#and then i have to go get a background check with fingerprints and everything for this potential job

[georgiapeach30513]

The Flowers of Waverley Road, Part 1

Summary:  Magnus Romano is a fierce leader of the biggest Mafia family in Boston.  And deep outside of the negotiating and the city he has remained to keep his daughters hidden.  But continues to use them as a bargaining agent.  Each daughter has their own journey and story.  Each daughter has their own tests and heartbreak.  And each daughter is fiercely loyal to each other.  His pretty little flowers.  His major point of bribery.  But they’re not as delicate as Magnus thinks that they are, or as stupid.

Pairings:  August Walker X Orchid, Nick Fowler X Lotus, Jax Teller X Dahlia, Jack Bass X Violet, Ari Levinson X Lavender

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, masturbating (F), arranged marriages, misogyny, age gap, power imbalance, implied abuse, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  8k

Universe Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

“Mr. Levinson?” Ari looks up from his magazine he had just been staring at, annoyed at all the clearance that was necessary for this job.  It was a house completely out in the middle of nowhere.  A house so far off the beaten path, one would assume they were in an endless loop of trees.  “Miss Romano will now see you.  Should you be hired, make sure you wear different shoes.”

Ari glances at his old worn boots; a bit dusty, stained in paint, and sure a bit dirty.  He didn’t ask to come to this ridiculously white office.  Why was everything so white?  Not even a fingerprint in sight.  Possibly the rumors of burned off fingerprints was factual.

His heavy footfalls carry him into Miss Romano’s office, and she looks up from her computer glaring at him.  “I didn’t ask to come here, sweetheart,” Ari smirks, planting himself on a white coach, and she grimaces at him.  Even she is decked out in white.  Head to toe.  White business dress that clings to every inch of her curves.  Some things never changed.  She hadn’t aged a day.

“Mr. Levinson, we take people going to Waverley Road very seriously,” her long manicured fingers tap on the desk, and she slides her chair back.  Walking in front of the desk to lean against the edge.  His eyes roam up and down every inch of her, “And we take people abusing the ability to get onto the property very seriously.  You understand what you are signing on for?  People not directly involved in my family’s business rarely ever make it this far.”

“Family business, huh?  Is that what they’re calling the mafia these days?”

“I’m not quite sure I follow, Mr. Levinson,” Ari nods his head, even though he is aware that she knows exactly what he’s referring to.  “A background check was done on you.  A lot of petty crime.  You will not be permitted inside of the house.”

“Why?  Do you have a princess locked up in that tower?” The woman stands unmoving.  They did.  They had some princess locked in there all alone in the middle of nowhere, “Just how many flowers of Waverley Road are there?  I lost count.”

“Mr. Levinson.”

“Rumors of the Romano flowers are all throughout the city.  None as beautiful as you, Miss Lotus Romano.  Unwed because she’s unfit, and can’t be used as a bargaining tool.  Magnus knows her worth, and wants to keep his pretty little daughter happy.  Which one finally was sold to the highest bid of Jack Bass?  Which one gets to be bought by Bart Bass?  The Romanos are in the Basses pocket, and everyone knows it.  Can’t forget your little delinquent of a sister.  Has she ever been found?”

“Are you finished, Mr. Levinson.  Insulting my family is not a great way to get a job.  I am the one allowing you into our family mansion.  I am the one that will either give you this job, or take it away from you.  Do not question my authority in my family,” Ari’s eyes slowly blink close as he tilts his head to her.  Leaning back and getting more relaxed in his chair.

“The last interview I had there was only three files on your secretary’s desk.  You don’t have too many people vying for a chance to work for your family.  I believe I’m all that you’ve got.  You don’t have a choice.  My work is good and clean.  And I come with great references.  Where is Nicky?  Getting his cock sucked by some bimbo?”

“Now that is enough,” she slaps her hand on the desk, turning her back to Ari.  He could speak all he wanted to about her family, but bring up Nick, and she shuts down, and shows emotion.  She calmly picks up her phone, ringing her secretary, “Cici, have Nick escort Mr. Levinson to Waverley Road.  If he’s to have anyone working with them, they have to be cleared with me, and he’s only allowed one person.”

“Uh, Frank Adler?” Ari clears his throat, because a request for some help had already been sent in.  If it hadn’t made it to Lotus, there was no telling when Frank would be approved.

“His file is being processed.  That may take a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks?  How the fuck am I going to get any work done?”

“Figure it out,” Lotus gently lays her phone back on the receiver.  Walking around to her chair, and ignoring Ari, “You may go.  Nick will make sure you make it to Waverley Road in one piece.  And if Mr. Adler should be cleared, he will join you.  There is a small house in front of the mansion, you can stay there, Frank as well, should he be approved.  Make sure that you have your bags packed.  You’re going to be stuck on Waverley Road until all the repairs are finished.  Should you need something, Nick can be of assistance.  Should you want to leave, don’t.  We own you now, Mr. Levinson.”

Bitch.  Ari stands, and walks back out to the foyer, waiting on his former roommate.  Lotus really was the cold bitch that everyone claimed that she was.  Heart of stone, and no fucks given, but she had a weakness.  This is what Ari wanted and needed.  And he had completed this part.  Now onto the mansion.

Nick looks at himself in the mirror, straightening out his hair when he looks at his phone, “Hey, sweetheart.”

“I asked you not to call me that while in this building.  Mr. Levinson was approved.  You need to take him to Daddy’s summer mansion.”

“Isn’t your baby sister there?” Nick did not foresee the luck of having the most awkward and needy of the sisters at the mansion.  A girl that would open up to anyone that was giving her attention.

“And that’s where she will stay, until Daddy decides what he’s going to do with her.  There are a few that she has caught the eye of.  Don’t know if they are profitable though.”

“You know casually talking about your sisters being in an arranged marriage is a little concerning.  Should I be alarmed?” His eyebrow cocks up as he shuts down his office.

“I’ve got the files, Nicky.  No one has ever asked for my hand in marriage, and Daddy has never offered.  I supposed I’m going to remain an old spinster that is too smart for this whole operation.”

“Would you take marrying someone you’re in business with?  Like, I don’t know, the man that has no one above him in this family, but your father?” He would continue to ask any chance he got, until she said yes.

“You forget, this is only business.  Don’t confuse casual sex with anything more than a fix.  Take Mr. Levinson to Waverley Road.”

“Make sure you’re waiting at my house, in one of the pretty little lace numbers I got you.  I’ll take your Mr. Levinson to the mansion, and explain the ground rules.  I’ll see you when I return,” he doesn’t wait for a response.  He never does.  And she is always waiting for him.  Every time.  Giving him so much, and so little all at the same time.  It was infuriating that the one thing he wanted, she was still keeping guarded.  Her heart.

He struts out into the waiting room, snapping a finger towards Ari, “Follow me.  You sure know how to piss people off, you know that?”

“Well, what’s the fun in knowing I got the job if I can’t play around a bit?  So Lotus Romano?”

“What?” Nick stops to turn around and look at the man.  Ari is a beast.  Taller than most men he had ever seen, and wide.  His skills we’re definitely better suited in other avenues besides a carpenter.  

“Who is at this mansion?” Ari gives his old friend a wink.  Nick was not someone he wanted to piss off.  He needed Nick, and clearly he and Lotus did not want to joke about their ‘relationship’.

“It’s best if you leave that one alone,” Nick responds, spinning on his heels and continues to the parking garage.

“Why is that?” Dig a bit more.  It was what Ari is good at.  Get more information, and if she was as pretty as her sisters, how bad could it be?

“She’s barely legal.”

“Ahh, but she is legal.  Is she promised to someone?  Chuck Bass maybe?  Would he finally sell one of his daughters to a more age appropriate man?  How is Jack’s new bride?” Nick grunts out his own frustrations.  Magnus was living in the dark ages.  “He had all those girls for more than having children, huh?”

“I don’t want to talk about them.  They have very little say in what he’s doing.  Lavender will fall in line like her sisters before her.”

“Worked out well for Dahlia,” Ari surmises, settling himself in Nick’s car.  “How is she?”

“Teller keeps her busy.  She got what she wanted.  Away from the Basses, and away from her father.”

“And why do you suppose that is?” Nick keeps his eyes on the road.  As long as Ari didn’t bring up Lotus, he was okay.  No one ever got away with speaking about her.  “So, Jack’s bride complied, and the Basses still funded Magnus’ dying empire.  He’s nothing without the Basses.  He basically became a tool for them.  They’ll continue to use him to get what they want, and when they’re done, well, you know what will become of Magnus and his daughters.”

“And what exactly are you going to do about it?” Nick turns to glare at Ari.  A man that talked a big game about something he was not technically a part of.  It was complicated.

“Nothing.  I’m just a carpenter.  Being forced to live out in the middle of nowhere, I can't leave my base until the repairs are done.  Out there all alone with nothing to keep me busy but a barely legal flower.”

“Going inside of the house is unwise.  You are to stay outside,” another warning of staying outside, and not entering the house.

“Why?  Is there something wrong with Rapunzel?”

“She is to be kept chaste,” Ari snorts.  They were never really chaste.  None of them.  People talk.  Little girls locked up in towers always had their vices.  Their way with men and women to get what they wanted.  More so of what they needed.  “Bart isn’t interested.  However, there are others that are looking at Lavender.  The flowers of Waverley Road are now a legend.”

“What about Lotus,” Nick warps the car over to the side of the road, and wraps his hand over Ari’s throat.  “Easy.  We’re on the same side.”

“You do not deserve to speak her name,” Nick spits out at him.  That was his first strike.

“What happens when she’s sold to the highest bidder?  Dahlia was smart, she got out while she could.  Leaving her sister to be claimed and promised to Jack.  Lotus isn’t promised to anyone.  Do you think that will last?  Do you think her father won’t sell her?”

“She’s valuable on her own.  Magnus needs her, and her brains.”

“And her sisters are nothing but the flesh in between their legs?  I see.  Things worked out well for Orchid,” the oldest of the sisters.  The one who stood tall and proud.  Walked side by side with her husband.  A man that would kiss the ground she walked on, if she asked.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nick huffs, putting the car back into gear.  Turning onto the famed road, and the long journey to the mansion.  No one ever knew or understood the Romano family.  Even Nick, despite Lotus randomly dropping tidbits.

“Do I not?  I’m risking my life being here.”

“No one asked you to,” Nick whispers.  It was a lie.  One that they were both aware of.  Ari was asked.  And it was worth the risk, should he be successful.  

Trees are so heavy down this road a lesser man would feel as if he was losing his mind.  There was nowhere to go but forward, or back from which you came.  No one dared to come out this far, and judging by the security stations on the way in, they would never make it to the point that they currently are.  Guarded by more than the maddening forest.

It was boring.  No wonder he was being asked to live on the property.  “How much land does Magnus own?”

“All of it,” Nick answers with finality.  Ari had pissed him off.  Nick was easy to talk to, until you made him get into his head about Lotus.  “You are not to go into the mansion.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“There’s your quarters,” Nick points at a small cabin, not at all grand.  “It’s big enough to sleep at least four people.  You will be given a car that you can commute from here to the mansion.  You are not to step foot inside.  Lavender can be a bit persuasive, you are not to listen to her under any circumstance.  However, should her life be in danger, you risk yours to save her.  That is how it goes.  You wanted to be surrounded by the flowers.  You are.  And this…”

A gigantic mansion comes into view.  An otherworldly and old look to it with ivy growing up the sides.  It looks haunted.  Should anyone happen to unluckily stumble upon it, it would terrify them.  And right by the pool was a gorgeous and completely nude young woman sunbathing.

“My god,” Nick, irritated puts his car into park.  “She was told you were coming today.  Cover your eyes,” Ari would not.  Perfect tits on that one.  She was hot, and she knew it.  Fresh Brazilian wax.  She wanted to be seen.  “Lavender!  Put some fucking clothes on.”

Her mouth turns up into a smirk, but she doesn’t move, “If I am to live out here all alone, I’m going to take advantage of the privacy.”

“And I told you,” she stands up, and Ari gets a full body look at her, turning back around to awkwardly bend over to gather her hat.  Awkward because she wanted Ari to see her puffy, velvety, and scrumptious cunt.  “Lavender!”

“Aw, Nicky, don’t look as I walk away,” Nick turns away from her, and grabbing both tits, she jiggles them just for Ari to see.  Ari would not be staying away from her.  She wanted to show him her body, and he was going to look.  “I’m going inside to fuck myself.”

“I hate you.  How am I ever going to tell your sister about this?”

“Just don’t tell her I put a strap on my giant teddy,” Ari likes her.  He was sure she was more talk than anything.  But she needed it.  Bad.  “Daddy has me out here all by myself, I should be able to have some fucking fun!”

“Go fuck your teddy bear then!” Lavender flips his back off before finally walking into the house.  She wasn’t entirely lying, and wasn’t entirely telling the truth.  Fixing the roof she was told.  She was aware of the area where the roof leaked.  And she had a plan.  If she was going to be out here bored while all her sisters got to have a man touch them, she was going to have some fun.  With the carpenters.

“Ignore her.”

“How can I?  My god, she either needs someone to lay her over their lap and spank her ass, or she needs a real good fucking,” he tilts his head, trying to continue to look at her.  Still she was shaking her tits at him.  Pinching her nipples, before walking away.

“She’s a liar.  All she wants is attention, and you’re giving it to her,” Nick slaps Ari in the back of his head.  Ari and her could potentially be a problem, or the best thing they didn’t plan on, “Your boxes will be coming here by tonight.  This is the key to your car.  There is the garage.  I’ll have Lotus message you the key codes for everything.  And stay out of the fucking house.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ari groans, getting out of the car.  “This my supplies?” He asks, pointing over to a mountain of lumber and boxes upon boxes of things.

“Yes.  Have fun, Ari.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.  Also, Magnus and the other girls will be here tonight for dinner.  Make sure you’re at home.”

“So you’re saying if I want to fuck the princess I better do it before tonight?” He bites at his lip, looking back into the house, hoping to see those perfect tits.

“I’m saying don’t be looking at tits, and have nothing done before they get here,” jumping into his car, Nick drives back into the city, and back to Lotus’ office.  Speaking of fucking, she owed him dessert.  She could continue her work, while he feasted on the sweetest thing he had ever tasted.

