento's newspaper. Speechless and devastated by how he had failed you, Kento sank onto the sofa, his elbows on his knees and his fingers sinking  into his neat hair.

Kento sat like this until the sun went down, oranges and reds glowing like embers against his suit as the day died away.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento threw himself into work immediately. Working overtime for any distraction, his days were long, and whiskey soothed him to sleep as it had before he had fallen in love with you. Another week passed, a blur of Curses and liquor. He sprayed your perfume onto your pillow. He had kept your pyjamas, unwashed, sleeping with his nose in them and terrified as the smell of you slowly faded away. He still cooked for two, just in case you were to come home, fearing you never would.

It was late, when Kento received the phone call. He was already three large drinks deep.

"Hello?" His voice blurred with exhaustion and drink.

"Nanami. She's...asleep. Has been for nearly two days now. Why haven't you answered your phone?" Shoko chastised. Kento swirled the glass in his hand, the smooth amber roiling in the glass like a little whirlpool. Kento couldn't answer, his throat constricting with unspoken fear- because what if she never wakes up? What if she does wake up, and doesn't know me? What if she does wake up, and doesn't love me?

Kento swallowed thickly, and opened his mouth to talk, words failing him. He heard Shoko sigh.

"Just...come. And bring her some clothes."

A click and a dial tone as Shoko hung up. Kento's hand shook as he laid down his glass, and dialled for a taxi.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Inumaki is exactly as he was before this Curse," Shoko pressed, walking with Kento to the treatment room, "and she will be too. I mean it." Kento looked tired, dishevelled, grieving. His tie hung loose, his shirt partly unbuttoned, smelling of whiskey and unwashed from his day's work. Shoko walked him into the treatment room, and pressed him down by the shoulders into the chair beside your bed.

Kento laid eyes on you, drinking you in, hope trickling into him as he studied you, looking exactly like you had when you had left for work that day, just a month ago but feeling like so much longer. With a trembling hand he reached out for yours, examining your hand in his own. He stayed this way until you woke up.

"...Kento?" You woke from your strange, long dream to your fiancé, bedraggled and teary-eyed, and smelling like a dirty bar, looking at you like you were a gift made just for him. Kento's shoulders heaved with sobs, the dam breaking as he gripped your hand in his and pressed it to his eyes.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You curled on the sofa with Kento, warm and familiar, as he finished recounting the events of the previous month. Stroking his hair the whole time, with his head in your lap, you felt like this was therapeutic for him, and you leaned down to kiss his forehead. His eyes drifted closed, reaching a hand up to keep your lips against his forehead for a little longer.

Pulling himself up, Kento grunted as he felt something hard press into his back. Reaching past the sofa cushions, he pulled out a painted wooden truck. You laughed, embarrassed and charmed.

"Did you actually keep everything?" You asked, touched. Kento hummed to himself, rolling the truck's wheels, his trauma still bearing faintly whimsical overtones.

"I did. I just...couldn't bring myself to get rid of them."

"Well, that's good. It will probably come in handy, one day."

"Really? Why--...oh. Oh," Kento bent over you, blushing and delighted, leaning into your love and promises for the future that he had missed so much.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento sat up, swinging his legs deftly out of his daughters' bed, and left the room, pulling the door closed to a pair of soft snores. He made his way to the living room, passing a dresser covered in photo frames. His eyes paused on an image of one sunny day seven years ago, a smile crinkling his eyes as he passed by on his way to you.

He hadn't yet explained to his daughters, who this other girl was who looked just like them, feeding the ducks with their daddy, one fine summer's day.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

[lovecanyon]

Inside Y/N L/N’s Bag | Vogue | Dad!H

MASTERLIST | PATREON

“Hi Vogue I am Y/N L/N and this is what’s in my bag.”

After she introduces herself, Y/N looks down at the bag in her lap. The bag she had used every single day was a personalized Pleasing mesh bag. It was a light pink color and had a blue ribbon tied onto one of the straps.

It was clear that it meant a lot to her.

“What I carry with me everyday is this.” She says grabbing onto her bag. “You can fit anything in here. And the thing about this is, it’s technically Inez’s diaper bag.”

Y/N then grins at the memory of Harry gifting her the tote.

“This specific bag was gifted to me by my husband a while ago, right before he had launched Pleasing. My son actually loves this bag and has one of his own but smaller. He doesn't go anywhere without it.” Y/N shares.

Setting her carrier onto the wooden coffee table in front of her, the Styles woman reaches into her bag and pulls out a bag of candy. Beau's favorite type.

Y/N remembers the night when Harry had got their son addicted to the chocolate minstrels.

“My son is obsessed with these and when I saw them I had to get them for him.” She laughs. “I spoil my kids way too much.”

The next thing Y/N pulled out was her phone. Just a plain iPhone 14 with a case that she had stolen from Harry or borrowed it, so she said. Once she taps on the screen her face lights up.

Her lock screen was a photo of a newborn Inez sleeping on Harry’s chest with Beau right beside them.

She almost shed a tear.

“This is my phone, nothing special until you look at the lock screen.” Y/N grins. She loved her family so deeply.

After placing her phone onto the table, she slides her hand into her carrier pulling out a blue bandanna. It previously belonged to Harry until Inez came around and slid the bandanna off of her father’s head.

It was truly her favorite thing in the world. You could say it was sort of like a safety blanket for her.

“Harry’s bandanna or should I say Inez’s bandanna. That girl loves this thing so much.”

-

A small bag of diapers, bibs, toy trucks, hair clips that she had stole back from Harry, kids sunscreen, Love on Tour’s backstage/V.I.P passes, bandaids, Harry’s headphones, her family’s passports and a camera

“Since we’re currently on tour and always traveling I always have to carry my children’s essentials.” Y/N explains looking at all the items laid out in front of her. “You can never be unprepared.”

Just five years ago her bag was filled with very different items than now. She was now a mother and had a family with a man she’s always wanted to grow old with.

Two kids later and she’s become a changed woman, a better one. She’s always valued the life she had, especially right now. Y/N couldn't have been more happy.

“Another toy!” Y/N laughs, pulling out another toy from her bag. “A mini statue of our dog Kendall who was actually named after Kendall Roy from Succession since Harry is obsessed with that show.” She holds out a miniature dog in her palm.

Following the toy, she slides out a pair of rings that clearly belonged to Harry Styles since they were his initials.

Y/N leans forward and slips the rings into her back pocket. She remembers the last time Harry had lost jewelry. It was at Coachella and he went insane looking for them.

“We are not losing any more rings.”

Comments:

harryfan2 WHEN WAS THEIR WEDDING OMFG?????

harryfan10 best mother in the world truly

harryfan4 harry’s love for succession has me rolling 😭😭

harryfan8 this. is. what. we. needed.

harryfan13 THE LOCK SCREEN

harryfan7 i cannot stress how much i love this video

harryfan5 the literal girl version of harry

harryfan9 harry is finally y/n’s husband 🧎‍♂️

harryfan11 i’m literally crying

-

tag list: @harrysmatcha @harryspinkpillow @helen-with-an-a @florencepughily @peterparkerbae @toji-dabi-wife @fallonx @drphilssoulmate @cherriesrae @alienorknight @valluvsu @ayeshathestyles @hazgoldenstyles @eiffelmezarry @tsukishimawhore @renatavieira @michellekstyles @eleanordaisy @shawnsblue @agustdpeach @hannahnikohl @whoscamila @ch3rryrry @msolbesg @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @youusunshineyoutemptress @cherryfragrancx @milkiane @golden-hoax @sunshinemendes8 @your--sweetest--downfall @melllinaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cashtons-wife @stellarossii @scenesofobx @manifestrry @lomlolivia

[iguana-eyanna]

To Have A Home

Pairing: Jack Reacher x Reader

Summary: Reacher never thought the white fence dream could ever happen to him, but you proved him wrong in more ways than possible.

Reacher got out of his pickup truck, taking out a few grocery bags. He stares at the house that he built from the ground up, inhaling the fresh air.

His footsteps could be heard from a mile away, as tiny footsteps were heard at the front of the wooden porch.

"Dad!" Reacher's oldest son, Georgie, screamed as he ran fast towards him.

Reacher smiled as he knelt down, the 7 year old running towards him.

"Hey bud! Oof, you're getting strong kid. You almost knocked out your old man." Reacher replied, carrying him in his free arm.

"Really Dad? I could be just as strong as you?" Georgie asked.

"Unless you eat all of your vegetables, Georgie, you can be just as big and strong as your father." A voice replied.

Reacher looks up sees you holding your four year old son, Mason, as you wore your signature summer dress that curved perfectly around your pregnant 6 month pregnant belly and barefoot.

Jack thought you were beautiful standing there.

He carried both his son and the groceries with ease as he walked towards the porch, giving you a sweet kiss.

"Hi," He said sweetly.

"Hey," You said, smiling.

One thing about Reacher was that he kept you feeling like a school girl falling in love for the first time. He never made you doubt his love for you and would move the sun just cause you asked him to.

You two walked inside as the kids ran to the living room, playing with their toys. You and Reacher went to the kitchen to prepare for dinnerr.

You began washing the vegetables in the sink while Reacher was getting the ingredients. Soon, you felt a pair of arms around your waist as Reacher's palm covered your belly. He kissed the side of your neck as you felt his prickly beard that he was growing out.

"How was work?" He asks as you place a loving hand on his cheek.

"It was good, had some important clients to meet today for the pitch."

"That's great. I'm so proud of you." He says, kissing your cheek.

Before you two started your family, Reacher said that he wanted to be a stay-at-home dad as he truly wanted to leave his scarred past. He would have never asked you to leave your profession, and you two have lived peacefully raising your kids.

"The boys didn't make any trouble? I would have taken them to the store."

"No, they knew not to mess with Mama Bear. I think they just give you a hard time on purpose."

Reacher fake gasps as he twirls you around.

"Are you saying they favor you over me?"

"Well, I did give birth to them and now pregnant with their sister so... Yes."

Jack throws a hearty laugh as he holds you as close as he can.

"and I'll remind you every day for making me a father to these great kids. I love you, Mrs. Reacher."

"and I love you, Mr. Reacher."

You two kissed as you tip-toed to reach his lips.

"Ewwwwwwwwww." Both your sons said in unison. you two look back and chuckle as your boys look at you two.

"Come here so we can give you kisses!" You teased.

"Noooooo!!!!" They screamed, running away as Jack chased them into the house as you followed.

Soon after eating dinner, both of your boys were sleeping in both your arms as all of you were watching a movie on the couch. Jack reached for the remote and turned off the TV.

"Let's take them to bed hon-"

He stops as he sees you snoring lightly as you hold Georgie. Reacher smiles as he slowly gets up picks up Mason and Georgie and tucks them in bed. He returns for you and carries you with ease back in the master bedroom.

He lies next to you as you slowly open your eyes, realizing where you are, and smile at him.

"I thought of a name today, for the baby."

"Oh yeah? What is it?" He asks.

You scoot closer to him, placing your head by his chest as his heartbeat soothed you.

"Sky Reacher. I want her to know that she's able to reach for the sky."

Jack smiles brightly and kisses the top of your head.

"I love that name."

Jack couldn't believe it. In the past several years, all he carried along with him was the clothes on his back and a toothbrush. And now, he's lying in bed with a gorgeous, hard-working woman who mothered his children.

