#and more importantly. her yard

[cordspaghetti]

couple weeks ago…

[yardiganbear]

tinakitten: I was cold only half the time 🧸

[certifiedgoofball]

73 yards was definitely a very "what the fuck" episode but it is also undeniably a masterpiece. like, i genuinely cant put in words how good it was. and i knew it was supposed to be scary beforehand but nothing could've prepared me for what the episode actually contained. because when you get past the horror aspect of it you notice how well-shot the scenes were, how strange the whole thing was, and how gut-wrenching the ending was. the people in the pub messing with ruby, getting her scared out of her mind. ruby setting a chair up outside of the tardis to wait for the doctor. her being shunned by her mother. finding kate, thinking that she could finally be free of the woman, just to see the moment kate turns on her, too. ruby on her deathbed, saying shes been abandoned by everyone but never alone for 65 years, saying she could make it snow when she was younger, and finally her expression of joy as the woman creeps closer and closer to her. so yeah, it was definitely a "what the fuck" episode, but more importantly an "oh my god" episode

[adverbally]

This Must Be the Place

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘I didn’t know where else to go’” | wc: 2,262 | rated: T | cw: minor injuries, abuse | tags: steve’s shitbag dad, found family, wayne as a surrogate parental figure, steve is a munson now dammit, previous breakup, getting back together | title from “This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)” by Talking Heads

———

Steve sits in his car in front of the Munson house. He had helped them move in, just last year. He remembers dropping a box of Eddie’s books on his foot in the front yard and thinking he had broken a toe or two. Bringing the couch inside, with him and Wayne holding the ends and Eddie shouting unhelpful instructions from the doorway. Unpacking pots and pans in the kitchen while Eddie dozed on the sofa, still not fully recovered from his injuries. Kissing Eddie awake so they could sleep together in an actual bed.

It makes Steve’s eyes burn all over again. He scrubs at his face without thinking, then winces at the pressure on his bruised cheekbone and the sting of saltwater meeting the broken skin.

This was stupid. Why didn’t he just go to Robin’s? Her parents are nice enough. They would probably let him stay over for a few days, at least until his parents leave town again. But then Steve thinks about having to explain why he’s so beat up and why his dad was so mad, and it’s just too much for him to handle tonight.

Here, he won’t have to explain. It might be awkward, but he and Eddie have remained friendly even if they’ve been broken up for close to three months. Hopefully they’re friendly enough that Eddie will let Steve crash on his couch.

Steve gets out of the car before he can lose his nerve and forces himself to walk up the drive. It’s a pretty nice house, actually, not far from Dustin’s. Lush green lawn, solid red brick, shrubs beneath the ground floor windows. More importantly, the porch light is on.

He knocks on the door. There’s no answer. Great.

He wraps his arms around himself, trying to warm up. There hadn’t been enough time to grab a jacket, barely enough time to grab his keys and stuff his feet into the half-unlaced sneakers by the door, so he’s wearing ratty sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt from his basketball days in below-freezing temperatures. He doesn’t even have socks on.

“Shit,” he sighs to himself. Maybe he’ll try Dustin next, since he’s in the neighborhood. He feels a little sick at the thought of Claudia Henderson fussing over him with the full power of her maternal concern, but it’s still better than trying to sleep in his car. Resigned to his fate, Steve is just turning to leave when the door opens.

It’s Wayne.

Somehow that’s worse than having to see Eddie like this. One year ago, Steve and Wayne were watching football and changing the oil in Eddie’s van and cooking together. Steve spent more time here than he did at his own house, and Wayne became more of a father to him than his dad had ever been. Then Steve had screwed that up, just like he screws everything up.

“Eddie isn’t home yet,” Wayne says, not unkindly. The rumble of his voice twists something in Steve’s chest. “Band practice.��

“I’m not really here for him, I guess, I just… I didn’t know where else to go.” He hopes Wayne will attribute the tremble in his voice to the way he’s shivering rather than the lump in his throat.

Wayne’s face softens and he pushes the door open wider, gesturing for Steve to come in. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

That’s it. The immediate relief and crashing adrenaline are more than Steve can handle, and he starts bawling right there on the Munsons’ doorstep. His jaw works, trying to form the words to say ‘sorry’ or ‘thank you’ or anything at all, but he’s sobbing too hard to speak, hunched over with the force of it.

“C’mere, son, before you freeze to death.” Wayne shepherds him inside with an arm around his trembling shoulders, shutting the door behind them before pulling Steve into a hug.

Steve doesn’t know how long they stand there, but it feels like forever. He knows Wayne isn’t a very tactile person, which makes him cry even more when Wayne doesn’t push him away, just lets him cry into his faded flannel shirt and talks to him softly.

“You’re safe here. It’s okay. You stay here as long as you need to, we’ll take care of you.”

When Steve manages to calm his sobs into hiccuping breaths, Wayne pats him on the back and lets him make the first move to pull away. He does, sniffling and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to counter the pressure in his sinuses. Crying always gives him a headache, and he expects it to be worse considering how hard his dad hit him.

“Sorry,” he rasps as Wayne hands him a tissue. “I didn’t–”

“Nope, none of that,” Wayne cuts him off, leading him through the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. “Nothin’ wrong with a good cry every once in a while, and you look like you earned that one.” He gestures at the closed toilet seat. “Here, let me patch you up.”

Steve tries to protest, but Wayne silences him with a sideways glance as he rummages in the medicine cabinet. “Thank you,” he says instead. The bright light in here makes him feel like a bug under a microscope, potential migraine trigger aside, so he looks down at the floor to reduce the glare.

Wayne starts with a warm washcloth, gently wiping the tear tracks and blood from his face. He stands between Steve and the light so it doesn’t shine in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Wayne tells him, never looking away from his work, “but I’m worried about you, Steve.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Steve shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Wayne’s expression. “I’ve had worse.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you broke my kid’s heart?” He sits the washcloth aside and unwraps an alcohol wipe. “Not to mention your own.”

Of course it does. Steve can handle his dad’s temper, but Eddie shouldn’t have to. Ending their relationship was a small price to pay to keep Eddie safe. If their breakup just so happened to coincide with the last time Steve’s parents were in town…

“Ow, shit,” Steve hisses as Wayne swipes over the cut.

With a gentle grip on his chin, Wayne tilts Steve’s head side to side for a better look at the wound. “Don’t think it needs stitches.”

“That’s something, I guess,” Steve says dully, trying not to flinch when Wayne sticks a Band-Aid over it, putting pressure on the surrounding bruise.

“Sorry.” Wayne looks him over with a careful eye. “Anythin’ else hurt? Your head?”

There’s a difference between what hurts and what Wayne will be able to do something about. “Not really. Just sore. Cold.”

Wayne nods slowly, staring at him like he’s trying to gauge his honesty. “Well then, why don’t I get you set up on the couch with some blankets so you can warm up?”

It’s a little pathetic how much better Steve feels, curled up on the Munsons’ old couch, cocooned in a thick blanket wearing a pair of Wayne’s old pajama pants and a worn Anthrax tee borrowed from Eddie’s closet. It smells like home, like Eddie and Wayne, cigarette smoke and stale beer and Irish Spring. Steve feels himself relaxing for the first time in days, no longer having to worry about his dad’s reactions to every little thing he does.

“You need anythin’ else, just ask, alright?” Wayne tells him softly on his way to bed.

“Thanks, Wayne,” Steve murmurs back.

He floats between wakefulness and sleep for a long time, thinking too hard to fully drift off. He doesn’t know what time it is when he hears Eddie’s key in the door.

“Hey, why is Steve’s car here?” he calls without looking, too busy juggling his guitar case and an amplifier while trying not to trip over the cables draped over his shoulders.

“Steve is here, too,” Steve answers, hoping he’s not loud enough to disturb Wayne.

Eddie turns toward him and his face falls. “Jesus, Steve,” he exclaims, sitting down his gear as fast as he can without dropping it. It ends up in a heap near the front door while Eddie focuses on getting to Steve. He kneels next to the couch to get a better look at Steve’s face in the dim light. “What happened?”

Eddie reaches out to trace the very edge of the bruise across his cheek. He barely makes any contact but the gesture is so tender and loving that tears spring to Steve’s eyes.

“Shit, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Eddie frets.

“No, I…” He huffs out a pained laugh. “I’m so sick of crying. And I’m sick of missing you. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let you go like that—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie hushes him and tucks his greasy, limp hair behind his ear. “We don’t have to hash it out right now.”

Steve shakes his head. “Let me tell you I’m sorry, at least. Please?” His voice cracks. “‘Cause I am, I’m so, so sorry. I was scared and I wanted you to be safe.”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, I forgive you. I forgave you ages ago.” Eddie looks down and fiddles with one of his rings. “Like, when it happened. Dustin told me your parents were in town and I just knew that was why you ended things.”

“You see why I was worried?” Steve gestures at his own face for emphasis. “Not that it matters anymore. I guess Dad finally had enough. He said not to come back, that he was embarrassed to have me as a son.” He scoffs. “Like he even knows what it’s like to be a dad that’s more than just a sperm donor.”

Eddie’s face is dark with anger. “That’s his loss. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

“Is he, though?” Steve looks away as more tears overflow. “Missing out?”

“Yes,” Eddie says immediately, lowering his voice but leaning closer. “Anyone who has the chance to know Steve Harrington and throws it away– they can’t even imagine how much better their life could be with you in it. They don’t know how much protectiveness and compassion and worry and, and love they could have!”

Steve chuckles a little ruefully. “I guess that leaves more for you.”

“You’re damn right it does. Their loss is my gain.” His smile is fond, and he looks so beautiful in the lamplight with those deep, dark eyes and his nose still a little pink from the cold.

“I–” Steve clears his throat and tries again. “I love you. Still. Never stopped.”

Eddie laughs. It makes Steve’s heart sink, which Eddie must notice because he rushes to clarify, “No, I mean, I was trying to resist the urge to Han you. Um, like in Empire, how he’s like, ‘I know.’”

“It would be my honor to be Hanned by you.” Steve feels the smile bloom on his face, wide and genuine. It’s nice, even if it pulls at the edge of his bruise. “I would even infiltrate Jabba’s palace disguised as a bounty hunter to free you from your carbonite prison.”

“You’re hot when you’re nerdy.”

“I think you’re biased.”

“Come to bed with me.”

That stops Steve short. “Ed, I–”

“Just to sleep!” he clarifies. “Just, I don’t know, I hate the idea of you out here alone on the couch when you could be more comfortable in my room. The benefits of a government-funded mattress.” Eddie’s attempt at a joke falls flat when everything he says is so earnest. “I think we would both sleep better.”

He wants to, really wants to, and Eddie’s logic is surprisingly sound, but something within Steve is holding him back. It’s gotta be fear, it always is. Fear had forced Steve away from people he loves, kept him under his father’s thumb, made him give up when he should have tried harder. He doesn’t want to live like that anymore, not when Eddie is here on his knees, looking at Steve like he’s some awe-inspiring work of art, begging to take care of him.

“Okay.” Steve’s nod is small but his voice is steady. “Yeah, let’s go to bed.”

Eddie helps unwrap him from his blanket cocoon, steadying him when his foot catches in the hem of his borrowed pajama pants, and holds his hand to guide Steve down the hall to his bedroom. Steve watches him from under the covers as he throws his jacket over the back of his desk chair and strips down to his boxers. Eddie is beautiful, almost luminous in the dark, and familiar in a way that makes Steve ache. He missed him, so damn much, and he hopes he never has to miss him again.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you creeping on me,” Eddie teases as he slips into bed, immediately scooting close to Steve and pulling him into his arms.

Steve grumbles, “I was admiring, not creeping.” And he’s admiring again, letting his hand trace across Eddie’s chest, down his lean torso. His scars are more faded than Steve remembers them being.

“I love you,” Eddie whispers.

“‘I know,’” Steve replies in his best Harrison Ford voice, which just sounds ridiculous.

They both start laughing, even as Eddie says, “You asshole!” and squeezes him as punishment.

With Eddie warm and solid next to him, giggling in his ear, Steve thinks he might actually be okay.

[vivwritesfics]

Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Two - Milo's Momma

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

1.6K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

Series Masterlist

Olivia Ricciardo had hoped her father would be home in time to take her to daycare. But her grandparents comforted her as they drove her. With that attitude every five year old had, Olivia climbed out of the car and walked into daycare, without talking to anybody.

The first person she spoke to that day was Milo. She was clearly in a bad mood, but he gave it time, waited for her to cheer up. Maybe she was tired; Milo knew he was always grumpy when he was tired.

But Olivia wasn’t getting any happier. So, Milo got up from the floor and went to talk to the teacher.

As she watched him walk away, Olivia looked ready to cry again. Her bestest friend (of a whole week) walked away, leaving her on her own. Olivia shed a single tear, but the other children were watching, so she sucked it up.

But then Milo returned, dinosaur teddy bear in hands. He clutched it tight as he walked back over to Olivia and sat on the floor beside her. "This is Rexy," he said as Olivia hesitantly reached for it. "He's my favourite teddy in the whole wide world but you're sad so you can have him for today, but only for today okay?" He said quickly as Olivia squeezed the plush toy.

"Thank you," she said quietly and squeezed Rexy tighter.

Olivia didn't let go of the bear for the rest of the day. As she and Milo played with toys of chased each other around the yard, she always had Rexy.

That was exactly why Milo brought Rexy to daycare. Because, when he was having a tough day, nothing made him happier than having Rexy there.

At the end of the day Olivia handed Rexy back. Milo packed him into his bag and, together, the children walked out of daycare, heading to where the parents gathered. Olivia had no hopes of her daddy being there, waiting to pick her up and drive her home.

She still scanned the faces of all of the parents, and didn't see her own. "C'mon," said Milo, taking Olivia’s hand and pulling her towards his mummy, who was waiting by the gate.

As he walked over, his mother crouched down, pulling her into her arms. "And who have we got here, munchkin?" She asked him, taking his dinosaur backpack and swinging it over her shoulder.

"Momma, this is Olivia," Milo said.

Immediately Y/N noticed the tears in her eyes. "Hello, Olivia," Y/N said in a kind voice. "Milo has told me all about you," she said, trying to give the girl a reassuring smile.

Olivia levelled her a look. "Did Milo tell you about my famous race car driver daddy?"

"He did," Y/N replied, trying to stifle the small laugh she had at the little girls determination. "Well, if he or you mummy anywhere around here?" Y/N asked as she held Milo's hand in her own.

Crossing her arms, Olivia looked around the car park for her grandparents. Or their car. But it wasn't there. They weren't there. For the millionth time that day, Olivia wanted to cry.

But then she saw the 2006 Toyota Hilux.

And there he was, striding towards her in am AlphaTauri hat and sunglasses. "DADDY!" Olivia screamed at the top of her lungs and went running towards the man. He wasted no time in scooping her up and planting a kiss on her cheek.

"Hey, badger," he said, walking her towards where she had come from to thank the parent that was keeping an eye on his little girl.

Daniel walked over to a young woman, who looked as tired as he felt, holding the hand of a little boy. "That's Milo, daddy," she said into his ear as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

But she was walking away. "C'mon Milo," she said and tried to pull the five year old away.

Milo pulled away from his mother. "But Momma! That Olivia’s race car dad!" He insisted.

Trying to hide a sigh, Y/N picked Milo up and placed him on her hip. Milo had been wanting to invite Olivia over for a playdate for the last week, but had insisted his Momma wait until Olivia’s grandparents or dad were back, instead of her mum.

And now that Olivia’s dad was here, Milo was gonna get that playdate.

"Are you Olivia’s dad?" Y/N guessed as she approached.

Wearing his typically charming smile, Daniel held Olivia with one hand and held the other out towards Milo's mother (who couldn't do the same with her son in his arms). "Yeah I'm Olivia’s dad, Daniel."

"I'm Milo's mum," said Y/N as she nodded towards him. "Milo would like to know if Olivia would like to come to our house for a playdate," she offered.

Daniel let his smile falter. He loved that Olivia had made a friend, that somebody wanted to invite her for a playdate, but there was always doubt at the back of his mind. What if they were using her to get to him? It was incredibly sad that he had to think like that, but, with the life he had, he had to think like that.

“Can I, daddy?” Asked Olivia as she grinned. “Pleeeeaaaase!”

Daniel looked back at Milo’s mother. She was pretty, and she looked honest. But you couldn't tell what somebody was all about just from their face. "Do you mind if I come with her?" He asked. Milo might be been Olivia's friend, but his mum was still a stranger, and Daniel just wanted to make sure his badger was safe.

"Of course," said Milo's mother. "Say, this Friday after daycare?" She asked.

It wasn't a race weekend, so Daniel nodded his head. "Great," she said, adjusting Milo in her arms. "I'm Y/N, by the way," she finished.

The two said a quick goodbye, with the kids waving enthusiastically to each other as they went. Even as Milo got into his booster seat in the back of Y/N's Peugeot. Y/N offered Daniel one last smile as she put Milo's bag in the back and climbed into the driver's seat.

Daniel watched as Y/N pulled out of the daycare car park and made his own way out, driving Olivia home. "Are you excited for your playdate with Milo, Badger?" He asked as he looked into the rear view mirror.

Olivia was bouncing in her seat, cheeks red from smiling. "Yeah!" She shouted. But, mostly, Olivia was just happy to have her father home.

***

It was a Wednesday when Y/N met Daniel. The playdate was scheduled for two days time, so she immediately set about cleaning when she walked through the door.

If it was just Olivia coming for the playdate, she wouldn't have been cleaning so obsessively. Still cleaning, just not this obsessively. But, now that Daniel was coming too, sue wanted the house to be perfect.

With a house the size of theirs, it didn't take long to clean. She had Milo cleaning up his toys in the living room while she dusted the surfaces downstairs. "But Momma," Milo protested as he picked up a tray of lego. "'Livia and I are just gonna get my toys out again."

"Please, Munchkin," she said as she crouched down to gather up more of his toys. "I want Olivia and her daddy to see how nice our house is." She opened her arms and Milo collapsed into them, quietly muttering an 'okay momma'.

Y/N cleaned the entire house from top to bottom. She cleaned the two rooms that made up the downstairs and the bedrooms upstairs. She put Milo's shoes away in the cupboard and made sure the kitchen was clean, wiped the muddy cat paw prints from the wood of the stairs.

While Milo watched television, she cleaned his room, making sure it was perfect for when Daniel and Olivia came over.

"Momma, Olivias dad is gonna like our house," he said as she straightened up the rug in the living room. "Olivia said he's really nice."