Ari looks up at the mansion, wondering where Lavender had gone.  He just wanted to have some fun, and enjoy something nice to look at.  Instead he starts opening up a few of the containers.  Sweat pours down his brows as he unloads everything.  Minor repairs, and it would get done faster with a crew.  But Magnus didn’t want a crew here.

Hearing one of the sweetest little moans, he looks towards a window.  There she was.  Still needing to be seen.  Playing with her tits, and grinding on the arm of a couch.  Ari completely knows why Magnus didn’t want a crew.  She is looking straight at him begging, “Ari!” She whines, placing her hands in front of her to grind even faster.

Her tits look even more amazing as she works herself over the furniture.  “Ari, the door is unlocked.”

“Well, hell,” it was an invitation, and who was he to say no.  Walking into the mansion, and breaking the one main rule he has, he follows her desperate sounds.  Tiptoeing into a sitting room,  and there she was.  One of the most amazing women he had ever met.  What a welcome gift he was getting.  “What cha doing?”

“Imagining I was riding you?” She was needy.  Moving over this arm of the couch like her life depended on it.  “You like my titties?”

“Oh I love them.  You making a mess on the couch?”

“Uh huh.  You can lick it up if you want.  You can play with my tits, too.”

“Oh, I think I want you to lick it up,” her eyes go wide as she stares up at him.  Black seas of lust in her eyes, glossy and still so innocent.  He steps closer, reaching out to pinch both of her nipples.  “You never been talked to like that?  If you want to be a desperate little slut, I can treat you like one.”

He rolls her nipples in between his fingers, and she arches her back, bringing herself closer to him.  Moving her hands behind her, Ari sees her pretty puffy lips spread over the leather.  A trail of slick gathering on the arm.  She was a pretty little thing.  “I’m going to suck your tits, okay?”

“Uh huh, please!” He wanted his fingers in her.  His mouth closes around one nipple, and her body loses self control.  Screaming out his name, until he pulls off her with a pop.  Looking at her wide eyed at her outburst.  Her juices drip down onto the couch and floor.

“Did you just squirt from me barely sucking on your nipple?”

“What?” Ari’s hand swipes up her honey, showing her just how soaked his fingers are.  “I uh…”

“Show me your pussy.  I’ll taste that, too.  If you think sucking on your nipples feels amazing.  Sucking on you right here,” his finger touches her clit, and she shivers, mewling out his name, while her body searches for more pressure from him.  “Show me.”

Lavender scoots down onto the couch, legs already spreading wide, and Ari gulps.   She was an easy target, “Tell me, sweetheart,” Ari begins as he gets down to his knees, smiling down at her bare and leaking cunt, “Who visits out here?” His hand lays flat over her mound, and she squeals.  “Uh uh, who visits out here?”

“No — no one.”

“I don’t feel like you’re being truthful.  Big house, sweet little slut like you, all alone with just me.  What would happen if I fucked you right here?”

“No!” She shakes her head no rapidly, and when he tries to remove his hand she slaps her own over his.  “You can play with me.  No sex.”

“We did just meet, hmm?” leaning a bit closer, his hand slides up to spread apart her lips, giving just the most sweet kiss over her bundle of nerves.  “Who comes out here?  Your father?” Peering up at her, his tongue flicks over her little bean, and Lavender struggles to talk.

“Sometimes.  I don’t want to talk about him right now.”

“Who else?” She gives him a little pout, trying to pull him closer to her heat.  Needing nothing more than to have him kitten lick her again.  “No, you tell me who else comes here, and I’ll suck on this clit, until you’re coming in my mouth.  Maybe put a finger in that sweet puss.”

“Bus-bus-business associates.  The Basses, and…some man I don’t know.  Please, Ari, I want you to put a finger in me.”

“Only one for now.  Maybe you can figure out who else is coming here for me, and I’ll give you even more fingers.  I don’t want anyone to walk in on me feasting on your cunt.  Just be a good girl for me, and I’ll make sure to ruin you, okay?”

She nods her head, and Ari dives right in.  Wrapping his lips around her overly sensitive clit, and swiping a finger up and down her slit.  Letting her get good and squirmy until he sinks one finger in.  Her walls immediately start pulsing around him.  She was a responsive little thing.  A perk of the job he supposed.  Get information and get to fuck her.  It wasn’t a bad trade off.

Pumping his finger in and out of her, and her hips start to move with him.  Her hands squeeze on her tits.  Magnus was a fucking idiot.  Leaving this pretty young thing that was begging to be fucked all alone.  And she had a mouth on her.  Willing to say anything as long as she was touched and got off.  

She was ridiculously tight.  Clearly she was pretty inexperienced.  Which made her a danger to herself.  Or maybe she was the perfect daughter to sell to pay for his next business venture.  He was an idiot.  She wouldn’t be inexperienced when Ari finished with her.

“Ar-Ar-Ari!” His arm was dripping in her cream and slick.  Lines of arousal puddles into his hand, and the loudest squelching sounds he had ever heard echo in the empty house.  She is just about gone.  Dumb and pliable.  Just for Ari.  “Ari!” She screams, gushing into his mouth.  “Ari!” Her voice starts to go soft as she pushes him away, “Stop.  Stop, I’m throbbing.”

“Yeah,” he leans back, wiping her honey off his beard.  Keeping her lips spread, “Look at that little clit.  It’s all swollen.  You can see your heartbeat in it.  Did you have fun, Rapunzel?”

“Uh-huh,” she is mesmerized looking down at her little hole.  He had made her feel things that she had never felt before.  They both watch as he drags his finger out of her quivering hole, and he gives it a long stare.  Projecting spit onto her spread cunt before rubbing it in.  Giving her sensitive nub a flick, she trembles.  “Can we do it again?”

“Remember what I said, princess,” Ari slips his soaked up fingers past her lips, and like a good girl, she sucks her juices and his spit off him.  “And I’ll look at and taste that cunt whenever you want me to.  But I hear your family is coming over tonight.  You better clean up your mess.  You’d hate daddy to see what a mess you made.  Maybe next time I’ll let you fuck my fingers.  Just have them there while you and those pretty tits bounce.  Run along.  Don’t wear clothes the next time I see you.”

She sits up, and hungrily kisses on Ari’s mouth.  Tasting her arousal and moaning before she sits back, making her tits jiggle for him before going to get some things to clean up the mess.  She was trouble.  But what a fun trouble she was going to be.

“Daddy!” The oldest of the Walker children runs up to his father.  Jumping into his father’s arms, and August throws him up in the air.  “Daddy, we’re going to the castle when you get dressed.”

“I know, buddy.  You want to pack you and sissy some toys?  I think mama said we’re staying the night.  It’s such a long drive back out to the city,” he sets his son down, and Tripp runs off to gather some toys, while August heads into the bedroom, seeing his beautiful wife zipping up their suitcase.

“You’re late,” she answers shortly.  Standing up, only to smooth her dress down, refusing to look her husband in the eyes.  “Carys is asleep, and going to be in a foul mood at dinner all because you are late.”

“Orchid, honey, I’m not here to argue.  I’m here to change, so we can leave.”

“This has put us thirty minutes behind.  And,” her words get lost in her mouth as August steps up to her and starts kissing on her neck.  “Don’t try to butter me up.  Carys is going to be in an ill mood because…mmm — because we’ll have to wake her up from her nap,” his kisses always are the best.  Scattering kisses all down her chest, before the softest peck is placed on her lips.

“Carys is going to get to spend the night with her aunt Lavender.  Tripp as well.  And mommy and daddy get to have fun all night long, and not worry about anything,” dipping his hand under her dress he grabs a handful of her breast.  “And mommy is going to let daddy ravish her.”

“Auggie…” she starts to pant out, leaning more into him.  Eyes glazing over as she slips into a submissive state.

August clears his throat, and steps away quickly, leaving her to huff out in irritation, “Honey, we’re already late.”

“You’re insufferable.  The reason you’re late?” August silently walks into their closet, beginning to change into something a bit more casual.  Not saying anything, “I see.  The family business.”

“Did you know that your father hired a carpenter, finally.  He went out to the property today.  I hear your sister gave him quite the greeting.”

Orchid steps to the edge of their closet watching her sexy husband change, and all with a blank face, “Daddy’s stupid.  You know how Lavender is.  And why shouldn’t she be?  Babied by all of us, and mostly Daddy.  He’s kept her away from everything, and…” Orchid takes a deep calming breath, looking down at her wedding ring, and August catches the gesture.  “She has no idea.”

“Did an arranged marriage turn out so bad for you?”

“You are only a few years older than me.  Dahlia ran away.  Lotus is praying Daddy never takes her away from Nick, and Violet…don’t make me think about that.  He’s old.  He’s too old for her.  She’s twenty-five.”

“And he’s forty-five.”

Orchid chuckles, turning to go back to their bedroom before placing a family photo in his hands, “Are you going to make our daughter marry someone that is twenty years older than her?  Keep her hidden away from men so she’s a virgin when she’s married.  This is medieval shit, August.”

“Jack paid handsomely.  And your sister was no virgin,” Orchid rolls her eyes, starting to walk away, but August grabs onto her wrist, “And no.  I would never make Carys marry anyone.  I’m not the head of a goddamn mafia family.  You know…you know why he does this.”

“We didn’t ask for this, August.  We’re just pawns in this fucking game, and we have no say.  If…I got lucky.  Lotus is trying to play by Daddy’s rule, and all she wants is Nick.  One sister runs away so she’s not sold to Jack, so he buys the next one.  And what of Lavender?  She’s twenty, and…”

“Bart isn’t interested.  Chuck on the other hand,” August shrugs, buttoning up his shirt, “Plus, from my understanding another is interested.  She could be married in a few years.  She’ll finally get what she desires above all else; a man’s admiration.  I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“Oh?” She cocks up her eyebrow, getting distracted from whimpering cries on the monitor, and August starts to leave the closet.  Heading straight towards their daughter’s room.  “No, you do not ignore me, August Walker.  Why should I not have to worry about Lavender being sold?”

“You make it sound so gross.  It’s business.  You and your sister agreed to it.  It’s not like Lavender can’t get out, just like Dahlia did.”

“Answer me,” she stomps her foot outside of Carys’ bedroom.  Brows furrow as she stares up at her husband.  “Do not open her door, until you answer me.”

“Our daughter is crying.”

“August?”

“Remember when I told you the less you know the better off you are?  You don’t know how to lie, so it’s best if you know nothing.  Go get Tripp, and let’s head out to the mansion.  I’ll make sure she’s changed, okay?” It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but somehow August always managed to keep her and the babies safe.  

“Fine,” she answers, turning to fetch their son.  Letting August deal with their toddler.

“Hey, baby.”

“Daddy, I cy,” she stumbles out of her bed, reaching her arms up high for him.

“I know, baby.  We’re going to go to the castle tonight.”

“Ooh!  Pity dess.”

“Yep, mommy picked out a beautiful dress for you.  Let’s change you, and take you to the potty, it’s a long drive, okay?  You gonna sleep with Lav Lav tonight?” She gives him a nod, and wiggles out of his arm to go to the bathroom, while August sighs.  Things were falling into place, but the only thing that mattered to him were the three people in this apartment.  He would pull out immediately to keep them safe.  And everyone knew exactly where he stood.

Dahlia takes a long drag of the joint before handing it up to Jax who finishes the roach.  Turning to look back at his wife who was staring up at the giant mansion, “We don’t have to go in.”

“Yeah, we do,” she leans up against his back, rubbing her hand over his thigh, “I need to make sure they’re okay.  I was supposed to marry Jack.”

Jax hisses through his teeth, laying his hand over her own, “But you didn’t.”

“She did though.  She’s a child.”

“And we’re doing what we have to, including her, to make sure the same fate doesn’t fall to Lavender.  She’s convinced herself that Jack and Violet are in love,” her hand flips around, and she weaves her fingers in his.  Almost ten years of marriage, and Jax was still her best friend.  “She lives in a fantasy world to protect herself.  It’s easier to believe that her sister is just a princess that was rescued from this tower.  Lavender is emotionally stunted.  She’s created this reality to save herself.”

“Stop trying to make sense.  I hate it here.  I hate everything about this place.”

“Yeah, but don’t we get to have fun now.  You’re the badass black sheep of the family.  Tattoos, piercings, and married to an outlaw.  How does it feel to break the system?” Jax was the only thing that saved her.  He was worth the risk of running away, and eloping the day she turned eighteen.  Her father was unable to keep his promise to Jack.  That time.

“I hate him,” Jax, turns back on the bike to look at her again.  “Your father and Jack.  If given the chance, I want to kill them.”

“You can’t talk like that.  Especially not here.”

“I can.  I want them both dead.  Violet shouldn’t have to be a shell at the age of twenty-five.  She’s going through the motions to be a carbon copy of Orchid.  This deal was sick.  Your father is a piece of shit.  Magnus Romano will meet his demise.  I just want to pull the trigger,” Jax could almost taste his blood already.  He would pay for what he made his daughters do.  

“There’s a timing for everything, babe.  Come on.  Let’s get our quarterly dinner over with.  I’m good and high.  Now I need a drink,” Dahlia’s eyes narrow as a man walks out the front of the house with a shit eating grin.  “Mother fucker,” she grouses, slapping Jax’s leg.  “Ari?”

“Well, look at what the cat drug in,” Jax holds out his hand for a shake, but Ari declines.  “What gives?”

“I haven’t washed my hands since I’ve been here.  It’s a bit nasty and rude.  What…what are you two doing here?  Didn’t think the jackass Magnus let the likes of you two step foot into his place anymore.”

“Quarterly visits.  What were you doing in the house, Ari?” Dahlia slings a leg over the bike, and walks right up to him.  “No men allowed.”

“I was invited in.”

“You better leave that one alone.  She’s desperate.  Ow,” Jax holds onto his chest where Dahlia smacked him.  “What?  Come on, that girl is.  She is so needy living out here all alone.  She gets fucking bored.”

“No.  Men.  Allowed, Ari.  Keep your grimy little…ew, haven’t washed your hands you disgusting asshole.  Get…get out of here!”