This is what it must feel like to have a home.

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap one/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Welcome To The Neighborhood

—> chapter two

summary: There’s a Bandit on the loose.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: 18+ series for eventual smut, 12 year age gap, reader is 30 and Steve is 42 otherwise none for this first installment :) it’s a meet cute baby.

author’s note: Here it is! chapter one of this little slow burn series with your painfully hot and confusing older!neighbor!widower!steve. This story will take place over the course of one summer, told in mostly blurbs of your chance encounters and run in’s with Steve. This series will have lots of pining, flirting, mild angst and eventual smut. Most chapters will range from 1-2k each except for a few. I hope you guys like reading about these two as much as I liked writing it & I hope to see you back next Wednesday! 🥹♥️

Series Masterlist // Playlist // The tune:

End of May —

Highways and state lines blur together like the buzzing of cicadas into busy Chicago streets. A fresh start. A new life. No plan - that was the promise you made to yourself ten years ago almost down to the date.

The excitement outweighs the embarrassment of how long it takes you to parallel park the Uhaul when you find that one in a million spot in front of your new home. Your hands are numb from the constant battle between the wind and your steering wheel. The breeze from the lake testing your strength for the last hour of your drive. The machine creaks loudly when you slam it into park, your legs wobbling like jello when your converse hit the pavement and out of your truck.

The city hits your ears like the humidity on your skin. The exposed parts of your thighs stick together when the thick air wraps around you like an unwanted blanket. Taking a deep breath, exhaust stings your lungs. Far away from the only place you’d ever known, it’s comforting the feeling that washes over you. You didn’t come here with an agenda. A fresh start with nothing to lose. You came here just to be you.

It seems like everyone is on their way to do something, going somewhere they have to be. They brush past you without even a glance in your direction, air pods buried deep in their ears caught up in their own little world. The sounds of dogs barking mingle with cars honking and loud conversations from patio bars the next block over. The city is alive with summer hanging fresh in the air.

The trees that line both sides of your street are lush and green from the moisture. They drape over phone lines, weeping under the heat of the sun. Bumper to bumper cars from all kinds of walks of life make the one way street even smaller. Mini gardens in front of mismatched houses only inches apart. This was your new home.

The three story townhouse is covered in dark green wooden paneling, the floors split up into separate apartments, and you managed to bag the top floor with protruding bay windows. Dumb luck mixed with being on craigslist minutes after they posted, you found the one mom and pop place in the city that fit your budget.

The chipped black metal gate that blocks off the front steps lands at your waist, and runs as a property line against an even nicer house next to yours. One that looks like it belongs to someone, not rented out to a bunch of someones. The bright red brick looks new, and the dark wood steps and patio freshly stained. An oriental rug that matches the house has chew toys with missing limbs littering the front entrance. A porch swing faces you and it sways gently with the wind. Your eyes catch the silhouette of someone on the other side of the stained glass in the middle of the thick mahogany door, and it reminds you to stop being so nosy.

Keys dangling in your hand, you take your first steps through the gate. The metal groans loudly before slamming closed behind you. You jog up the less polished, salt worn steps to your front door and the faint sound of a deep voice catches your ears from next door as you jiggle the lock open. Crossing through the threshold of the entryway you’re not surprised when there’s no reprieve to the heat, but disappointed just the same as you pull at our tank top that starts clinging to your skin. You eye the narrow staircase that curves up leading to your apartment, immediately regretting doing this alone.��

It takes you less time to unload than it did to load up, at least that's what you tell yourself as you round to the back of the open trailer. Sweat is slick against your skin and you thank yourself for keeping the previous owner's couch even if you thought it was an ugly shade of green.You stare pointedly at the four heaviest boxes left and you swear they mock you while you try to catch your breath from pushing your mattress to your room. The words ‘winter clothes’ scribbled sloppily in bright red marker make your face twist up.

“God dammit,”you breathe out running the back of your hand across your forehead trying to rally. Your A/C was already in the window and the cool air inside becomes your motivation.

You aren’t expecting the abrupt shove forward or the feeling of paws on your butt, sharp nails digging into the soft material of your shorts. Then you hear it, his voice.

“Bandit! Bandit - no! Down!”

Your hands hit the metal of the trailer stopping your fall under the weight of what you’re now realizing is an over excited fully grown German Shepherd. Pink tongue out with spit flying everywhere, you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you when you turn around and he starts sniffing all over with a tail that wags a mile a minute. High pitched whines leave him when he realizes how much he wants you to play, but he accepts the scratches you offer behind his ears just the same. Body wiggling while also trying to stay still.

“Hi buddy!” you coo, your voice instantly slipping into the embarrassing one you only use for animals.

That’s when you see him. 

He has a few years on you, that part is obvious with the pepper that spots the sides of his honey colored hair and the scruff that lines his sharp jaw, but it only makes him look better. His broad shoulders are wrapped up tight in a white undershirt, the thick cotton telling you it was the kind that cost more than your phone bill. The black shorts he wears have a hem high enough to almost be inappropriate when you swear you see the outline of what’s underneath. The Nike swoosh near the slit at the top of his hairy thighs. His shoes match the color of his shorts, the On Cloud symbol etched on the side flashes in the light. Two hundred dollars on just his feet. 

The trained muscles in his arm flex when he runs a hand through his hair, catching the stray that flops over his forehead when he comes to a halt in front of you. The bright red leash clutched in his fist matches the color of his cheeks. Big hazel eyes meet yours after lingering on your curves a little too long, making you realize you’re showing off just as much skin as him. Clearing your throat, you tug at the bottom of your yoga shorts, willing them to grow just an inch longer with cheeks burning and not because of the sun.

“Sorry, I have a bad habit of getting him excited before I leash him up. I swear he’s friendly, are you okay? He didn’t scratch you or anything right?” 

You’re too distracted by his hands to comprehend his words, tendons moving under taut skin as he hooks Bandit’s hardness. The heat, the move, and the man all getting the best of you.

“Hey -“

His voice brings you back to reality, his brows furrowing over perfect features when he looks at you with genuine concern.

“Yes! Sorry, I’m fine. Honestly! I love dogs. The move in the heat, I think, I think it’s just getting to me.” You smile doing your best to calm the worried look on his face, and you swear you see him flush deeper because of it.

It’s his turn to clear his throat, left hand flexing like he’s looking for a ring that isn’t there. The skin is a lighter shade than the rest of him like there used to be. There’s a beat and an awkward silence before he finally notices the mostly empty trailer behind you. 

“Looks like you’re almost done though, top floor?” He questions rocking on his heels a little, pointing over his shoulder to your window. Your A/C is already dripping water onto the pavement.

“Yeah! You live in the building?”  Please say yes.

“Me? No.” He coughs a little uncomfortable, while you fight to stop the disappointment from showing on your face. “I umm, I actually live next door.” He winces, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Anyway, sorry about Bandit. Your boyfriend is probably wondering where you’re at.” You don’t miss the way he assumes with a secret hope he’s wrong hidden behind the mossy greens of his eyes. 

“Probably,” you pause, ego boosting when you see him squirm, “If I had one.” You giggle and you hate the way your hips twist a little. 

That’s when he does it, he smiles, with all of his teeth. It’s just as blinding as it is contagious, and it makes your skin tingle, giddiness dripping from your limbs. It’s short lived though, like pieces of a puzzle clicking together you watch it disappear. It’s replaced by the same concern from before only with a new layer of disbelief.

“Wait, honey, who’s helping you move in then?” He looks at you stunned like he can’t fathom the answer he knows you're gonna give.

“The same person that drove here - me.” You grin a little proud with your chin pushed up and it makes his lips twitch, the same smile from before itching to come back.

“Let me at least help with these last few.” He peeks behind you, eyes scanning over your messy writing, “They look like they might be heavy.” 

He teases you just enough to earn a roll of your eyes, but the grin on your face makes him huff out a relieved laugh. Nerves like a first date twist in his gut when he sees the way you look at him from under your lashes.

“I mean, if you insist…?” you trail off, fishing for his name. 

“Steve, sorry! It's Steve, Steve Harrington.” He runs one of his big hands through his hair again, a nervous tell of his you pick up on instantly, before offering it out for you to take.

“I don’t think I caught that, can you repeat your name one more time for me?” Biting your lip into a smile, he narrows his eyes playfully, cheeks blooming, flustered from your words.

Sliding your hand into his, it disappears completely when he wraps his fingers around yours. The softness of his palm is warm like the sun that beat down on you all day and it sends electric currents running through your veins, heart thumping loudly in your chest and you wonder if he can hear the way he can hear it. Minutes pass before either of you make the first move to let go, or at least that’s what it feels like. It’s not until Bandit whines at your feet that Steve finally caves.

“Let me go put him back inside real quick, it’s still a little too hot out anyway and I’ll help you bring the last of this up, tough girl.” He winks with the kind of casualness that makes you question whether you saw it at all and you have to hold in the sigh that begs to slip past your lips.

“I’ll be waiting,” your voice cracks, your confidence slowly disappearing like the sun behind the hazed skyline. 

You try to cover it up by swooping down to give Bandit a kiss between the eyes. Only it backfires, making it worse when you realize how weirdly personal that was to do to someone else’s dog, despite the more than pleased wag of his tail.

“That - that was, oh god. I don’t know why I kissed your dog like I knew him. Or you. I’m - I’m sorry.”  You pinch the bridge of your nose, embarrassment rolling off of you in waves.

It’s not until you hear his laugh, and god is it pretty too, that you finally look up.

“It’s understandable, he’s a handsome guy.” Steve smirks with flirty eyes and it makes you dizzy. 

You can’t stop your giggle, the back of your hand doing little to hide your smile from him. Butterflies breaking from cocoons in your stomach as you watch him walk away to that big house right next to yours.

“What exactly do you have in these boxes?” Steve grunts as he follows you up the narrow staircase with two in tow despite your multiple warnings. 

“Winter coats, sweaters, maybe some boots...” you trail off trying to think, your disorganization more than evident when you open up your front door to even more boxes and bags spread out in disarray.

“You packed your coats and your boots in the same box?” His voice is muffled behind cardboard as the cool air hits, sending goosebumps across sweat-kissed skin. The low hum does something to dull your nerves when you work up the courage to turn around and finally face him. 

“Maybe! Who knows, I’ll find out tonight when I open it.”  

He huffs out a breathy laugh as his broad shoulders almost brush the sides of your door frame. Stepping one expensive sneaker in front of the other into your more than humble apartment, there’s a fleeting moment of regret about taking him up on his offer when your eyes dart around the mess. 

“Where am I puttin’ this boss?” His eyes meet yours from around the side of the boxes, playfulness filling the greens and browns like before.

The muscles in his arm flex when he re-establishes his hold on the box, the sleeves of his shirt getting tighter and the whites of his knuckles start to show. The simple brown leather band of his watch strains, and it makes your throat dry up.

“Ummm.” You shake your head, willing your brain to regain its normal function as you start a clumsy walk towards the direction of your bedroom. “We can put them in my -“

Your shoe hits something hard and you don’t have enough time to realize what’s happening until you're already on the ground. Palms flat against the scratched wooden floor and a sharp pain in your ankle. The culprit, an already half opened box labeled KITCHEN you must’ve left in the hallway when you got distracted by something else.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Steve sets the boxes down, pushing them against the wall and out of the way raking his hand through his hair again, it must be a stressed habit too. 