"I'm sure he is, Munchkin. Momma just wants the house to be nice and clean, okay?"

"Okay Momma," Milo answered and went back to watching the television.

Taglist (OPEN): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @cassie0sstuff @spideybv28 @andydrysdalerogers @aundercover @lou-bean28 @landossainz @purplephantomwolf @ggaslyp1@layazul @phantomxoxo @minkyungseokie @gills-lounge @hollie911 @annispamz @lillians-world-is-f1 @cixrosie @notyouraveragemochii @charli123456789 @amalialeclerc @stay1strongbeautiful @tallrock35 @teenwolf01 @chiliwhore @darleneslane @sava207 @thatsusbitch @formulaal

[bahrtofane]

you drag jude to take a nap with you in his backyard. he likes it more than he can admit. 

word count : 700+

watch it : pure fluff, mildly cranky whining jude, still loves you any way 

enjoy <33

—--

"still think this is a good idea ?" jude sighs, closing the back door with his foot and dragging the blankets behind him. 

when you said you wanted to relax and enjoy the sun he was thinking of the pool, maybe even a quick flight to the nearest nice beach. going to a park, hell even just tan. nowhere in his mind did he think you wanted to sunbathe and take naps in his backyard. yet here the both of you are. bellies full from lunch (thank you to his mother for the lovely meal), warm from the sun. not half bad actually. he just likes being dramatic.

he's far too shy to say it outloud, contrary to popular belief, but any time spent with you is good time. no matter what you're doing. if you wanted to sunbathe on the moon hes pretty sure he'd follow. 

"yes i do thank you. it's a lovely day." you beam, smoothing out the blankets and rearranging the pillows just how you like. throwing your phone somewhere near the far corner. you are going to nap dammit. no distractions allowed ( jude not included ). 

he huffs, "why the backyard, there are plenty of parks," squinting up at the sun the breaks between the tall trees that span the yard. 

you shrug, "it's more intimate this way. i don’t want to get all dressed up and deal with people, and i know how tired you get from having to interact with the public. now sit," you pat the space next to you on the blanket. nice and neat against the grass. 

he supposes that it is much more intimate. it's a welcome change from your usual outings. always with security and his agent. here he can be jude, and you are free to be you in every capacity. under the shade, you each blossom and bloom under the suns warm touch. each leaning on eachother. 

he finds it endearing how you thought of him, remembering his likes and dislikes. you really are something. 

but you don't need to know that just yet. he finds complaining rather fun. 

"ants are going to have a field day." jude grumbles, sitting himself cross legged next to you.

you shrug, "they don’t do much honestly. we don’t even have food out anyway."

he hums, "i guess so."

you hunker down belly flat on the soft blanket, stretching your limbs out with a yawn, "well im going to nap." you sigh softly, grabbing a pillow and burying your face into its side.

jude looks at you aghast,"no no no. you drag me out here and then you bail to nap ? absolutely not."

"i need my sun nap time or i die. like a plant." you retort, eyes closed. 

"i need my time with you or i die. like a jude." he shoots back, arms failing as he whines.

you crack an eye open to glare at him, "just try it, "arms open and inviting him next to you. 

he eventually gives in, rolling his eyes playfully as he slides right into your arms. face pressed into the same pillow, he lets you get comfortable against him. sliding your arms to bring him closer, wrapping a leg around his. 

"see? not so bad you big baby." you mumble into his skin, pressing a few kisses into his skin.

"guess not." he mumbles, warm and content in your embrace. 

you're out light a light not even a minute later, softly grasping his arms and face buried into him as you doze off in the sun. just like you wanted. 

there's much worse things he could be doing right now he realizes. a slew of illegal activities, hundreds of bad food to chow down on and make his nutritionist hate her life. the amout of shit he gets from his teamates on his habbits is enough to last a life time. they really should be jumping for joy. 

but more importantly, he could jump for joy. happy and warm, pressed close to his lovers side. cuddling with you on soft blankets in the sun on a warm day is the best option. safe and sound in your arms jude soon finds himself drifting away. he hopes he dreams of you. 

[updownlately]

if you’re gonna waste my time (let’s waste it right)

| leah williamson x reader | hurt/comfort | 3.3k | disclaimer: mentions of anxiety, self loathing, negative thoughts, and depression -this delves into some slightly heavy topics so please read at your own discretion! | a/n: got this ask a while back and an idea struck to me while driving! first fic in a while that i've written in one sitting so let's see how this goes! honestly started off really strong but then idk where we went. anyways, not proofread as usual, but happy reading! take care amigos! and just know that each of you are loved, cared for, and cherished by those around you, even if you don't know it! 🫶

~~~

Fight, flight, or freeze.

They say that every human has these three survival instincts built in.

Instincts meant to protect, to escape, but most importantly, to survive. 

Responses meant to make sure that one would make it out of harm’s way, preferably unscathed. 

Fight, the mechanism that evoked adrenaline. That helped you battle your way through the toughest of encounters. 

That did its best to make sure you were well equipped to tackle any scuffle, minor or major, to the best of your ability.

Flight, the mechanism that helped you run- escape before you couldn’t anymore. 

The one that ensured that you got out before you could be attacked- before you could be hurt.

And then of course, freeze. 

Rooted to your spot, immobile as harm directed itself towards you, one only praying that you could be so still that harm skipped right past you, practically avoiding you as you let it pass. 

Freeze, that left you with a pounding heart, blood rushing in your ears.

Freeze that meant you couldn’t move, body rigid, feet planted, mind stopped in time.

Freeze that kept you stuck. stuck in an endless loop of agony, of shaky breaths, of paralyzing fear.

Freeze, considered the weakest of the three. 

So as you stood there, eyes wide, muscles tense, body frozen, you cursed your mind and body with all that you could, wondering why of the three instincts, freeze was what you had done in order to try and survive.

~~~

There’s something terrifying about the voices that ring in your head.

How they so scarily sound similar to the people in your life, past and present.

Voices reminding you how you aren’t good enough. How you’ve let them down. How maybe if you weren’t there, the world would be okay. That it would move on without a hitch, without a second thought, because when it came to it, at the end of the day, maybe, just maybe, you didn’t really matter anyways.

Voices that sounded like your mother, reminding you of dark nights of you hidden in your room, the harsh words ringing in the four walls of your bedroom, what was supposed to be your safe haven, now tainted with feelings of regret, of disappointment, of outright disgust.

It’d be better if you didn’t exist.

Voices that sounded like your father, angry yells late into the night, enough smashed dishes that left your hands littered with scars that’d never cease to remind you, enough nights spent under your covers silently wiping tears as you prayed that you were quiet enough.

What a waste of air.

Voices that sounded like past coaches and management that knocked you back with each word spoken, each push forward sending you feet yards back, support that felt like hindrance more than anything.

You’d be lucky if you got to play past the little leagues. It’d be a miracle that’s for sure.

Voices that sounded like fans- people that were meant to support you- but you couldn’t force them to. Hundreds if not thousands of comments left, each asking for you to be traded. Hell, they’d take a sack of potatoes if nothing else. 

I can’t believe that we wasted our money on this. Can’t we just, I don’t know, get rid of her? She’s the reason we suck. Maybe if she was half a decent player we’d actually be somewhere in the league.

Comments that repeated your worth. Ingrained it into your mind. Over and over and over again. 

You weren’t good enough.

Sentences that etched themselves into the forefront of your thoughts, always ready to haunt you at the slightest notice. 

You weren’t good enough.

Not now, not ever. 

Not for your own mother or father, never mind your siblings. 

Not for your teammates, nor the fans.

It was a miracle you were even playing professionally in the first place.

God if they took one good look at you maybe they realized how poorly they fucked up by signing you. 

You weren’t a good footballer, barely even a decent one. How you managed to play for this long was a miracle.

They’d notice soon enough though. They had to. They always did.

They’d notice soon enough that you weren’t good enough.

And then?

Then you’d be left with nothing, as you always were.

~~~

You didn’t know when you were led inside to the locker rooms- when that absolutely terrifying moment of being in front of the opposing team’s stands had gone from you taking a corner to being absolutely pelted by random junk. 

From empty bottles (plastic thankfully), to empty food containers, balled-up programs, signs, merch, all being hurled your way, never mind the onslaught of assaults- the stands only repeating everything your mind ever told you, every, single, day. 

You didn’t hear when the ref blew their whistle, nor when the rest of the girls dressed in red crowded you, some chastising the fans along with the away team, others wrapping around you protectively, quickly leading you towards the benches. 

You weren’t there as you were subbed off, your mind still frozen, much like the rest of your body. 

All you knew right now was that you could smell the familiar scent of your girlfriend’s perfume as the heel of your palms pressed harshly into your eyes in an attempt to cease the uproar in your head. 

Breaths getting heavy, you tried your best to calm yourself down.

You weren’t a stranger to panic attacks, and even in your hazed state, you could very well recognize the oncoming situation.

Bringing your arms to wrap around your own stomach in a futile attempt to bring yourself some sort of comfort, you felt your breathing pick up as the sharp lights of the room seemed to get darker. 

Room spinning, the voices in your head louder, you could only bring your knees up to your head, body now practically in fetal position as you rode out the attack.

Even with the hundreds you’d had by now, you hadn’t been able to come up with an effective method to deal with them. 

So you sat there, huddled into a ball, body shaking, mind louder than ever as Leah stood above and watched helplessly.

The blonde had been there in the stands to watch you get abused, immediately making her way down to the pitch because ACL and league rules be damned, that was her girlfriend for fuck’s sake. 

She stood by the sidelines, ready to receive you as the obvious substitution occurred, an arm coming to wrap around you as she led your ghost of a body to the locker rooms.

She watched as you mindlessly sat in front of your locker, not a single word uttered from you, not a single response to the quiet comforting words the blonde had whispered to you gently in an attempt to rouse you from your clearly distressed state. 

She itched to reach out and touch you as she saw you slowly curl into a ball, you getting ever so smaller as she could only helplessly watch, you unknowingly  flinching the second she touched your shoulders in an attempt to comfort you.

It was only when your heavy breathing died down every so slightly, nearly fifteen minutes later if the blonde’s perception was right, that she tried again, slowly coming to sit beside you as she gauged your reaction. 

Seeing your shaking start to slow as well, she slowly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, her own body tense as she watched you stiffen up before you relaxed slightly, letting her pull you into her side as her other hand came to hold your left one.

And long after you had buried yourself into her side, body defeated with the rollercoaster of emotions you’d just experienced, too tired to think of any of the consequences of your actions, you let Leah led you- helping your pull on a hoodie and your jacket and change out of your cleats as she gathered the rest of your gear.

Helpless except able to nod in agreement as the blonde suggested you leave early from the game, you followed her quietly, not a word said from you, as she led you out of the ground and to her car, where you fell asleep within seconds.

It was only when the car pulled up to her house, a place you’d been to many times, your relationship long past new to the both of you, did you rouse, mind still not present and following the blonde.

Leah was good. You trusted Leah. Leah was safe.

The words repeating in your head, you believing they were true like all the other words that crossed your mind, you let yourself sleepily be led up the stairs and up to the ensuite. 

Standing there awkwardly as you slowly came to the situation, the lights in the washroom waking you up, your shoulders sunk as the embarrassment from earlier set in. 

God you were an embarrassment. First a panic attack in front of the English skipper, and now this- you stood helplessly in her bathroom like you were broken, waiting to be fixed.

You watched in dread as the blonde flitted around the joint closet, quickly gathering a change of clothes for you before she stacked them neatly on the countertop, handing you a towel and starting the shower, not meeting your eyes.

What you didn’t know was that she didn’t want to scare you off, intimidate you as her heart ached at the shameful look in your eyes.

“Take a warm shower, yeah? We’ll get you some food after, and then how about a nap?”

Unable to do anything but nod in response, your fear of upsetting the blonde, of anyone really, making itself known, you followed her instructions, locking the door as she left and starting to remove your sweat covered kit. 

~~~

It’s nearly twenty minutes later when you emerge from the shower, your dirty clothes held precariously in your hands, your eyes wide as you see Leah sprawled across her bed, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. 

A small smile unknowingly escapes you as you watch her nearly throw her phone, very much caught off-guard at your appearance.

Smile tightening quickly as you realized it rested on your face, your eyes met the ground, ears sharp as you noted the footsteps headed towards you.

Before you knew it, the mess of dirty clothes was swiftly taken from your hands, your gaze snapping up as you watched Leah take your dirty kit and toss it into her own hamper before turning to you. 

“Alright. I’d rather you eat, but I’m not going to force you to, yeah? We can take a nap, maybe just reset, or if you wanna sit down and watch a movie or a show we can do that too…how’s that sound?”

Feeling your eyes water at the blonde’s gentle tone, feelings still overwhelming from earlier, your sights met the ground again as you meekly nodded. 

Blood rushing in your ears, you felt the vibrations as Leah stepped towards you again, her hands gently taking yours. 

“Nap?”

Taking her chances at guessing which you preferred, the tender tone in her voice had you easily nodding again, tears you’d been trying to hold back now escaping. 

And as the blonde led you to her bed, you winced as the voices in your head picked up once again, mind baffled at why someone was treating you with this much kindness, this much care.

Choosing to ignore them for now, you smiled shyly at the sight in front of you, Leah having rounded the bed to go on ‘her’ side, the skipper tucked into the sheets, arms wide open as she shot you a soft grin, eyes sparkling with glee as she waited for you to join her. 

Gingerly approaching the bed, you hesitantly pulled back the covers, eyes meeting Leah’s every few seconds to make sure you were okay, before entering, unsure of whether you were allowed to hug the blonde (even if a part of you so desperately wanted to do so). 

Your question was answered for you, however, Leah was unable to see you lying down in such a stiff manner, taking matters into her own hands and hooking an arms around your waist and pulling you into her.

And as you slowly got comfortable, moving millimetres every minute until you finally found yourself resting with your head on her chest, arm wrapped around her midsection as her hand came to wrap around your waist, one running through your hair, you let yourself sink into her hold, brain quietening every so slightly as the familiar presence and scent had you relaxing.

It was only when you were on the verge of sleep, minutes later, did you hear Leah’s voice whisper into the air between you two, her lips pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as an apology as she realized her mistake of rousing you from your sleepy state.

“There’s a lot that goes on up there,” with a small nod towards the top of your head, she continued, “but it doesn’t have to stay there y’know?”

Holding her breath as she felt you shift slightly, you turning your body to listen better, she spoke again.

“I’d be more than happy to stay here and listen to you when you need it. Really, any of us would. All of the girls love you and care for you, and despite whatever people might say, you add to the team, yeah?”

Feeling you nod hesitantly at the words, Leah waited as she sensed your jaw move, anticipation killing her as you sounded out the words silently before they left your mouth- and even then, you winced slightly.

“I don’t want to be a burden…don’t wanna waste your time…”

There was something in the way the words quietly rolled off your tongue, no doubt said many times before, the sincerity behind them proving you meant them wholeheartedly- that you believed you were an inconvenience, that broke Leah’s heart.

You weren’t a burden. You weren’t.

She wondered if you’d ever seen yourself the way other’s saw you. If that coloured glass that you saw yourself through was tainted any other colour than black. Whether it was ever yellow so you’d see just how much of a ray of sunshine you were on the stormiest of days, often cheering up your shared teammates with just a single smile as you’d skip into the change rooms.

Or if you ever looked at yourself through the rose coloured glass, the same hue that would coat your cheeks as you’d interact with fans post-game, giving each and every one your undivided attention, making them feel special, and loved, and cared for.

Or whether you ever saw yourself through green, breathing life to even the dullest moments, standing tall, unwavering, as players would try to take you down on the pitch over and over again, you getting back up each time, a force to be reckoned with, one that not even the rainiest of days nor Mother nature could defy.

You weren’t a burden, and the blonde needed you to believe it, because it was the truth and nothing but the wholehearted, honest-to-god truth.

It’s why her honest admission just tumbles out, the words spilling before the defender could stop them.

“If I could hold you all night and all day, I would, without a single doubt or any hesitation.”

Her grip tightening on you as the words are spoken clearly and strongly, her placing a gentle kiss to your temple before continuing.

“If you think you’re gonna waste my time by talking to me when you aren’t doing well, then just know, that listening to you as I try and comfort you and get the chance to hold you in my arms? It’s the best waste of time I’ll ever have in my life. It’s one I’ll cherish till the end of time, because it’s never, and I mean never, a waste.”

Taking a deep breath in, the blonde felt you nod at her words, your own grip tightening around the blonde as you pulled yourself closer into her, closing your eyes in an attempt to believe her the best you could.

Leah could sense your struggle though, not ignorant to the way a small, trembling breath escaped you, frustration clear.

“You don’t have to believe me now, or any time soon really, but just know, it’s the wholehearted truth- and I’ll spend as long as you need reminding you, because you’re good enough. You’re more than good enough, and worthy of love, and a good life, and good things. You deserve love, even though your brain tries to tell you otherwise, yeah?”

When you didn’t say anything, it clear to the blonde that you were silently taking in her words, contemplating them, doing your best to believe them, she let you be, revelling in the silence as took in the feel of you being in her arms, one of her favourite feelings in the world.

The blonde could almost feel you turning her words over in your head, examining them from top to bottom as you inspected them for any indication of a lie, surprised when there wasn’t one.

Content with the way you hadn’t spoken out yet in disagreement, Leah decided to take her chances and bite the bullet.

Proposing her next idea, the blonde held her breath in anticipation, heartbeat slowing dramatically as she hoped you’d agree to her words.

“I’ll always be here to hold you, but I think it might just help if we see a professional, yeah? You and me, both of us, we’ll go, and just give it a crack?”

Feeling your hesitancy this time, the blonde pulled you closer to her gently, turning onto her side as her eyes met yours. 

One hand now carefully resting on your cheek, she placed a loving kiss on your forehead, then your nose before continuing. 

“Three sessions is all I ask. If you don’t want to go after that, then I won’t ask again, ever. But, just give me three sessions, and I’ll be there for each one if you want, and if nothing changes, then you’re off the hook, deal?”

There was an audible sigh of relief that escaped Leah’s lips as you hesitantly nodded in agreement.

Deciding that that was good enough for the time being, Leah smiled softly to herself, more than happy with any baby steps of progress being made.

“Just want you to love yourself the way the rest of us love you. The way I love you…”

The words were punctuated with another gentle kiss on your head, this time her lips lingering as you both basked in the touch, the blonde well aware that physical touch was your love language. 

Nodding to yourself as your girlfriend’s arms wrapped around you at the end of her sentence, heart feeling just a tad bit lighter as her embrace sucked you in, you let out a sigh of relief at the quiet in your mind and warmth in your chest.