“You coming by my little humble cottage to stay?  Maybe we can smoke a little?  Chat?” Ari laughs, wiping his beard again, only to get hit by Dahlia.  “She’s like a little chihuahua, Teller.  I’m only joking,” he pushes her away with one hand when she tries to smack him again.  “She’s like a big chihuahua.”

“It’s not safe to talk here,” Jax reminds Ari.  “Especially not high.”

“Well, I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future.  I’m only allowed to have one person on my crew.  But she has been very easy and forthcoming.  Easy, tiger.  My god, you know how I am,” Dahlia had heard all about Ari’s sexual prowess, and he was working it on her sister now.

“You keep your hands to yourself, Levinson.”

“She’s a big girl.  Let her have some fun.  Teller, loosen her up a bit.  Maybe she needs another good fuck on the bike.”

“Shut up, man.  We’ll see you after dinner.  We don’t stay here,” Jax nods his head at Ari as he walks towards the garage for his on property car.  “Babe, don’t take what that man says to heart.”

“He touched my baby sister.”

“And she needs to be touched.  Everybody wins here.  Keep your head on right.  Go on in.  I’ll be in your old room, you visit with Lav.  Sounds like she needs some tough love talk from you.  Let her have fun, but maybe remind her sex doesn’t equal love.  Not in this world.”

——

“No,” Jack answers, putting on his watch as he stares at his wife.  “I don’t like that dress.  Put on the black one.  And we’re not staying at your father’s house.  It smells musty there.  Nor do I want to be around the likes of Teller,” he looks at himself in the mirror, straightening out his hair before leaning back down to snort up another line of cocaine.

“No bra.  I like when you get cold, and your nipples point out,” Violet slowly closes her eyes as she reaches for the black dress that Jack had laid out of her.  Looking at her arm to see the tiniest healed mark.  Lotus helped keep it a secret.  He hadn’t discovered the implant.  She didn’t want children with him.

“And put on the Tom Ford perfume.  Last time you wore that Dior one, and it gave me a headache.  Never wear that again.  I left the jewelry I wanted you to wear out as well.  I heard Chuck was asking about your sister.  How much do you think she’ll cost?”

“I don’t know, dear,” Violet says walking out of the closet.  She is the perfect trophy wife.  She stands there, looks pretty, listens to everything she says, and lets him fuck her like an animal.

“I asked you not to call me that.”

“Yes, sir,” she responds, her voice devoid of any emotions.  “We should probably leave,” he pulls down the top to her black dress, exposing her completely.  “Jack.”

“I just wanted to look at you.  They’re perky, and pretty.  Mmm, if I could I’d make you take my cock in front of your family, so they could see how much I own you.  Let’s go,” he says, slapping her ass before pulling her dress back up.  “You know, I think I actually liked the navy one better.  This jewelry will still work with it.  Go ahead, change, but let me watch.”

“Yes, sir,” obedient, but sad.  Emotionless and going through the motions.  This isn’t at all how she saw married life.  Everyday used as a sex doll, and humiliated even when it was the two of them.  But Jack had paid a pretty price for her body, so now she is to be the trophy on his arm.  The one he got to show off in front of all his friends.  And she is but a vessel.

Magnus takes a puff of his cigar as he walks through the door.  Hearing a dramatic cough from his oldest daughter, “Daddy, my kids aren’t used to smoking.”

“My house.”

“My kids.  Either you put it out, or we leave,” no one ever goes against Magus’ words.  No one argues.  No one tells him what he will do.  Until Orchid had children.  He wanted her to marry August, she did.  August had taught her a lot of things.  Having a backbone was one of the many.

“Thank you,” she says when her dad lays down his cigar.  It was a disgusting habit.  “Tripp’s birthday is in a few weeks.  My baby is going to be four, can you believe it?”

“I’m sure August is ecstatic for having a boy to carry on his name.  Some of us were not so lucky.  Even though we tried.  Tried lots of times.  August, my boy,” Magnus leaves her side to shake August’s hand.  Ignoring Carys completely, even though she is in his arms.

Flashbacks of the many times her father had ignored her flow through her head.  Carys reaches a hand up to August’s mouth, and he kisses over it.  Looking down at her quickly before continuing on with the conversation.  August would never ignore her.  And August was not Magnus.  She reminds herself by picking up their son, needing to touch his chubby cheeks.  

“Daddy, we should eat,” Violet says out loud, grimacing when her hand is squeezed by her husband.  Her eyes look down at the floor, ashamed for speaking up.

“Where is my princess?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dahlia rolls her eyes, walking into the dining hall.  “She’ll make her grand entrance when we sit down.  She needs to be seen, and admired.  Let’s go,” she takes her seat with Jax, as far away from her father as possible, while the rest of the group follow.  

Magnus takes his seat at the head of the table, eyes looking towards the door when his youngest daughter bounces in, “Hey Daddy,” she gives him a kiss before reaching to grab her niece, “Hey, my darling angel.  You want to sit with me and Tripp?” Carys nods her head, loving any moment she gets to spend with her aunt.  

“Daddy, can I get clearance to go to a museum tomorrow?”

“No, I’ll have Tyler bring you some more art supplies here.  Just give him a list of what you need.”

“But Daddy…”

“I said no,” his hand slaps on the table, and Lavender looks down at Carys, trying to fake a grin, but is embarrassed all the same.  “I’m glad we’re all here.  It was high time we spent some time together.  Especially you, Dahlia,” it was best not to engage in his words.  Nothing good ever came from it.  She bites her tongue, her fingers digging into her husband’s thigh.  

“Eat,” he announces again, watching his family start to place food on their plate.  Missing how Jack is the one to make the plate for Violet.  While all her sisters are making their own plate, she waits for her new husband to put what he deems is the right amount for her to eat.  

“Daddy?”

“Not now, princess,” Magnus glares at his youngest daughter, who gives him a quick pout.  “What?”

“When do I get to be married?  Or date?  Or leave the mansion?  Or have a boyfriend?” Violet turns to look at her sister with her mouth agape.  Lavender had no clue how this worked.  She also thought this was a fairytale.

“I just want the big beautiful wedding, and someone to come home to me every night.”

“Princess, you’re too young.  Live a little,” she gives him a pout; her signature move with him, and it’s Orchid that clears her throat.

“There’s more to love than just a wedding, Lav.  I don’t like this talk at the dinner table.  This always ends in an argument, and if that happens my kids and I going to the bedroom.  They are hungry.  And they will eat.  And that is the end of this conversation,” Orchid gives her youngest sister the sweetest smile she can muster.  “Marriage is a commitment.”

“Everyone else is married though!” Lotus rolls her eyes, starting to tap her fingers on the table.  “Don’t act like you and…”

“Enough!” She shouts at her sister.  “Eat your food, and listen to what Orchid says.  If you behave, I’ll make sure you are brought canvases, and just remember, I have eyes everywhere.  How was your day laying in the sun in your new bikini?”

“It was fine,” Lavender lies.  Nick told on her.  It wasn’t her fault.  She was bored out of her mind and Ari was sexy, and paid attention to her.  And he made her feel so good.  Eventually he would have sex with her, and then she could marry him.  They would see.  They would all see.

“It’s always a joy coming here,” Dahlia smarts, kicking her leg over to Lavender.  “I’ll come by and see you this summer.  Wouldn’t want you to stay all alone,” Magnus lets out a groan.  The idea of Dahlia infiltrating his sweet Lavender’s mind was not something he wanted.  But he wanted a nice meal even more.

Dinner becomes mostly quiet until Magnus scoots his chair back abruptly, “I have to leave.  Lav, I’ll have some art supplies sent to you abruptly.  Stay out of trouble.  I’ll be back in a month.”

“A month?” Lavender complains when he walks out the door.  “While I am here by myself forever and for all eternity.”

“A dramatic little brat that…” Jack’s hand moves to Violet’s leg, and she stops immediately.

“We should be leaving, too.”

“It’s late,” Orchid stands to walk towards her son.  Picking him up from his chair, and kissing over his head.  “Violet has her own living space here.  You can leave in the morning.”

“We’re good tonight.  Violet sleeps better in her own bed.  I also have an early morning, and I don’t feel like commuting, everyone have a wonderful day.  Violet, to the car.”

“Yes, sir,” while she heads towards the door, without hugs from her sister, Jack bows his head towards the Romanos, following behind her.  

“I don’t like that prick,” Jax grunts.  “What happened to her personality?”

“She’s in love, and married,” Lavender tries to argue.

“You are a child.  That is not love.  That is control.”

“Yep, that’s my cue.  August, get Carys, we’re going to bed,” Orchid heads on up to her room, with August and both kids, while Lavender glares at Jax.

“I’m sorry to burst your fantasy bubble, but that’s not happiness.  That’s not a fairytale.  If you don’t see that, then you never knew your sister.  He was supposed to marry Dahlia.  What did she do?  She ran away and married me.  Everyone else will coddle you, but not me.  The reality is, if you’re on this path, you’re next to be married.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Jax snorts, standing up.  There was no talking to her.  “Remind me of how good that is when you don’t get to decide who you have sex with.  When you’re told who you will marry and who you will have children with.  Tell me it’s good when you’re laying on your back, getting pumped full of cum from saggy wrinkly balls.  That is your future.”

“Jax, that’s enough,” Lotus’ pinches the bridge of her nose.  While she agrees that Lavender needed a reality check, she was in the perfect position to get everyone what they wanted.

“No!  She needs to understand that this isn’t some fucking game.  Well, it is this big chess game.  You just need to realize what the queen is.  Live in your fantasy world in this big castle in the middle of nowhere.  But don’t expect the rest of us to.  Orchid and August were a one in a million thing.  Lotus isn’t allowed to get married because she’s too valuable to the family.  Because what you saw tonight, that’s your future.  A woman with no voice and no agency.  I’m going to bed.  Dahlia?  You staying or leaving with me, babe?”

“Leaving.  Lavender, open your eyes, sweetheart.  Jax would never lie to you.  Neither would I.  Ask Lotus.  We’re pawns.  We’re not queens.  Goodnight, baby girl.”

Lavender sighs as she leans back in her chair.  Arms crossing over her chest as she looks at Lotus, “You going to tell me how stupid I am?”

“Stupid for letting a stranger see you naked.  Stupid for letting the stranger in the house.  Know what game you want to play before you decide to jump in and hope for the best outcome.  Sissy, you’re playing a game that you don’t understand.”

“I shouldn’t trust, Ari?” Lotus sees just how young her sister is.  Even for a twenty year old.  She had no life experience.  Was kept locked away from any normalcy, and was stunted because of it.  “I liked him.”

“Just be careful with who you invite in.”

“You’re not telling me I shouldn’t trust him though.”

“Now you’re getting it.  Go to bed.  I won’t see you tomorrow, because I’ll have to leave early to get into work,” she walks over to her sister, giving her sister a kiss on her head.  Turning to walk to her bedroom.  She had given Lavender enough for this evening.  Give her something to ponder while she lays awake at night, and hopefully get her head out of the clouds.

“Lo?” Lotus turns back to look at her baby sister, wishing that life could be a bit different.  “Do you love Nick?”

“You shouldn’t mix business with pleasure.”

“That’s not what I asked.  So do you?” a blind person could see that she and Nick were too close for business partners.  But Lotus would deny it until the bitter end.  “Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t marry him?” Lotus shakes her head no, “Violet isn’t the only one that listens to Daddy.”

“Go to sleep, princess.  Learn to have your voice that isn’t controlled by a man.  Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season​ @marveloustaylortot​ @pono-pura-vida​ @sstan-hoe​ @missusbarnes-rogers​ @peaches1958​ @seitmai​ @smile1318​ @andydrysdalerogers​ @cjand10​ @midnightramyeoncravings​ @cherrysweets​ @summersong69 @slut4henrycavilll @cavillxxo​ @astheskycries​ @wallacewillow0773638​ @princesssterek​ @patzammit​ @sweater-bee​  

[darkobssessions]

I'm getting really angry at how nothing about work or workplaces is geared for neurodivergents and especially autistics.

Absolutely nothing from the set up, the requirements, the social element, the hours, the expectations, the environment. Nothing.

Not the resumes and cover letters, nor the interviews, nor the vague conditions and agreements upon employment.

Am I a bit late to the party? Maybe. But it is because I only found out I was autistic in 2021 and have a patchy work history, leaving jobs, doing part-time gigs, and burning out in my education career.

I'm in severe burnout but also in a position where I have to get independent and fast away from my abusive family. I've basically dedicated my existence to job search, resume writing, and applications for the last 2 years (I lived with my partner for some of that time but had to leave the UK due to no full time job/visa and then with my parents the rest of the time working at the only career I've had that's paid me consistently: education).

The only problem is passion projects are impossible when you're burnt out, and careers often burn autistics out (because of set up of workplace cultures). I love teaching. I don't love demands, social elements and sensory overload.

My experience basically qualifies me most strongly for educational jobs.

But I am finding everyone is requiring so much all of the time, even in the process of hiring and giving you so so so little that it isn't even worth it.

'We'll hire you, but maybe only one day a week.'

'We don't know when you can start, HR has a huge backlog right now we will let you know when we know more.'

'You need to do these 5 trainings before you begin and go book fingerprinting and background checks.'

They want you to give everything and pay you a part-time wage.

Or they want you to give 40+ hours. Or super early in the morning (which is not possible with my burnout, mental health, moods and physical issues). Not to mention the 'benefits' of a minimal number of sick days they pat themselves on the back for 'awarding' you with, let alone miniscule holidays, and sickeningly low pay for cost of living.

It's all so hostile for NDs.

At first I looked and looked for something fulfilling, and since I have experience, education makes sense. I love teaching. But it's not great if I don't want to be burnt out and on the edge of meltdown daily.

Now I am looking for something part-time that leaves me alone and I can come home from not having been completely overloaded (maybe warehouse work, factories, bookstores, grocery stocking). I thought I wanted to be invested in what I was doing but coupled with what I'm experiencing and what I've read from others about their burnout and jobs, it looks like this may be the way to go.

To put this into perspective, even if something seems like a really good fit because of your experience/career/background or interests there will be a catch or a requirement that it is impossible to fulfill. There's a part-time youth instructing job at a recycling centre gearing them up for graduating and careers which sounded like a great fit until I got to the part where it said it needs you to have a driving license since you will 'ocassionally' need to transport students (ages 16-24!).