“Yeah, yeah, my ego is a little bruised but I think I’m gonna survive.” You try to smile, but only end up wincing when you go to push yourself up.

“Here, let's get you on the couch, let me take a look.” He doesn’t wait for your reply, both of his hands coming out to you in an offering. Stubbornness losing for once, you take them.  

He lifts you up like you’re weightless, moving you around with ease as he tucks you into his side. His fingers wrap around the curve of your hip to steady you. He’s warm, the pine of his body wash mixing with the spice of his cologne and it surrounds you in a strong hold. It's a short trip to your couch, his abs moving with each step, and you secretly wish it took just a little longer. 

He’s gentle when he untangles himself from you. Soft palms on your elbows to hold your balance as you sit down. There’s a hint of his aftershave that hits your nose as your muscles melt into the softness of the cushions, the day quickly catching up to you. Eyelids going droopy.

“Sitting was a mistake Steve,” you groan with a light stretch of your limbs, and another subtle wince.

“Well good thing you conned me into helping you with the last of your boxes then.” He waits a second before meeting your eyes as he pulls one of your many boxes over to sit on, his lips twisting up when he sees the way you scoff. 

“Conned you?! You practically begged me to let you help.” Your head bobs with attitude dripping from each word and it makes him grin. He nods furrowing his brows like he’s hearing you, but despite the limited time you’ve spent with him you knew whatever he was about to say was just going to egg you on more.

“I mean, if that’s what you need to tell yourself sweetheart. I remember it a little differently.” He can’t hold in his laugh when you roll your eyes hard at him trying to ignore the newest nickname.

His knees brush against yours when he finally takes his seat, the hem of his shorts rising higher, running tight against the muscle of his thigh. The cinnamon hair that covers his legs tickles you while the sun hits your bay window with just the right light to reveal an expanse of freckles and moles you didn’t see before under his five o’clock shadow and across the bridge of his nose. God, he’s handsome. 

His eyes catch yours like he can hear your thoughts, and for a moment you wonder if he actually can.

“Do you mind?” The teasing edge is gone, his eyes a little more soft when the tips of his fingers tap against your leg.

Your voice is lost in the shift in energy, static filling in the air between you when you shake your head ‘no’.’’ His touch is feather light when his fingers wrap gingerly around your ankle bringing your foot to his lap. He makes quick work of your laces, using extra care when he pulls off your shoe. The pad of his thumb rubs over the bruising bone and you notice the way he licks his lips.

“Does this hurt?” He applies a little bit of pressure to the spot just below your calf, his gaze making you nervous as he gauges your reactions.

“No,” it comes out a little breathless and he exhales deep through his nose because of it.

“How about here?” He does the same thing as before, only this time closer to your heel and you wince. “There it is,” he hums to himself, rubbing soothing circles as an apology.

“Like on a pain scale of one to ten, I’d give it a three and a half or four” you tell him, when really you’re too proud to admit it’s actually a five.

“Three and a half? You can’t use that. Solid number only,” he scoffs meeting your eyes from under his lashes, the forest inside them turning black.

“I actually think I can do whatever I want,” you laugh incredulously, your toes wiggling under black socks in his lap.

“I guess it is your house, I stand corrected.” Steve admits defeat with an exaggerated sigh before showing you his teeth in a wide grin, his thumb still rubbing circles because it never actually stopped. “Do you have an ice pack?” 

Your finger drums against your bottom lip as you think about everything you had packed, his eyes fixated on the way you lightly pull it down with each tap.

“I don’t remember and if I’m being completely honest I don’t think so.” You look sheepish when you admit your lack of first aid supplies to him.

He chuckles lightly, hot breath fanning against your skin with a shake of his head.

“I think I have one, I’ll grab it and bring those other two boxes up. Keep your foot elevated for me tonight tough girl. Unpack your chaos tomorrow.” He mocks the way your jaw drops at his teasing.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to take care of me Steve.” The joke is innocent, at least that’s what you thought. 

Something clicks behind his eyes, the warmth draining from his smile when it falls. His brows furrow and he won’t look at you anymore, his thumb stops rubbing those circles, and your foot is placed gently back on the ground. He’s standing up faster than you can catch your breath, faster than you can comprehend.  The energy shifts to something distant and the warm summer is replaced with frigid winter. He clears his throat with glassy eyes scratching the back of his neck, and you have no idea what you did.

“Hey I’m sorry if I -“

He cuts you off before you can finish.

“You didn’t do anything, It’s me - look, I’m just gonna go get those things. I’ll leave it at your door, please just elevate your foot. You should be okay by tomorrow.” He doesn’t let you respond, long legs taking him out of your place and leaving you to wonder what you did wrong. 

Your head lulls against the back of the couch, staring fixated on the old popcorn ceiling of your living room for what feels like twenty minutes as you replay everything back. Over analyzing his tones and body language coming up empty every time. This was going to drive you crazy.

There’s three raps on your front door, one coming down hard followed by two quick knocks. When you stand up this time, it hurts less, more true to the pain level you gave him as you slightly hobble to answer.

When you open it, your two boxes are stacked where he promised. A dark blue ice pack with a yellow sticky note that says:

beta’d by @superblysubpar 💕 (also made the cute post it for me 🥹)

dividers by @newlips 💗

chapter two

[moonlight-joy]

A New Bond

Fandom: Yellowstone

Summary: In a moment of playful connection with Tate Dutton, the arrival of Monica highlights the delicate dynamics of love, loss, and shared responsibilities, as you navigate the fragile balance of offering stability without overstepping the bonds of family.

Pairing: Reader/Kayce Dutton

The sound of laughter echoed through the open fields of Yellowstone Ranch as you sat on the porch with Tate Dutton, a stack of toy trucks between you. The boy’s face was lit up with pure joy, his laughter infectious as he rolled a bright red truck across the wooden boards.

“You’re getting pretty good at this,” you teased, nudging a small ramp toward him. “You think you can make the jump?”

“Of course I can!” Tate exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He positioned his truck at the top of the ramp, letting it fly down with a triumphant cheer as it landed perfectly on the other side. “Did you see that? I told you I could do it!”

You clapped, feigning amazement. “Alright, I’m impressed. You’ve got skills, kid.”

Tate beamed, his smile so wide it seemed to brighten the already warm afternoon. Spending time with him had become a regular thing since Kayce and Monica had split. The boy had gravitated toward you, finding comfort in your presence, and you had happily stepped into the role of his confidant and playmate.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Kayce leaning against the railing nearby, watching the two of you with a faint smile. He didn’t say anything, just nodded in your direction before heading back toward the barn. It was a quiet acknowledgment, one you’d come to appreciate over time.

But then another figure stepped into view—Monica. She had driven up in her SUV, her gaze immediately landing on you and Tate. Her expression was unreadable at first, but as she got closer, you could see the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of something like hurt in her eyes.

“Tate!” she called, her voice cutting through the playful atmosphere.

Tate’s head whipped around, his excitement faltering for a moment before he smiled. “Mom!” he shouted, getting up and running toward her.

Monica crouched down to hug him, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly as she looked him over. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m playing,” Tate said, his voice filled with innocent enthusiasm. “We were making the trucks jump. It was so cool!”

Monica glanced over his shoulder at you, her expression hard to read. There was no hostility, but there was something guarded in her gaze, something almost hesitant. She straightened up, her hand resting protectively on Tate’s shoulder.

“Looks like you’ve been having fun,” she said, her tone polite but clipped.

“We’ve been having a blast,” you replied, keeping your voice light and friendly. “Tate’s got some serious driving skills.”

Monica’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked down at Tate. “Why don’t you go grab your bag from the truck, sweetie? We need to head out.”

Tate hesitated, glancing back at you. “But I was gonna show—”

“Go on, Tate,” Monica said gently but firmly.

The boy nodded reluctantly and ran off, leaving the two of you alone. Monica crossed her arms, her gaze meeting yours. For a moment, the silence was heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken words.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” Monica said finally, her voice quiet but pointed.

“Tate’s a great kid,” you said simply. “He seems to enjoy hanging out here.”

Monica’s eyes flicked toward the barn, where Kayce was still working. “I’m sure he does.”

There was no accusation in her tone, but you could sense the tension, the unspoken fear that maybe Tate’s bond with you was filling a space she felt was slipping from her grasp.

“Monica,” you said gently, stepping closer. “I’m not trying to replace you. I would never try to come between you and Tate.”

Her eyes snapped back to yours, and for a moment, you thought she might say something sharp. But instead, she let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I know,” she said finally, her voice softer. “I just... it’s hard seeing him so happy somewhere else when things between me and Kayce have been so... hard.”

You nodded, understanding the pain behind her words. “He loves you. That hasn’t changed. And it never will.”

Monica’s lips curved into a small, sad smile. “He talks about you a lot, you know. How much fun you are, how much you listen to him.”

“Tate’s been through a lot,” you said. “He needs stability, people he can trust. I’m just trying to be someone he can count on.”

Monica studied you for a long moment before nodding slowly. “He’s lucky to have you,” she said quietly. “But don’t let him forget where home is.”

You smiled gently. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Tate came bounding back toward the two of you, his bag slung over his shoulder and his face lit up with excitement. “Can I come back tomorrow?” he asked, looking between you and Monica.

“We’ll see,” Monica said, brushing a hand over his hair. She glanced at you one last time before turning toward the truck. “Come on, Tate. Let’s get going.”

As they drove off, you stood on the porch, watching until their car disappeared down the road. The sound of boots behind you made you turn, and you found Kayce standing there, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” you said, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Just doing what I can.”

Kayce nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned back toward the barn. And as you watched him go, you couldn’t help but feel the complicated weight of it all—the ties that bound you, Tate, Monica, and Kayce together, and the delicate balance you were all trying to find.

Please support my work with like and comment

[themultifandomgal]

Tommy Shelby- Christmas Shopping

Day 3

The streets were alive with the spirit of Christmas, twinkling lights draped over shop windows and the scent of roasted chestnuts wafting through the air. YN and Tommy walked hand in hand, both on a mission. YN always loved Christmas she was the embodiment of holiday cheer, while Tommy had allay been the complete opposite, maybe that’s why they worked so well together

"Do you think he’ll like it?" YN asked looking at a bright red wooden toy truck displayed in a nearby shop window. It reminded her of the one her brother had when they were kids, a nostalgic piece that tugged at her heartstrings. Tommy shrugged, his expression unreadable. He loved his kids sure, but Tommy was never one for spoiling them

"It's not about what they like," it's about what they need. Kids want everything, but they don't always know what's best for them. Clothes might be more practical”

YN paused, considering his words. It was true; children often desired the flashiest toys, but what they truly needed was love and guidance.

“You're right. But I think a little magic wouldn't hurt either," she said with a playful grin “after all, it's Christmas."

They ventured deeper into the market, where laughter echoed and carolers sang familiar tunes. YN's heart swelled with joy as she watched children darting about, their faces alight with wonder. Tommy, on the other hand, observed the scene with a guarded demeanor, his mind perhaps wandering to darker places. Yet, something about the holiday spirit seemed to soften his edges, if only for a moment

"Look over there!" YN exclaimed, pointing to a stall adorned with handmade ornaments “those would be perfect for your aunt. Or for the kids. We could make a tradition out of decorating the tree together, each year buy a new ornament”

“Come on let’s have a look” Tommy knows there’s no point in grumbling, he was the one who offered to join YN with Christmas shopping for the children and rest of the family. As they approached the stall, an elderly woman greeted them with a warm smile

“Welcome, dears! Looking for something special?"