Snuggling further into Leah’s hold, you let out a shaky breath as the emotions of the day filtered out of you, you weren’t going to lie, you were terrified for the future- absolutely scared shitless for what it held. But, with Leah by your side, on your team, cheering you on, a spark of hope nestled quietly inside you, filling you with a refreshing breath, a new goal to work towards.

Not now, not soon, but slowly and surely, you’d work your way through this. You wanted to. for your sake and hers.

After all, with your girlfriend to remind you that you were human, someone that could live and not just survive, maybe you could finally teach yourself it too.

[mickandmusings]

love you, miss you, mean it

*this is a two part series, read part two here!*

**I recommend listening to 'love you, miss you, mean it' by luke bryan. it's a slight inspiration for this story and it's part two. (sorry, my southern roots are showing oops) **

pairing: bob floyd x f!kazansky!reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: before the daggers, before the uranium mission, before even top gun and 'bob', there was just young bobby floyd, finding himself at the doorstep of the kazansky household, year after year, finding family between a father and daughter, and a new understanding of true love.

(based off a request, but i'll post it when i'm finished with both parts, it will give too much away! <3)

warnings: lots of sticky sweet fluff, I accidentally made Ice a single dad??, 'Bobby' as Bob's civilian name, most likely military inaccuracies

-

The very first time Bob Floyd found himself standing on the Kazansky's front door, he was seventeen years old. He had parked his hand-me-down pickup truck on the street in front of the house, crossed the yard in record time, and rang the doorbell. He was standing on the welcome mat in a spiffy black tux, his sweaty palms clutching a plastic box that contained a corsage made of light purple flowers. Bob had no idea what kind of flowers they were, more than happy to leave that to the florist, but he knew they were the same color as the bowtie that seemed to be choking him. He was incredibly nervous, pushing his glasses up his nose in a repetitive nervous habit. His sapphire eyes caught a tall shadow approaching the door, and Bob felt his spine straighten, his heart hammering in his chest. Bob had heard the stories of Admiral Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky, US Pacific Fleet Commander (and more importantly, Y/N's dad) but now, as Iceman stared down at him, he began to realize he certainly lived up to his callsign.

The Admiral's eyes were a cool blue, piercing through the teenage boy's frame as he looked him up and down. He had seemingly only just arrived home from work, still in his Navy attire. His well-pressed, wrinkle-free Navy uniform made him appear taller than he was, a looming presence that demanded respect. The flat, stoic look on his face seemed permanent, only cutting into a small upturn as he spoke.

"You must be the Bobby I keep hearing about."

Bob nods, letting out a measly, "Yes sir," before sticking out a clammy hand to shake Y/N's father's hand.

The Admiral shakes his hand with a firm grip, squeezing Bob's hand so tightly that Bob swore his blood flow had been cut off. Finally, he opened the front door wider to allow Bob in, speaking as he shut the door back into the frame.

"You should probably take a seat, get comfortable. She's been giggling upstairs for hours now, but I doubt she's ready. You'll get used to it, waiting around until she's ready."

Bob chuckles nervously, sitting stiffly on the couch as he watches the Admiral stomp about the kitchen, seemingly making a cup of coffee. The silence is deafening, Bob is too nervous to say anything, but the man's booming voice soon cuts the quiet with ease.

"So, Bobby, Y/N says you're a military brat too, is that right?"

"Uh, y-yes sir, my father, he's in the service as well, my grandfather was too, sort of the Floyd family legacy."

The Admiral nods, absorbing the information.

"What about you, do you have any plans to-"

"Dad!" Y/N's annoyed voice broke the Admiral's sentence. Her heels clack down the wooden stairs, her dress whooshing in the wind created by her motion. Bob turned his attention in the direction of her voice, standing promptly, his jaw dropping as he took in the sight of Y/N. She was dazzling in her pastel purple gown, a slight smile on her face as she spoke. "Stop trying to recruit my prom date."

Y/N and her father shared a look, seemingly speaking without having to say a word before she broke out into a smile, matching the wide toothy grin of her father, before turning back to Bob, a slight pink blush forming across her cheeks. Bob blushed as he saw her walk into the room, making his way over to her.

"Y-You look," Bob swallows thickly, gaining his confidence. "You're beautiful."

Y/N blushes fiercely, straightening the lavender bowtie around Bob's neck.

"You clean up pretty well yourself."

The teenagers' awkward gazing is cut off by Ice clearing his throat loudly, his mug of coffee in his hand as he approached them.

"C'mon, kid. Your grandparents'll kill me if I don't get a thousand pictures of you two before you leave."

Y/N cut her eyes at Bob as he stuck his arm out for her to take, helping her over the threshold of the door and into the yard, the Admiral standing in front of them with his camera ready. They all went through the motions of a typical prom photo shoot-the corsage exchange, the awkward photos in front of the house, the send off.

Finally, she and Bob were down the road in his truck, Y/N smiling in his passenger seat, Bob's shoulders much more relaxed, not feeling nearly as tense in the presence of her looming father.

"Sorry about my dad," Y/N speaks over the music playing in the truck, squeezing Bob's hand where their hands intertwined on the console. "He's just a little protective, and, not very good at small talk." She chuckles lightly.

"No, no, it's fine. He was nice. Intimidating for sure, but nice. Made a joke that you take too long to get ready for everything."

"Of course he did," Y/N smiled and rolled her eyes, leaning her head on Bob's arm. The high school juniors had been dating for a little over six months, but both of them were head-over-heels.

The couple arrived and carried on as usual for teenagers on a prom night-mingling with their mutual friend and indulging on PTO-mom made snacks. As the night wrapped up, the last slow song of the night had Bob and Y/N swaying under the sparkling disco ball in the middle of the gym. Bob's tux jacket had been discarded on a chair hours ago, accompanied by Y/N's heels, both tossed about carelessly in favor of running back to the dance floor. Her head rested on his chest, his hands around her waist sweetly. Neither of them were paying much attention to the song playing, or the other numerous couples swaying next to them. Bob's blue orbs were focused entirely on the girl looking up at him from his chest, his hand moving to brush stray curls that had fallen in her eyes. As he looked at her face, his chest filled with warmth, a funny feeling erupting, one he had never felt before. His eyebrows furrowed, his forehead creasing.

"What's the matter, B?" Her voice came soft, just loud enough for both of them to hear.

"I love you," It came out blunt and honest, with no hesitation. Neither of them had said it before, and he watched as Y/N's face went from one of confusion to one of pure elation, a wide grin forming on her face as Bob lightly pulled her closer, their lips meeting in a kiss more meaningful than their previous ones.

That night, when Bob dropped her off back at her house, with the figure of her father sitting in their living room, he smiled as he helped her out of the truck and closed the door behind her. He walked her to the front door and kissed her again before saying goodnight, a permanent smile etched on his face. He watched her get into the house and waited for the porch light to turn off before peeling out of the driveway, his face aching from his never ending smile.

When he got into his own house for the night, his tux coat thrown over his shoulder, bowtie undone and his feet aching in his dress shoes, he collapsed onto his bed with a content sigh. His phone dinged with a new message, and he smiled as he saw Y/N's name flash across the screen. He opened it quickly:

I love you, too. I miss you already. Mean it.

A blush sprouted across his fair skin, typing back a reply as his heart soared.

-

Over the next few years, Bob found himself on the Kazansky doorstep hundreds of more times-weekend dates, barbecues, birthdays, study dates, movie nights, senior prom, just because, forgetting his house keys in Y/N's room, graduation parties, the list could go on and on forever. He had grown to find the Kazansky household his second home, Iceman's walls slowly melting towards the awkward boy his daughter loved. Y/N's father would allow him to stay over on long weekends and holidays through her first years of college and his of the Naval Academy, letting Bob tag along for family vacations. Bob slowly became an extension of the Kazansky family. Bob learned lots about the Admiral during his days and weeks of being in their home. Iceman loved things that made him seem less and less intimidating from when they first met. Tom Kazansky loved to make homemade banana bread, could often be found dozing off with a book in his hand, leaned back in the recliner closest to the front door, and the Admiral loved rom-com movies with a fierceness only championed by his own daughter. The father and daughter were a well-oiled machine, understanding each other in a way that Bob had never seen before. Bob would observe as the duo would work in fluid motion in the kitchen cooking dinner-knowing what each other was thinking without having to say a word. Y/N tossing her father spices and seasonings as he lifted the spoon to her mouth, and Iceman knowing just how she liked her coffee, her tea, and her favorite shape of ice. They knew one another inside and out, something Bob would often sit in awe of. It was a true display of love for one another, so loved that you know everything about someone, you know what they need without having to say a word.

When Bob had visited the Kazansky's over his final Christmas break from the Academy, he had expected the feeling of closeness and familial love. He found himself in the kitchen with Y/N, an Elvis Christmas record spinning in the living room adjacent. He wordlessly handed her the spoon from the pot he was stirring, her lips pursing as she thought for a moment, handing him a container of salt and other seasonings she knew were needed for the soup. Bob wordlessly adds an estimated amount in the pot before he stops abruptly, realizing what had just happened. His heart hammers, he and Y/N had been dating for nearly five years now, his time at the Academy coming to an end. They had suffered through nearly four years of a long distance relationship-he in Maryland at the Naval Academy, her attending college back in their hometown. They had made it through with phone calls and even letters, long lonely days and nights, and a love for one another that defied odds. He stopped stirring promptly, looking as Y/N was pressing cookie dough onto a pan, her eyes looking up at him.

"B? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." She smiled at him sweetly, wiping off her hands before placing them on his cheeks. "Do you feel okay? You're really red, you're warm. Do you think you're coming down with a cold?"

Bob couldn't make his dry mouth form many words, finally sputtering out a single sentence:

"I-I need to talk to your Dad."

Y/N's eyebrows furrow, looking at her boyfriend incredulously, as if he had grown another head.

"Um, okay? He's in his office. Bobby, are you okay?"

Bob nodded, leaning down to place a kiss on her head before racing off to the office on the second floor. Y/N only shook her head and continued making her cookies.

Bob knocks on the heavy office door, waiting for a response.

"It's open," Iceman's voice sounds from behind the thick mahogany colored door. Bob creaks open the door, Ice's cool eyes softening as he sees Bob enter.

"She drive you out of the kitchen already, Bob?" His voice was laced with humor. "She's too much like me, taking control of every situation. Sorry."

Bob laughs, "No sir, I just, needed to talk to you."

Ice narrows in on Bob's firmly serious expression, leaning back in his chair and looking at the boy man in front of him. Bob had grown up in the past few years, taller and more muscular thanks to the Academy. He only wore his glasses when required by the military, often opting for contacts when he was home, giving him a more mature look.

"What can I do for you, son?"

Bob's heart hammered in his chest. Was he planning on doing this now? No-he had planned for a lovely dinner, perhaps a walk on the beach before he did all of this. He had certainly, at least, planned on finishing the Academy before all of this, but after their interaction in the kitchen, the complete domesticity of it, paired with his overwhelming love for her, he knew now was the right time.

"Mr. Kazansky-"

Tom interrupts him, shaking his head in a good-natured manner. "How many times have I told you to call me Iceman, or Tom? I've known you for half a decade, I don't think the formalities are necessary."

Bob nods, understanding the man's warmth, but this was different.

"Any other time before this, and after this, sir, absolutely. But I'm coming to you for matters that pertain to Y/N, and I want this to be as respectful as possible."

Tom nods curtly, appreciating Bob's respectful nature, hands meeting in his lap as Bob speaks.

"Sir, I-," Bob swallows. He thought about this conversation a million times over and over as he stared at his ceiling at the Academy every night. "I love your daughter. I have for five years now. She is infinitely kind, and overwhelmingly beautiful. She's far too smart for me to keep up with most days, and she makes even my worst days bright. I think that's truly a testament to your parenting, she's the most headstrong yet considerate person I know. She loves fiercely, and looks after those she loves with the same fervor. She knows me unlike anyone else, and she's quickly become my feeling of home. Her music has taken over my truck, my headphones, and my inner thoughts. Her favorite movies have become part of my repertoire, and her favorite books sit next to mine on a bookcase in my room. Her things are scattered all over my apartment, and she is seeped into my every thought. When something good happens, she's the first person I want to call. When something bad happens, she's the first person I want to call. I want to spend the rest of my life with her by my side. I know this is sort of sudden, but I've spent every night for a year thinking about this, and I-I would like to marry Y/N. I graduate from the Academy in less than six months, and I'll be in aviation school, and I just-I want her to know she's a priority for my future. If I have your blessing, I would like to ask her before I go back to the Academy."

Tom's head nods, standing from his chair behind the desk, causing Bob to stand, Tom's palm meeting his in a handshake, a sign of respect. He suddenly pulls Bob into a hug, a tightness that is only matched by Y/N herself, the infamous Kazansky suffocating hug.

"You've got my blessing, kid."

Bob nods in understanding, pausing as he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He smiles lightly at Y/N's name and several emojis beside her name on the screen.

It's lonely down here. :( Love you, miss you, mean it.

He smiles at their simple loving joke that had survived from when she had first said it years ago. He pockets his phone again, looking up at Iceman with a newfound confidence.

"Thank you, Ice, sincerely. Y/N means more to me than I feel like I could express in words."

Tom's face breaks out into a smile, his eyes twinkling with something that might have been the beginning of tears, but that's yet to be confirmed. He lightly slapped a hand on Bob's shoulder.

"For what it's worth, you've got my permission. But it's not mine that matters, kid, it's hers."

-

part two out now!

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Temporary Stupefaction

Sherlock pulls up the collar of his coat to protect his neck from the icy wind. The night is dark and foggy. Gloomy. It fits his mood. 

John was on a date when Lestrade called with a nasty murder. Sherlock texted and even called John, but he didn’t pick up, nor answered the texts. 

It had been an extraordinary case. John would’ve loved it, despite how easily Sherlock solved it. The cases were no fun when John was absent.

Colourful leaves are twirling around his feet in Regent’s Park. Sherlock is desperate to get home to the warmth of 221B. He forgot to bring his gloves. 

John wasn’t there to remind him. 

Still, Sherlock is hesitating to leave the park and walk the short distance to Baker Street. The flat is probably empty and cold if John’s still out. Perhaps he’s got a leg over and will sleep at that woman’s place. Sherlock is thankful that John never brings any of his girlfriends to the flat.

Small blessings.

The wind and his soon frostbitten hands, decide for him, and Sherlock approaches the black door. When he looks up at the windows, he stops abruptly. Golden light from the lamps and something incandescent, tells him that John is home and that he’s lit the fire. Suddenly John’s figure appears in the window. He stands with his back to Sherlock and he’s gesticulating wildly with his arms.

John never does that.

He’s clearly talking to someone. Sherlock checks his watch. Nearly midnight. Too late for a visit from Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade drove home at the same time Sherlock left the Yard, Molly never visits them, and Mycroft is out of the country as far as Sherlock knows.

Who can it be and why is John so agitated?

He needs more data, and hurries to find his keys and locks himself in as silently as he can. Sherlock tiptoes up the seventeen steps, avoiding the creaky one. John’s voice is loud, but the words are muffled by the door.

Sherlock stops on the landing to eavesdrop before deciding how to proceed.

“How did she know, hm? I’ve only dated her two times.”

There’s a long silence. Sherlock reaches for the doorknob but stops when John speaks again.

“What do you mean I talk about him all the time? He’s the person I deal with the most. It’s only natural, don’t you think?”

What on earth is John talking about? And more importantly; who is he talking to? The responses from the unknown guest, are apparently so low that even Sherlock’s brilliant hearing can’t perceive it.

“I’m not gay, remember!”

Ah, John is talking about Sherlock. His heart cracks every time John utters those words. He startles when John’s voice quivers.

“How did you know that I’m bi? I’ve never told a soul. And before you say Sholto, nothing happened, okay!”

John’s voice rises again when he mentions his former superior officer. Sherlock has always wondered about their relationship. His stomach is in uproar. John has just admitted that he’s bisexual while discussing Sherlock. 

What does that mean?

Sherlock can hear that John is pacing, but he’s stopped talking. He opens the door as carefully as possible and dares to look. John seems lost in his own head. His hands are buried in his hair. He looks a bit like Sherlock does when he’s despairing about a case or useless yarders. 

A quick survey of the room stupefies him. It’s empty apart from John. 

Who the hell has he been talking to?

“Do we have an invisible guest, John?” he asks softly.

John turns to him, his face ashen. He stutters, then blushes. 

“Sh…Sher…Sherlock! What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Sherlock offers with a smirk.

John snorts and starts to chuckle.

“Yeah, you do. Sorry. I was just…”

“You were talking to…”

Sherlock doesn’t finish the sentence but waves a hand, indicating for John to fill in the blanks.

“No one,” John mumbles, his smile gone.

“I heard you,” Sherlock coaxes, eager to solve this mystery.

He hangs up his coat and walks to the fireplace to warm his hands.

“You forgot your gloves again,” John tuts.

“Brilliant deduction, John,” Sherlock quips.

He rubs his palms together and expects John to reprimand him further, but the flat is deadly silent.

“I was talking to Harry,” John finally says behind him.

Sherlock turns so fast he almost knocks John over. His eyes evidently show the horror he feels.

Harry Watson, John’s twin sister, has been dead for six years.

Before Sherlock can analyse this baffling information further, John grips his hands, warming them efficiently. Sherlock momentarily closes his eyes to revel in the sensation. Warmth seeps through him in a flash and sets in his chest like a burning flame. When he opens his eyes, John is gazing up at him with a look Sherlock’s seen before, but not often. It’s fond and hungry. Normally, it disappears within seconds, but this time…

“Sherlock?” John whispers.

“Are you a psychic, John?” 

Shit! He didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Just a vivid imagination, but who the hell knows? Me and Harry’s bond has always been strong. I don’t think I’ve told you, but as children we sometimes communicated telepathically.”

“You are an enigma, John Watson,” Sherlock murmurs.

Sherlock is completely warm now, and decides to be brave. He pulls John to him by his hands, guiding them around his waist. After he has released them, he lets his own hands cradle the back of John’s head and bends down. When he’s close enough to feel John’s breath on his face, he looks into John’s eyes to get confirmation. They are closed, so Sherlock bends down further and kisses each eyelid, before he finds John’s cheeks, forehead, chin and at long last, his lips.