Why?

Why must I be an educator AND a social butterfly AND a driver and navigator?

Why?!

It's cheaper and better for them if their workers do everything but it's prohibitive to those of us that have issues and disabilities.

I'm sorry but my abilities as a teacher have no bearing whatsoever on my ability to drive. Driving extracts so much energy from me, is terribly dangerous when I am overwhelmed or melting down, and causes me to panic regularly. I don't notice as much what is going on around me when I am overwhelmed and make mistakes if I am pressured. I have trouble recognising a route even if I frequent it. Places look different at different hours of the day. My ability to navigate is extremely low. My ability to teach is honestly why I was born.

Why must every single role expect you to be neurotypical?

Why to protect our mental health can we only do minimum wage jobs?

Why is this system stacked against us?

I'm so frustrated right now and if I could just make some money to be independent of abuse I could funnel it into creating BETTER for us because we sure as anything deserve it.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

If you are going through the Florida Name Change website, be very, very careful to double check against the forms and procedures on your county clerk's website. God bless the name change website folks, but a lot of the content is out of date and/or poorly written.

When I did my name change 2 years ago, the Florida Name Change website had the wrong forms, resulting in my name change request getting rejected and me having to re-file and get re-fingerprinted. It wasted about $20, a few weeks of my time + some PTO from work.

Honestly, you are best off bringing everything Florida Name Change spits out to your county clerk in person to make sure you have all the steps correct. The order of getting fingerprints and then requesting a hearing is not very clear on the name change website, so ask the clerk - they will spell everyone out for you (though you will likely be sent to another department, as things like name changes involve both the clerks and the legal department). Fingerprinting can especially be confusing because you need to be issued a reference nunber so your prints get sent to the county for your background check.

If this is overwhelming and/or you need financial aid, check if your local lgbtq center offers name change services - there might be a pro Bono service where someone will help guide you through all the forms. I believe some counties also waive or lower the filing fee if you can demonstrate need.

Hey, trans Floridians -- you need to watch this bill. It would require your driver's license to use your gender assigned at birth. With the unofficial ban on Florida birth certificate changes (the department of vital statistics has quietly shunted all requests into legal limbo since early 2023), it's clear the state wants to document us out of existence and force people out.

I strongly recommend all trans people get passports asap, as you can still self-ID there.

https://myfloridahouse.gov/Sections/Bills/billsdetail.aspx?BillId=79902

[kumarajitmda]

On the Fence About How to Turn Off Glance in Samsung? Read This First!

Hey people! Did you know that your Samsung phone comes with an awesome Glance feature that lets you see customisable content on your lock screen without even unlocking your device? I know some of you may be wondering how to turn off Glance in Samsung, but hold up - I think if you give it a chance, you'll realise that the Glance feature is something you don't want to live without!

I get it - when you first see the Glance feature on your new Samsung, it can be a bit jarring. And you might immediately look for how to turn off Glance in Samsung. After all, you're used to just seeing your wallpaper or a simple clock when you look at your locked phone. But is having useful information and entertainment instantly accessible without inputting your passcode or scanning your fingerprint? That's a total game-changer!

Here's the thing: our phones have become like external brains. We rely on them for everything - communication, information, organisation, inspiration - you name it. But we don't need to be chained to the distraction of constant browsing and app-jumping. With the Glance feature, you can satisfy your desire for news, fun and productivity in bite-sized moments throughout your day.

Others might be worried about privacy with the Glance feature displaying info on your lock screen where anyone can see it. This might be why you're looking for how to turn off Glance in Samsung. I get that concern! But rest assured, the Glance feature doesn't show any sensitive or personalised data. And the Glance feature has settings where you can determine exactly what content it displays. 

So now that I've addressed some of the hesitations around using Glance, let me tell you all the cool things the Glance feature can do so that you don't need to search for how to turn off Glance in Samsung. 

Cool Things That  The Glance Feature Can Do?

If you're considering how to turn off Glance in Samsung, hold that thought! Because it's worth considering why you might want to keep it around.

For starters, the Glance feature gives you an ever-changing selection of gorgeous wallpapers and backgrounds, so you'll never get bored of the view when you check your phone. And the Samsung Glance wallpaper collection is stunning - we're talking vivid nature scenes, abstract art, minimalist designs...eye candy galore!

In addition to changing up your background, the Glance feature keeps your lock screen lively with a feed of fresh stories and articles tailored to your interests. You'll stay effortlessly informed on news, tech, sports, entertainment, science, cculture,and more. The content is super current, so you can impress your friends by knowing the latest headlines. No need to go on an app rampage or look for how to turn off Glance in Samsung!

And for you gamers out there, the Glance feature has an awesome selection of casual games you can play directly from your lock screen; no download required. We're talking simple, addictive games ranging from puzzles to trivia to arcade-style games. Great for passing time in lines or waiting rooms.

For the online shoppers among us, the Glance feature lets you easily browse and discover cool products. You can view curated selections of fashion, gadgets, beauty items, and other goods. And if you see something you like, you can tap to instantly purchase or save for later. No need to open a shopping app or search for how to turn off Glance in Samsung!

Beyond all these awesome features, one of my faves is the Glance feature's live-streaming capabilities. You can view real-time sports highlights, game live-streaming, and more - no app required! 

So before you search for how to turn off Glance in Samsung, think about the benefits of keeping this nifty feature around. It makes your lock screen more lively and engaging, and it may just become something you wonder how you ever lived without! 

With all these options, the Glance feature provides endlessly entertaining and informative tidbits throughout your day. Do you still want to search for how to turn off Glance in Samsung? 

But it's customisable, so you can select your favourite content genres and topics. You'll never again be bored when idly glancing at your Samsung. And I'd be remiss not to mention the settings in the Glance feature that give you granular control. You can time your time on the Glance feature with the Child-Safe mode, determine the frequency of content refreshes, disable specific types of content, and much more.

By now, you're probably convinced that the Glance feature is awesome, but you still may be wondering - how to turn off Glance in Samsung if you want to. The good news is it's super simple to turn off Glance in Samsung if you ultimately decide it's not for you. If you do decide to look for how to turn off Glance in Samsung, just know you'll be missing out a lot.

How to Turn Off Glance in Samsung? 

Just go into your Settings, select Lock Screen, and then disable the Glance feature's toggle. That's it! Of course, I hope you'll give this handy feature a fair shake before following these steps for how to turn off Glance in Samsung.

So in summary, I think the Glance feature has the potential to not only make your Samsung cooler and more fun but also help you be more informed and entertained throughout the day. By providing bite-sized content on your lock screen, it satisfies your info/entertainment needs without sucking you into being glued to your phone. Give it a shot before you search for how to turn off Glance in Samsung. 

Now I'd love to hear, What interests you most about the Glance feature? What concerns do you still have? Let's chat! I'm here to help you optimise your Glance feature experience. So don't hesitate to reach out and let me know how I can assist. Enjoy unlocking the full potential of the Glance feature!.

[insert-game]

i am just so. Stressed.

[louisarmpits]

. 

[snowsoracle]

God, I faced this everytime I tried changing my documents except for my Name and Birth Certificate. And even just changing my name legally was bullshit. Sooooo I was born in PA (Pennsylvania), which somehow got on board with helping trans people back in 2015, and basically just needed a dr's note to change my BC. However, because I live in the South, changing my gender on my DL was going take a GP note saying I had surgery. The note didn't have to come from a surgeon, so my GP used my laser hair removal as the surgery. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Name change required me to get state and fed background checks, so I went to the PD, got harassed by cops for being trans, get my fingerprints, wait a month for the state to process everything because it's required to be sent via USPS (non-expedited), get fed done in <1 min at UPS, and post everything for 2 weeks at the county Courthouse (ty 18th century laws) for anyone to see and contest. Birth Cert took awhile, but they were really kind on the phone and helpful (but that from a completely different state). I then went to the Social Security Office to get my gender and name there changed. The cis/het man behind the counter told me that he couldn't change my gender marker. We had all of the documents required by the SS website, and more, he stated that the rule was subject to interpretation, and refused to change it. Thankfully, I had my mother with me, or he would have turned us away when we asked to hear it from his manager; he then came back with his tail between his legs, saying he'd do it. After that, I went to the DMV to get my DL changed, I had all the required docs, and proof that it was changed with the SSO. My partner and I were happily greeted by a woman around our height, 5'5"ish, she became visibly upset and uncomfortable when I stated that I needed my gender marker changed. She left and came back with two men about a foot taller than both my partner and I each, to tell me, that they couldn't change my gender marker because *man looks to my groin* "he might not have had the surgeries" saying that while my dr's note said my transition was "irreversible, surgical, hormonal, and finalized," they couldn't change my marker because it didn't have the word "complete" in there -.- I go to another DMV, in a more rural christian part of the county; the lady at the front desk said "I don't think we let people change their gender" I showed her the dmv website, and she was like "I'll talk to my manager, but I don't think that's our webpage..." She goes to the back, and then promptly gives me a spot in line without saying anything else to me. I get called up to the clerical desk and hand over my documents, no questions asked, I'm sweating profusely as she's looking over my request to change gender, and she notices that I went to a different DMV earlier that day (FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK), I say something about not having the right documents and this DMV being slightly closer. She approves the changes, and I get the fuck out. So that's my legal docs done, but I still had to change my gender with my University, so that I didn't lose health insurance for having mismatched files. Thankfully my Uni still had it's Student DEI dept, but when we got to Student Records we were nearly turned away at the door, "we don't change markers," "talk to your supervisor," "I guess we do allow that," *uses a blank sheet of paper to get all the info because there's no form for changing it, apparently I'm one of the first?* Then they say we have to go to the Health Building to get my info changed with the Insurance Provider, the email I sent gets kicked back with a "go to Student Records," so I forward to the DEI dept, and they schedule in lieu of me. The whole process took a year (I made an attempt and was hospitalized due to related stress), happened like 5 years ago, and I still think about it a lot.

Ever been denied your identity on a governmental level even after jumping through all thier hoops?

[after-witch]

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you. 

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

**

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh. 

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat.  And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately  as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

**

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure."  His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know.  You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do." 

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge.  Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine. 

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing.  You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours. 

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant. 

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.  

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

[mountswhore]

𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 — mason mount

summary: on Mason’s day with Sydney, you have one strict rule: no messy or sticky food. but you end up coming home to a child and kitchen covered in food.

notes: with the prompts, it’s going to have a weird timeline of ages and genders. in some prompts, the baby will be newborn, or a toddler, or even a kid. sometimes it’ll be a boy, and sometimes it’ll be a girl.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

8. Little one getting food all over their face + 36. Little one leaving sticky fingerprints on everything they touch.

“Don’t let him play outside all day, it’s going to get really hot this afternoon.” You instructed, pulling your heels on as you sat on your bed. Today was one of the rare weekends you had work, and nobody else was free to cover. Which meant you’d have to sacrifice your time with your footballer husband and one-year-old. Mason hadn’t had a day yet of just him and Sydney, so you were running him through a few rules.

“I’ll be back at around 7, depending on how quickly I can get through my paperwork,” you mentioned, Mason following you downstairs like a puppy, but you quickly turned and stopped in front of him, “and for the love of God, no sticky food.”

“I’m not a sitter. I’m his dad, I think I have this.” Mason encouraged himself, but you knew how forgetful he was. He’d forget his head if it weren’t attached to him.

“I’m not doubting you, but it’s for my own sanity that you don’t give this kid honey, syrup, or anything gooey and sticky. Do you know how long I spent on my hands and knees scraping honey from the floor and highchair?” You exclaimed, rushing around the foyer to collect your things for work. Keys, bag, phone, folder.

“No,” Mason smirked, “but I can only imagine what that looked like.” His hand reached out to pull you closer, sliding down to your ass and squeezing it gently. You flicked his forehead and pulled yourself apart, rushing over to your son in the high chair.

“Goodbye, Syd.” You cooed, kissing him on the cheek a few times. “Mummy loves you, and have fun with daddy today. Look after him.” Sydney let out a few giggles, going to reach for your clean top with his banana-covered hands, but you quickly swerved out of the way.

You had gone over to the door, turning to give Mason a kiss. “If this goes well, you won’t have to imagine me on my hands and knees.” His mouth had dropped open slightly, smacking your ass on the way out and forcing you to release a squeal. “Bye, bubs.”

“Bye, have fun at work.”

Mason was having a good morning so far. You had left at 9, and he’d given Sydney breakfast, cleaned him up, got him dressed, taken him to the supermarket for some dinner ingredients, and let him have some time in the sun. But now it was getting to 3pm, and Sydney was having nothing.

“Come on, Syd.” Mason groaned, cradling his one-year-old, who had been crying ever since he came inside. “Are you hungry?” Sydney continued to cry, but this time looked up to his dad for a brief second. Mason, taking that as a yes, put his son into the high chair and scoured the kitchen for food.

“How about some jam sandwiches?” Mason suggested and turned to his son, just settling down after realising he’d be eating soon. He’d make the sandwiches, and even cut the crusts off, putting the finished product onto the tray of the high chair. “You stay here, I’m going to pick up the mess you made in the living room.”

He was shoving toys away into the corner box, his phone ringing on the coffee table behind him. It was you, you were on your second break and thought you’d check in. “Hey, bubs. How’s work?”

“Great. I might be finished earlier than 7, I’m zooming through my paperwork.” You replied, sat at your desk and scrolling through your hours worth of work.

“That’s my girl.” He added, proud of his wife who continued to prove herself every day to him, her drive was the sole reason he was attracted to her.

“How’s Syd? He’s not in the hospital being treated for severe wounds, is he?” You joked, leaning back in your uncomfortable office chair. With an office to yourself and a great view, you were aloud to freely talk to your family and friends with some privacy.

“Very funny. He’s just having a snack right now, I’m cleaning up his toys,” Mason answered, standing up and going back to the kitchen to check on his son. Only to be met with a child covered in strawberry jam. His hands, face, even his hair was covered in it. But the bread pieces were nowhere to be found. Mason thought he might have just eaten them, and made a mess of himself.

“Uh, oh.” Your son babbled, which you’d picked up on.