YN picked up a delicate glass ornament shaped like a snowflake, its intricate design glinting in the light

"These are beautiful! I think our daughter would love this" Tommy watched YN's excitement with of admiration

"Let's get a few," he said, surprising himself "one for both of the children, one for aunt pol and one for Ada”

YN's eyes lit up, and she beamed at him

“Really? That's a great idea!" She turned back to the vendor, her enthusiasm infectious. As they selected ornaments, Tommy felt a strange sense of fulfillment. It was foreign but welcomed.

After leaving the stall, they wandered through the market, their arms laden with gifts. YN spotted a booth selling cozy scarves and hats, the perfect addition to their shopping spree

“What do you think? The kids would look adorable in these and they’ are practical” she mused, Tommy chuckled, a sound that surprised even him.

“Yeah, they would. I never thought l'd be out Christmas shopping”

"Life has a funny way of surprising us” YN replied, her eyes twinkling “you know I think this is the most fun I've had in a long time” Tommy glanced at his wife

"Yeah, me too”

[yestrday]

— TIE ME UP. yan! rich kid! childe x gn! mercenary! reader

your latest hit is a boy named ajax. the job's easy— kidnap him, bully him a bit, then send him back without any will to live. easy enough, it seems, but not everything will go the way you expect it.

( reader is not a good person; murder, mentions of torture; kidnapping; obsessive behavior, tying up, slight mentions of n/sfw, masochistic childe )

note. ahhhh im in a writing a slump so i decided to write the other part of anon's request to practice. idk if it's good enough, but childe will always be my go to whenever i want some disgusting yandere boy

you might like: childe's spiked drink

it's nothing you haven't seen. someone wants someone dead and they would pay millions just to see that come true. you whistle when you open the case of green bills for the nth time this day and the sight makes you smile.

what a haul you've gotten. despite the dread that's been growing inside you since you took this job, the million worth of cash inside this single suitcase is enough for you to retire. maybe you'll finally take a break from all this gory business, find a nice plot of land where the police can't find you, and make a farm for yourself. that sounds nice.

determined to finally finish this once and for all, you slam the suitcase shut and chuck it into the back of your car, along with the squirming ginger screaming at you through his gags.

"it'll be all over soon, love," you croon, sporting a wicked smile. "jus' get some sleep in here, mmkay?"

with one last muffled scream of his, you slam the trunk on the poor man's shaking expression and rev the engine to life.

"'ello there, babe," is the first thing the boy hears when he blinks his eyes awake. "good ting ya slept, hm? the road here was full of em potholes. not exactly pleasant for a passenger in the truck, right?"

it's a classic stereotype— that heavy country accent tinged with seduction and danger— even you're painfully aware of how cheesy your voice is. but it's what you were raised with, plus most of your victims dig the accent anyway, so might as well make use of it. the boy grimaces when the single fluorescent bulb swaying on the ceiling hits his sight, and he lets out a little grunt. 

"ajax childe. third son of the ceo of childe's toy corporation and now…" you plop yourself onto the wooden seat in front of him, nonchalantly waving the knife in front of his wide-eyed stare. "the target of some rich sod's hatred." you give him a lookover, from his ruffled ginger hair, his lean bod, down to his strong calves. clearly, he's been working out. you sigh in mock pity. "what the hell did ya do anyway? make off with someone's girl?" he's pretty enough to entertain the thought, and judging how flirtatious he acts in front of the paparazzi, that very well might be the case.

he protests against the gag once again, and you shake your head. "sorry, babe. not really in the mood to listen to sum brat scream." you tap your cheek as you contemplate on what to do with him. "hmm... they didn't actually want ya dead, if i'll be honest with ya. just bully ya a little till ya want yerself dead, y'feel? it's good to 'ave less blood on my hands, but hm, when i get commissions like these..." you cock your head, pondering over the countless victims you had over the last decade.

"they don't usually come out alive, yanno?"

another muffled scream through the gag, and you watch in boredom as he tries to wiggle his way out of his binds. clearly, however, it's futile when all he accomplishes is burn himself with the rope. well, what else was he expecting? you were a hired mercenary, he a mere ceo's son living a cushy life. there really was no challenge here.

but looking at him... you feel somewhat sympathetic. you have no respect for those high-class scum who like to hide behind fake smiles and faker compliments. but the kid in front of you was just some irresponsible young adult who just happened to be born into the elite, and well, if he wasn't the son of such a big corporation, he'd probably have gotten away with whatever he did. such was the consequence of having too many eyes on you. maybe it'd make you less worse of a human being if you let this kid air his grievances out.

you sigh, getting up from your spot. "alright, alright, i'll ungag you. just shut up already, jeez." he seems to jostle around less when you say that, and you swiftly untie the cloth to let him talk.

you already know what to expect— teary pleas, desperate bribes, maybe even some angry threats. all these are common in victims and more often than not are you forced to listen to all that shit before you decide to gag them again or just shoot them in the head. so you brace yourself for whatever agonizing scream they might have in store for you.

"ah..."

you grimace. here it comes.

"you're prettier than anything i've imagined..." he tilts his pretty face up, gazing at you with lovestruck eyes under the shine of the harsh light. your shock is mirrored in those loony eyes as his smile widens till it almost splits his face into two,

"...[your name]."

"what the fuck?!" instinctively, you recoil away from him, taking steps back while he continues to pin that heart-eyed stare on you. "what in the–?! how the fuck do you know me?!"

"oh, [your name], is there anything i don't know about you?" this... this freak sighs almost dreamily, and it makes you grimace by how slimy it is. "your name, your occupation (obviously), your favorite drinks, your... heh, three sizes!" he lets out a low giggle. "finally...! to finally see you right in front of my very eyes!"

you blanch. "three...?!" this cannot do. you are being outdone and outsmarted by some rich playboy. clearing your throat, you regain your composure and narrow your eyes at him in a glare (why... why is he shivering?!). "bluffs won't save you from your fate, childe."

you live a life in the shadows. leaving traces of yourself for people to find could spell to be your doom, and yet here was this kid claiming that he knew everything there is to you. it was a laughable attempt at a bluff, and he only caught you offguard by that disgusting grin of his. you're confident enough in your own abilities that you know that no one would be ever able to track you—

"[your name] [last name]. single father, three siblings, but they're all dead. you became a mercenary at age 16 and you go to your headquarters every weekend. you like the cafe at sixth avenue and you order the fourth thing on the menu almost every time." his grin widens when he sees the alarmed expression on your face. "should i tell you more?"

impossible. gritting your teeth, you pull him by his collar, almost tipping his chair over until you catch it with your knee. it... spreads his legs and pushes against his bulge, and you want to scrub yourself clean when you see his red blush and lip-bite. "how the fuck d'you know all that?" you snarl. you shake him. "tell me!"

"because i love you," he says, almost breathless. he looks at you with eyes so full of devotion and obsession that you might believe him. "there's not a single piece of you that i don't love."

you pull your lip back. "you're fuckin' disgusting."

"ah, but!" he wiggles in his chair, his clothes straining against the binds. "you're the one who tied me up like this! all vulnerable and ready for you to torture, right?"

you can't believe this man. "that's how kidnappings go, you idiot!" unable to hold on to this weirdo any longer, you let go of him and he and the chair he's tied to collapse to the floor. it's a nasty fall, but you're too busy rubbing your hands together in some attempt to rid yourself of the germs he may have transferred over to you.

the gasp of delight when he hits the floor grates like metal against your ear, and he squirms when you look down at him with such hate and disgust in those pretty eyes of yours. "is it starting? are you gonna torture me now?" your eyes flit to the array of tools you laid out on the counter, but now you feel reluctant to dirty this man's blood with the tools you painstakingly polished to shine. "ah~ ♡ i wonder what you're gonna do to me! are you gonna cut me up and leave me to bleed? tie me up till it hurts to breathe? ah, [your name] ♡" he calls your name with ecstasy. "i'm so excited to see what you'll do!"

with your back turned towards him and facing the tools, you don't grace him with a reply. instead, you bite your lip, panicked and pale expression reflected in the cold reflection of a knife.

'why me?!' your thoughts scream. 'i've never met this man in my life before!'

'how am i supposed to break someone who's gone too fucking far?!'

he continues to smile at your back, watching as you contemplate which torture device you'll bless him with for that night.

'so, so cute!' you're shorter than him, but somehow the thought of you dominating him and spilling his blood makes his jeans tighter. 'they're gonna make me go through sooo much pain, i can feel it! they'll have the power to kill me. they might kill me!'

just like that man you shot in that alleyway, eyes staring blankly at the mess of guts and brain splattered against the wall. there was no remorse in your eyes as you wipe the blood off your cheek with the back of your hand. no remorse as you stuff that body into a bag and make a mess all over yourself.

he remembers it clearly. your skintight black bodysuit, how the blood seemed to match your soulless eyes, the peek of tongue as you licked the blood from your thumb— he remembers it all too well.

how could he not, when he had his back pressed to the wall, out of your sight, hand clamped to suppress his noises. not a terrified scream, mind you. but his heavy breaths as he continued to observe you from a distance.

better than an angel. more divine than an angel. you were the reaper itself, stained in blood and black.

and his obsession with that reaper grew, as you revved off with your motorcycle with the corpse in tow, and he lay in the alley shadows with a hand in his jeans and blood at his feet.

if you had looked closely beneath all the money, maybe you'd see one damning clue that would tell you that this commission was a bad idea. a clue stitched at the bottom of the suit, fancy lettering showcasing initials in cursive:

a.c.

ajax childe's grin grows wider when he sees you finally settle on a tool. even when bound up and knocked to the floor, those hungry eyes and crazed grin seem to make him more of a predator than the you holding a knife.

[odinstoyfactory]

Wooden Toy Truck Fat Fendered Panel Wagon Handmade And Painted Bright Red With Nonmarring Amber Shellac Wheels

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I crafted these toy trucks using traditional woodworking tools and techniques. Each part has been meticulously cut, sanded, and hand-fitted to guarantee the highest quality in the final product. The trucks are hand-painted with bright red acrylic paint, and the wheels are finished with a non-marring amber shellac.

Approximate Size: Length: 6,25 inches Width: 3 inches Height: 2.75 inches Wheel Size: 1.25 inches

All the items I create are handmade using natural wood and wood products. Each piece is unique and may vary in appearance from one item to the next. The item you receive may differ slightly from the item pictured in the listing photos. The thickness of the wood used in your item may also vary slightly from the size specified in the listing.

It's important to note that the natural variations in wood grain, color, and knots make each piece one-of-a-kind and add to the item's character and charm. The variations should be expected and are not considered defects. If you have any concerns about the variations or would like to request a specific look or size, please contact me before placing your order, and I will do my best to accommodate your request.

Handmade in Tallahassee, Florida, USA

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 16

Chapters Masterlist

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au Note: Happy New Year!!! I really enjoyed writing this part. I hope you'll enjoy reading it too. Also this series is coming to an end soon in most likely 2-3 chapters 🥺 But more on that later.