When they part for air. John smiles and tells his sister to kindly leave them alone.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie

@7-percent @lhrinchelsea @missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12

@jawnscoffee @gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @williamholmeswatson @whatnext2020

@mydogwatson @redmondcollege @thegildedbee @ilovegayangels

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[brainddeadd]

https://www.tumblr.com/brainddeadd/764182191222751232/httpswwwtumblrcombrainddeadd7637705318278103

oooo i meant that for luke! i was inspired by jack x grumpy reader! and for the request i was saying jack and her having a good friendship and she close to him so the first time luke sees her smile it’s by jack and luke wants to see her smile again but because of him

The sound of laughter filled the air as you, Jack Hughes, and a few of your friends gathered in the backyard of Jack's family home, your first time visiting. It was one of those perfect summer evenings where the sun hung low, casting a warm golden glow over everything. You and Jack had been best friends for the past two years, your bond built on shared jokes, endless support, and the occasional mischief that always seemed to find its way into your lives.

Jack, the ever-energetic prankster, had just pulled off another one of his ridiculous antics. This time, he had set up a water balloon ambush, soaking several unsuspecting victims in a flash. You doubled over in laughter, your heart soaring as you watched the chaos unfold. Jack had an uncanny ability to bring out your happiest self, but there was something else blooming in your chest that evening, a warmth that felt different.

Across the yard, Luke Hughes, Jack's younger brother, leaned against the porch railing. He had come over to hang out but hadn’t participated in the chaos. Instead, he watched, his blue eyes locked onto you, captivated by the way you lit up in response to Jack's silly antics. The way your smile radiated joy was something he hadn't seen before, and it stirred something inside him—a desire to see that smile more often, and, more importantly, to be the reason behind it.

Luke had always admired you from a distance, appreciating your humor, kindness, and unwavering support of Jack. But tonight, witnessing you so genuinely happy made him realize he wanted to be the one to evoke that smile.

As the evening wore on and the laughter faded, Luke decided it was time to take action. He approached you as Jack rejoined the group, a playful smirk on his face.

“Hey, can I borrow you for a second?” he asked, his voice steady yet playful.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s up, Luke?”

“I have a challenge for you,” he said, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re always laughing at Jack’s antics, but I bet I can make you smile even more.”

“Really?” you challenged, a grin tugging at your lips. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Luke grinned back, his confidence shining through. “Just you wait and see. Meet me over there in ten minutes.” He pointed toward a quiet corner of the yard, where the trees formed a secluded area.

Curiosity piqued, you nodded and made your way over after a few moments, watching as Luke prepared something behind the trees. When you reached the spot, you found him standing with a large canvas and paint supplies.

“Welcome to my art class,” he said dramatically, holding up a paintbrush like a microphone. “Today, you’ll be my muse.”

You laughed, realizing what he was up to. “You’re going to paint me?”

“Well, not exactly,” he replied with a playful wink. “More like I’m going to let you unleash your inner artist while I attempt to impress you.”

The two of you spent the next hour surrounded by laughter and paint splatters, Luke guiding you as you created a chaotic but colorful masterpiece. He joked, teased, and occasionally exaggerated his art skills, making you laugh harder than you had in a while.

As you stepped back to admire the splattered canvas, you glanced at Luke, whose eyes sparkled with excitement.

“See? I told you I could make you smile,” he said, grinning widely.

You couldn’t help but smile back, the happiness radiating from you as you felt a connection growing deeper between you two. “You did. I think you might have a future as an artist.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “Nah, I’ll stick to hockey. But if it means getting to see your smile again, I’ll keep trying.”

In that moment, surrounded by laughter and colorful chaos, you realized Luke wasn’t just Jack’s brother anymore; he was someone you wanted to share more smiles with, someone who would make your heart race in ways you hadn’t expected.

And as you looked at the paint-smeared canvas and back at him, you couldn’t help but think that perhaps this was just the beginning of a new adventure.

[lauraneedstochill]

The object of my desires

summary: You overhear Aemond making a snarky remark about the way you dress. You decide to teach him a lesson. warnings: friends to lovers (both are idiots), a dash of angst, a lot of teasing, things get very heated (NSFW), with a sprinkle of softness. words: ~6500 (it was supposed to be shorter but they started making out...) author’s note: the idea first popped into my head months ago when I saw this post. also, for the longest time I’ve been thinking that “you are the bane of my existence” monologue is a perfect fit for Aemond — and yet I haven’t seen a single fic* using that quote?! so I finally decided to give it a try.

If anyone asked you to describe your relationship with Aemond, you would’ve said that the two of you were almost friendly. The almost part was the trickiest one to explain because, even though both of you acted very content with the way of things, you still couldn’t help but think that you wanted something more, no matter how much you’ve tried to deny it.

You got to know him through Helaena who you befriended when you were ten and six. A year older than you, she was the weird girl no one wanted to talk to and you approached her out of curiosity but soon learned that she had a cheerful nature and quite a nimble mind. She loved your sharp sense of humor and energetic wit and the two of you became close, your contrasting personalities complimenting each other very well.

Your introduction to her brothers was brief and for a couple of months, you didn’t interact with either of them. She’s been married to Aegon for four years back then and even though he immediately didn’t strike you as a faithful husband — always a cup away from being wasted and shamelessly gazing at every maid’s legs — he mostly looked harmless. Aemond, however, was the exact opposite — guarded and collected, he kept his distance from everyone, making it clear that it was his choice. You could only get a good look at the prince when you were passing the training yard, and a couple of times you found your gaze lingering on him — on the lean body and tense muscles, on the way he moved the sword with ease. In those moments you felt the danger radiating off him, yet it never scared you away. But you knew better than to fawn over the prince who seemingly paid you no mind.

A significant change came on the evening of Aegon’s ten and ninth birthday which Helaena begged you to come to — you weren’t fond of big events but couldn’t say no to her. For the most part, the feast was tolerable as you’ve spent it by her side, making glib remarks about the guests, much to your friend’s amusement. But when the celebration died down and all the nobles began to disperse, Aegon, drunk out of his mind, decided to make advances toward his wife whom he ignored for the duration of the evening. His approach was harsh and unexpected, and the look on Helaena’s face shuttered your heart. 

“Your grace, your manners escape you,” you tried warning him, shielding your friend but Aegon was too wasted to notice your fiery gaze. In his inebriated state, he probably mistook you for a maid as he grabbed your arm in an effort to shove you aside. Next thing you know, your fist connected with his nose — and then Aegon was lying on the floor, eyes wide and blood gushing down his face as you stood next to him, fuming. Before he could think of an answer, Aemond appeared out of nowhere — just in time to drag his brother away, while the drunkard was hurling insults at you in a frenzy. Only when they left, it dawned on you what you just did. 

You expected for the king’s guard to come for your head in the morrow, but instead, a few surprising things happened. First, you learned that the boys didn’t rat you out, making it look like they were the ones who got into a fight. Aegon did apologize to Helaena and from that day, his temper softened as he never dared to repeat his mistake. But, most importantly, Aemond took a sudden interest in you.

Overall, his behavior stayed the same, but you regularly caught him looking in your direction, and every time you saw each other, he made sure to acknowledge your presence. He never initiated the conversation first, only sometimes curtly voicing his opinion, yet you noticed him paying attention to your chattering with Helaena — and you could swear that a few times he suppressed a laugh at your jokes.

The mystery veil that the prince was surrounded with sparked your curiosity, and you wanted to crack down his guard, to get a chance to know him. The opportunity presented itself one day when Helaena and you came to watch Aemond train. You saw him and Criston arguing as the prince was late to his studies but Cole refused to let Aemond leave until he wins the last bout. Whether he wasn’t in the right mood or had something distracting him, Aemond kept losing, and his teacher only pushed him further, relentless in his attempts.

“Ser Criston, you’re putting yourself in harm’s way,” you chimed in, making the man turn to you with a chuckle, while Aemond gave you a tired look.

“May it be that the finest swordsman of the realm is simply avoiding his responsibilities?” you suggested with a light grin.

“Mayhaps he is in need of some encouragement,” Cole teased. 

“Well, I would’ve volunteered to share the burden of learning with him,” you remark. “If only he could win this one bout,” you added, keeping eye contact with the prince.

It took Aemond about two minutes to knock his opponent to the ground which made Helaena gasp in surprise while you were trying to hide a smile. Without a word, Aemond came to you, and the two of you went to the library. On your way there, he kept silent, but you were not intimidated at all. When you walked into the room, Aemond hesitated as if giving you a chance to change your mind. But you boldly turned to him:

“If you mean to scare me with the prospect of studying, I should warn you that I’ve read more books than you can count,” you informed the prince.

It was the first time when you saw him smiling — widely and shamelessly, looking very smug.

“You are full of surprises, my lady,” he grinned. “Do you mean to challenge me?”

It turned out that Aemond liked challenges, and you enjoyed being one. Since that day, you got into the habit of joining him in the library and the prince would accompany you in his free time more often than not. You would dare him to read faster, to fight harder, to engage in conversations — or sometimes to simply have fun. Whenever you had a reason to disagree with him, he was always respectful and found himself entertained by your way of thinking, which made your discussions and even arguments span for hours.

As years went by, you kept playfully bantering back and forth, and Helaena told you that you were the only one allowed to act like that around her brother. You couldn’t understand what his motives were but it was hard to deny that his company was pleasant. Aemond grew up into quite an eligible bachelor and his attention did flatter you, even though he never crossed the line. Sometimes you even dared to entertain the thought that maybe — just maybe — Aemond had a soft spot for you.

Until one day things took a turn. Helaena’s twentieth birthday was meant to be just another celebration that you would’ve skipped if it wasn’t for her. The only way for you to pass the time was dancing which you’ve actually come to love in recent years, enjoying the rhythm of the music that helped to lighten your mood. Your dear friend mostly preferred to sit back so you were often compelled to find yourself a company that would be bearable, at the very least. That evening, you got acquainted with Jacaerys Velaryon, the boy being younger than you but almost a foot taller. He approached you with a small smile on the pretext of knowing Helaena, and you soon learned that he was a good dancer. But the best thing about Jace was that he spend most of his time talking about his betrothed, Baela, who he was absolutely smitten with. The girl sadly couldn’t be present as she had to stay with her dad, who recently sailed home, and the dark-haired boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut. All the time while dancing he was either gushing about her or asking your advice, which you found adorable and gladly chatted with him.

Throughout the feast, you felt Aemond looking at you, probably more than usual. You knew that he wasn’t fond of dancing and even though his gaze on you felt rather good, deep down you wished that he was the one you were spending time with. After a couple of hours, however, you saw his usual spot empty, and the prince was nowhere to be found. For some reason, you got a very bad feeling and, after leaving Jace to take a break, you went to Helaena. She informed you that Aemond left not so long ago, adding that it looked like her brother was upset about something.

That’s how you ended up roaming through the castle halls, giving in to the unsettling feeling churning in your stomach. Passing by one of the chambers, you suddenly hear voices and realize that it's Aemond talking to his brother. You don’t mean to eavesdrop and were about to turn around — but then Aegon mentions your name.

“You are foolish to wait for so long. You could’ve at least asked Y/N for a dance,” his remark is followed by gulping sounds. Is he ever without a cup? You hold back a giggle — which quickly disappears when you hear Aemond’s answer.

“I prefer not to waste my time on such futile activities,” and his voice is unexpectedly grim.

“You may want to reconsider when the lady has every man’s attention. Even the Strong boy was pretty much drooling,” he chuckles, and his words make your brows furrow as you are certain he has no ground to suggest that. You’re a moment away from drowning in doubts, but the younger prince brings you back to reality.

“I suppose it’s hard not to, with the way she’s been dressing lately,” Aemond deadpans.

He says it with a flat tone — yet it feels like a punch that knocks all of the air out of your lungs. There’s a brief pause — and Aegon sounds almost sober when he asks, with a hint of surprise in his voice.

“And what about her dresses?”

“I found them to be... rather bawdy. Although I’m not impressed in the slightest,” Aemond forces out.

Your heart sinks at his words, cheeks heating up. You wait for him to say anything else, to give an explanation, at least one reason for his accusations but there is none. Aegon laughs — and you feel sick to your stomach, realizing that you cannot bear listening to their conversation any longer.

You walk away as quietly as possible, with cotton feet and your hands shaking. You rush past the hall and out of the castle, tears pricking in your eyes. Only once you are all alone, embraced by the silence of the night, you take a deep breath of air. Aemond’s words are ringing in your ears, loud and clear. You look down at your dress in disbelief: the neckline is basically non-existent, your arms are fully covered, and it barely shows any skin at all. And yet he thinks this is inappropriate? 

Your cheeks are wet and burning yet you feel anger bubbling in your chest. You never thought Aemond could be cruel — and yet it’s him, out of all people, who let those vile words slip out of his mouth like they meant nothing. Like you meant nothing to him. For years, you heard people calling him cold-hearted and arrogant but you were naive to believe that the prince made an exception for you. Out of all the mistakes you’ve made so far, this one might’ve been the most painful one.

Your outrage spreads like a wildfire as you think back to every interaction you’ve had with Aemond, his every glance and every word that fooled you into thinking that he cared. Was he secretly criticizing you the whole time? How many other jokes did he make behind your back? Who even gave him the right to judge whether your dresses are acceptable or not? As if he is any different from all the other men whose brains turn into mush when they get a glimpse of a female body.

You stop dead in your tracks when an idea suddenly forms in your head. It’s very uncharacteristic of you — at first, you hesitantly brush it off, thinking that it’s not wise to make any emotional decisions. And yet the idea keeps nagging at you for the remainder of the night and for a few hours you ponder if you should take such a brazen approach. But then his unkind remark pops back in your memory — over and over and over.

By the time the morning comes, you make up your mind.

He says he isn’t impressed in the slightest? There is only one way to find out for sure. On the very next day, you take Helaena for a walk in the garden, well aware that her brothers will accompany you as Aegon doesn’t have anything else to do and Aemond prefers to take a stroll after his training. Your dress is close-fitted yet modest, not an inch shorter than necessary. It is not about the dress but what’s underneath it — and the object in question clinks lightly with your every step. You show it to Helaena right away and she finds it delightful, the jingling only making her smile. Then her siblings come to join you, you curtsy but barely spare Aemond a glance. You don’t ask a single question about his day, instead taking interest in Aegon. The older prince gives you a suspicious side-eye but welcomes the chatting. It doesn’t take long before he notices the sound, too.

“Am I the only one who can hear the clinking? I am almost certain that it’s not just in my head,” he debates.

“Oh, it’s Y/N’s doing,” Helaena beams unsuspectingly.

“Apologies, my prince, it’s my aunt’s gift that caught your ear,” you slow down and take a few seconds to make sure you’ve got everyone’s attention.

And then, with one gentle motion, you pull up your dress — ever so slightly, just enough to show your ankle and the thin bracelet wrapped around it. The jewelry is made out of gold and it instantly catches the sunlight, casting warm sparkles on your skin. It’s decorated with tiny coins which make a jingling sound as you slowly turn your leg from side to side.

“I thought it was rather pretty. Don’t you think?” you only look at Aegon.

“Umm yes,” he gulps. “Rather pretty it is,” the prince mumbles, and then his gaze shifts to someone else. You don’t need to turn your head to know who he’s looking at. Instead, you continue with your walk without a care in the world.

“I should ask my aunt to bring you a similar one, my dear,” you suggest to Helaena and she eagerly agrees.

You have a few other gifts for Aemond, too. Next time you opt for a different bracelet — with no coins and no jingling, a simple golden chain. But your dress is a tad bit shorter and the jewelry catches everyone’s eye with ease as it looks like a ray of light curled around your ankle. You deliberately walk through the training yard, arm-in-arm with Helaena. You give Ser Christon the brightest smile, and he politely nods in your direction.

“Good morrow, ladies.”

“How’s your training coming along, Ser Criston?” you ask, and it feels strange to talk to him instead of Aemond. You bitterly remind yourself that you apparently overstated the value of those conversations.

“I’m afraid, we are hardly progressing. Mayhaps you will keep us company? I fear, we are in need of some cheerful words,” Cole shoots a glance at the prince who stands by, his eye fixed on you.

“Aren’t we all, Ser Criston,” you tilt your head at him. “But it seems like my pursuit of lessening your burden did nothing good,” and before he can ask anything else, you walk away, ignoring Aemond completely.

Helaena senses that something is off, giving you a worried look.

“Is there anything troubling you?”

“Not when I’m with you, my friend,” you reassure her and force your smile to look as believable as possible.

Partially, it is true as her company always brings you joy and you don’t want to sour her mood by recalling Aemond’s words that wounded your pride. You refuse to admit that he also grazed your heart. In a week, you accept Helaena’s invitation to join them for breakfast and you decide to up your game. It’s the perfect time of year for sleeveless dresses but the one you pick also has a daring addition: two thin cuts under your armpits. They are barely visible but when you put your arms up, it’s easy to distinguish the contour of your ribcage and the softness of your skin peeking through. You sit by Helaena’s side, easily keeping up with the conversation and not glancing at Aemond once. After the food is taken away and everyone starts wandering around the room, you get up to fix your hair, standing not too far away from the dining table as you raise your hands and run your fingers into your hairdo.

“May I offer assistance?” Aegon leans on the wall next to you, his mouth curling into a smile.

You roll your eyes and are about to shush him when he quietly adds:

“I know what you are doing,” you turn your gaze to him, and he winks at you. “From the look on my brother’s face, I can tell you that it’s working.”

You fight the urge to look at Aemond.

“I’m afraid I can’t share your concerns,” you are fiddling with hairpins absentmindedly.

Aegon shoots a glance over your shoulder and then back at you.

“He seems pretty bothered to me. Also pissed, but that may be my doing.”

“Look at you, my little helper,” you ramble as the cool air sneaks into the cuts of your dress, and you slightly quaver.

“Well, if you are ever in need of a helping hand...”

“I will not hesitate to stick this pin into your eye,” you cut him off.

“No need!” Aegon throws up his hands, cackling. “I’d like to keep them both. So I can have a better look at my brother’s reaction when you do... whatever you plan on doing,” the shit-eating grin on his face tells you that he is enjoying this.

But when you turn around and suddenly make eye contact with Aemond, your own enjoyment fades. You notice his frown and the probability of you being the reason for it doesn’t bring any satisfaction. You let Helaena lead you away, feeling his gaze on your back as you walk out. You do not yield to your emotions, continuing with your plan, as days turn into weeks, and then a month goes by without you as much as sharing a word with Aemond. Truth be told, you want nothing more than to stay away from him at all costs but you will not give him the satisfaction. He said he didn’t like the way you dress — and you make sure he sees every single dress you are in. You stay within the bounds of decency as you definitely have no intention to disgrace yourself, and none of your dresses are borderline scandalous, contrary to what any prince may think. You deign to let him see the curve of your neck with your hair up high, the bending of your shoulders and the sunkissed skin of your arms, the arc of your knees and mere glimpses of the upper part of your legs. You leave the rest to his imagination — granted, he has a good one considering how much time he spends reading.