“Why did Syd just say ‘uh oh’, Mase?” You questioned, sitting up from your relaxed position. Mason must have done something for even Syd to realise was wrong.

“Not sure. Maybe he heard it in a song,” Mason panicked, frantically searching for the wipes. “See you soon, bubs.” Throwing his phone onto the counter, he pulled a chunk of wipes from the packet and began scrubbing his son’s hands and face. No amount of wipes would fix his hair, so he’d just have to have a bath.

“Does Syd want a bath?” Mason asked enthusiastically, holding his arms out and picking his son up. He was still sticky and reeked of strawberry jam still, he wondered if the smell would ever go away.

An hour later, Syd was finally clean and watching tv in the living room whilst Mason cleaned the kitchen. This boy had touched EVERYTHING. The countertops, the floor was covered in hardened jam, some was even flung at the fridge. Mason was on his hands and knees for almost half an hour, scrubbing the jam from the kitchen.

You hadn’t texted to say when you’d be home, so hearing the familiar tyres on the gravel was strange. He peeked through the window, spotting you getting out of your car. It was 6.50. Mason’s eyes widened, deciding to call it a day on cleaning and through any signs of jam into the bin.

“I’m home, bubs.” You called out, seeing your son comfortable on the couch. “Hello, mister. Did you and daddy have fun today?” Your son held his arms out, which you accepted and lifted him, carrying him into the kitchen with you. Mason was now chopping some ingredients, trying to act casual about having to clean jam from the kitchen and your son’s head and hands.

“Uh, oh.” Your son repeated, making you frown. What on Earth is he seeing? You looked around, putting your son down and walking slowly around the kitchen to assess any potential damage. Finally, you go to pick your son up but see him pointing at the counter, saying ‘uh oh’ once again.

And that’s why. “Bubs, where is there bread stuck the the side of the counter?” You questioned, Mason’s eyes widening as he threw the onion cuttings in the bin.

“I wouldn’t know.”

You peeled the bread off, seeing nothing other than jam on both the bread and counter. Sighing, you grabbed the sponge and anti-bac. Mason caught sight of you beginning to clean, immediately stopping you.

“No, bubs.” He grabbed the items from you, putting them above the fridge so you couldn’t get them. “I’ll do it. Go and sit down.” You just huffed, picking Sydney up and cradling him in your arms.

“What was the one thing I said, Mase?” You asked.

“No sticky foods. I know, I’m really sorry.” He replied, heart dropping at your tired face. You carried Syd to your bedroom, deciding to let him settle in there.

Half an hour later, Mason had emerged to see Sydney asleep on your chest, and you were both snuggled into his blanket. A quiet cartoon in the background. He couldn’t let that image go without snapping a picture, and then taking Sydney into his own bed. You were awake when Mason had returned, scrolling through your phone.

“Bubs,” he quietly spoke, sitting beside you. His hand was rubbing up and down your bare leg, testing the waters to see if you were actually mad at him. “I cleaned the kitchen, I made dinner. Are you okay with bolognese?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, stretching your legs and turning off the cartoon you’d listened to over and over again. “I’m sorry that I got mad, I just know what a mess Syd makes and I didn’t want to get home to it.”

Mason pulls you into him, your legs over his lap and arms tightly around his shoulders. “I know, I should’ve listened to you. But I cleaned it up, no more jam. Ever.”

“It was funny though. Before I fell asleep, I just had the image of you on your hands and knees scrubbing it.” You laughed, poking his chest, “but it’s fine. And thank you for doing everything today.” Mason grinned, lightly kissing your temple and looking down at you.

“I don’t know how you do it, honestly. Respect is due.” Mason whispered onto your lips, hovering over them every so gently. “Thank you for looking after our baby everyday, and allowing me to come home to dinner and a tidy house. You’re special.” Finally kissing you, Mason held you tight for the rest of that evening, showing you pictures of his jammy face and what they got up to throughout the day.

[asphalt-cocktail]

Hear me out..kay?

'70s John Lennon with younger female home assistant reader getting into a lil dispute because John thinks he let himself go after the Beatles broke up, but the reader believes otherwise and it ends up in the two of them having passionate/slightly rough sex because he's more or so angry with himself than anything? And the two of them are really close too, like John allows her to watch Julian and Sean when he's at the studio or on business trips?? And the two boys genuinely like her???

(a universe where he isn't married to yoko ((no hate intended)) and is single and happy that way..)

Oh my god, I love this idea! 70s john is so pretty. I love how he looks as he gets older. it’s like fine wine. Some of the ages might not add up but we’ll call this an AU for the sake of consistency!

Warnings: Some smudges of angst, smut, insecurities, language

Also it got WAY longe than I expected so i got a little carried away. 

As John slept, he dreamt he sat perched on a throne made bones. It overlooked a high cliff that faced the ocean where the wind burned his face and he could hear seagulls screaming in the background.

He was alone. For once he wished he had the screaming crowds and bandmates calling his name. But only the shrieking gulls filled his ears.

The dream seemed to go on for two lifetimes and the atmosphere felt staticky as the waves repeatedly crashed against the shores and hit the rocks. At times he could feel the soft kiss of saltwater sprinkling against his face.

He blinked for the first time in what felt like ages and suddenly his throne of bones began to collapse, he grasped at them panicked as he desperately tried to prevent himself from falling. Just as his footing slipped John shot up in his bed breathing heavily. He blinked to clear the bleariness that had settled from sleep and palmed his bedside table for his glasses and crudely wiped them on his sheets to clear the fingerprints before slipping them on. 

Suddenly the room was clear, and the sound of gulls was replaced with Sean’s squealing laughter. It helped John feel grounded in his brief moment of panic. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Christ, what did he have to do today again? John ran his fingers through is knotted hair and slipped out of his bed. Right, he had to do several interviews to promote his new album and single that was just released then he had a dinner party. He grimaced at the thought of having to sit for several hours with a group of yuppies and pretend to enjoy their conversation.

As John walked through is bedroom he slipped on a pair of slippers and his dressing gown before stopping in front of his full length mirror. He gave his belly a firm pat, he’d lost a significant amount of weight in the last five years, mostly from depression, but it was still a small victory in his eyes. Atleast he had that going for him.

The bedroom door open and John found himself lured to the kitchen by the smell of syrup and pancakes. He flashed you a tight-lipped smile, “You’re early.” He greeted you.

You shrugged your shoulders, not looking up from the batter as you poured it into the skillet, “I know I thought my exam was going to take much longer than it did.” You said sheepishly. John had been gracious enough to accept you as his assistant and sometimes nanny. He was nice and the job helped you learn a lot about public relations and management, which is what you had hoped to do after you’d graduated from university. 

“Do you want some pancakes? Sean helped with them.” You said waving the ladle towards John.

He shrugged, still groggy from sleep. He really didn’t want any, but the way Sean stared at him with his big black eyes begging changed his mind. He sighed after his idle moment in thought and nodded his head, “I suppose I should see what the little chief has made for us.” He smiled and ruffled the kid’s hair.

After breakfast John rushed to get ready, “And you’re okay with taking Julian to piano lessons? Remember Sean still needs to finish that cough medicine from his cold earlier last week, and they can’t stay up past-” he rushed out his of things that he now only worried about due to having children.

You placed your hand on John’s arm and gave him a look, “John I’ve worked with you for almost three years, I think I can handle a day of babysitting. Julian will get to piano lesson on time and Sean will get his medicine; and don’t worry I won’t give them any sugar past 6pm.” John chose to ignore the little wink you gave Julian and Sean from the other side of the room.

He let out a sigh and his shoulders relaxed, “I know, I just” Worry I’m not good enough, his intrusive thoughts echoed in his mind and he shook his head before sharply inhaling, “I just worry about them, you know how it is.” You didn’t, you weren’t a parent. But you understood a little bit with where he was coming from.

You gave John a sympathetic nod and patted his shoulder, “Go on, you’re going to be late for the interview.” You said and turned him, pushing him towards the door.

A small smile settled on John’s face, it didn’t matter if he left for 8 hours or a full week, he still gave you the same reminders and the same list when Yoko or Cynthia couldn’t take the kids. John rushed out the door and you turned towards the boys and grinned at them. They were both nice, Julian had a wee bit of an attitude, but you chocked it up to him being in double digits while Sean was a curious and surprisingly even-tempered boy.

You made sure Julian got to and from piano lessons okay and wrestled with Sean to take the last dose of his medication, bribing him with some cookies. The remainder of the afternoon and evening you watched a movie with them, walked in the park, and drew pictures of the cats.

At lunch time John called to check in on the boys and to let you know it was going to be a late night, after reassuring him everything was fine you resumed your conversation with Sean about some fabulous story he was making up.

John sat at the dinner party, poking at his food and listening to his scientist friend tell them about a fancy new machine they got at work. The autoclave used immense amounts of heat and pressure to sterilize items, nothing survived the autoclave. In that moment John decided he saw some of his own likeness in the machine. As the voices turned to mumbles and John fell deep into thought he found that his own heart was harsh an inhospitable, much like the machine. That was why he was mostly alone in his 17-room apartment in New York City. His two wives couldn’t even make his home their home, and when he received a phone call from Cynthia or Yoko saying they were coming to pick the children up or to send them home on the morrows next fight he couldn’t say it struck him by surprise.

As the evening grew late you put Sean to bed and then an hour later you sent Sean to bed, much to your surprise neither of the boys fought with you tonight over why it was unfair they had different bedtimes or how they should be allowed to stay up later because it was summertime.

Infomercials from the television droned in your ears and lulled you to sleep as you sprawled out on the couch. A hand touching your shoulder caused you to jump and you blinked before John came into focus, “I’m home, you can stay the night in the guest room. It’s too late for you to go home alone.” He said kindly.

You rubbed your eyes and groggily sat up, “How did the meetings go today?” You asked after a deep yawn.

John’s face scrunched up, the way it did when he was frustrated and deep in thought, “It was alright.” He shrugged.

“What do you mean alright? You just released a new single, no one had an opinion on it?” You asked as you made your way through one of the many long hallways that made up his Dakota apartment.

John followed you, hoping for conversation and company, “I don’t know, I must have termites in me brain or something.” He frowned leaning against the door of the bathroom and watching you rummage through the cabinet for your spare toothbrush. Your movements moved on memory and you pushed aside the antacids and ibuprofen to get to the toothbrush you kept in the back of the medicine cabinet. The familiarity in your actions made John feel comforted.

“what do you mean?” You asked before you began brushing your teeth. You watched as John shifted, leaning against the door jam. He felt uncomfortable. You could tell.

He looked away from you, “I’m washed up I suppose.” He dug his shoe into the grout of the bathroom tile, “No one wants to listen to a former Beatle without the other three.” John wanted to open up to you but his body felt like an unstable bag of foam and bones and his ability to speak clearly vanished.

You spat out your toothpaste and wiped the remainder off with the towel that hung on the wall, “Oh come off it,” You scolded him, “You don’t mean that do you?”

Now it was your turn to follow John as he walked through the house, kicking his shoes off and tossing his jacket to the side, “That’s how it seems.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Every time I talk to one of these hokey television people, they just rub it in me face how successful Paul or George are doing.” He frowned, “And I’m just sitting here, a one hit wonder. No songs in the last five years.” He tugged open the door to his wardrobe and pulled out sleeping cloths and tossed them onto the bed, “Paul’s got his 87 children, and his new better band. What do I have?” His cheeks started turning red and his thick brows furrowed.

You listened to him complain about his imperfections, he obviously needed to get them off his chest, “John,” You said softly interrupting his monologue, “You don’t mean that.” You bluntly said.

John looked away from you and huffed loudly, “First I get called the fat Beatle, then I get torn to shreds for saying one thing about Christianity and now I can’t even write a damn song anymore.” He angrily pulled his shirt over his head, “If I can’t even write a damn song what use am I?” He continued to mumble to himself and tug the thin and worn sleep shirt over his head and stuck his arms through the hole.

You walked forward and boldly grabbed John’s wrist as he reached for his lounge pants, “Stop it,” You said in the same tone of voice you used to scold one of the children, “I don’t want to hear you say bad things about yourself that aren’t true.” Your brows knit together as John turned to look at you.

His eyes narrowed to little slits as he studied your face. John felt as though the throne of fame he once sat upon was now crumbling, much like in his dream “You’re just an assistant, you don’t know anything.” He said coldly and shrugged you off.

You know he didn’t mean it, but the words stung, “Yeah, I’m just your assistant who watches your kids, and takes them to piano lessons, and does your laundry, and brings you take away when you are too sad to leave your room.” You shot back.

Your words hit John like a 10-ton truck, and he looked at you shocked, none of his assistants had ever been this bold before. They all cowered beneath the mighty John Lennon, but you were different. Your tongue was just as sharp as his, and he hated to admit it; but he liked the way your brows furrowed, and your eyes ignited with fire every time you argued back at him. He wanted to get a rise out of you, so he pushed you, “I pay you for it, don’t go around thinking you’re special. I could post your job in the paper and have hundreds of college kids lining up to work for me.” He hissed stepping towards you.

You were backed into a wall, literally and figuratively, you felt at a loss for words. John was right and you both knew it, what was the worst that could happen if you pushed back a bit? “Do it, I dare you.” You scoffed and moved to push past him, “Surprised anyone would like to work for a washed-up Beatle.” You mumbled under your breath knowing that he would hear you.

John brought his arm up and pushed you back into your spot between the wall and pushed his lips against yours. It was hard and messy; your teeth clicked together, and your noses knocked. It took a moment for you to realize what was happening until John roughly shoved his knee between your legs. You let out a whimper feeling him pull away and start leaving hot open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and trailing down to your neck. Your chest heaved against him and you swallowed thickly, and you desperately tried to focus as he continued to latch onto your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, “John.” You whined and ground yourself against his thigh.

He loved how you practically purred his name as you spoke. John’s hands pushed down on your hips, helping you as you slid against his thigh with wanton need. Your breathy sighs sent a shiver that crept down his spine and settled in his belly, “We can stop, just say it and I’ll stop.” He said rubbing his nose along your jaw.

You swallowed thickly, “Please don’t,” You didn’t want to go back now.