When Simon was about five years old, he and Tommy visited the army base where their father worked. While their mother excused herself to go to the restroom, she left the boys with Peter in his office. 

“Boys, I have work to do, so I need you both to sit here and be quiet, do you understand?” Peter commanded as he laid his heavy hand on the backrest of the couch and then moved towards his desk, his shoes thumping loudly on the tiled floors. 

“Yes, daddy,” the boys chorused in unison like soldiers under his command and promptly sat on the couch, Tommy with his toy truck and Simon with his stuffed shark. 

Peter nodded approvingly and sat at his desk, beginning his work immediately. While Tommy busied himself with rolling his toy truck on the arm of the couch, Simon looked about the dull, imposing office. He wanted to know about the papers pinned on the cork boards, about whatever he stuck under the glass of his massive wooden desk, and what work his father was attending to.

He looked longingly with his big, innocent brown eyes, wanting to crawl onto his father's lap and watch him work and ask him his numerous questions. But he sank his head down, knowing his father would dismiss him with the words, “you’re too young. You won’t understand it.”

Even though there was the occasional rustle of leafing papers and the clacking of the computer keyboard, the silence was deafening. Simon could hear a high pitched buzz in the air, the one you hear in complete, utter silence. He felt his temples tighten. Glancing between Tommy and his father, he saw that neither of them noticed the buzzing. 

Two knocks on the door echoed within the room, breaking the spell. Simon instantly pulled his little legs up and got on his knees, looking over the backrest and hoping his mother had come back to brighten up the room with her smiles.

“Come in,” resounded his father’s deep voice.

The door opened to reveal, alas, someone else. The man, dressed in a green field uniform, also looked just as grim as his father. As he stepped closer to the couch, he noticed the boys, and a small, eager, but tentative smile lifted the corners of his lips.

“Your sons, sir?” he asked. Simon shyly moved closer to Tommy. 

“Yes, my sons. Thomas and Simon,” answered Peter, detached. He went straight to the point. “What’s the news?”

Simon listened to their conversation. He didn’t remember much of it, but he clearly remembered his father growing more and more agitated as the man spoke. His face was flushed red, brows furrowed, and his voice was deafening like a clap of thunder on a dismal, dark day. The boys were no stranger to seeing their father like this, particularly Simon, who was more-or-less the most mischievous of the two.

He didn’t remember what his father screamed about or slammed his table for, but he did remember feeling his tiny little heart being clenched, squeezed until it hurt, until it wrung out tears from his eyes and a whimper from his dry throat. He nudged his little head under Tommy’s arm, begging to be shielded, wishing that his mum would come back and cradle him in her arms and whisper comfort to him.

He watched his father fearfully after he dismissed the man, and saw how he pushed his chair away and lighted a cigarette. He took his even march towards the window and stood there smoking. Simon dared not to even croak, and neither did Tommy. Dad was sometimes a keg of dynamite, and even the slightest spark could make him explode. 

This terror remained with him, and it resurfaced in his mind as he stood in front of the door to his father’s study. His hand hovered over the knob, trembling and hesitating. He didn’t even want to be in the same room as his father. The mere thought of it was suffocating. But it had to be done. Father’s orders. 

He hastily put his hand down on the knob and opened the door. It opened with a soft creak, and Simon entered. His breath felt shallow upon seeing his father facing the large, open windows. Even the pleasant day outside didn’t ease his nerves. His father didn’t turn around to acknowledge him.

Simon wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. “You called, sir,” he spoke stiffly, as if he was a reporting lieutenant. He had many times addressed his father this way, out of coldness or fear or respect, or even a mingling of all three. 

Peter finally turned around. A smoking cigarette was in his hand, fumes encircling him. Simon’s eyebrows raised slightly. If dad ever smoked, it meant that whatever was sifting in his mind was serious, of paramount importance. “What on earth”, he wondered, “does dad want to tell me?”

“Sit down, boy,” Peter commanded in a rumble that sounded like distant thunder, now turning around and pressing the tip onto his clean ashtray on the desk.

Simon obeyed, sitting down on the chair. His eyes followed his father as he paced slowly about the room. His grizzled brow was furrowed in thought, and he paused his pacing every so often to turn to his son with an earnest look in his eyes as if he wanted to say something difficult, but he turned away as soon as he did. Simon shifted in his seat, uncomfortably watching his father’s mental tussle. 

Peter finally stopped his pacing and stood still behind the table. He looked at Simon directly. 

“Your girlfriend,” his voice slightly rose in pitch and then lowered as he trailed off, “...She's a nice girl.” 

“Yes, she is,” Simon answered, somewhat guarded. 

“You've chosen well.” 

Simon had to fight the urge to raise his eyebrows. Compliments from his father were rarer than a cow jumping over the moon, especially when it had anything to do with his choices. “I… Thank you,” he faltered slightly. 

Peter paced around once more. He eyed the cigarette in the ashtray and his fingers twitched. Putting a hand on the backrest of his swivel chair, he squeezed it, still evidently struggling. Simon didn't dare make a sound. 

“It's been an age since we last spoke like this.” He snatched the cigarette and lit it again, and Simon watched keenly as the fire burned the blackened edge once more, now engulfing it in glowing red embers. Peter took a long, greedy drag while he waited for his son to reply, but heard nothing. He asked, “When was the last time?” 

Simon's head dipped slightly in shame, and his eyes left his father's face to look at the carpet. “I don't remember,” he lied, his hand instinctively rubbing his jaw on the left side, fingers brushing against his scar.

Peter's eyes narrowed slightly and he sighed out the smoke he drew in. “Well, it doesn't matter. It's in the past,” he said, his voice evidently turning more subdued like the soft breeze that blew in through the open windows. 

Simon's jaw tensed slightly. This was unusual. His father knew he lied; he was expecting a stern lecture like he always did. But nothing. He couldn't tell if his father was actually being nice for once or if the tobacco was getting to his head. 

But the words “it's in the past” repeated in his head like a broken record. Was this forgiveness? Was this his way of being apologetic? He didn't dare to even hope. Was he lying? No. His father was an upright man and would not compromise on his integrity even to his own detriment. He was not lying.

Peter took another drag, a shaky one. “I'm glad you came today, Simon,” he exhaled the words out along with the smoke, “I hope you come more often.” 

Simon pursed his lips into a thin line and breathed in shakily, fighting to keep his chest from heaving. “Yes, sir,” he answered in a whisper.

“Dad,” the father corrected.

“Dad,” the son amended.

____ could not stop twiddling her thumbs and glancing at the hallway from the couch she sat on. Ever since Tommy informed her some thirty minutes ago that Simon was in the middle of a conversation with their dad, she couldn’t help but worry. Time seemed to drag on painfully slow, even slower when she kept watching the clock that ticked slower than her heart. 

Tommy, seeing that she looked worried, tried to distract her with conversation. He told her about Emma and Emilia’s childhood antics, of them trying to climb up his legs like monkeys, and them cannonballing into pools. It worked for a time and made her laugh, although her worries still festered and churned in her stomach like she ate rotten food. She didn’t know where Peter’s study was and at every pause in Tommy’s stories, she tried to strain her ears towards the hallway to catch any snatches of conversation. Nothing could be heard of course, and she was forced to relent and give all her attention to Tommy.

Soon, the crack of the door knob from the hallway resounded, and ____’s head whipped upwards. Tommy’s chatter abruptly stopped. She saw Simon step out and then enter the living room, sighing heavily. His fair face was pale and somewhat confused, but there was evident relief and even a gleam of satisfaction in his dark eyes. 

“What did dad talk to you about?” Tommy asked as casually as he could.

Simon inhaled, glancing at his girlfriend. “He… just told me he was glad to see me home. He asked me to come more often.”

Tommy’s face beamed and he gave his younger brother an affectionate clap on the back, also relieved. ____ couldn’t help but sigh and smile herself.

When it was time for the couple to leave, Eloise hugged them both tight, but she hugged ____ a hint tighter and whispered in a tremor, “Thank you for coming, my dear.”

As the two walked to Simon’s motorcycle, she smiled at him. “I had fun today.”

Simon smiled. “Me too.”

The split second she took to observe his face told her that the shadow of pain and stress that had always shaded his dark eyes seemed lifted, replaced with a certain vitality, joy, and disbelief. Though he didn’t show it entirely, she could tell.

Putting on their helmets, they got on the motorcycle and off they went. She had her arms held tight around Simon’s waist, and as they rode down the highway, she watched the sunset in the distance. The sky was clear and vast, and painted in a gentle gradient of rose and apricot. The fading sunlight gilded the grassy plains and rustling trees. The wind whistled against her helmet noisily, and the air was damp and cold, but with her arms around her boyfriend and with the breathtaking landscape set before her, she couldn’t help but feel like she was in a dream. She squeezed his waist involuntarily and leaned her helmeted head against his back. 

She felt like the shadow over her own thoughts had lifted too. She didn’t think that hearing John out would give her so much relief. And now knowing that things were alright between Simon and his father, her relief was doubled. She squeezed Simon again and closed her eyes, enjoying his warmth, enjoying the happiness.

She felt a gentle touch on her knee, and upon looking, she found Simon’s hand resting there for a moment before returning to the handle. She smiled and blushed to herself, feeling flutters in her stomach.

“Are you hungry?!” Simon screamed over the rushing wind.

“No!” she screamed back. Her stomach and her heart were already full and bursting. She squeezed Simon again, and this time, he gave her hands a soft pat. It was warm, so utterly warm that she forgot how cold the air was. She was glad, so utterly glad that she didn’t bail on this appointment to go out with Alejandro.

Thirty minutes passed and the city was in sight, but so were the rain clouds hanging low over the buildings. Simon twisted the accelerator and the engine roared; at the increase of speed, the pillion rider felt like her body was yanked back and ready to fly off. 

“Hold tight!” Simon yelled again, and she quickly put her arms around him and squeezed her eyes shut. 

No sooner had they swept into the city streets, the showers began falling heavily and earnestly like a waterfall. Simon cursed under his breath. As if to make things worse, the street they were on was clogged with the traffic of people trying to get home from work. There was no space even to squeeze through the cars and slowly make their way up the long queue, and their only choice now was to wait the traffic out.

Sensing that it would be long, Simon killed the engine and then peeled off his leather jacket. “It’s really pissing it down. Here, wear this,” he said, holding the bunched up garment over his shoulder, “You’re getting wet.”

“What about you?” she asked reluctantly.

“I’m fine, darling. Just wear it. And be quick,” he urged, now reaching his hand behind and placing the jacket on her lap. 

She quickly put it on and zipped it up all the way to the collar. The familiar scent of rainforest and chocolate, and the soft texture of the tartan lining made her feel warm again. But it was instantly replaced by pity for her boyfriend. The rain fell mercilessly, and the battering was deafening against the helmet; his coffee-coloured t-shirt darkened almost instantly and the weight of the wet fabric clung to his shoulders and his upper arms, softly defining the muscles underneath.

She felt the water dripping from the helmet drop into the crevices of the jacket and trickle down her warm collarbone to dampen her clothes. Even that made her shiver, but she couldn’t imagine how much colder Simon felt.

She leaned against his back. “Aren’t you cold, Simon?” 

He leaned back against her chest. “No, I’m fine. I’ve gotten wet in the rain on rides a lot, so it’s no big deal,” he assured her, giving her knee a gentle squeeze.