During the second month, his patience starts running out.

In the years you’ve known Helaena, you learned all the ins and outs of the castle, so you manage to avoid Aemond at first, vanishing from his sight when needed. But, as time passes, you notice that he is tempted to talk to you, and escaping that possibility becomes harder with each day. One morning, when you walk into the yard, Aemond abruptly stops his training upon seeing you, and the two of you just stare at each other for a second, both startled and holding your breath. You are saved by Ser Criston, who calls for the prince, distracting him, giving you a chance to leave, and you all but run away.

After that day, you temporarily cease your visits to the castle, deciding to take a break and make up weak excuses to Helaena. Only now that you were apart, you realize how much you miss Aemond’s physical presence. His sudden, fleeting touches — to help you out of a carriage or to steady you after a fit of laughter, your hands brushing when you share books, his fingers sometimes lightly grazing your waist for the reason you are yet to know. You haven't talked to him for days, let alone felt him in your close proximity, and yet he's constantly on your mind. Somewhere in the midst of it all, you wake up at night realizing you yearn for him terribly. You wish you could go back to that damn evening of the feast, to confront him right away, to maybe get some clarification. But now too much time has passed and you’re too wrapped up in... whatever you plan on doing, so your ego insists that giving up isn’t an option.

When you receive the invitation for Aegon’s name day, you are ready to decline, but then begrudgingly decide to give it one last chance. You practice the look of indifference, the nonchalant tone, the proud gait, and you pull out your best dress. It’s green and the color is so bright, it dazzles the eyes, the material light and flowing — and yet, when you put it on, it feels incomplete. As you look in the mirror, the vivid tone of the fabric suddenly reminds you of something else. It’s a secret you once heard, a hushed conversation between the maids, one of which walked in on the prince when he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch. You only ponder for a minute and then reach for the jewelry piece that definitely will be hard not to notice. The castle is crowded, and you are one of the last guests to arrive. Bracing yourself, you pause at the door for a second. Ser Harrold, who stands there, lets out a surprised hum. “Should I take that as a sign of your disapproval?” you jest, watching his reaction.

“I wouldn’t dare to judge,'” he gives you a polite smile. “But I’m afraid all the men present are at risk of losing reason.”

His comment makes you chuckle and you step a bit closer, letting him take a better look.

“I thought it would match the occasion. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Ser Harrold, gods bless him, keeps his eyes on your face. “As always, it is, lady Y/N.”

It gives you enough confidence to walk in, appearing in all your glory.

The dress is a perfect fit, with a slit down your right side and an open back. The front neckline isn't deep but in the middle of it there’s a thin silver chain with a big, glittering sapphire — and the gem lays perfectly between your breasts. It’s only natural that everyone’s gaze is immediately drawn to the blue spark, all the men in the room gazing at it, voluntarily and not. But the effect their attention has is nothing compared to the wave of heat that warms your body when you feel a very particular gaze finally landing on you. You look right at him — and you catch him gawking, his lips slightly parted as he stares at the sapphire, too, almost in a trance. His hand is gripping a cup of wine with such force, you can see the whitening of his knuckles. When Aemond sharply glances up, your eyes lock for a second, and you look away first. So much for him not being impressed.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jace waving at you to come sit with him, and you do not hesitate, letting the one-eyed prince out of sight.

You feel like his eye doesn’t leave you for a second.

You are barely able to sit still while dining and let out a sigh of relief when it’s time for dancing. You rush away from the table, thinking it will provide you with a distraction, and you will be glad for any partner if only he can move his legs and keep his mouth shut. You go to the end of the line, lost in your thoughts, and when you finally come to a stop and look to the other side — you see Aemond standing in front of you.

The tall prince with his hands clasped behind his back, wearing all black, stares at you in a way that makes the crowd around you disappear.

When the dance starts, you step toward each other, and he speaks up first. 

“I couldn’t help but notice your absence. I find myself wondering what is the reason behind it,” his hand briefly touches yours, your bodies following the music.

“Your question is confusing, my prince. As I was merely doing you a favor,” you swap partners but Aemond only looks at you.

“Your leaving hardly favors me,” the prince says when you’re in his arms again. You feel a flicker of anger rising inside but keep your voice down.

“I was actually counting on you being relieved,” you snort, not looking at him. “Since, as it turned out, you were so displeased with my bawdy dresses,” with these words, you step away from him once more.

A minute later you come back to his side but don’t let him say a thing. 

“I’ve always thought bawdy was just another word for a whore. So I suppose I should be glad that you at least had some decency to not stoop so low,” when your eyes meet, you think you’ve never seen him so hurt.

Before he can come up with an answer, you are out of his reach. Then you circle back to Aemond again, and this time your tone comes out hasher.

“I also wonder if you would be so brave to say all that to my face. But it seems that your bravery falters when confronted with the need to speak plainly.”

The rhythm of the music works in your favor, because whenever Aemond tries opening his mouth, you’re swooped away from him, and it gives you time to tighten your self-control. You think you should resent him for his silly words, for his heavy gaze, for him knowing how to dance even though he never once did that with you in all these years.

But you have no resentment for him. All of a sudden you realize what you are actually feeling.

And then the dance comes to an end.

You only curtsy out of politeness, averting your gaze.

“I will not vex you anymore, my prince.”

“Wait, I should —,” he tries to take your hand but you swerve away from him.

“I already promised the next dance to someone else,” you lie. “You are finally free of my company.”

At that very second, when you glance at him before leaving, he looks absolutely heartbroken. Or maybe you just imagined it in an attempt to ease your own pain. Your feet carry you to the library on their own accord, and you’re too distraught to notice until you are already inside, in the dusty silence of the endless shelves. You take a hold of the nearest one, trying to catch your breath. You barely get a minute of solitude before you hear footsteps approaching. And it’s kind of pathetic how easy it is for you to guess who it is. “Your tendency to run away from me is quite unnerving,” Aemond walks in with rapid strides, his voice laced with emotion you can’t read. 

His words, however, trigger your reaction in no time. 

“Maybe it is because I do not want to be in the company of someone who hurt me,” you turn to him, and he’s already only a couple of feet away. The dim lighting illuminates his silver hair, the outline of his broad shoulders, his eye is boring into you. He looks so beautiful in his frustration, your chest tightens at the sight.

“I would’ve apologized right away if only you let me speak,” the prince retorts.

“Did something hold you back from apologizing sooner? Or were you too preoccupied with being outraged by my clothing choices?” your heart skips a bit at the intensity of his stare but you refuse to break the eye contact.

“I never said I was outraged.” 

“You weren’t thrilled, either, you made that very clear.”

“You know nothing of my motives because you refuse to listen to me!” he raises his voice and it startles you. But he doesn’t sound angry.

Aemond is standing at arm’s length — and you can clearly see that his face expresses no signs of annoyance or hatred. Instead, he looks at you with longing.

The air in the room feels heavy.

You run your tongue over your lips to moisten them, and Aemond’s eye darts to your mouth.

“We can agree on one thing,” he drawls, his eye locking with yours again as he moves closer. You take a step back — and feel pressed against one of the shelves.

He speaks with his tone low:

“...You vex me to no end.”

With another step, Aemond towers over you, and when you look up, your faces are only inches apart, and his flaming gaze envelops you.

“You are the bane of my existence,” Aemond breathes out. “And the object of all my desires,” his voice breaks, and you feel him inhaling sharply.

His words are akin to a match that lights up a fire deep in you, the muscles of your stomach tightening involuntarily. With one finger he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you can’t help but lean into his touch, your breathing shuddering.

“I’m haunted by your image everywhere I go,” he rasps, his nose brushing yours. “Night and day, I dream of you,” his index finger moves under your chin, close to the pulsating point on your neck. You feel the heat spilling into the pit of your belly, and you want nothing more than for Aemond to kiss you.

“I was raised to act with honor, but that honor is hanging by a thread every minute I spend in your presence,” he whispers vehemently, his words hot against your mouth. 

You are dizzy, breathless — and craving him. Everything else is forgotten, erased, nonexistent. It’s just you two.

“You are all I can think about,” you confess with a strangled voice, looking at Aemond through your lashes — and it sets him off.

His lips capture yours in an instant, claiming and burning with need. He pulls you closer, his hands on your back, and yours go up his shoulders to lock behind his neck. Aemond kisses you deeply, hungrily, sweeping his tongue over your lower lip and then sliding it in, intertwining with yours. One of his palms moves lower, outlining the curve of your hip, glides over your leg — and into the slit of your dress. He grabs your thigh, his thumb landing on the inner side of it, and he starts slowly massaging small circles on it. Him touching your bare skin elicits a moan from you and in the heat of the moment, as your mind goes blank and you can only focus on the pleasuring sensation, you spread your legs, and his finger slips higher — to the place where you want him the most.

He breaks the kiss in surprise, and you wait for it to dawn on him. To realize that you are, in fact, completely naked under the dress. You can feel arousal pooling between your legs, your body prickling with anticipation.

“I was under the impression that you owe me an apology,” you unabashedly murmur, looking him straight in the eye. 

You don’t know if it’s a challenge or a plea — at this point, you do not care. Apparently, neither does Aemond, as he takes no time hoisting your leg up to his waist for better access, firmly holding it in place. Your respite barely lasts a few seconds before you feel his other hand cupping your sex, rubbing his fingers through your folds. You shut your eyes, gasping for air, as he unhurriedly smears your wetness — and then his finger dips into your core, the sensation making you shiver.

“Aemond,” you sign, your body trembling with desire.

Trying to inhale, you get a whiff of aroma, a mix of leather and salty ocean breeze — and all at once, you are surrounded by him. His scent, his warmth, his scorching touches, the taste that’s left on your lips. He leaks into your every cell.

Aemond nuzzles into the crook of your neck, leaving wet kisses there, his finger picking up the pace.

“I’ve missed you,” he avows. “So fucking much,” he lightly nibbles the skin above your collarbone. “Missed hearing you say my name. Say it again.”

He doesn’t need to ask twice — and the interweaving of letters rolls off your tongue with each breath:

“Aemond”

“Aemond”

“Aemond.”

His name fills your mouth, leaving no space for air, your throat tight and breathing rapid. Aemond’s lips move down to your shoulder.

“Oh, the things I want to do to you,” he haltingly rambles, and the implication makes you clench around him, dragging a low groan from the prince.

He leaves a trail of kisses following the silver chain down to your breasts. The gem feels cold in contrast to your skin, and even though your head is clouded with lust, it triggers a memory. You move one of your shaking hands to his face, guiding it up to look at you again.

“I want to see the real thing,” you whisper, gazing at his eyepatch. “Let me. Please, let me.”

His hand between your legs doesn’t stop its movement but the one on your thigh trembles. You are too caught up in the moment to think straight, and before he can answer, your fingers roughly remove the leather patch.

The sapphire glows like a beacon, the cold blue of it is dazzling and piercing through your blurred vision. The tones and shadows are interlacing, cyan melting into azure and dark blue, and it’s mesmerizing. Seeing him like this, stripped of his restrain and his disguise, is the most intimate, precious thing in the world.

“Gods, you are divine,” you moan, panting.

You catch a flash of emotion in his eye — before you can take another breath, his lips are on yours again. This kiss is steady and fervent, and while his mouth melts into yours, Aemond adds a second finger. It slides in with ease, and he builds up the speed that makes you swallow air. He’s terrifyingly good with his fingers, with his every move, precise and fast. 

“Aemond,” you whimper in his mouth, but his lips keep chasing yours, and you can only follow, letting him take your breath away again and again. You lose track of time, lose yourself in his arms. His face is always close to yours, he breathes in every moan you make and keeps his gaze on you, watching you squirm, your cheeks flushed and lips quivering.

You helplessly whisper his name, and it comes out as a prayer, the coil in your stomach ready to snap. Aemond gives you a breathless smile.

“You do not need to beg me, ever,” he says in a husky voice. “I will give you anything you want,” with these words, he presses a thumb on your pearl, resuming the well-known circling motion, making you choke on air.

It takes merely a few seconds for you to come undone, the wave of pleasure blinding and crushing over you. His lips are at the corner of your mouth, ready to cover it should you make any loud sound, but you drop your head back, mouth falling slack in a silent cry.

His fingers slow the pace until you let out a quiet whine, and he removes them, carefully lowering your leg. You feel fuzzy-headed, trying to catch your breath, a few beads of sweat rolling along your hairline. One of his hands gently falls on your back, rubbing soothing patterns on your skin.

“I truly am sorry,” Aemond admits.

You chuckle lightly. “I think you already made it up to me.”

Despite the hint of humor, there’s an anxious feeling stirring in your abdomen, and you are afraid to open your eyes to meet his. You don’t know what’s to come and you dread the emptiness that will follow if he leaves.

Aemond tenderly cups your face with his hand:

“Mayhaps my intentions were not clear enough. I do plan to properly court you,” your eyes snap open at his words.

There’s a brief pause before he adds. “But I still need to apologize for my behavior because you deserved none of it. I was unfair with my judgment as I let jealousy get the best of me,” he sounds genuinely remorseful.

You glance at him in confusion, the gears turning in your head for a moment, and then you realize.

"You were jealous of Jace?!"

Aemond looks down at the floor, and there’s something endearing in his evident embarrassment. With your thumb and index finger you caress the jut of his jaw and make him look at you again.

“Aemond, I can barely consider him a friend. And the boy can only think about Baela, he speaks of her as if she is the light of his life.”

“I know that feeling," Aemond doesn’t hide his smile anymore when he’s with you. He brings your hand to his lips, and the sincerity of his words tugs at your heart. He leaves kisses on your knuckles, and you’re overwhelmed with happiness spreading in your chest.

“Do you get that feeling every time we argue? Or when I challenge you?” you inquire with a giggle.

His laugh vibrates against your skin. When Aemond meets your gaze, there are no doubts and reservations left, no room for denial.

“My biggest challenge was not to fall in love with you. I failed miserably,” he puts both of his hands on your waist, drawing you closer. “But I will humble myself before you because I cannot stand the thought of us being apart ever again,” Aemond presses his forehead against yours.

“I don’t plan on it,” you trace his scar with your finger, giving him goosebumps. “But you do know there still will be days when we vex each other to no end?” your voice is barely audible.

He moves his mouth to yours and, before bringing your lips together, he whispers:

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And neither would you.

the author doesn’t know how to shut up: — the dress is from “Atonement” (although I imagined her neckline a bit differently); — I haven’t written smut in a very long time so... I hope it was okay? any thoughts and comments will be very appreciated because I’m nervous about this 🥺 (not gonna lie, this was kinda self-indulgent so I hope that at least some of you will enjoy it, too!)

* I know there is an amazing fic called “bane of my existence, object of my desire” by @ jasonsmirrorball — I love it to pieces and highly recommend it! 💕 💚 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[reevesdriver]

You Kiss Your Mother With That Mouth? (NSFW)

Anon request: "Reader is working on the ranch as a cowgirl alongside Rip and his boys, she’s like a female version of Rip. Filth mouth and she’ll argue with any man she come across if need be. I’m thinking Reader gets into a verbal fight with someone on the Ranch and Beth Sees and asks if she “kisses her mother with that mouth” and Reader responds with “No but i can fuck you with it?” maybe smut??"

Word count: 867

Reader: Female reader

Character(s): Beth Dutton

Warning(s): NSFW / 🔥🔥🔥 / Oral Sex (F Receiving) / Mentions of fighting / Vulgar Language / Misogyny / Homophobia /

Support Me: Kofi

You were up earlier than anyone else in the bunkhouse which was nothing new. By the time you'd showered and dressed everyone else had started stirring so you made a fresh pot of coffee and stepped outside to have your first cigarette of the day.

"Mornin." Rip said as he stepped out and came to stand beside you holding a cup of coffee out to you. You echo his greeting and take the warm cup from his hand. "What's the plan for today?"

"We gotta put the horses in the corral so we can muck out the stables." He says and you nod. "I'll finish this then get the horses moved."

"Don't you wanna wait for the rest of em'." He says motioning to the bunkhouse door.

"It's fine, sooner it gets started the sooner it's done."

"Fair enough."

Finishing your cigarette and coffee you hand the cup back to Rip and grab your jacket from off the rail. Crossing the yard you unlock the door to the stables and flick the lights on making the horses huff and tap their hooves on the floor. The day seemed to go quickly but that's mostly since you'd barely stopped, working kept you fit and distracted but you knew you would be aching in the morning.

You and the other ranch hands had moved the horses, mucked out the stables and slowly returned each horse until there was only one left. Looking to the corral you eyed the last horse who was galloping round and smiled. You entered the corral and the horse crossed over to you, its neck resting on your shoulder as you stroked its mane.

"You getting some last minute fun in huh?" You spoke to the horse which huffed in return. The sound of someone spitting onto the dirt behind you made you look over your shoulder. Fred stood with his hands on his hips staring at you. "You actually gonna do any work Fred or just fucking stand there gawking at me?"

"Nah you seem to be happy doing everything yourself like you own the damn Ranch."

"Go fuck yourself."

"You could fuck me if you weren't a fucking dyke." He raises his voice and before Lloyd and Rip have time to get between the two of you you'd crossed the corral and lurched forward so your forehead connected with his nose with a loud crack.

"Fucking say that again you ginger cunt, go on, fucking call me that again." You spat at him as he held his, now bleeding, nose and tried to stand back up. Rip and Lloyd stepped in and ushered Fred away back to the bunkhouse so he could clean himself up. Spinning around once more you stormed back to the lone horse in the pasture and walked him back towards the stables.

You led the horse into his own stable and worked on filling up his bucket of food as he sniffed at the fresh bedding. "Well I think you've officially made every ranch hand scared of you after fucking Freds face up." A voice brought your attention from the bucket of food.

"I would've done worse if Rip and Lloyd weren't there." You shot back with a laugh.

"I don't doubt that, hell of a vocabulary too, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"No ma'am, but I can fuck you with it." You report without a second thought. Beths slightly shocked expression made you realise what you'd just said but more importantly, who you said it to. She entered the stable and walked up to you as you tried to apologise.

"Prove it." She says with a whisper and slowly lifts the hem of her dress up until she exposes her bare pussy. "Go on, fuck me with that dirty mouth."