John pulled away and pulled you by your wrist before pushing you back onto the bed. You bounced back against the plush large mattress and laid against the pillows and watched as John knelt between your legs. He rubbed his hands along your thighs and kissed you’re the skin that had become exposed from your shirt riding up and pushed it up more. He sucked and left kitten licks as he exposed more of you stomach and chest, kissing between your breasts and sucking at the soft skin on the sides.

John peeled your shirt off and in one swift movement your breasts were exposed and your top and underclothes tossed aside. He dove against your neck again, deepening the marks he’d already left prior and adding new ones, nipping at the skin and inhaling your scent. You reached your fingers and laced them in his soft long hair. You’d always wondered how it felt and how it smelt. You found yourself burying your nose into the side of his head and breathing deeply. He smelled like stale smoke, the gum he always chewed as a nervous habit, and like his eucalyptus shampoo. It made your brain feel dizzy.

Your legs wrapped around John’s narrow hips and pulled him flush against you. He groaned feeling your heat against his awakening erection and ground against you. he felt like he was 18 again, sneaking home some blurry faced bird through the back door at Mimi’s after coming home too late. But this felt better, it wasn’t some random company for the night; it was you.

The assistant he hired on a whim because he needed someone to watch Sean while he flew to LA for recording, the same person who folded his laundry, the first person he told of his divorce from Yoko. Even in his dream as he stood alone on the edge of the cliff as his throne collapsed, he knew if he called your name you would come.

Now, here he was; swallowing your moans eagerly in his mouth and listening as you left ragged breathy gasps in his ear as he ground against you. His hands fumbled with the buttons on your pants before he finally gave up and pulled them open, the small button popping off and bouncing to the other side of the room. John kissed your hips and along the lower half of your stomach and it twitched.

You squirmed, looking down and seeing his intently focused face as he yanked down your underwear and jeans and carelessly tossed them aside. You suddenly became aware of your nakedness as you stared down at John, fully clothed in a loose sleep shirt and the pants he wore today. Your eyes trailed his body and you sat up, tugging at his shirt. Your movements were hesitant and less confident than his. John’s hands guided his shirt up and he tugged it off, throwing it to join the rest of your discarded cloths and you ran a hand along his chest. Admiring the freckles and imperfections that made him distinctly human. He pulled back and shrugged his pants off and resumed his spot between your legs, pushing you back down.

John kissed the sides of your knees and made his way up your thighs, “Is this okay?” He murmured.

You shivered feeling his lips moving against your legs and nodded your head, urging him to continue. The pit of nervousness that settled in your belly violently vanished as you felt John’s hot tongue swipe between your folds and lap at you, “Jesus Christ,” You gasped out.

You could feel John smirk as he hooked his arms under your legs and pulled you close. He spread you apart, groaning and rubbing your clit with his thumb, “Has anyone ever done this to you before?” He asked glancing up at you.

You swallowed thickly and shook your head, “N-no,” You choked out.

John hummed acknowledging your answer and licked at your core again, taking his time to trace lazy shapes around the bundle of nerves. It sent a tingle that rang through your whole body, from the tips of your toes to your fingers and you desperately reached for John’s hair to keep him in place.

Your toes curled and you pressed John’s face closer against you and bucked your hips, grinding against his face. He groaned and pressed back, pulling you closer against his face. The plug between your brain and mouth disconnected and your mind felt like it was swimming. The string in your stomach tightened as you continued to grind against John’s tongue as he lapped at you. Your soft breathy sighs climbed in pitch before it snapped and your hips squirmed against him. John firmly held you down and he harshly rubbed your clit. The burning sensation caused your toes to curl, your eyes to blissfully shut, and made your legs shake. Your hips tried to jerk away from his hand, but he held you down, watching you writhe, jaw hanging slightly ajar.

“St-op” You choked out and gripped his wrist, letting out a sob as he pushed you to your peak once again. Your chest heaved and your legs shook as it washed through you. You curled into yourself and your face scrunched up.

John left you no room to breathe as he pulled your face close to his and captured your mouth in an open mouth. His tongue explored your mouth and you could taste yourself. You gripped at his forearms and pulled him back down, thumbing his briefs and tugging them down. John smiled against your mouth as he wiggled out of them, twisting his legs and shifting before he finally gave up and broke your kiss for a moment to tug them the rest of the way down.

You reached to kiss him and frowned as he pulled away, settling between your legs and rubbing his cock teasingly between your wet folds before he pushed in. You gasped, feeling John stretch you as his pelvis pushed against the back of your legs. He sat there for a moment and his face reached up and cupped yours as he hovered just inches away from your face.

You brought your hand up and placed it on John’s, his thumb traced your bottom lip and he slowly moved his hip, pushing deep inside you. Your mouth fell open and you let out a soft moan. John eagerly took the opportunity to slip his thumb into your mouth and pushed harder into you as your lips wrapped around it.

John’s hands gripped your hips as his picked-up speed, pulling them against him and making your skin slap together. He fell over you and you wrapped your arms around him pulling his body close to yours. His head fell next to your shoulder and he messily kissed up your shoulder and up to the side of your mouth before you captured his. Your kiss lacked tact and was only motivated by wanton need for each other. Your teeth clanked harshly together, and you clung to John as though he would vanish from you in an instant.

John broke the kiss and latched onto your neck once again, nipping at the skin and leaving a lingering and dull pain as he continued his trail before settling near your ear. John’s grunts and soft breathy sighs were perhaps the best sound’s you’d ever heard. In that moment you didn’t care that your bodies stuck together with sweat, or that your head kept bumping against the headboard.

You found yourself reaching for John and whimpering as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees and brought them up, leaning onto you and pushing deeper inside you. Your back arched off the mattress as he pulled back and began to slowly rut deep inside you.

John clenched his teeth together and hissed, feeling your walls twitching around him as he continued his languid pace, “Please,” You said softly, your brows knit together and your eyes looking helplessly up at him.

His lips spread into a knowing smirk, “Please what?” His voice sounded ragged and strained as he continued to tease you.

“More please,” You barely recognized the whiny tone of your voice.

“Yeah?” He asked and harshly snapped his hips against yours, “Like that?” He asked snapping them again. The headboard lightly tapped the wall as John’s thrusts grew harder and faster while your staccato moans followed jointly. John watched you, your mouth hanging open and skin shiny from the combination of his and your sweat that coated your body. He felt more human in this moment than he’d felt in a long time.

John’s brows knit together, and his thighs clenched, he didn’t want this to end. You pulled his arms and pulled him close to you, not caring if it seemed like you were being clingy, “Come inside me,” You breathed out next to his ear.

John’s body seized up and he huffed out a shaky haggard breath before he came, holding you close against his body and riding out the high that fogged over his senses.

For a moment he laid on top of you, softening inside you but enjoying the intimate closeness the two of you shared in your post coital haze. John kissed your shoulder before pulling back and kissing your lips. He pulled back and the two of you smiled at each other.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You couldn’t help but turn your head and breath out a small laugh before John rolled over to your side. The two of you laid on top of his wrinkled duvet staring at each other. You pursed your lips and remembered what you said earlier, “I didn’t mean it, what I said.” You said sheepishly looking away.

John’s expression was soft as he looked at you, “I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it either.” He said his arm now resting on your shoulder. He pulled you against his bare chest and you pushed your knee between his legs, entangling your bodies together as John held you. 

[potatoes83]

So as mentioned, I have a lot on queue, not everything, but a lot. I was thinking about this one literally last night, and another one that I've either reblogged or have on queue to do, to the effect of if you can't even manage returning a shopping cart, how are you to be expected to manage the important stuff.

For background, I come from the greater metro Detroit area. This is a world where in the winter, the expectation is that everything is plowed and then salted down to water. All the time. We do not slog through snow with our boots on while running our daily errands and whatnot. And people kind of lose their shit when it is not.

I am in Harbor Springs on vacation; if you make a Michigan with your hand, about the upper fingerprint of your ring finger (yes, half my state is shaped like a mitten, descriptive geography is easy). And it's right on the water; Little Traverse Bay creates an indent to the side of said finger. They get snow up here. Feet of the stuff. And it's just a different world and set of expectations. If you salted everything down to water around here, you'd be out of salt by Christmas! The road workers and snow jockeys do keep things plowed to a treat, can't imagine the amount of time you spend behind the wheel up here pushing snow... But if you're looking for pavement, yeah, check back in April.

We were at the big fancy grocery store last night, between 8 and 9. It was -4 degrees outside (-20 for you celsius users). Walking out of the store, I was pushing the cart through 3 or 4 inches of crumbly snow and frozen slush. Do you know what a pain in the ass that is to push a fully loaded shopping cart through snow? Those little wheels can only be asked to do so much! It sucked. But when I was done, coming full-circle... I returned the cart to the little cart corral provided. Shoving it back through the pain in the ass snow to do so, instead of just abandoning it where it sat. And yeah, not that much time spent doing it; I was one of two cars in the parking lot, and I had parked right next to where the carts go.

And that's the thing too, if you're dealing with a big supermarket, there are multiple cart corrals just waiting for you. If it's a smaller shop, there's usually a space up near the door. You just spent plenty of time walking around collecting goods, you can take the half a minute at most to return the damn cart to its proper place. It's not like you have to walk it to the next town over.

This is one of those relatively little things that just gets to me, I swear. I think it's the degradation of society, the constant and interminable lowering of standards and expectations. Wear clothes, not pajamas, and put the damn cart back where it goes! 🥔

[kyun-toast]

[ATEEZ] Mafia!Hongjoong - Fire and Iced Whisky

word count: 712 warnings: sexual harassment, mentions of gun use, alcohol, smoking, arson, explicit language summary: Captain Joong out to get whoever that even thinks abt trying to ruin his angel’s day. a/n: this is within my same mafia au so please have a read of Fateful for some background info!

The night was not fully dark yet as you walked through the streets to your favourite bar. Finished at the firm for the day, you had decided to meet Hongjoong and the boys for drinks in prep for the long weekend ahead of you.

“Hey! You with the black bag!” You turned around to find the source of the voice – a group of rowdy men stood outside another bar for a smoke. These men always happened to be at the bar at the end of your street, drinking all day long seeing that they had nothing else to do. It wasn’t the first time that they had tried to strike up a conversation with you too.

“You fancy having some fun with us tonight?” He shouted again, elbowing his friends, “Maybe you’ll get a turn with each of us if you’re lucky.” They erupted into an obnoxious laughter.

You had half a mind to pull out the gun strapped to your side, but you knew better than to commit homicide in public. A lot of the owners on the street also knew that you were somewhat involved with the boys at Bar 1117, so it was better to keep your head down than to risk drawing attention to yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll have a turn at each of you for target practice.” You muttered as you turned to go about your way as they continued to make antagonising comments as you left.

As soon as Hongjoong set eyes on you walking into the bar, he could feel the heat of your rage making its way across the room. As each of the boys caught on too, the chatter fell to a silence as they eyed you, knowing better than to irritate you further.

“Everything at work okay today, angel?” Hongjoong asked smiling to lighten up the mood as you took a seat at the table.

“SOMEBODY tell me WHY is it that when I try to have a GOOD day, minding my OWN BUSINESS, it’s always some of the dumbest MEN and their AUDACITIES that try to ruin it hmm? Those bitches at that bar better be sleeping with an eye open because their days are num-”

Before you had even finished talking, the boys were stood up around the table. Putting out their cigarettes, buttoning up suit jackets, and taking last sips from their drinks, they were ready for Hongjoong’s lead.

“Hey, hey, hey, not you.” Seonghwa said as he and Yeosang pushed Jongho back down into his seat by his shoulders.

“It’s that bar on the end of the street again, right?” Hongjoong asked, checking the gun in his holster.

“Yeah, but why? Where are you going? What’s happening, Jongho?” You questioned the boy.

“I’m a loose cannon, apparently.” Jongho replied rolling his eyes. “Can’t be trusted with fire.”

“Fire-?” You turned around to find San and Mingi coming back from behind the counter with petrol tanks in their hands and the rest of the boys already halfway out the door. “Oh, we’re selling Molotov cocktails at this bar now?” You exclaimed, turning around to look at Hongjoong, eyes wide in disbelief at the Captain’s brazen choice of stock.

“I’ll be back soon, angel. Stay put with Jongho!” Hongjoong smiled waving, looking as innocent as a child going to the fair.

“It’s quite a shame about that bar, they have quite a nice painting hanging above the entrance.” Jongho said, candid as ever.

“Hongjoong? HongJOONG? HONGJOONG! DON’T YOU DARE!” You shouted, reaching to get up from the table. Jongho held you back by the wrist as you saw the last of the boys file out through the door. Defeated by the youngest’s firm grip, you sat back down to pour yourself a large glass of liquor, sighing.

“I thought you said their days were numbered anyway?” Jongho asked, following suit.

“Quite frankly Jongho, I don’t care about the bar or the people in it. I care that if they leave so much as a fingerprint around, it’ll be me defending a damn arson case in the courtroom.”

“Well, at least the Captain’s heart is in the right place.” He said and you both looked up at each other, bursting out laughing at the idiotic situation you had gotten yourself in. You both raised your glasses.

“To Cupid, the blind gunner.”

-

Mafia AU Masterlist

[sweatersstyles]

Hi baby!! I’m sorry for not being the most active! Been super busy with school and basketball! Literally been eat, sleep, breathing basketball and college 😭🥲

But how have you been? I’ve missed you!! 🥺❤️

jess angel omg I feel like a lifetime of things have happened since we last talked but I'm doing okay!! I'm sorry you've been so busy with school and everything I just hope you're taking care of yourself in between ���

just a quick update while you're here to check in!! I have a job now that will start soon, hopefully. it all happened kind of fast I just went by to pick up my application and then did my interview a couple of days later and they offered me the job right then and there and I accepted! I've done my background check and my fingerprints and I'll go tomorrow to do my orientation and CPR class which I'm super nervous about but once I get through that I think I'll be okay 😊

also, my sister and her bestie are also moving into a new apartment together soon I'm so excited and so proud of both of them but it's just gonna be a HUGE change for me I'm gonna miss her so much. I know it's gonna be a much better situation for her though it's just gonna take some getting used to for me not having her here all the time!

anyways I miss you too but I completely understand being busy!! it's okay you know you can always just come by when you can!! love you!!