“But still, I feel a little bad that you had to give up your jacket for me.” She pressed against him further regardless, wanting to share her warmth with him, no matter how little it was. 

“Darling,” he shook his helmeted head, “I won’t sit back and watch my girlfriend get wet in the heavy rain when I can prevent it.” He gave her knee a light, chiding slap. “And besides, I know you get cold easily.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “How did you know that?”

“You remember the day we hung out together? The first time? There was a heavy rain before I came to pick you up, and when I came, you were wearing my jacket. You looked cold,” he explained, rubbing his thumb on her knee as his eyes darted at the traffic ahead to check for any sign of movement. 

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

He looked at her. She met his dark eyes, and saw how the lights of the surrounding cars made them shine. A flutter tickled her stomach.

“Why wouldn’t I notice things about my own girlfriend?” he asked matter-of-factly, as if she said something silly. 

She smiled sheepishly and blushed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you?” Yet another characteristic to add to her male lead, Frederick’s personality. 

The vehicles up front slowly began to move. Simon sat up straight and turned the key in the ignition, making the engine roar to life. He instantly swooped past the cars like a lizard at the first opportunity. He was pelted by the heavy rain, and combined with the speed he was going, his exposed arms felt like they were being pricked by huge needles. It stung, but he felt a manly pride for being able to protect his girlfriend from the elements.

Before long, he rolled into the indoor parking of the building he stayed in and smoothly parked in his allotted spot. Heavy sighs of relief followed as they got off the vehicle and took off their helmets.

“You okay?” he asked, straightening and stretching his sore back slightly, “You aren’t too wet, are you?”

“I should be asking that to you. You’re drenched!”

Simon looked at himself and pinched the front of his shirt, pulling the wet fabric slightly off his chest. He did feel a little icky having wet clothes sticking to his body and longed to get inside his apartment and peel it off. “One of us had to be, darling, and it wasn’t going to be you,” he  pinched her nose. “But don’t fash yourself, it’s not a big deal. Some wet clothes aren’t going to kill me.”

That’s what he thought until he started sneezing repeatedly into his equally wet handkerchief as they entered the lift. She looked at him, all sopping wet and dripping like a towel that wasn’t wrung dry. She let out a heavy sigh.

“All that sneezing is going to kill you before the wet clothes do…”

End of Part 16.

Part 17 coming soon :)

__________________________

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@oniraki

[elliespuns]

grandpa joel would make so many wooden toys for jj! he'd carve and sand and paint them all with so much love and care 🥺🥰

Grandpa Joel would indeed create many beautiful wooden toys for little JJ. With the utmost care and dedication, he would carefully select the finest pieces of wood to carve, sand, and paint into playthings. Each toy would be imbued with Grandpa Joel's love.

There would be wooden trucks with perfectly carved wheels that actually spun around. Colorful rocking horses with beautiful, detailed manes. Adorable pull toys in the shapes of animals; dogs, cats, bunnies.

Joel would sand each piece of wood to a perfect, silky smoothness, knowing little JJ's hands would be gripping them. He'd paint on the cheeriest faces and patterns, always imagining the delighted look on the kid's face when he'd see the finished toys.

[abslvr111]

blue banisters

cw. wlw (men dni), smut, fem!r, dom!els, sub!r, soft!ellie, no outbreak au, slight hair pulling, fingering (r!rec), cunnilingus (r!rec), wall sex 💀, titty sucking (r!rec), miss kink, this is jus me rambling abt ellie ngl 🤗

sum. you heir ellie to paint your banisters blue.

wc. 1.4k

it all started with an ad you saw while walking down the street, a local woman in your town just looking for odd jobs. it was perfect, you had been meaning to get someone to paint your banister, and you had a beautiful baby blue color you’d planned to use.

you dialed the number once you got home, it rang once, twice, a woman (you shortly found out to be named ellie) picked up, her voice was smooth and quips slick, she knew how to talk to people— she knew how to talk to women. your conversation with her made you wonder what she looked like, so you scheduled for her to come as soon as she could, you had nothing better to do, might as well meet your mystery woman as soon as possible.

she came just a few days later, pulling up your driveway in an old pickup truck, no doubt loud enough to alert you of her arrival. you watched her from your front porch, seen her hop out of the beat-up truck, slowly making her way towards you.

she wore a white tank top, one ready to get ruined by paint, it left her arms on display, her tattoo the last thing you noticed when her muscles were there, and a pair of worn-in blue jeans gathered with a brown leather belt around her hips. her short auburn hair pushed back behind her ears, intense green eyes trained on you, one married with an eyebrow scar, freckles decorated her soft cheeks, and her lips although slightly chapped they were still kissable, you decided.

she was gonna be nice to look at for the day, you thought.

you greeted her with a warm smile one she returned, the two of you talked about the job as you brought her through your home, you had a nice home, small, but fitting. it was cozy on the inside, with rugs and paintings on every wall and inch of floor, plants littered the complex cozily. it was quaint, nice, and well taken care of, the outside showed it the most, it was truly beautiful, with flowers growing everywhere to be seen, stones placed intricately to form a path to the quaint porch, a porch decorated with a nice wooden swing, the place was perfect, and she understood the pride you had in taking care of it.

she followed you obediently, standing just far enough from you to be able to watch your hips sway in the sundress you wore, the fabric hugged your figure nicely, and when you’d turn to look at her while you talked, she’d get an eye full of your cleavage at the bust of the dress, each time she tried her best to avoid staring to long.

you both made your way to the back porch, cans of blue paint lined up neatly on the dark wood, paint brushes and rollers in a plastic container, and everything else she needed to get the job done. the sweltering heat beat down on the both of you viciously, making sweat bead at ellie’s split brow, she shielded her eyes from the blaring sun with her hand. she looked even better with the sun shining on her, you felt your hand move towards your chest, toying with the necklace there, taking a sigh deeper than you meant to.

ellie noticed, watching your hand glide towards your chest, boobs rising and falling with your deep breath, you played with the pendent of your jewelry shyly, like you wanted to say something to her. but you were off before she could so much as mutter a word and so she was left to get started on her work.

in the meantime you occupied yourself in the kitchen making lemonade, it was peaceful, squeezing lemons and watching the world go by in your kitchen window, it also made for the perfect place to spy on ellie as she worked— an added perk.

you didn’t have to think about what you wanted to say to her yet, content with watching from afar. you looked at the way her wrist flicked with each movement of the paintbrush, the way she’d slightly bite into her bottom lip when concentrating, the way sweat highlighted her face perfectly and made brown strands of her hair cling to her forehead, it all made you swallow thickly, and hurry to finish the lemonade.

when it was done chilling in the fridge, you walked onto the balcony, the heavy door alerting ellie of your presence, she turned to face you from her crouching position, rasping out a, “hey, miss.”

miss, she started calling you that the moment she opened her mouth to speak to you and hasn’t let up since, not that you minded, it sounded nice rolling off her tongue— made a shiver roll down your spine.

“i made lemonade.” you beamed, she smiled back, her arms flexing when she moved to stand up straight. before taking the glass from you, she wiped the sweat off her forehead with the bottom of her top, exposing her defined abdomen to your eyes, you probably looked like a deer in headlights, a sly smirk formed on her face as she took the glass from your loose grip.

that was the night ellie asked you on a date, covered in paint and sweat— you obviously said yes.

to say your first date with ellie went well was an understatement, once you were back from dinner, and your front door was shut behind you, the two of you were on each other before you could even blink.

one of her hands tangled through your hair, effectively pulling you closer to her, while her other hand groped at your waist, her tongue was quick as the two of you started kissing, desperate and needy. you felt yourself moaning at the sensation, the feeling of her strong grip on you and her tongue on yours, it made your mind fuzzy.

you felt her hand go for the zipper of the cute dress you wore, unzipping it easily, she pulled back from the kiss, in favor of pulling at the straps of your dress, just enough to watch the way your tits slightly bounced at the motion. she took no time in immediately taking them into her hands, bringing her face down to suck tentatively on one, she hummed against you as you whimpered for her.

she softly pushes you up against the wall, mouth still on your tit, she takes the rest of your dress off, the only thing keeping you modest being your panties. ellie pulls herself from your chest with a lewd pop, getting you to step out of your dress completely, and pushing the fabric aside before getting to her knees in front of you, she glances at you through glazed eyes.

“you alright there, miss?” she’s smirking now, your cheeks feel hotter than before, and you feel yourself getting wetter.

“yeah,” your trying your best not to stutter, you don’t trust your voice the most right now, “it’s just, you look really hot.”

she laughs, it’s small, and now she’s pulling at the edges of your panties, they’re off your body quickly. two fingers are fast in circling your hole, drawing small moans from you, when she dips her fingers in, her other hand brings one of your legs to rest on her shoulder, and she traces your thigh with warm fingertips. your mind is muddled with thoughts of only ellie, and when you feel her warm mouth on you, her name is the only thing coming off your tongue.

she sighs against you, like this is the most relaxed she’s ever been, like she’s not currently got her face between your legs, and her tongue on your clit. your hand combed through her hair, bringing her pretty face closer to you, head buried between your thighs her tongue works in tandem with her fingers, both working fast on you.

your other hand found your tit, needing the soft flesh as ellie drew moans from you, softly you pulled at her brown locks, whining at her, wanting more of her. she gave in, tongue licking harder at you, slender fingers curling inside you, your thighs felt numb, fingers gripping her hair even tighter, you came whining her name like it was the only thing you knew. she took her fingers from you, messily sucking them clean, before getting up to her feet to kiss you, tongues touching you could taste yourself on her tongue, it makes you moan into her mouth, you could’ve stayed like that forever.

[peppymintdreams]

Mommy’s little helper

Elias and Tara

The kitchen was filled with the comforting scent of vanilla and sugar, a warm haven in the heart of the house. Flour dusted the countertops, a bag of chocolate chips stood ready, and mixing bowls clattered softly as Tara pulled out the final ingredients.

“Alright, Elias,” Tara said with a smile, tying a small apron around her son’s waist. The apron was far too big for him, the ends trailing on the floor, but he beamed with pride as if he were the head chef. “Ready to help Mommy make cookies?”

Four-year-old Elias, with his messy mop of dark hair and wide, curious eyes, nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Cookies!”

Tara laughed and kissed the top of his head. “Okay, first, we need to mix the butter and sugar. Can you help me scoop it in?”

Elias climbed onto a chair, standing on his tiptoes to peer over the counter. His tiny hands reached for the spoon Tara handed him, and with careful concentration, he scooped a spoonful of softened butter into the mixing bowl. It plopped in with a satisfying thud.

“Good job, sweetheart! Now the sugar.”

Elias grinned, proud of his accomplishment, and grabbed the sugar scoop. This time, however, his hands weren’t as steady. A little too much sugar spilled onto the counter, but Tara didn’t mind. She ruffled his hair and said, “That’s okay. The cookies will just be extra sweet.”

“Like me!” Elias chirped, giggling.

“Exactly like you,” Tara said, chuckling as she began to cream the butter and sugar together.

Elias leaned closer, fascinated by the whirring sound of the mixer. “What next, Mama?”

“We add the eggs,” Tara explained. She carefully cracked one egg into the bowl and handed the next one to Elias. “Here, you try.”

Elias held the egg with both hands, eyes wide with focus. He tapped it gently against the edge of the bowl—too gently at first—until Tara guided him. “A little harder, baby.”