Your knees buckle under you and you drop to the floor, the bedding for the horse offering some padding to your kneecaps. Grabbing Beths thighs you pull her to your face, laughing softly as she stumbles towards you. Your mouth is on her pussy in an instant and her hands fumble as she tries to hold her dress up as well as dig her fingers into your scalp.

Your tongue expertly flicks her clit making her throw her head back in pleasure as a moan falls from her lips. Your breathing becomes deep as you focus on making her cum, you switch between circling her clit with your tongue and lapping at her hole that leaks cum.

Her thighs clamp around your face and you hear a sharp intake of breath as Beth cums on your tongue, her legs shaking slightly at the pleasure and she fights the urge to collapse onto the floor in front of you. You stand with a smile on your face and Beths cunt on your breath, your knees ache but the blushed face of your bosses daughter makes it all worth it. "It's a good thing you don't miss your mother with that mouth." She smiles as she drops her dress down.

Turning she stumbles out of the stable and passes Rip who is entering the building. "Hell of a mouth on that one." She winks as he passes her.

[pearlessance]

32:1 - Idle Threats [x]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel builds the heaven you've granted him.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap(32yrs), mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, reader has added backstory to progress the plot, themes of forgiveness

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

Blessed is he whose disobedience is forgiven.

Ellie stays at the farmhouse for the first couple of weeks and Joel’s grateful for it. The two of you get along so well that he can even hear you both laughing in the front yard from the bedrooms upstairs. And Joel knows you need it; the laughter, the company, the distraction. 

Because every night, he holds you in the bed you’d taken from Jackson and lets you cry into his shoulder over your loss. 

Maria’s decided to let the both of you come and go from the commune as you please, but she refuses to say a single word to you. It’s her who gives the silent treatment, now. And although you’re aware the traumatic bond the two of you formed is better off severed, Joel knows it must hurt regardless.

“She was all I had for such a long time,” you whisper into his shoulder on the fourth night. “I know it’s for the best but I…I miss her is all.” 

Joel helps you through it as best as he can. He listens to you whenever you’re ready and willing to speak, and remains patient with you when you grow angry and lash out at him over small things that don’t truly matter. 

“It’s okay to miss her,” he says gently. “But I’ll never let her hurt you again. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again, little girl.”

You and Ellie get the front porch fixed up and find a set of old, rickety rocking chairs in the attic in the barn. Ellie paints a meadow of lavender on the freshly painted white siding. She’s showing Joel all the small details, the stems that alternate between the colors of jade and emerald, telling him how she’d painted it first in blue to set the undertone when a familiar truck pulls up the long driveway with a trailer hitched to the back. 

Tommy is a welcome sight, in truth. Because the house needs a lot of work and his brother’s hands will cut the time in half. But, more importantly, his presence will cut Joel’s stress in half, too.

Still, he catches the way you look at the passenger side of the truck with hopeful eyes and watches your face fall when you notice it’s empty.

Tommy hugs you and Ellie and lets out a deep sigh when he wraps his arms around Joel’s shoulders and claps him on the back. “Good to see you, brother,” he says. And it is. “Brought y’all some things. Come take a look.”

The trailer is packed full and so is the back of his truck. You and Ellie tear into its contents, giggling all the while. Most of it came from the white house on the corner in Jackon, Joel knows. Most of it’s yours.

Not much work gets done on the first day. Joel and Tommy work on carrying in the heavier stuff; the weathered, handmade dresser, the round mahogany table with matching chairs, and the box full of kitchen utensils and towels. Joel’s most excited about the generator, though. They bring it out back and vow to hook it up first thing tomorrow morning.

The four of you split the two rabbits Joel caught in his snares and you and Ellie throw strands of pasta at the wall to ‘check if it’s cooked,’ but Joel thinks it’s just for your own amusement because the both of you laugh maniacally every time it sticks to the wallpaper.

You eat together and laugh together and for the first time, Joel feels warm. He feels whole. Complete.

After you and Ellie both go to bed, it’s just Joel and his little brother sitting at the table. Tommy stares hard at the glass of iced tea in his hands and says, “I know it’s, uh…I know it’s just a short drive, an’ Ellie’s got the guest room but is it cool if I crash on the couch for a while?”

It feels like old times. Feels like before. Joel knows there’s something left unsaid in Tommy’s words but thinks he might already know. It’s not his place to force the words out of him, though. So Joel just nods and says, “You’re always welcome to it. You know that.”

“Maria an’ I…we talked. She, uh…told me what happened. Told me the full truth. About what he…what he did to…”

“You see now, don’t you? Why I couldn't let it go on? Why I couldn’t let Maria look at her like that? She didn’t do anything wrong, Tommy. Compared to what we’ve done…she’s innocent.”

An innocent little girl who’s only ever harmed those who’ve harmed her first. Self-defense isn’t malice. It’s not rage or wrath. It’s a learned trait, a taught skill.

Tommy nods slowly and takes a sip from his glass. “I, uhm…need a place to crash for a few days. Some space.”

“Like I said, you’re always welcome here.”

When he crawls into bed that night, Joel holds you extra tightly. Because the moment he snakes his arms around your waist and you turn to face him, your eyes well up with tears as you say, “She’s only sending him with my stuff, Joel. She’s trying to erase me like I never mattered.”

He didn’t see it at first and is a little surprised to admit it. But hearing the words come from your mouth clears the fog in his brain because you’re right. Joel can see the subtle stroke of manipulation when he imagines that house in Jackson you lived in for so long, sitting empty. 

There’s nothing he can do but hold you and let you cry and promise it will be okay, so he does. He tells you he’s here with you, reminds you that you’re a person and not some mistake made on paper, reminds you you’re not erasable. But when your breath evens out and you fall asleep, Joel leaves the bed to open the window for some fresh air to soothe the anger that rises up in him. 

Still, even miles away, even after this big, impactful change of life, Maria has still managed to hurt you in a fresh way. Joel knows he can’t protect you from everything. Knows that being hurt is inevitable, but he wishes so badly that he could take it all on for you. Shoulder the burden to ease your strain.

He’s only just begun creating this life with you and already he begins to wonder if he’s failing. If he’s already failed.

Joel hears your bare feet pad across the creaky wooden floor seconds before he feels the palm of your hand against his spine. You slide your fingers gently beneath his t-shirt and the touch grounds him, brings him back, reminds him he’s doing what he can and that it’s enough. Reminds him that no matter where he goes or what he does, you’re with him. 

His.

You press your cheek to his shoulder and he turns to pull you in close. When you tilt your head back to look up at him, he knows what you’re asking for, knows what you want. He presses his mouth to yours and thinks you taste like sleep and sunshine and solace.

He finds his own sort of peace in your body, in the way you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper, in the way you press your lips to his shoulder to quiet your moans. He tells you he loves you while he’s deep inside you and knows without a single doubt that you’re the one salvation he’ll ever be allowed but knows, too, the sin of taking you has been worth it.

When he finally falls asleep, it’s to the rhythm of your heartbeat. He can feel the steady thump, thump, thump through your sternum that’s pressed up against his ribcage. The vibration of your mercy, your clemency, your forgiveness reaches down to his bones. 

Tommy stays for seventeen days. 

They finish repainting the siding, fix up the plumbing and electrical, patch the holes in the drywall, repair the gate in the back yard, build a water system connected to the river in the woods, and start cleaning out the barn in preparation for livestock. 

You and Ellie make a run to an abandoned hardware store for gardening tools and return with an entire stockpile of seeds and rakes and hand-sized tillers. The two of you are mapping out the size of the garden when Tommy says to Joel in the back of the barn, “Been a long time since I’ve seen that look on your face, man.”

He knows exactly what he means but asks anyway. “What look?”

Joel follows his brother’s gaze that lands on you. He watches, in complete awe of you, as you throw your arm around Ellie’s shoulders and smear the dirt on your forehead against her cheek. She’s laughing and trying to push you away and all Joel can do is smile, feeling himself settle, feeling roots growing from his feet into the very ground he stands on.

Tommy shrugs and uses his shovel to lift more stale hay into the wheelbarrow. “Since I’ve seen you happy.”

At first, the urge arises in him to argue with his brother on this. But then he realizes that Tommy’s right—because Joel has never felt anything like this before. Never changed his course so dramatically to make room for someone else in it.

Not since Sarah was born. Not since he met Ellie.

He swallows and says with his eyes focused on the rake in his hands, “I see so much of myself in her at times. Angry at the world, at what it’s become. She might not remember things like they were before but she’s had to go through hard lessons like we all do and it’s made her do cruel things. Violent, even. That’s not the only thing she is, though. Never been the only thing she is.”

Tommy stares at his brother for several seconds without saying a word. And then he confesses, “Never thought she was in the wrong about it, y’know. About Thomas. But I wasn’t…uh, I wasn’t there. When it all happened, you know. Can’t say much about somethin’ I didn’t know much about. But with what I do know now, I can’t say I’d do anythin’ different. If it were…I mean, if it were our Sarah. If it were Ellie, you know?”

The sound of her name feels less like a knife these days. He finds instead it feels good to hear it, feels like remembering, like healing. And though Tommy doesn’t say the words directly, he understands what his brother’s trying to say. Knows Tommy, too, would kill the man who tried to harm an innocent little girl.

Joel thinks about those men in the warehouse. Thinks about what he would do if it were you in your sister’s place and knows he would’ve killed Thomas even slower than you had. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

Ellie returns to Jackson with Tommy a few days later. It’s a bittersweet moment, in truth. Because Joel knows she needs to do this, needs to get out on her own, become her own person now that she has someplace safe to do so. But he can’t deny the urge that rises up in him to ask her to stay.

He doesn’t, though. He lets her go, knowing she’s safe in Tommy’s hands, knowing she’s safe because Joel taught her to take care of herself. He has full faith in Ellie and he has full faith in the two of you.

There’s still a lot of work to be done. Seeds to plant, rooms to clean out, wiring to the generator, walls to paint and pictures to hang. The two of you settle into a routine.

Somehow, you’re always awake before Joel. And every morning he makes his way downstairs to find you sitting on the porch with a warm cup of tea in your hand and the sunlight casting shadows on your face. You always smile when you see him and stand to your feet to give him your chair. 

There are two of them, but only one ever gets truly used. You sit in Joel’s lap, and he holds you and the two of you talk about your plans for the day. You’ve been working tirelessly in the garden, hanging flowers and herbs to dry over the porch railing, making lists of canning supplies to pick up from Jackson or on your next run. Joel’s been repairing the barn, sawing down trees in the forest and rebuilding cracked beams to restabilize the structure.

On one morning in particular, you let him sip from your cup and say softly, “Thank you.”

He presses a kiss to your jaw and wraps his arms a little tighter around your waist. “For what, sweetheart?”

“This,” you reply. “For the home we’ve built. For…I don’t know. For you.”

“Me?” He doesn’t understand, but he tries to.

“Just for being who you are. For loving me still. Thank you.”

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know that it’s ever been a choice for him. Joel thinks he’s loved you since the moment he’d first laid eyes on you, thinks it was always meant to be his fate to find you. “I always will,” he promises. And he means it.

When the barn is fixed Joel builds you a greenhouse. 

You’re more than happy to assist him when needed, and listen to him talk about this, that and the other. Once, without even realizing, he talks to you about how drywall is made and why it’s sometimes called gypsum board or sheetrock for an entire afternoon. You don’t complain, not even once, and he wonders why but then realizes he’d let you talk about anything under the sun for an entire afternoon, too. 

In June, Ellie and Tommy visit and they bring guests. In the back of the truck is Bonnie and her son Sam, as well as Greg, Mike who has a ziploc bag of coffee grounds,  and his wife, Stella, who carries a plate of strawberry scones. 

There’s also the addition of four lambs and six chickens. 

You greet and hug and thank everyone for coming but when you hug Ellie you let out this girlish giggle that brings him so much joy he thinks his chest may burst with it. The two of you bring the lambs and the chickens to the barn and Sam and Bonnie help you set out feed and fill a trough with water from the stream while Joel and Tommy start a bonfire in the backyard. 

Everyone gives the two of you updates on Jackson. They tell you about how Miley’s made a full recovery and Maria’s due within the next week. They tell you that Kelly and Abel are an item now and they like to flaunt it for all of Jackson to see, that the Tipsy Bison is getting an upgrade after Jesse had discovered a distillery on a run.

You and Joel both are showered in compliments about your new home. About the garden and the greenhouse and the barn. Mike and Joel talk for an hour about Joel’s newest project, inspecting the half-hollow body of an acoustic guitar.

Tommy and Greg leave the group for a short hunting trip and in the twenty minutes they’re gone manage to return with a deer. You roast venison over the bonfire and everyone eats standing with their plate balanced in one hand, talking and laughing.

Joel catches your eye in the cacophony, and for a moment you just stare at each other from across the yard with mirrored grins. You look so beautiful in your pretty sundress and bare feet. There’s a leaf suck in your hair and venison grease on your fingers and Joel fights the urge to kick everyone out early so he can lick you clean.

He loves you more than he’s loved anything in all his life, and it’s this precise moment where he thinks maybe there is no such thing as acceptance into heaven. Maybe the devil and his pretty, perfect Judas possessed enough love for one another to create it on their own with greasy, calloused hands and broken hearts. Maybe he’s been wrong this whole time and he’s never been cursed, never been punished for his sins. 

Because how can he stand here in this home he shares with you, surrounded by the people he loves, feeling the presence of those he’s lost in the wind, and say he’s cursed?

Joel Miller feels like the most blessed man on the face of the planet.

Just before dark, they all pile back into Tommy’s truck with full bellies and smiles on their faces. 

And the minute they’re down the long drive way and the lambs are safely in the barn, Joel’s hands are slipping beneath your dress. He squeezes the soft flesh of your thigh and you giggle into his mouth, kissing him deep, letting him invade your body, your mind, your soul. 

He lifts you into his arms with the intent to take you to bed but then you wrap your legs around his waist and rut your hips against him. Pretty, desperate little girl wants him just as bad and who is he to deny you?

Joel lays you down in the grass, pulls your panties to the side, and takes you right there beneath the summer sun. He pushes your legs up to your chest and holds your knees apart, watching himself disappear inside of you, encouraged by the sweet moans you make.

“Gonna take real good care of you, little girl,” he says, circling your clit with his thumb. And he means it now and forever. No more silent vows, no more internal battles—you’ve become everything. “Always gonna take care of you. Keep you real safe, baby. Make you feel real good.”

Your pussy constricts around him as your orgasm feathers through you and he follows you off the edge at the sound of the words I love you in your mouth.

When he pulls out of you, Joel uses his fingers and pushes his spend back inside. And even though he knows it’s impossible, for the first time in the last thirty years he wishes it would take. Wishes he could get you pregnant, wants to see you barefoot in the garden with a belly rounded with his baby.

But it’s impossible and he knows it. This is enough, though. The two of you and a couple of lambs.

Even though your thighs shake, Joel fucks you with his fingers until you’re writhing again before he helps you to your feet and heats up water for a bath to get you clean. 

Joel finishes constructing his guitar. He plays the chords to Stairway to Heaven from the backyard and can see you begin to sway in the kitchen through the screen door. He plays a little louder and swears he can hear you humming the lyrics and the elation hits him like a fucking freight train. 

Because when he’d first met you, you’d been callous and rude and brash. You’d lashed out at him and Maria and Tommy and anyone else who stood in your way. You’d bitten off every hand that tried to feed you because those that tried had never tried again after feeling the sharpness of your teeth. 

But Joel had. He tried a hundred times and still kept coming back for more.

And now you stand in the kitchen you built together, swaying your hips while canning the vegetables from the garden you watered to feed your family through winter. The sun is shining and he’s playing his guitar and you’re singing.

It took blood and guts and tears, it took a war to get here, to find peace, but you did. Fought tooth and nail for it, bled and lost and died for it.

Joel had done all he could but it was you who held the cards, who had all the strength. Not him.

And you’re singing.

Joel’s eyes fill with tears before the song’s over and when he goes to sleep that night he finds he can breathe a little easier. 

He learns that Stairway to Heaven is your favorite song because you ask him to play it all the time. Joel never gets tired of it. 

On the first day of August, Tommy comes to visit. You come rushing out of the front door, excited for Ellie to see how big the lambs have grown. Only, this time, Ellie isn’t sitting in the passenger seat. But Maria is and she’s holding a bundle of blankets close to her chest. 

You freeze on the last step of the front porch and Joel stands from his chair, on the defense before the truck is even in park. 

When Maria sees you for the first time in months, her face falls and she begins to weep.

No word is said, but you’re suddenly running through the tall grass in the yard and you’re throwing your arms around her and her new baby, an immediate exoneration that Joel’s not sure he trusts.

It’s a girl. They name her Olive. “Like that olive tree in the bible mama always used to talk about. It means forgiveness,” Tommy says.

You’re infatuated immediately. Olive’s a smiley baby, just like Sarah was. She doesn’t cry even once while they visit, while you give Maria a full tour of every room in the house and of the garden and the greenhouse and the barn.

“She’s been wanting to come for a while,” he tells Joel. “Just wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. It’s been real hard on her since you guys left. I didn’t wanna say anything, cause, well…you know.”

He does know. Tommy didn’t say anything because Joel had no interest in hearing it. No sympathy at all. “Look, I’m…I’m real glad they’re getting to see each other. Even happier to see my niece. An’ you know that Tommy, but…they can’t ever go back. Not to the way things used to be. I won’t allow it.”

Tommy’s eyes soften. “I know that. Maria knows it, too. I’ll admit, I wasn’t always the loudest advocate for you two but I’m glad things worked out the way they did. Glad she’s got you. Glad you’ve got her.”

Tommy takes his daughter from you with some convincing to give Joel a turn.

He cries when he holds her.

She’s so small, so soft and delicate in his arms. Olive reaches a hand up and tugs at the wiry hairs of his beard and he laughs until his stomach hurts. He bounces her in his arms and gently runs the pad of his index finger down the bridge of her tiny nose.

“We should talk,” Maria says after some time.

Tommy takes Olive from Joel’s arms. “I’ll, uh…give you guys a minute.”

Maria sits on one side of the table and you and Joel sit on the other. The tension is thick in the air, so much so he thinks he may be able to cut it with a knife. She clears her throat and opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

Joel wonders how hard an apology could be for something so horrific. If he were in her place, he thinks it would come easily. He knows his face is contorted into a scowl but he can’t bring himself to smooth it.

She tries again. This time, her voice is successful. She looks only to you and admits, “I want you to know that I have never blamed you for the loss of Sarah. I feel that is most important for me to say.”