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 20

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: enjoy xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

Y/N was sat on the floor of her bathroom, leaned against the absurd quantity of objects barricading her door. She would be alright, she would be alright. Only someone with super strength could break through it ... or an axe. As that thought crossed her head all she could think of was of a little memory of her childhood. She and her younger brother had padded down the stairs to where his parents were watching a movie she would later learn it was the Shinning. She couldn’t forget the scream she had let out as she saw Jack break through the door using an axe and right now, right now all she could think of was that, something breaking through her door and harming her.

She looked at everything in her bathroom thinking of what she could use as a weapon to defend herself. Suddenly her friends back home forcing her to choose reusable razors were her best of friends. She could probably arm someone with the razor blade or try to stab them with eyebrow scissors. Bucky had once told her the damage doesn’t need to be big, only in the right place.

She continued to stay sat down, mumbling to herself she would be fine until she heard footsteps. They were loud, heavy and echoey. Her breathing stopped, hands over her mouth fully knowing any sound would give away her location. However was walking in her flat kept walking and the steps got closer and closer until there was a knock on her door.

     - Y/N? Y/N, it’s Steve. Open the door. - her heart returned to beating, breath normalising as she broke through her barricade, opening the door. It was really Steve, standing in front of her and was this another situation, she wouldn’t know what to act but right now, right now he was the best thing that could’ve arrived.

Steve however seemed to lose colour to his face as the mirror became visible to him. Bucky hadn’t told him what was written in the mirror and if he didn’t know, he wouldn’t definitely be pleased about it. 

    - I checked the flat, there’s no one here. Whoever wrote that isn’t inside the flat, you’re safe. - he put his hands in his back pocket, seemingly conflicted of what to do or what to say. His eyes whoever were glued on those words, scribbled in big letters, tarnishing her reflection. He felt guilty for those words he had told her, maybe Bucky was right in being mad at him. - Do you want some tea? Yeah, you should get some tea, maybe some food? 

   - I really don’t want any of that.

   - It’ll help you calm down.

   - I’m calm! - the words came harsher than she anticipated, tears pooling at her eyes as she turned her head away from him. However, turning his head away from him meant looking straight into the mirror, those words in front of her, written across her forehead only added salt to injury. She held her hair, trying to hold in the tears. No, she was not going to cry, she was not going to cry.

    - Hey ... - Steve pulled her in for a hug. - It’s okay. I’ll make you some tea and we’ll wait for Bucky. I promise no one is gonna come in and harm you. 

   - I don’t want Bucky to see me like this. - she wiped the tears with her back of her hand.

   - It’s okay, just come with me okay? - Steve took her by the hand to the kitchen but not before locking the bathroom door. He’d deal with that later. Walking into the kitchen, things looked normal. Everything looked so normal, Steve wondered how someone could’ve easily entered her flat. - You can wash your face in the sink, it’ll hopefully reduce some puffiness and the red eyes. I’ll put on the kettle and we’ll have a tea, okay?

 She didn’t reply to him, merely nodding before making way to the sink in the skin. Shaky hands reached to the tap, moving it and causing the cold water to start streaming. Her mind got lost in sound, not wanting to get lost in her insecurities. The sound of water running, water boiling in the kettle and the cold feeling of the water against her warm skin. She felt like crying again. She shouldn’t be crying, she shouldn’t be a cry baby, she told herself. The water kept running, being slashed onto her face occasionally until the sound of the kettle on the background ceased.

Turning off the tap, she wiped her face clean with some kitchen towel before turning to face Steve who held one of her mother’s Christmas’ mugs up to her. She had that mug for what felt like ages now, the painting was starting to chip and there were English Breakfast tea stains on the bottom yet she couldn’t let go of it. She couldn’t let go of the only thing which seemed to make her feel as if she could control her life in a house filled with agency bought furniture. 

  - Is Bucky coming? 

  - Yes, he is. Just stuck in traffic. Brooklyn traffic is quite bad. - he chuckled, trying to break the ice. - We once got jammed in it when we were trying to leave Coney Island. Bucky hadn’t told his ma and she gave him an earful. 

   - Was it worth it? - she laughed of the thought of Bucky getting reprimanded by his mother.

   - Yeah, he made me ride the Cyclone over and over again until I threw up and then tried to bribe me with ice cream. 

   - I know, he told me. - she smiled at Steve, taking him off guard. Bucky had talked with her about him? He wasn’t expecting that. Bucky barely spoke to him after the incident at the compound, if he did it was normally because he had no choice and if he were to guess he would say the two of them would probably be bad mouthing him behind his back. 

    - Wh ...

    - Y/N. - she turned her head to the familiar voice, jumping from her seat when she saw Bucky standing in the kitchen, catching his breath in a white wife beater shirt and light grey yoga trousers. She wrapped her arms around him, letting his warmth involve her as he kissed the top of her head, arms supporting her against him. His eyes roamed the room, falling on Steve. - What are you doing here? Where’s Sam?

   - Sam had his meeting ... I offered to come check on Y/N instead. 

   - How nice. - the sarcasm rolled off his tongue, something which came by unappreciated by Y/N who looked up at him with disapproval in her eyes. 

   - You should probably take her to a hotel for a few nights, maybe your Brooklyn flat? I can get Natasha and Tony to come take a look at her flat, look at the security cameras, scan for fingerprints. 

   - I can protect her, I don’t need your help. 

   - Can I show you something? - Steve remained his regular calm self, arms crossed over his chest as he motioned with his head towards the bathroom. Bucky was reluctant to get away from her, afraid if he let go something would happen to her. She, on the other hand, pulled away from him, giving him a reassuring look. His hand unlaced from hers as he followed Steve onto the bathroom. 

He expected broken glass, artefacts that would show a break in but as Steve opened the door, the bathroom was intact. There was no broken glass, no forced entry just the word Slut scribbled all over her mirror. His blood boiled, fists clenching as he went to grab a towel to scrub it of the mirror but Steve stopped him.

    - We need to examine it, first. It’s no good scrubbing it off. Right now, you need to take her out of here. We’re not sure how the person got in or how he got out, if there’s a blind spot he might try to use it again. Go to a hotel, register under one of your old alternate identities or to your Brooklyn flat.

   - Yeah ... uhum ... you’ll sort it from here or should I drop her off in Brooklyn and return?

   - Go be with your girlfriend, Bucky. - Steve smirked at the word, not remembering the time he had called anyone Bucky’s girlfriend.

   - Should I pack? - Y/N poked between the two friends.

   - No, I’ll ... I mean, I’ll get Sam to drop some of your stuff wherever you guys go. 

   - Thanks, Steve. - the actress gave him a quick hug before disappearing onto the kitchen to grab her bag and phone. 

    - I’ll see you around? 

Bucky didn’t reply, instead turning on his heel and leaving the blonde hero in the bathroom. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t want to say anything and so he left him there, instead walking to the kitchen and taking Y/N by the hand. She thought better not to say anything until they were in the car. 

     - What happened between you and Steve? - she asked once they were stuck on the traffic leading back to Brooklyn. 

     - Nothing happen between me and Steve, princess. - his eyes were glued onto the road, hands gripping onto the steering wheel. 

     - Really? Because if my best friend of more than fifty asked me a question, I wouldn’t just leave.

     - It’s really nothing, Y/N. He was rude to you and he didn’t apologise, that’s all. 

     - No that’s not all. - she turned her head to face him. - At least it doesn’t feel like that’s the only reason. Do you wanna tell me? Is it because he was the first one on the flat?

     - No, listen ... Y/N, it’s complicated. 

     - Do you want to be mad at Steve?

     - It’s more complicated than that, princess.

     - It’s a yes or no question, Buck. 

Bucky sighed, turning the wheel towards Brooklyn once the traffic cleared. The conversation ended there but it didn’t end in her mind. She didn’t want Bucky to be mad at Steve because of her, or him to be mad at Steve at all. Yet, she wasn’t going to push his buttons, she knew better so she just put her hand on his tight, head tilted against her own shoulder, watching his wild blue eyes on the road. The drive seemed longer as he tried not to look at her. He didn’t want her to get caught up in whatever he was dealing with Steve. Maybe it was wrong of him to get mad Steve due to things he had bottled up for years, yet, he just couldn’t help it. He wasn’t a baby, he wasn’t a cripple, he shouldn’t be treated like one. 

He drove up to his street, exiting the car first to check if there was any danger before opening the door to her. She looked around the neighbourhood, it was rather picturesque. Open large streets with close by apartments with little trees in front. It was the type of neighbourhood you would see in a coming of age movie. 

      - Come on. - he took her hand in his, walking her to his flat building. She stargazed at everything, watching the beautiful doors and matts until she reached Bucky’s door, the only door without an entry mat. - Listen, before you get it, you should know ... it’s not the best flat in the world. I’m still ... doing some things.

      - I’m sure it’s charming. 

      - If you don’t like it, we can go into a hotel. I want you to be ...

      - James. - she interrupted his rambling. - I’m sure it’s great.

      - Okay ... - Bucky insecurely opened the door of his flat, pushing it open with his feet to allow her in.

She furrowed her brows as she entered the empty home. There was no furniture, just boxes and a furnished kitchen, possibly bought that way. Now she understood why he was so insecure about opening the door, while she had too much in her flat, he had too little. Y/N moved further into his flat, opening the first door she saw which proved to be his bedroom and her heart shattered. There was no bed, just mattress on the floor and a few notebooks surrounding it. No pillows, no sheets. Nothing. 

     - Uh .. we can buy you a bed. Whatever bed you’d like. - Bucky came up from behind her, kissing her shoulder. 

     - Bucky, how long have you had this flat?

     - For a while now ... I know it doesn’t look good but I was thinking about buying some paint ... Yet, I don’t really know if I get to be like this for a while.

      - What do ... Oh. - she turned around and placed her hands on her shoulder, giving him a slow, soft kiss. - You’re not going back to that. I know you’re not, you’re strong. This is your home, you should treat it like a home. 

      - Princess, I don’t need much.

      - Well but if you don’t get a bed, I’m afraid I won’t sleep with you. Sounds dangerous. I don’t want to end up in A&E and explain to the nurse that my spine is cracked because my boyfriend doesn’t have a bed. 

      - Holding sex? That’s a low move, princess. 

      - IKEA. We need to go to IKEA.

      - Are you sure you don’t want to rest? I mean, you just wen ...

      - We could get meatballs. - she interrupted him, clapping happily. - Meatballs and home shopping, it’s gonna be marvellous. 

      - Y/N, we can order in meatballs.

      - But not IKEA meatballs. Come on Bucky, it’ll be fun! It’s like playing the Sims but in real life. 

     - I’m not gonna question you about what the Sims is. - he smiled at her excitement, pulling a strand of her hair behind her ear. - Are you sure you don’t want to test the mattress? I think I can make you like the bare mattress.

    - I know, love. That’s exactly why I’m not gonna try the mattress. - she held onto his shirt, little smile on her lips. - But I do think you need to change out of your pyjamas and maybe put some shoes on. 

    - You’re being awfully demanding of me, Ms. Y/N. I might have to punish you later.

    - Bed first and then you can do whatever you want. 

taglist: @disasterbii​​​ @lookiamtrying​​​ @buckysteveloki-me​​​ @americasass81​​​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​​​ @lostinthebeans​​​ @mariahthelioness29​​​ @buckyandsebastian​​​ @peaches-roses-sins​​​ @theadorasabditory​​​ @sipsteacasually​​​ @saiyanprincessswanie​​​ @booktease21​​​ @noiralei​​​ @learisa​​​ @everythingisoverratedbutgreat​​​​ @uglipotata72829​​​​ @naturalthrone22​​​​ @husherstan​​​​ @mandiiblanche​​​​ @vicmc624​​​​ @newyorkgoddess​​​​ @itsallyscorner​​​​ @chipilerendi​​​​ @emzd34​​​​ @writerwrites​​​​ @bluevxnus​​​​ @that-girl-named-alex​​​​ @captnrogers​​​​ @nsfwsebbie​​​​ @sarge-barnes-sir​​​​ 

[thebountyfucker]

The Royal Affair - Cad

Don't read this without reading the first part!!

Part 1

18+ ONLY - NSFW

Cad Bane x AFAB!Reader (gender-neutral, though reader does wear a skirt.) Tags/CW: power imbalance, claiming, dirty talk, sex as payment, collaring, everything is consensual but Cad is a bit forceful

Here's a link to my masterpost Want to be tagged in upcoming fics like this? Here's the link to my taglist application!

Your gaze followed Prince Cad for most of the rest of the night. He wandered around the venue, making small talk with Lady Sing or Lord Jango. He seemed less inclined to stay with his family unit than some, you noted, and appeared to be most comfortable when conversing with others. He nursed a few glasses of whiskey, but never pushed too far into drunkenness. Though you were sure he’d deny it, he was a royal, and as such, he had appearances to maintain.

Your gazes met many times during the night; at first, his gaze was strictly chaste, but as the night continued on, his gaze became more and more licentious, as if he couldn’t wait to get you alone. A chill ran down your spine, and you couldn’t quite tell if you were nervous or aroused by the prospect.

Toward the end of your shift, you made your way toward him; Cad was leaned against the wall, joking with Lord Jango about something. His gaze met yours and a wide, fanged grin spread across his face.

“Well, well, well… look who it is.” He pushed off the wall to stand straight. “Made up yer mind?”

“Yeah… I want to come with you.” You answered, and he hooked his thumbs into the pockets on his suit coat.

“Good choice. Ya would’ve regretted goin’ wit’ Em.” He replied, glancing up toward the departing Kyuzan clan. Prince Embo offered you a small nod, as if honoring the decision you made. You turned back toward Cad, who had fished around in his coat pocket for a cig. “Come wit’ me.”

There were no other pleasantries as he led you out of the meeting hall toward the adjacent Azvergin Hotel; the hotel, which catered exclusively to billionaires and royalty, was largely a mystery to you. You either had to be staff to said clientele, or a member of these groups in order to be let inside. Rumor had it that one could rent an entire floor, long term, for fifty million credits! You’d never see that kind of money in your life, but you supposed that it was like spare change to the Prince at your side.