Crack! The egg broke open, and some of it made it into the bowl... while the rest dripped onto his fingers.

“Oops!” Elias gasped, looking up at Tara with big, worried eyes.

“It’s okay, love,” Tara reassured him, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands. “You did great. And messy hands just mean we’re having fun.”

Elias nodded, reassured, and soon the egg was forgotten as they added flour, a pinch of salt, and finally, the chocolate chips.

“Can I stir?” Elias asked, already reaching for the wooden spoon.

“Of course.” Tara handed it over, watching as he mixed the dough with all the strength his little arms could muster.

The spoon was bigger than him, and stirring the thick dough was no easy task, but Elias was determined. His tongue stuck out slightly in concentration, and Tara couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“You’re doing amazing, Chef Elias,” she praised, kneeling beside him.

“Chef Elias!” he repeated proudly. “I’m gonna make the best cookies ever!”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Once the dough was ready, Tara helped Elias scoop it onto the baking sheet. His cookie blobs were uneven and lumpy, but he clapped his hands in delight.

“They’re perfect,” Tara said warmly.

Elias grinned. “Perfect cookies!”

As the cookies baked, filling the kitchen with their sweet aroma, Elias sat on the floor with a toy truck, occasionally glancing at the oven. “Are they done yet, Mama?”

“Almost,” Tara said, sitting beside him. “Good things take time.”

Elias leaned against her, his little head resting on her shoulder. “I like making cookies with you.”

Tara wrapped an arm around him, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair. “And I like making cookies with you, my little chef.”

When the timer finally dinged, Elias jumped up, excitement bubbling over. Tara carefully pulled the tray from the oven, and the golden-brown cookies looked as perfect as they smelled.

“Can we eat them now?” Elias asked, bouncing on his toes.

“Not just yet. They’re hot.”

Elias pouted but then had an idea. “Can I blow on them?”

Tara laughed softly. “Sure, but we’ll wait just a little bit, okay?”

After what felt like forever to a four-year-old, the cookies cooled enough to taste. Tara handed Elias the first one, still warm and gooey.

He took a big bite, his face lighting up with joy. “Mmm! The best cookies ever!”

Tara smiled, savoring the moment. “Yes, Chef Elias. The best cookies ever.”

[cherrythepuppet]

Puppets before Christmas [Part 3]

AU belongs to @cloudy-dreams [This is only going to have 5 chapters! Each is pretty long word wise ha ha]

"This has never happened before!" The clown Dog, Barnaby, said "It's suspicious!" A witch exclaimed "It's peculiar!" Another witch exclaimed "It's scary!" A vampire

"Stand aside!" Howdy yelled "Coming through! We've got find (Y/n)! There's only 365 days left till next Halloween!" Howdy announced "364!" someone in the crowd yelled

"Is there anywhere we've forgotten to check?" Howdy asked "I looked in every mausoleum!" Barnaby said"We opened the sarcophagi!"  "I tromped through the pumpkin patch!"

"I peeked behind the Cyclops's eye! I did! But They weren't there!" "It's time to sound the alarms!" Howdy yelled...."Frog's breath will overpower any odor" Wally mumbled as he poured the frog's breath into the pot but it smelled horrible and he began coughing

"Bitter!" He yelled while coughing "Worm's wart! Where's that worm's wart?!" He said as he searched the cabinets until he found the worms wort

"Wally, that soup ready yet?" Poppy asked "Coming!" Wally yelled as he poured the worms wort into the pot before getting a wooden spoon and bowl 

After a moment Wally walked upstairs to where Poppy was working "lunch" he said as he set the bowl in front of poppy "Ah, what's that? Worm's wart! mmm, and...frog's breath" Poppy muttered

 "What's wrong? I-I thought you liked frog's breath!" Wally replied "Nothing's more suspicious than frog's breath! Until you taste it I won't swallow a spoonful!" Poppy told him while she held the spoon out towards him

"I'm not hungry!" Wally lied as he knocked spoon onto the ground "Oops!" He mumbled before bending down to grab it "You want me to starve!? An old Woman like me who hardly has strength as it is. Me, to whom you owe your very life!" Poppy groaned 

Wally moved the wooden spoon to hide it under the table before he pulled out a trick spoon from his sock then he stood up "Oh don't be silly" Wally chuckled He ate the soup with trick spoon "Mmmm, see. Scrumptious!" He said, Poppy was still skeptical but she at Ate soup...

~

"Did anyone think to dredge the lake?" Howdy asked "this morning!" Barnaby yelled then everyone went quiet As they could hear the sounds of faint meowing Everyone then looked in the direction of the meowing "(Y/n)'s back!" someone exclaimed

"Where have you been?" Howdy asked"Call a town meeting and I'll tell everyone all about it!" (Y/n) told him "When?" Howdy asked "Immediately!" (Y/n) yelled"Town meeting, town meeting, town meeting tonight, town meeting tonight!" Howdy announced as he drove around in his truck...

~

"Listen everyone. I want to tell you about Christmastown!" (Y/n) told the town as Music began playing

"There are objects so peculiar They were not to be believed All around, things to tantalize my brain It's a world unlike anything I've ever seen And as hard as I try I can't seem to describe Like a most improbable dream But you must believe when I tell you this It's as real as my skull and it does exist Here, let me show you This is a thing called a present The whole thing starts with a box!" "A box? is it steel?" "Are there locks?" "Is it filled with a pox?"

"A pox How delightful, a pox!" "If you please Just a box with bright-colored paper And the whole thing's topped with a bow!" "bow? But why? How ugly What's in it? What's in it?" "That's the point of the thing, not to know!""It's a bat Will it bend?" "It's a rat! Will it break?" "Perhaps it s the head that I found in the lake!" "

Listen now, you don't understand That's not the point of Christmas land Now, pay attention We pick up an oversized sock And hang it like this on the wall!" "Oh, yes! Does it still have a foot?" "Let me see, let me look!" "Is it rotted and covered with gook?" "Um, let me explain There's no foot inside, but there's candy Or sometimes it's filled with small toys!"

"Small toys?" "Do they bite?" "Do they snap?" "Or explode in a sack?" "Or perhaps they just spring out And scare girls and boys!" "What a splendid idea This Christmas sounds fun I fully endorse it Let's try it at once!"

"Everyone, please now, not so fast There's something here that you don't quite grasp Well, I may as well give them what they want And the best, I must confess, I have saved for the last For the ruler of this Christmas land!"

"Is a fearsome Queen with a deep mighty voice Least that's what I've come to understand And I've also heard it told That She's something to behold Like a lobster, huge and red When She sets out to slay with her rain gear on Carting bulging sacks with her big great arms!"

"That is, so I've heard it said And on a dark, cold night Under full moonlight She flies into a fog Like a vulture in the sky And they call her! Sally Claws!" Everyone was cheering as (Y/n) walked off "Well, at least they're excited But they don't understand That special kind of feeling in Christmas land Oh, well..." They mumbled

"You've poisoned me for the last time you wretched Doll!" Poppy yelled before she locks Wally away and a loud dingdong"Oh my head...the door is open!" She said

"Hel-lo?" (Y/n) yelled "(Y/n) Skellington, up here my Friend!" Poppy exclaimed "Dr. I need to borrow some equipment!" (Y/n) told poppy "Is that so, whatever for?" Poppy asked

"I'm conducting a series of experiments" (Y/n) explained "How perfectly marvelous! Curiosity killed the cat, you know!" Poppy said with a small laugh But that made (Y/n) frown "I know" They grumbled

"Come on into the lab and we'll get you all fixed up!" Poppy added, Wally heard everything as he was leaning aginast the door "Hmm. Experiments?" He asked quietly"Otoo, I'm home!" (Y/n) yelled as they began to set up all their science equipment then began working

"Interesting reaction....but what does it mean?" (Y/n) groaned before they heard a knock? At the window?(Y/n) walked over to the window and saw a basket hitting it, they opened the window and looked down to see the blue haired Ragdoll

Wally smiled at (Y/n) making their skull turn a small shade of grey, (Y/n) waved at Wally before taking the basketThey looked down but Wally was gone...After Wally gives (Y/n) them the basket and sneaks off He picks a flower which turned into a Christmas tree then catches on fire

"Something's up with (Y/n) Something's up with (Y/n)! Don't know if we're ever going to get Them back! They're all alone up there Locked away inside Never says a word Hope They haven't died Something's up with (Y/n)! Something's up with (Y/n)!"

"Christmas time is buzzing in my skull Will it let me be? I cannot tell There's so many things I cannot grasp When I think I've got it, and then at last Through my bony fingers it does slip Like a snowflake in a fiery grip Something here I'm not quite getting Though I try, I keep forgetting Like a memory long since past Here in an instant, gone in a flash What does it mean? What does it mean?"

"In these little bric-a-brac A secret's waiting to be cracked These dolls and toys confuse me so Confound it all, I love it though Simple objects, nothing more But something's hidden through a door Though I do not have the key Something's there I cannot see What does it mean? What does it mean? What does it mean?"

"Hmm... I've read these Christmas books so many times I know the stories and I know the rhymes I know the Christmas carols all by heart My skull's so full, it's tearing me apart As often as I've read them, something's wrong So hard to put my bony finger on Or perhaps it's really not as deep As I've been led to think Am I trying much too hard? Of course!"

"I've been too close to see The answer's right in front of me Right in front of me It's simple really, very clear Like music drifting in the air Invisible, but everywhere Just because I cannot see it Doesn't mean I can't believe it You know, I think this Christmas thing It's not as tricky as it seems And why should they have all the fun?"

"It should belong to anyone Not anyone, in fact, but me Why, I could make a Christmas tree And there's no reason I can find I couldn't handle Christmas time I bet I could improve it too And that's exactly what I'll do Hee,hee,hee!" (Y/n) pushed open the windows "Eureka!! This year, Christmas will be ours!" they exclaimed as the town began to cheer but Wally looked worried...

~

"Patience, everyone! (Y/n) has a special Job for each of us! Dr. Poppy, your Xmas assignment is ready. Dr. Poppy to the front of the line!" Howdy announced "I knew it! Dr. thank you for coming! We need some of these!" (Y/n) said as they showed a picture of Santa and sleigh

"Hmm.. their construction should be exceedingly simple. I think" Poppy mumbled "How horrible our Xmas will be!" Howdy exclaimed"No--how jolly!" (Y/n) corrected making Howdy switch faces "Oh, how jolly our Xmas will be..." He said befire he gets pelted by rocks then sees the three trick or treaters

"What are you doing here?!" He asked"(Y/n) sent for us!" Julie grinned "Specifically!" Frank said "By name!" Eddie added "(Y/n)! (Y/n) it's Home's Henchpeople!" Howdy yelled

"Ah, Halloween's finest trick or treaters. The job I have for you is top secret. It requires craft, cunning, mischief!" (Y/n) told the three"And we thought you didn't like us, (Y/n)!" Eddie said with a laugh "Absolutely no one is to know about it. Not a soul. Now!" (Y/n) replied

(Y/n) whispered the plan to them before speaking louder nkw "And one more thing -- leave that no account Home out of this!" They demanded "Whatever you say, (Y/n)!" "Of course (Y/n)!" "Wouldn't dream of it (Y/n)!"all said with their fingers crossed before they ran out of the town and to a small little tree house

"Kidnap Mrs Sally Claws!" "I wanna do it!" "Let's draw straws!" "(Y/n) said we should work together!" "Three of a kind!" "Birds of a feather!" "Now and forever Wheeee La, la, la, la, la Kidnap the Sally Claws, lock her up real tight Throw away the key and then Turn off all the lights!"