His jaw ticks.

“It always felt like you did. I blamed myself enough already.” Your voice is so timid and mousy, such a stark contrast to the confidence he’s grown used to.

“I know, and I’m so, so sorry for it.”

A start, Joel thinks.

“I know I didn’t want to believe it at first,” she says. “About…about Thomas. I never would have imagined he’d ever be capable of such a thing, but I…looking back, I see there are things I’ve missed. And I hope you know that if you had just come to me before you…if you had—”

“Careful,” Joel says lowly.

You take his hand in yours beneath the table.

Maria swallows and straightens her spine. “I’m sorry,” she says again, tears welling in her eyes. “I was angry, hurt. My entire world had imploded and then to lose Sarah, too, I couldn’t…” She shakes her head. “I needed you after losing them both. But I was furious with you for not trusting me enough to believe you.”

“You didn’t believe it,” Joel states. “And you made her out to be some sort of villain in front of everyone. Being angry is not an excuse.”

“I know,” she says. “You’re right. And I admit, sending you out on these runs was selfish and horrible. I know it. But I do love you like a daughter. I love you as much as I ever loved Sarah, more, even because of the loss we share. Your absence has been…catastrophic. Please, I…I know I can never take back the things I’ve done but I would like to work towards something. If you’ll let me.”

“I didn’t deserve what you did to me. The burden you put on my shoulders,” you say. The confidence has returned to your voice, the surety. It puts Joel at ease to hear it.

“No,” Maria says. “You’re right. You didn’t.”

“But she would hate us for this.” Your hand trembles in his. You reach your other hand out and lay it on the tabletop, palm up and open. “I have to cut some vegetables for dinner tonight. Would you like to help?”

Maria takes your hand and a tear slides down her cheek.

You turn to Joel then, and ask, “Can you and Tommy bring in some rosemary and thyme from the greenhouse? I’d like a second alone with Maria if that’s okay.”

He doesn’t trust it. Not at first. Because without him at your side to mediate, to keep you safe from the harsh things Maria has proven herself capable of saying, who will protect you from her manipulation?

But then you squeeze his hand in yours and Joel reminds himself that he has faith. Faith in you, in what the two of you have built. He knows you’re capable of fending for yourself. And, more than that, he knows should you falter, he’ll be wherever you fall to pick you back up.

Should you forgive her, he’ll be at your side. And should you decide to keep your distance, he’ll be there just as well.

He finds Tommy and Olive near the barn. The two of them talk over how the conversation went and Joel admits he’s weary of the truce the two of you’ve come to. He holds Olive while Tommy picks a handful of herbs.

When they return to the house, Maria takes the infant from Joel’s arms and says softly, “Thank you. For making me see the error of my ways. For being for her what I never could be.”

It’s going to take time for him. You might be able to forgive her after a long talk and some time away, but Joel isn’t so easily swayed. 

And he thinks Maria knows it because as they’re leaving to return to Jackson that night she nods and says, “I’m really sorry, Joel. To you as much as to her. I’m going to try and make this right. For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy.”

He looks at you as Tommy holds you in a tight embrace, at the way the two of you have such an ease with one another. He looks at Olive and the way she stares up at her mother as if she put the stars in the sky. “It’s not me you’ve gotta make it right for,” he tells her.

“I know. I’m going to do everything I can to prove it,” she says. “You’ve built a beautiful home here.”

When they leave, you melt in Joel’s arms and he carries you to bed and rubs your back as you cry.

But Maria keeps her word. She brings Ellie and Olive to the farm twice a week every week. Sometimes they bring trinkets or gifts or supplies from Jackson, other times they leave with vegetables from the garden or fresh baked bread. She never raises her voice at you, never asks anything of you other than, how can I help? Tommy becomes Jackson’s most frequent runner, but he oftentimes will stop out to see the two of you before he goes anywhere and the farm is his first stop on the way back. 

It takes time, takes a bit more watering and sunlight, but eventually trust begins to take root.

A snowstorm hits in December. It takes out the generator, leaving the farmhouse dark for most hours of the day. Joel tries to fix it but after a few hours in the cold, you tell him to come back inside, that in a few days you’ll take a trip to Jackson to get tools to repair it. 

You make the most of the darkness. You light a fire in the hearth and sleep on the living room floor. You play rummy a hundred times and Joel lets you cheat for every game just to see the smile on your face when you beat him. He teaches you how to play poker and you use walnuts as chips.

He discovers you have the best poker face he’s ever seen. And when he’s backed into a corner, unsure whether to fold or to put in all his walnuts, Joel gives up and throws his cards down, and crawls to you instead. He pushes you back against the mass of blankets and pillows brought down from the bedroom, forces your legs apart, and devours you. He licks and sucks at your clit until you’re crying out for him. Until you’re crying out for God.

He doesn’t know why he chooses this moment, but he does. 

“I want to marry you,” he says with his head between your thighs.

“What? What are you…?”

With his mouth pressed to the inside of your thigh, he says it again. “I wanna marry you, little girl.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, brows furrowed in confusion. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. He leans back down and runs his tongue through your wet heat, delighting in the way you shiver and shake with just a single touch. “Want to give you everything.”

“You’ve already given me everything,” you say. Your hands tangle in the roots of his hair. “This is everything. You are everything, Joel.”

He slides his finger into you with ease. You’re dripping for him, slick coating his knuckles and spilling out of you and onto the blankets. “Wanna give you my last name, too,” he says. “Want you to be my little girl forever.”

“I already am,” you say, and it sounds like a promise.

The words make him groan against your skin. I already am. Of course you are. You’ve always been. 

Joel makes you finish on his mouth one more time before crawling up to you and pulling you close. Before he has a chance to lay his head down you’re asking through panting breaths, “Did you mean it?”

“‘Course I did.” He presses a kiss to your hairline that’s dotted with sweat. You stay silent for a moment, and Joel finds that it doesn’t frighten him. Whatever your answer may be he’s content with. Satisfied, happy. As long as he gets to hold you like this there’s nothing else he’d ever need. 

Still, he can’t deny the excitement that courses through him when you say, “Okay. We’ll go to the chapel when we get to Jackson.”

While you sleep, he carves two identical oak rings to perfectly fit on your ring fingers. He stains them black, seals the wood, and fries eggs for breakfast to present them with. He asks if you’d rather wait and put them on during the ceremony or if you want to do it now. 

“We should do it now, don’t you think? Just the two of us.” 

He puts yours on for you around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and a smile so wide it hurts his cheeks. When you place Joel’s ring on his finger, it doesn’t feel out of place or foreign on his hand. It feels like taking off an uncomfortable piece of clothing after wearing it all day, like kicking your feet up and laying your head back. It feels like coming home.

The moment is intimate and he knows he’ll always remember it, always hold the memory close. He finds himself missing it even while still living it, finds himself wanting to stay in this little happy bubble with you forever.

After breakfast, you’re readying yourself for the journey to Jackson. Bundling up in warm clothes, tightening boot laces, filling canteens. But then the front door is ripped open and on instinct, Joel grabs his rifle from the side of the bed. 

“Joel!”

Tommy’s voice is frantic. The both of you are at the bottom of the stairs in a second. 

His brother lets out a sigh of relief and doubles over with his hands on his knees. “Oh, thank God. I thought the storm might’ve taken out the farm.”

Joel doesn’t understand it at first. But when the three of you climb into Tommy’s truck and head to Jackson, he realizes just how fortunate you’d gotten. 

Less than a mile away, there are downed trees on every side of the street, thousand-year-old trunks severed in half. The abandoned buildings between the farm and the commune have been demolished, splintered into a thousand tiny pieces. 

Somehow, you’d been left untouched. The generator was the worst of it.

For the first time, he wonders just how safe you really are. He’d brought you to the farm, away from Jackson, to protect you. But there are things he can’t fight against. Beasts he has no business battling. He wonders if the two of you should abandon the home, the heaven you’ve created in order to ensure your safety.

You’ve gotten lucky twice now. He knows there won’t be a third time.

You reach through the space between the driver and passenger seats and grip Joel’s hand in yours. He can feel your ring press against the palm of his hand and it grounds him, pulls him out of his head. With your free hand, you hold the cross necklace you’ve never taken off since he’d given it to you in that church and say, “I know you don’t believe in God much anymore, but I think something has been looking out for us.”

At the chapel, Tommy stands beside Joel and Ellie stands beside you. Dina takes pictures on an old Polaroid camera. Half of Jackson sits in the pews and there’s so much joy and laughter in the day that Joel wonders if he deserves it. 

But then you look at him, slide your hand into his, and press your cheek to his shoulder. You say, “I love you,” as if it’s the simplest, easiest thing you’ve ever said. As if it’s second nature. You don’t fight it, don’t hesitate or second guess. You say it because it’s true. You, an innocent, love him.

Joel Miller thinks he might be worthy of forgiveness after all.

[part nine]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @elliesr1fle @pascaltesfaye

[masterlist]

[babymetaldoll]

"Little Miss Reid, entrepreneur" (Spencer Reid x fem!reader x their daughter)

Summary:  Spencer and reader help their little daughter with her very first lemonade stand, and the whole BAU family gets together. Requested: Nope   Warnings: This might be too fluffy: Reader discretion is advised. Category: Hardcore fluff . A/N: Hello! I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge, I hope you enjoy it! Promp: Character helps their child with their first entrepreneurial venture... a lemonade stand. They weren't expecting half the damn FBI to show up.   Masterlist

Summer vacation was an interesting time at the Reid’s house. With both Spencer and (Y/N) having only two weeks off from work, they had to plan in advance and schedule all their activities, to make sure they had enough time to do everything their kids wanted to do with them during the break. Raven was already five years old, and Vicent was already two, and both Spencer and (Y/N) really wanted to make it up to them for always being away, solving cases with the BAU. 

That’s why that year, their “Summer fun plans” included a trip to the grand canyon, visiting lots of museums, going to a water park or two, and most importantly: helping Raven with her first lemonade stand. 

The little girl was obsessed with the idea of running her own business ever since she had visited her cousin Henry, and he had a little lemonade stand outside his house. Uncle Will had explained to her that that was Henry’s way to earn some money to get a new bike, and that was enough to plant a seed in the little girl’s brain. 

- “Dad, remember when you said I couldn’t get a pony ‘cos they are too expensive?”- Raven asked her father later that night, after reading a bedtime story together. 

- “Yes, they are too expensive and we don’t have enough room to keep a pony here. Why do you ask?” 

- “‘Cos… you know how Henry wants a new bike and he has a lemonade stand to save money and get it?”- suddenly Spencer knew exactly where his daughter was going with that question. 

- “Yes, I know.” 

- “I was thinking…”- Raven made a pause and looked at her father, who was trying not to laugh.- “I know I can’t get a pony, but what if I have a lemonade stand and save a lot of money and you take me to Barnes and Noble and I get to buy all the books I can afford?”

Spencer never saw that plot twist coming. Of course, there was no way he could say “no” to his kid. Raven was very smart and she knew her dad would be thrilled with that idea. So, after a long logistic debate with his wife, and a talk with Nono Rossi, Spencer and (Y/N) scheduled a day. That Saturday, Raven was having her first lemonade stand in David’s front yard. They decided to do it there ‘cos it was a more family neighborhood than their street. You don’t usually see kids with lemonade stands in front of an apartment building, do you?

While (Y/N) went grocery shopping with their kids and got everything they needed to make lemonade, Spencer asked for professional assistance from a Lemonade Stand professional: Matt Simmons. 

- “So, did you ever sell lemonade as a kid?”- Matt asked Spencer as they set all the materials and tools in Rossi’s backyard. 

- “No, never. I really wasn’t into outdoor activities, as you might imagine.”- Spencer replied and Matt chuckled. - “But once one of my neighbors set one, and my father forced me to go and buy a cup.”  

- “Why did he force you?”- Matt questioned, confused. 

- “He wanted me to have friends my age. When I was seven, my best friend was the librarian.”- Spencer explained and looked around - “So, where do we start?” 

- “Did you get spray paint?”

- “Yes, all of Raven’s favorite colors.”- Spencer grabbed a few cans and tossed one to his friend. Rossi walked over and left a cooler filled with cold beers. 

- “I’ll leave this here, and in case you need me, I will pretend I can’t hear you while I spend my morning reading in my studio with the AC on.” 

- “Thank you for letting us do this here, Rossi.”- Spencer smiled at him as he shook one of the spray paint cans. 

- “Anything for mi principessa.”- David replied and waved as he walked back into the house.- “Good luck, kids!” 

Spencer had been right: Matt Simmons was a lemon stand pro. In two hours they had a green and lavender stand made with four wooden crates. One rod on each side of the stand helped hold a banner (Y/N) had made the night before that read “Raven’s Lemonade” and on the front, Spencer hung another banner that read: “Lemonade: ¢50” 

- “All set!”- Matt smiled proudly and tapped on Spencer’s back a few times. - “How do you feel?” 

- “Excited, pleased with our work… nervous?” 

- “Why are you nervous? Your kid is going to be thrilled!” 

- “I know, but… what if no one shows up? She would be broken-hearted…”- Spencer sighed at the thought of his baby pouting, and Matt shook his head right away.

- “There is no way that could ever happen here. Not under this heat and not in Rossi's neighborhood. Elderly people are very supportive.”

- “Hey!”- Rossi argued, overhearing Matt’s comment on his way out. - “Who is elderly?” 

- “Your neighbors!- Simmons explained right away, trying not to laugh.   

Raven Reid yelled and jumped with excitement when she saw her lemonade stand. She ran around Rossi’s backyard, nearly hyperventilating. She hadn’t been so excited since Santa brought her the telescope she wanted. 

- “It’s so pretty, daddy!!”- the little girl jumped into Spencer's arms and he caught her with a bear hug.

- “I’m glad you like it, birdie.”- he replied and kissed her chubby cheek. - “Did you and your mom get lots of lemons?” 

- “Yes, and some lemon bars too, in case someone is hungry.”- the little girl explained. 

- “Good idea, boo. Did you thank Nono Rossi for letting us set the stand in his front yard?”- the little girl shook her head and Spencer quickly set her down.- “Go tell him thank you.”- and off the girl went, running and yelling “Nono!” on her way into the house. Spencer stared at her as he stood in the middle of the backyard, putting all the tools Derek had given him a few years earlier back into the toolbox. His heart felt full of love knowing he could give his kids the childhood he never had. 

- “Hey there, Bob the builder.”- (Y/N) walked out to the backyard and smiled at her husband. - “This looks amazing.” 

- “Thank you.”- Spencer whispered and felt her lips on his immediately. 

- “Raven is ecstatic, she wants to start making lemonade right now.” - and just in time, they heard the little girl’s voice calling for her mommy. 

- “You heard the boss.”- Spencer whispered and kissed his wife one more time. Meanwhile, I’m gonna move this outside to the front yard.” 

- “Great, Pen said she was gonna come and help around four, so we should be ready on time.” 

When (Y/N) said Penelope Garcia was going to help, she pictured her friend slicing lemons and making lemonade along with her in Rossi’s kitchen. She never imagined her friend was going to… well… be Penelope Garcia, and take things over the top, as usual. 

First, Garcia didn’t slice a lemon, she might as well have chopped the entire tree: she got to Rossi’s with homemade lemon cupcakes, lemon cake, lemon tart, and lemon cookies (lemon shaped, of course, and covered in yellow frosting). She had so many trays with goods, Luke was forced to help her. He picked her up and gave her a hand carrying everything over to Rossi’s. 

- “Oh… my… good.”- (Y/N) whispered as she stared at the number of treats her friend had baked, piling on Rossi’s kitchen island.  

- “I know, I might have gone a little over the top, but once I started, I didn’t know how to stop.”- Garcia apologized and smiled guilty at her friend, who only had one worry in her mind. 

- “Ok, now I’m scared. How are we going to sell all this?”- (Y/N) asked, but Garcia dismissed her fears and shook her head immediately. 

- “Don’t worry about that! I’m sure Raven is going to do great. We’ll charge a dollar for everything, so she won’t get confused with math.” 

- “She is Spencer’s daughter”- (Y/N) chuckled as she spoke- “Math is not the problem. But Pen, I’m just scared no one is going to show up and she’ll feel discouraged. I don’t want my baby thinking she failed.” 

- “Nonsense! It’s a lemonade stand, everybody loves a lemonade stand!”- Garcia replied and grabbed a fresh lemon- “Now, let’s make more lemonade!”

Raven ran out of Rossi’s front door carrying a stack of paper cups and a bag of paper straws. Right behind her, her mom carried a big glass dispenser filled with fresh lemonade. Raven’s little stand was ready and open to the public. A glass jar on the top of the counter was ready to be filled with the profit of the dar. Spencer stared at his daughter and took a few pictures with his phone. Garcia and Luke carried some of the sweets to start the sale, and Rossi opened his wallet.

- “Are you my first customer, nono?”- Raven asked, making her mom and dad chuckle. 

- “I am, mi principessa. Can I have a cup of lemonade and a cookie, please?”- Rossi placed a dollar and 50 cents in the jar, and Raven’s eyes shone with joy as she poured her first order. 

- “I’m gonna need a lemonade too.”- Luke said as he paid and waited for the girl to give him a cup as well. 

- “Enjoy, uncle Luke.”- the little girl said and turned to her little brother Vincent, who was playing on a blanket on the grass their mother had set for him. - “Vinnie? Do you want some lemonade? For you, it’s on the house.”- the little girl grabbed her brother’s sippy cup and filled it with lemonade, as her parents filmed the entire moment on their phones. 

JJ and Will showed up a few minutes later with Henry and Michael to support Raven’s little business. The kids played on the street with their skateboards, as Raven sat behind her stand, waiting for her customers. 

A few of Rossi’s neighbors walked toward the lemonade stand, and Raven was shining. Her parents sat with little Vincent on his blanket and watched from a safe distance as their daughter took care of her paying customers. Meanwhile, Luke and García walked to the backyard with Rossi, Will, and JJ to enjoy the pool.  

- “Fresh lemonade, get some lemonade”- Raven said to everyone who walked down the sideway and passed her stand. Everybody stopped and bought something for the little girl, she looked adorable while selling her products. But at a certain point during the afternoon, no one was coming. And Raven looked at her money jar feeling discouraged. 

- “Mama… what if no one else comes?”- the little girl walked toward her parents and sat on (Y/N)’s lap. Her mother wrapped her arms around her and kissed her cheek a few times, making the girl chuckle. 

- “Come on, it’s still early. It’s been what? just one hour? I promise by the end of the afternoon you are gonna be sold out of all the things you have in your stand.”- (Y/N) smiled and kissed her daughter’s cheek one more time before she stood up and walked back to her stand to wait for her customers. Spencer waited until Raven was far from them and turned to his wife. He didn’t have to say anything, she knew what he was thinking. It didn’t need saying. The two of them shared the same fear.   

But after just a few more minutes, something weird happened. Anderson parked his car in front of Rossi’s and waved at the Reid’s as he walked to Raven’s stand and ordered a lemonade and a slice of lemon pie for him and his boyfriend. And less than a minute later, Andi Swan’s car parked down the street, and she showed up with her husband to get a lemonade and a lemon cupcake. Not only that, but Matt Simmons, his wife, and all his kids showed up, excused themselves for being late, and ordered lemonade and lemon cookies for the entire family. Raven was on fire, and her parents were… confused to say the least. 

Where were all those people coming from? The cars kept parking: Ashley Seaver showed up with her kid and husband and got lemonade and lemon cake for her family. She hugged (Y/N) and Spencer and introduced them to her family, while more FBI agents kept showing up. 

Alex Blake parked and nearly ran to the Reids as her husband followed close behind. Kate Callahan showed up as well, with her kids and husband, and soon after, Tara Lewis came along. Raven got to ask her mom for help to serve all the customers, and soon Pen and Luke showed up with more sweets and to refill the lemonade jar. Somehow, what had started like a simple lemonade stand ended up being an FBI get-together family party.  

(Y/N) turned to Spencer and the two of them stared at the scene in shock. Pen and Luke walked to them and Garcia smiled and waved at everybody. 

- “What did you do?”- (Y/N) asked her friend and she simply giggled. 

- “I might have sent a few emails to everybody at the Bureau and some former agents telling them your little Birdie had a little entrepreneur of her own, and encouraged them all to come.”- Garcia explained and smiled innocently. 

- “Everybody is here! We only need Elle and Hotch and we’d have the biggest BAU reunion ever!”- (Y/N) looked around in disbelief and chuckled. 

- “You are forgetting me, little mama.”- (Y/N) froze and turned around slowly. That voice. She could never forget that voice. Derek Morgan stood in front of her, holding Savannah's hand and a stroller with their little boy: Hank Spencer Morgan. 

- “Derek!!”- (Y/N) jumped and ran to hug him, as he chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. 

- “Mrs. Reid! I missed you so much!” 

- “I missed you too!”- (Y/N) said and turned to Savannah, who opened her arms and wrapped her in a hug.- “And you are gorgeous!!”

Spencer stared at their reunion with the biggest smile on his face, holding Vincent in his arms. 

- “Is that my little nephew? You haven’t sent pictures of him this week! He looks so much bigger! What are you feeding him?”- Morgan joked and looked at Spencer. - “You look like you could use a nap, boy wonder.” 

- “Two kids are more work than chasing serial killers”- the young doctor replied and chuckled as Morgan hugged him, tapping his back a couple of times.- “I missed you.”

- “Me too, brother.”- Morgan replied and smiled at his friend- “But I’m sorry to say I’m not here for you, I’m here for my little princess. Where is she?”- Derek walked to the stand, waving at their former colleagues on his way until he reached Raven and held her in his arms. 

- “Uncle Derek! You are here!!”- the little girl yelled and wide opened her eyes - “You have to help me with my stand!”

- “That’s what I am here for! Lemme see what your old man did here…”- Spencer stood behind his friend and waited for him to inspect the construction. 

- “I’m proud, you used the right nail for the wood.”- Morgan said, nodding. 

- “Of course I did.”- Reid replied, almost insulted 

- “Who helped you?”- Derek asked, and before Spencer could deny getting any help, his daughter explained.  

- “Uncle Matt said he had plenty of experience with lemonade stands, so he helped daddy.”

- “Simmons?”- Derek chuckled and turned to Reid.- “You two did a great job.”

- “Thanks.”- Spencer smiled and turned to Raven. - “So, what is your uncle Morgan going to have, birdie?”

- “For you, lemonade on the house, uncle Derek.”- the little girl said and handed him a paper cup. - “But if you want to eat anything, you are gonna have to pay, ‘cos auntie Penelope said we had to split the profits.”- Morgan tried not to laugh, but failed, as Raven stared at him, waiting for a reply. 

- “If that’s the case, I’m gonna have one of everything, thank you very much.”- and the little girl’s face lit with excitement as soon as she heard those words. 

The afternoon ended, the FBI agent returned to their cars, and the BAU family moved from Rossi’s front yard to the back. David, Derek, and Luke prepared a barbecue, the kids played in the backyard, and (Y/N) and Spencer put away the lemonade stand. Nothing was left, not even a cookie. The sale had been a complete success. 

- “How much did she make?”- Mrs. Reid asked her husband, who held the money jar and shook his head.

- “Over three hundred.”

- “Wow… she is gonna go crazy with the books.”- and as (Y/N) said those words and finished cleaning the last jar that was left in the sink, Spencer stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. 

- “Thank you.”- he whispered in her ear and sighed. 

- “What for?”

- “For giving me everything I ever dreamed of.”- (Y/N) turned around and stared at her husband for a few seconds. She then leaned in and kissed him sweetly. 

- “Eeewww!”- Raven said as she saw her parents kissing as soon as she walked into the kitchen. - “Uncle Derek is right, you are always kissing.” 

- “Hey! Come here-” (Y/N) commanded with a smile and the little girl giggled as she walked to her parents.- “It’s a good thing your parents are always kissing, and we are also always kissing your chubby cheeks!”- and as soon as she delivered that line, both Spencer and (Y/N) started kissing Raven’s cheeks. 

Summer was soon going to end, but those happy memories were definitely going to last forever.    

[mollywog]

"I do the cakes," he admits to me.

"The cakes?" I ask. I've been preoccupied with watching the boy from District 2 send a spear through a dummy's heart from fifteen yards. "What cakes?"

"At home. The iced ones, for the bakery," he says.

He means the ones they display in the windows. Fancy cakes with flowers and pretty things painted in frosting. They're for birthdays and New Year's Day. When we're in the square, Prim always drags me over to admire them, although we'd never be able to afford one. There's little enough beauty in District 12, though, so I can hardly deny her this.

In addition to hope, Peeta brings beauty into their drab surroundings, but more importantly [to Katniss], he brings her sister joy.

Bonus

[mentallyisekaid]

「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 3 ✦ 」

---

Part 1 Part 2 Part 2.5 [Part 3] Part 3.5

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

A/N ~ hey there, if you're following this story but haven't yet seen my pinned post, you should go and read it since it's where I'll update general stuff regarding the fic~

---

Featured in this chapter, we have... a certain dubious duo?

Warnings: half-intentional ooc moments

Word count: 2.3k

---

A week or so had passed.

It's not that you were complaining about this endless 'trial period', per se. Still, just going through piles of boring documents, day after day - any immortal being would've lost their mind sooner or later.

Half a millennium dulled all shine there was to a mundane life, so seeking out a bit of excitement was crucial for maintaining sanity. But even making bets with Childe wasn't thrilling enough (though it did come close!)

Without a drastic change of pace soon, you might have just gone feral.

And your colleagues were quite aware of it~ In time, you better believe they would've even stolen the Moon from the sky for you if you only asked for it, but nevertheless, first, you needed to prove that they could trust you.

The Fatui took immense pride in loyalty - yet yours was very fickle, and they knew it. But rather than allegiance, what your Harbingers seeked for was sign of your devotion toward them, something that exceeded the boundaries of professionalism and demonstrated... a much deeper level of trust.

"Was revealing the secret of this stupid Vision a mistake, after all?" a thought that had plagued your mind.

Well, who could say... but apparently, it had been worth it!

No one could really fathom Pierro's decisions, but it seems that after hearing you'd confided a part of your past to some of them, the Director had thought you'd proved yourself enough. And maybe it was because he knew you just a bit too well, having been there all those centuries ago.

But did this mean that all of them now knew of your little conversation with Scaramouche, Columbina and Childe?

Well, such a thought hardly occupied you.

Because more importantly, you were finally about to get (*insert an ominous fanfare*)...

Your very first field mission!

Good riddance, eternal paperwork~

---

A sign of their trust, or... just another test?

You didn't care either way.

"Lady Harbinger," a Cicin Mage had bowed her head after entering your office. "The Jester has assigned you to an official errand with Lords Ninth and Second. You are to rendezvous with them at the gates. Effective immediately."

And girl, you couldn't have bolted out of that room faster! It made the poor Cicins squeak in alarm. The mage only sighed while shaking her head, not sure that you'd come out of this one with your sanity still intact.

So, your bored prayers had been heard. But by the gods, or a devil? A field assignment with this specific pair of Harbingers had the potential to turn out chaotic beyond belief...

and you were all for it!

It was daybreak in Snezhnaya.

The early morning air was even more frigid than usual, making your grip the coat on around you tighter as you waltzed through the snowy yard. From a distance, you could make out two shadowy figures next to the gates of Zapolyarny Palace, their menacing auras unmistakable.

When Regrator and Il Dottore were working together, anyone even remotely involved had better be on their guard...

Lest they wanted to end up in horrible debt.

Or as a part of human experiments.

But the shady banker and the heretic researcher had failed to intimidate you, and they found such fearlessness quite... captivating.

As you got closer, Pantalone offered you a warm smile.

"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"

"Hello... and no, *yawn*... it's impossible to get decent rest with these working hours. But," a smile made its way onto your lips, "I'm pleased to finally get to work outside of the palace~"

And with the two of you, it might just be twice as fun, a totally weird thought that you didn't voice out, and instead sighed:

"Though, at the cost of skipping my yummy breakfast pancakes..."

You took a bite from the frostbitten, red fruit in your hand. This earned a chuckle from Dottore.

"No, no, you won't get sufficient vitamins from that. How about trying the special pills I gave you? You'd help me with my research while you're at it, too..."

"I'm afraid your experimental supplements might end up turning me into a slime."

An apple a day hardly kept this doctor away. But much to everyone's surprise, you seemed to know how to handle his eccentric personality and... the segments. Even Scaramouche was impressed by this.

"Don't you look rather young today, Zandik?" you questioned with a hint of playfulness; a habit you'd picked up from Damselette.

The Doctor only replied with a smile, gently sweeping away a few snowflakes from your hair as if admiring a most precious specimen (no objectifying here, Dottore's just being Dottore~)

This one seemed to be of the more reasonable segments, if such a concept even existed - though regardless of the form, you were really quite fond of their antics.

Pantalone, too, was a difficult person in his own way, knowing how to both frustrate you to no ends, and yet make you feel so endeared.

As usual, the banker seemed just a bit too amused by everything.

That, and he found you adorable.

"Hehe, I must admit that dealing with the two of you off-duty is always rather delightful~ but we ought to leave duly," he stepped forward and offered you his hand. "After all, we wouldn't want to be late on Y/N's first mission, now would we?"

Dottore mimicked his gesture. "Indeed, off we go."

These two....

But on that note?

"Dare I ask," you raised an eyebrow, "what the mission might be?"

They only smiled at you - Pantalone while adjusting his glasses, Dottore with his expression half hidden by that asymmetrical mask, and both in a suspiciously mellow way.

You frowned. Pierro had definitely been up to something when sending you on a nameless errand, and with this dubious duo, no less...

and you were quite enjoying the suspense!

---

Three Harbingers waltzing through the snowy streets, a dozen of Fatui agents following close behind, was a slightly unnerving sight; one could only wonder who had wronged the infamous organization this time, and pray the lot wouldn't fall on them.

Someone sure was out of their luck today.

You tried to ignore the not so subtle gazes the citizens threw you as you walked past them, though understanding their curiosity.

It was the first public appearance of the rumoured 12th Harbinger, after all.

Feeling a bit self-conscious, you tried to distract yourself by focusing on the scenery. It had been over a month since you'd last set foot outside the palace grounds, but Snezhnaya's beauty never faltered...

At some point, you got a bit lost in thought.

Dottore's lazy comment, however, caught your attention.

"Now then, I've heard some interesting things about that Pyro Vision of yours…"

Pantalone smiled, as if oblivious.

You sighed. "Well, that's unsurprising. From Scaramouche, I reckon."

"Tsk, you have so little imagination." The Doctor clicked his tongue. "Then, allow me to ask you... How long do you think the oldest one of my segments has been around? Or, how efficiently all these clones are capable of gathering information? Or, how much more I can figure out just by knowing a few things about you?"

"Such roundabout hints, Doctor."

"What he's trying to say, of course," Pantalone chimed in, "is that the Second of the Harbingers has many... unconventional ways of finding out what his curiosity desires."

You sighed, "and he shares everything with you, because why not?"

Not very surprising.

It was granted that your secrets were never going to remain hidden from them forever, and frankly speaking, you didn't care. Pierro was already aware of every scandalous detail there was to your past anyway, so was there a reason for you to be so reticent about it?

Well, certainly not anymore...

but it was still a tad too early to completely let your guard down either!

A weird silence filled the air for a while, probably making the lower ranks behind you a bit uncomfortable.

But since Pantalone and Dottore didn't pursue on the topic, you thought, 'why should I either?'

Yet they obviously expected you to.

"Then," you sighed, giving in, "I assume you want to ask me about something? My Visions, no doubt."

Pantalone patted your head, "Only if our little Harbinger wouldn't deem it prying."

"I do, but go ahead."

Knowing them to be exceedingly shrewd characters, manipulating others so effortlessly, you realized these two could have easily lead you into a trap here. But somehow, this subtle controlling was always done gently enough not to hurt you.

And they never would, surely.

One way or another, though, they always found out what they wanted...

Pantalone gestured the Fatui agents to put some distance between them and the three of you - was it courtesy, or maybe... protectiveness? Either way, it would prevent bothersome rumours about your past from spreading any further, so you gave him an appreciative smile.

Dottore was walking leisurely with his hands behind his back, giving you sidelong glances.

"Then, tell me, Y/N - why do you think Celestia grants Visions so heedlessly? Why is it that even some of the strongest individuals never receive one?"

The vapor from your breath formed clouds in the cold air as you took a few deep breaths before answering.

"Well, I can only speak for myself. I've always been ambitionless and ran away from all my problems rather than facing them. So, thinking back, I never should've received a Vision in the first place, fake or not."

You sighed, "Rosalyne, on the other hand... I think she had every right to get a blessing from those crafty deities. She was assertive, gifted - a bit of a diva at times - but somewhere beneath lied a gentle soul."

And here you were again, talking about her; she haunted you when she was alive, and haunted you as dead.

Pantalone raised an eyebrow. "My, I've never heard anyone say such things about the Fair Lady?"

Dottore, too, seemed reluctant to accept these praises you directed at your sister, as he'd only seen her as a shallow, crude woman.

"Don't get me wrong, though," you commented, "she was no saint..."

"But?"

You shrugged, "...nor was I."

The two Harbingers had quietly moved closer to you, now walking on your both sides. You only noticed this when their arms slightly brushed against yours.

"After my father created this... thing and gave it to me, and how I greedily accepted it, I always wondered if we had angered the gods so thoroughly that they didn't grant my sister a Vision out of pure spite."

Pantalone brushed a loose strand of hair from your face.

"Perhaps... you shouldn't be so merciless toward yourself."

"I'm not. Rosalyne and I were very similar, after all."

Dottore raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We both wanted what we felt we deserved - power, attention... acceptance. I don't know whose yearning was greater, but neither one of us settled for any less. So, I tied a manmade Vision on my hips, and Rosalyne left to study the art of liquid fire in the Akademiya; the divine refused to acknowledge us, so we searched for our due elsewhere."

Pantalone stroked his chin, seemingly amused. "Well, what a pair of blasphemous sisters?"

"However," the Doctor chuckled, "what you did surely made those self-important gods grit their teeth in frustration. I find such heresy quite commendable. Bravo, truly~"

"And then you went and became a Fatui Harbinger," Pantalone sighed. "Poor Celestia, they couldn't shackle you..."

You didn't know whether to laugh or cry at their comments.

"Though, I am curious about one thing," Pantalone continued. "You said Celestia 'rejected' you, yet here you are, with a bona fide Cryo Vision? Isn't that a sign that the gods did, in fact, accept you?"

It was something you'd been wondering ever since that day as well...

And the lamentable conclusion was this:

"Perhaps Celestia just took pity on me. Or, perhaps the Vision was intended as a warning."

"A warning?" Pantalone smiled eerily. "For what reason exactly, my dear?"

To keep your mouth shut?

To not cross such lines ever again?

And yet... "That's a story for a later time," you told them as well, smiling.

Dottore and Pantalone were adept at concealing how they really thought and felt about things, so you couldn't quite decipher their reactions to your cryptic words.

Still, a fleeting sentiment had flashed across their faces - resentment, perhaps. Not toward you, though.

Suddenly, they both stopped walking.

You took a few steps more before noticing and stopping as well, glancing at them over your shoulder.

"Well, would you look that? Time flies so pleasantly with Y/N around." Pantalone checked his pocket watch. "It seems we're here a bit early."

...and where was 'here', exactly?

It looked like a small, secluded village, somewhat. There were no proper houses, just some dilapidated cottages and cabins, and only a few of them. The people outside, wearing clothes way too ragged and light for this type of weather, had quickly fled inside once seeing the Fatui had arrived.

You knew there was a lot of poverty in rural Snezhnaya, but this was... well, it reminded you of the times when you'd struggled to get by as well - memories you'd rather never have had brought up again.

Dottore mumbled something about "these ones" being "too malnourished for test subjects" as he walked past you.

Pantalone had also went ahead with his subordinates, discussing some questionable economics that apparently concerned this place.

But you lingered behind them for a moment, lost in thought.

The people here have surely lost enough, so why choose to bring themselves even more misfortune by getting involved with the Fatui? I understand the way humans think less and less with every decade that passes...

Just now noticing that you hadn't followed them, the two Harbingers strode back to your side.

You quickly hid any remnant of hesitance from your face, giving them a smile.

"Time to prove myself, no?"

Dottore chuckled, "You don't seem too anxious about your first field mission, my little Harbinger, even though you don't know what's waiting up ahead..."

"Well," you sighed. "For the Tsaritsa, and all that... you know? And I reckon I've faced worse anyway."

"I'll ask you to elaborate on that some other time~ On a similar note," Pantalone mused, playing with your hair softly, "we all saw something in you that day, at the funeral, and it seems... you really won't disappoint us?"

You shrugged, "We should hope so."

And with their arms loosely linked around yours, the two Harbingers started leading you toward a particular cabin...

(to be continued)