"First, we're going to set some bait Inside a nasty trap and wait When She comes a-sniffing we will Snap the trap and close the gate!" "Wait! I've got a better plan To catch this big red lobster Star! Let's pop her in a boiling pot And when She's done we'll butter her up!"

"Kidnap the Sally Claws Throw her in a box Bury her for ninety years Then see if She talks!" "Then Mr. Home Can take the whole thing over then He'll be so pleased, I do declare That he will cook her rare!" "I say that we take a cannon Aim it at her door And then knock three times And when She answers Sally Claws will be no more!"

"You're so stupid, think now lf we blow her up to smithereens We may lose some pieces And then (Y/n) will beat us black and green!" "Kidnap the Sally Claws! Tie her in a bag Throw her in the ocean Then, see if She is sad!" "Because Mr. Home is the meanest guy around If I were on his list, I'd get out of town!"

"He'll be so pleased by our success That he'll reward us too, I'll bet!" "Perhaps he'll make his special brew Of snake and spider stew Ummm! We're his little henchmen and We take our job with pride We do our best to please him And stay on his good side!"

"I wish my cohorts weren't so dumb!" "I'm not the dumb one!" "You're no fun!" "Shut up!" "Make me!""I've got something, listen now This one is real good, you'll see We'll send a present to her door Upon there'll be a note to read Now, in the box we'll wait and hide Until her curiosity entices her to look inside!" "And then we'll have her One, two, three!"

"Kidnap the Sally Claws, beat her with a stick Lock her up for ninety years, see what makes her tick Kidnap the Sally Claws, chop him into bits Mr. Home is sure to get his kicks! Kidnap the Sally Claws, see what we will see Lock her in a cage and then, throw away the key!"

"Sally Claws..hahaha!" Home exclaimed.....

[ficnation]

Chapter 3: The Desire She Stirs

Series: “She”

Word count: 2,0k+

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Female! Reader

 Warnings: 18+; mayans mc typical warnings, a tiny sprinkle of smut if you squint hard enough

A/n: Everything needs to fall apart before it can grow stronger. Angel starts to feel things he’s not comfortable with.

If you enjoyed reading this please reblog and let me know your thoughts!

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Mayans MC Masterlist

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Angel Reyes used to think he knew you like the back of his hand. He always thought you were a good friend that didn’t hide stuff from him—that didn’t lie or pretend. Boy, was he wrong.

He first starts to doubt it when you come back home long past midnight with your hair messy and your clothes ruffled, the red lipstick smudged over your mouth and cheek. You aggressively throw your boots into the corner, then press your forehead against the cold wall with a loud, strained groan.

Angel hears how heavy your breaths are and sees the way you flinch when the wooden floor underneath his feet creaks. He calls your name as he walks over, concerned.

“You doin’ alright there?” His voice carries the worry he feels. The question is a soft whisper as it enters your ears.

You take a deep breath, your whole body trembling as you try to force the pent-up rage and tension out of your muscles. When you turn around to face him, you can only shrug pathetically, biting on your lower lip so you don’t burst into tears in front of him.

He reaches your person with knitted brows, taking your face between his large, warm hands. “What happened, querida?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” you refuse, trying to avoid his gaze, but it’s not that easy—his face is barely inches from yours. You can even feel his minty breath brushing over your cheeks. “Tomorrow?”

Angel thinks for a moment but doesn’t push; he knows it wouldn’t be fair if he did. He might be living with you; he might even be sleeping in the same bed from time to time when your nightmares make you cry out at night—but he still has no right to get all up in your business.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” he offers, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. You respond with a nod, arms circling his waist as you give him an appreciative squeeze.

He lets you go reluctantly before walking away toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. You let out a deep sigh as you press your fingers to your temples, almost as if to calm down your racing mind. You give yourself a moment, then shrug off your leather jacket and hang it over the back of the couch before you follow in Angel’s steps.

As you walk into the bathroom, the inviting and soothing smell of vanilla soap and bath salts fills your senses. The air is humid and the lighting low, creating a relaxing and peaceful environment. The sound of the running bathwater floods the air with its calming sound.

The room is uncluttered for once, and you realize Angel must’ve picked up all of Maverick’s bath toys in the few minutes you spared him. The image of him scrambling around the room as he tries to quickly pick up every single one of the colorful trucks, boats, and squeaking ducks brings a smile to your face.

You approach the steaming bath, its warmth inviting. You manage to shed your blouse and wiggle out of your tight jeans before Angel returns with a bottle of white wine and two whiskey glasses—you never got around to buying the stemmed ones.

The man stares at your half-naked figure as you straighten up and step out of the pile of clothing gracefully. His eyes follow your every move, every curve of your body, every mark that decorates your skin. He feels entranced as he tries to will his gaze away, but he simply can’t, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

What’s even worse, you don’t seem to notice his presence as you unclasp your bra and slide down the matching lace panties. You step into the warm embrace of the bath, the comfort welcoming after a long, tiring day. You settle in with a deep sigh of relief.

Angel can feel the heat enveloping his body, lulling him into slipping into the bath with you. Then suddenly, you notice him in your peripheral vision, and you jump in surprise—the water moving with you. He feels like a fucking pervert.

“Fuck, sorry,” he mumbles out, turning around quickly as if it was going to save him from being caught in the act.

He can’t see you shaking your head, but he definitely hears the snort that follows it. The bottle of wine almost slips from his hand onto the blue tiles below; he grips it a little bit tighter by its neck.

“No worries,” you respond shortly as you fold your arms on the side of the tub, resting your chin in the nook of your elbow. “Are you joining me, or you’re just gonna stand there like a donkey?”

Your words fall on deaf ears as Angel stares into the distance with wide eyes. He’s sure his dirty mind is just playing with him. There was no way those words came out of your pretty lips. He spins to face you, and you meet his gaze, eyes shimmering with playfulness. Are you teasing him? Or are you just amused by his reaction to the question? He has no fucking idea which one it is, and it scares him.

You sigh deeply and decide to spare him the overthinking, “C’mon, hop in.”

“Me?” the man asks, pointing one of his fingers at his chest. He looks around the room as if someone else could’ve hidden in there, but he doesn’t see anyone. It’s only you and him. 

You roll your eyes in disbelief, leaning back and slipping further into the sudsy water. “Well, do you see anyone else here?”

Angel reluctantly sets down the glasses and the bottle of wine on the carpet beside the bathtub. He steps back and searches your face for an explanation. Maybe you’ve been drunk out of your mind since you came home, and he didn’t even notice. The smudged mascara on the apples of your cheeks reminds him that you had a bad night—a shitty night. He’s afraid you’re playing his game and looking for comfort in the wrong places.

“Querida, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Not in a sexual way, you ass,” you explain when your mind catches up to his suspicions. “I just want you to enjoy it with me. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

After the words leave your lips, you don’t have to wait much longer. Angel understands that feeling—the despairing need for the closeness of another human being. He grabs the hem of his t-shirt and inches it up slowly, giving you time to chicken out and retract the offer, but you don’t.

Your eyes gaze at the revealed skin and the happy trail of dark curls. You feel your cheeks getting warmer, so you look away—the white tiled walls are suddenly the most interesting thing in your world.

Angel slides his shirt over his head and lets it fall to the floor as he pushes the sweatpants down his legs. He stands there in all his naked glory and watches as you toy with your fingers awkwardly. He feels like he will chicken out if he stands there for a minute longer, so he slips into the bath and sits on the opposite side of you. The bathtub is big enough for you two to fit without feeling overly cramped.

You meet his eyes with a shy smile. “Hi, Angel.”

He shakes his head, amused, as he playfully splashes the suds at your face. You giggle quietly—a genuine sound—and he already knows he’s made your night a tiny bit better. He’s surprised this is all it took to calm you down—his company, wine, and a bubble bath.

You lean over the edge of the tub and pour the wine into the whiskey glasses, handing him one as you slump down with a relaxed hum, your leg grazing his underwater. It stirs something inside him, and he can’t help but shiver at the contact of your skin against his. He gulps down a generous mouthful of the alcoholic liquid, begging his body not to betray him.

Almost as if reading his mind, your eyes meet his, and you observe him intently, tapping your nails on the glass between your hands. “You seem nervous,” you state the obvious.

Angel blinks fast and sends you an awkward smile, shrugging his arms. He doesn’t know why he feels so restless and horny at the mere sight of your naked flesh and proximity. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you without clothes before—he did. You’ve been living together for a while—he’s seen it all, but it never made him feel this way.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, querida,” he lies anyway, trying to slide back, so he can put a little more distance between your bodies. The faucet jabs him in the spine, and the man hisses loudly, back arching.

“Shit, Angel, are you okay?!”

You’re now kneeling in the bath, right between his spread legs, as your hands hover over his arms, ready to check over the injury.

You’re too close. You’re far too close. Angel starts panicking; his heart thumps in his chest as your concerned eyes meet his. He’s trying not to look down at your revealed chest, but it’s hard not to. He can feel the warmth spreading through his body as he imagines how it would feel like to let those temptations win—to hear your sweet moans as he pounds you into the mattress. Fuuuuck.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, pushing your hands away gently. His eyes are looking anywhere but at you.

You look at him, utterly confused, as you slide back a little bit away from him. “Are you—”

“I said turn the fuck around!” he sneers loudly, cutting you off, a deep frown etched on his face.

You quickly do what he says, a shiver running down your spine. You have no idea if his sudden outburst is your fault. What did you do wrong? You’ve kept your distance as much as you could—as much as the calling of his muscled body and his charming smile allowed you to. But somehow, you still fucked it all up. That’s what you were best at. Fucking things up for everyone, including yourself.

The sound of splashing and dripping fills the air as Angel steps out of the tub. The bathwater ripples slightly, its bubbly surface glistening in the light. With his movement, some water spills over the edge and splashes out onto the cold tiles.

You sit still, your knees tucked to your body, chin propped up on them as tears well up in your eyes. The sound of trickling water and dripping onto the floor continues, making each of his steps seem slower—spiking up the tension in the air. You hear the rustling of his clothes as he picks them all up and leaves the room, still drenched and naked. He doesn’t bother saying anything else, but his harsh words still echo in your head.

You burst into sobs—let them wreck through your whole body, shaking with their intensity. You didn’t mean to upset him. You just needed someone else’s touch on you, someone else’s presence beside you, to forget the hands that grasped the fabric of your clothes—the hands that grabbed at your flesh harshly, leaving bruises in their wake. God, you just wanted to forget this night.

When you finally manage to step out of the bathtub, the water is cold—it’s been like that for a while already, but you didn’t even notice, too far gone in your thoughts. You put on the first clean clothes you can get your hands on, then fall back on your bed—the mattress creaking slightly.

That night when you thrash around and scream in your nightmares, you don’t wake up to the feel of Angel’s strong arms pulling you into his warm embrace. You wake up to the empty room and the eerie silence swallowing you in. The feeling of safety is gone.

Taglist: @neverland14353 @darklydeliciousdesires​