He led you inside, through the rigorous security detail which awaited you. The guards hardly regarded you, and you figured that this may be a common occurrence with the Prince. They took your fingerprints and ran a background check - when it came up clean, they allowed you through. Then, Cad led you into the lift and up 15 floors to what you assumed was his family’s floor.

The entire ride was silent, but he kept looking at you, as if he couldn’t figure out what he was going to do with you. This made you a bit nervous, only because you weren’t entirely sure if he was to be trusted. Some girls from your work told you that the Prince would lay claim to his favorite servants and mark them with collars. You briefly wondered if this would be your future too.

Cad offered you a smirk as the doors parted and he led you out into the hallway. The walls were white, with intricate gold crown mouldings; doors lined the hallway, each with carved tags denoting who stayed where. Two guards stood at attention at each door, and servants - mostly women, of varying species - bustled about. Each and every person you passed bowed for their prince, and Cad ate it up. He gripped the chin of one of the servant girls, and leaned down to kiss her straight on the lips. She swooned.

Cad turned back toward you, and gestured toward a nearby door with his head. “Dis is my room. You can stay wit’ me. Dat is, unless you want to sleep in de servants’ quarters.”

“I suppose I can stay with you… if that’s alright.”

“Sure, sure.” He nodded, and the guards pushed open the door for you both; Cad stepped in first, and you followed closely behind.

The room was cavernous - larger than your entire apartment, you wagered - and designed with royalty in mind. The walls were pristine white with gold filigree, and spanned higher than you thought possible. He had chairs gathered in one corner, near a small bookcase. Not far from that was a fireplace, which had seemed to burn real wood, which was hard to find on Coruscant.

On the other side of the door was a wardrobe - it was a modest size for a prince, which was about twice as large as your own closet. And near that was his bed. It was massive, with bedposts at each corner and silver silk sheets. His comforter was pulled back, and you swore you could see restraints bolted to the frame.

Perhaps the rumors about him weren’t exaggerated…

“Should I… leave and get my stuff?” You inquired, standing in the middle of the room awkwardly. Cad glanced over at you as he pulled his suit coat off.

“Whaddya need?”

“Clothes, toiletries.. You know, the basics.” You watched as he tossed the coat on the floor haphazardly, before he went about unbuttoning his black shirt.

“I’ll call de servants fer ya. Dey’ll fetch your things.” He replied, nonchalant. He tossed his shirt atop his suit coat, and sat on the edge of his bed to pull off his shoes. He glanced over at you. “You got a starin’ problem?”

“N-no!” You replied, casting your glance to the floor. He chuckled and sauntered over to where you stood. He took a step toward you, pushing up against you; you took a step back, not sure if this was intentional. He took another step toward you, and then another, until you were trapped up against the wall. He reached out, cupping your chin and tilting it up so you could look him in the eyes.

“Dere ain’t no need to be shy, doll. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“How can I be so sure?” You replied, your voice shaking. Heat pooled in your core, and his ravenous gaze only intensified the sensation.

“If I wanted t’ hurt ya… I would have done it already.” He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, and it trembled in response. His gaze trailed toward your tantalizing tits. “I think I found yer ‘price’.”

“Oh?” You squeaked, surprised by how easily he could sway you.

“Why don’ we getchu out of dese clothes, and you can show me why it was worth it t’ take ya in?”

“I-.” Your body screamed ‘yes’, but your sensibilities told you that this all seemed to be happening so quickly. But you weren’t sure he’d care if you told him this. He was a Prince, after all. You were sure he was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted. “S-something tells me you really weren’t trying to save me from the King.”

“Yer a smart one.” He drawled, a dark, hungry look in his eyes. You could smell the whiskey and tabac on his breath as he pressed closer to you. “How else would I get you to come with me?”

That tracked, you noted with a frown. Your life was ostensibly in danger, and this spoiled, entitled Prince used that to get you in his bed. You pushed him off and walked away, but he was not so easily deterred.

“Yer safe, ain’tcha?” He wasn’t wrong. Being with him meant you were safe from the King… but were you safe with Prince Cad? You crossed your arms over your chest and sat down in one of the chairs in the room. Cad followed you over to the chair, but he did not sit beside you. “Don’t be a brat.”

“I’ll be what I want.” You replied, your pussy pulsing to remind you that you were still aroused. You cursed under your breath, but figured that maybe you could make a game of this. You were scorned, sure, but you wouldn’t pass up a chance to sleep with the Prince.

“Is dat so? Do ya need to be tamed? Is dat it?” He crossed his arms over his chest and quirked a browridge. “I’ve dealth wit’ many brats. Ya ain’t special.”

“I don’t like being lied to.” You explained to him, and his expression soured. “If you just wanted to fuck me, you could have told me that.”

“Yeah. Like dat would’ve worked.” He rolled his eyes.

“It would have! I was having a shit day and I would have loved to let off some steam!” You told him, and Cad sat on the arm of the chair next to yours. A small smirk grew on your face as you held his gaze. “You want to fuck me? Hm? You can start by telling me you’re sorry.”

He pursed his lips and turned his head. “Ain’t happenin’.”

“That’s a shame. I guess this cunt of mine is off-limits.” You pointedly closed your legs, and anger flashed in his eyes. You could practically see him trying to work his way out of this and still get what he wanted. But you wouldn’t budge and you could tell that he knew this. It took him twenty minutes before he was able to form the words.

“I… I’m sorry.” He growled through gritted teeth.

“Good. You should be.”

There was silence for a moment, and you figured Cad was sulking because of the apology. Before you could react, he got up and thrust his knee between your legs. You gasped softly as he pressed his thigh to your aching cunt.

“Now listen here… I don’ like dat attitude of yers. Yer in my home - ya don’t get to order me around. Got it?” He leaned forward, boxing you in against the chair. You tried to fight it, but you found yourself grinding your cunt against his leg. He hissed in response. “No sass now? Nexxu got yer tongue?”

“I got… I got what I wanted already.” You told him.

“Words are cheap, doll. You know I didn’t mean it.” He grabbed your chin and tipped your head back, before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. It was forceful and needy, and you had to fight against pushing him away and digging in deeper. Your cunt throbbed again, and wetness seeped into your panties. You whimpered, and Cad chuckled. “Yer a little whore, ain’t ya? Despite all yer whining, ya still want me.”

He eased away, moving to finish undressing. “Get up and get naked. I wanna see dis cunt of yers.”

“M-make me.” You replied, your voice wavering with lust. He cocked a browridge and pulled you up to stand; he ripped your shirt off, and rucked the skirt down over your ass. You were nearly bare in front of him, and his ravenous gaze on your body made warmth well in your belly. He pulled down your panties, watching with interest as webs of slick stretched between your cunt and the cloth.

“Yer droolin’ fer me, doll. Filthy whore. Do ya want my cock?” He inquired, and you slowly nodded at this. He dragged you to his bed and tossed you onto it. “Show me yer cunt, doll.”

He took a step back, watching as you casually spread your legs open and then parted your labia with your fingers; Cad watched, his hungry gaze scouring over your soaked cunt. He drew in close, his knobby finger slipping inside of you. “Yer wet fer me, ain’tcha? Mmm… so wet and tight.”

You moaned, your head lolling back onto his impossibly soft comforter; your legs spread wider of their own accord, as if anticipating that he would insert his body between them sooner rather than later. You rocked your hips, aiming to drive his finger deeper within. He chuckled.

“Yer just beggin’ fer my cock at dis point… all I need is t’ hear it. Beg fer me.” “Oh Prince…. Oh Prince!” You whined, gripping his sheets tightly. He retracted his finger and drew aimlessly on your stomach with your slick. “Please, I need your cock! Please!”

“I wanna hear my name on yer lips. You know it, don’tcha?”

“Cad… Please….” You begged, lifting your hips to present your cunt to him, trying to tell him that you so desperately needed him to fill the void. He smirked at this presentation, and drew two fingers between your folds.

“Yer cute… I’ll give ya dat.” His fingers danced up and down the slit of your cunt teasingly. You whimpered, wriggling your hips closer. First, he was bitching at you about not giving in, and now he was the one dragging his feet? Entitled prick! “Most of my lays would offer t’ sell me deir families at dis point… just to get my cock.”

“Stupid.” You muttered, and he pressed a thumb to your clit.

“My favorites get special treatment. T’ dem, it’s a good trade.” He smirked as he slowly rubbed circles on your clit. Your body tensed, and your vision went spotty. “Besides, what use is a family t’ dem if dey’re here with me?”

Your toes curled as he dipped his finger into your cunt, only going in to the first knuckle. He rubbed around the entrance as he played with your clit. Stupid, entitled Prince! Fuck, you wanted him so bad...

“Now… what would you offer t’ me t’ get my cock? Hm?” He inquired as he eased his finger in a little further. “Do ya even have anythin’ of worth? You peasants usually don’t.”

“Hey!” You squeaked as he shoved the rest of his finger into you. Another slipped in soon after, and your whole body began to shake.

“Tell me, doll… what would you give to have my cock?”

“Nothing.” You replied as he thrust his fingers in and out of you. You whimpered, grinding your hips against his hand. The heat in your belly threatened to spill over, and your cunt tightened around his fingers. He was quick to remove his fingers from you.

“Ya don’t get t’ cum until ya tell me what you’d give me.”

You panicked, trying to find something, anything, of worth to give him. He wasn’t wrong about you not having much of worth; you worked a mediocre job making decent pay. You didn’t have much in the way of family, and even if you did, you would never offer them to him. This was ridiculous but you were also desperate. In the moment, all you could say was:

“Me! You can have me!”

Cad paused, quirking a browridge at this; a slow, devious smirk spread across his face and he leaned down.

“Is dat so?” He was mere inches away as his slick-covered hand slid down your stomach. “You want to be mine?”

“If - if that means you’ll fuck me… yes!” You cried out, aching and yearning. Satisfied with your answer, he angled his hips and pressed his cock into your cunt. His cock was searingly hot inside you, and filled you up sufficiently; every inch he plunged into you drove you closer and closer to an orgasm. The moment he bottomed out, you came, your body shaking as sparks of electric pleasure shot through you. Your back arched toward him, and Cad wrapped an arm around you, holding you to his chest.

He slowly rocked into your spasming pussy, moaning at the way you desperately milked him for his cum. He would not give so easily, however. He picked up his pace, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips; the ridges of his cock massaged all the sensitive parts of your cunt, and you had to stop yourself from begging for more.

“Ya feel good, doll.” Cad grunted as he thrusted harder into you. You could only whimper in response, your hands gripping your breasts tightly. “My cock feels good, don’t it?”

“Yessss.” You cried out, your toes curling as your orgasm loomed once more. You laid your head back on his bed, closing your eyes to bask in the sensations. He raked his fingers up and down your thighs, which quivered at the touch. There was only so much more you could take before the building tension snapped and you came again.

“Say my name.”

“Cad!”

“Say it louder! Let de whole place know who ya belong t’!” He roared, digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs to the point where you were certain they would bruise. A wail rose from deep in your chest.

“CAD!” You yelled out, arching your back and thrashing about as the sensations became unbearable. You were so close! So close! Your cunt tightened around Cad’s cock and he let out a groan at the sensation.

“Ya gonna cum fer me again? Ya gonna cum, lil’ slut?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” You cried, bucking your hips up against his, grasping at any additional pleasure you could get. Cad’s pace was growing erratic, and you knew that he wouldn’t be too far behind you.

“Cum fer me! Cum!” Cad commanded, pressing his thumb to your clit. Your vision went dark as your body when stiff; fluids shot out of you, soaking Cad, as waves of euphoria washed over your body. Through the haze of pleasure, you could feel Cad biting down on your shoulder, puncturing your skin, as he shot his cum deep inside you. Your cunt milked him for all he was worth.

When you came back to your head, Cad was lapping at the blood which leaked from your wound. He pulled out when he realized that you had come to, and went to find a rag so you could clean up. He returned with a towel, and gestured to your throbbing cunt.

“Go on.”

You cleaned up, as you were directed, while Cad strutted around his room. He returned to you with a collar in hand, and you quirked a brow. “For me?”

“Yeah. Ya did give yerself t’ me.” He reminded you.

“I did, didn’t I?” You managed a smile and leaned forward, presenting your neck to him. He clasped the collar around it, and stroked your cheek.

“Dere you are. All pretty.”

[mixedfandomer]

So I translated a phineas and ferb episode way to many times try to guess which one it is p.S I would love to see someone make this

(I don’t know how to add those continue reading things so you don’t have to scroll for a long time sorry)

Phineas: And how do you like red and blue toothpaste?

(A mysterious capsule falling from the sky)

Phineas: Wow. Hmm, it looks like it just fell out of the sky.

(shows the color of an umbrella)

Phineas: I think so. Open it and check the contents.

(Farb jumps out of an umbrella and goes to the box. He tries to open it).

Phineas: Wow. It's a day full of questions. First the toothpaste, then this.

Color: And of course, "Where's Perry?"

Phineas: Yes! do you know what i said? We are in the secret wing!

(from Perry's shop)

Major Monogram: Oh, Officer P. Glad I came here. Duvenschmilz was unavailable for a long time. Do something right or cheat. Man, it was a little sudden. Sometimes I feel like taking on assignments here.

(Phineas and Ferb cross the garden. A scream is heard.)

Phineas: Oh, the dress. He will break this third rule with an ax. Sorry Dumpio.

Dampamir: The name is Dampamir!

Baljeet: Wow! You can't log in because the content makes you more attractive!

Phineas: Don't you know? Fortunately, Farb is working on a special Z-ray machine that can see every substance on the periodic table. It's a great test, so it's best to wear this bulletproof lead jacket.

(fire car)

Color: Well, we can't see the haircut, but it has holes in the second molar. Looks like Ms. Shapiro is making Garcia Creplach's tortillas.

(Court:)

Doofenshmirtz Evil is involved! ??

(Perry enters. Dr. Duvenschmilz is missing.)

(The flashbacks begin in black and white. Duwenschildz is on his bad blog.)

Duvenschmilz: (A blind man grabs it and screams)

(Perry saw a new prisoner. Duwenschildz was covered up. Perry saw Duwenschildz's footprint).

Duwenschmilz: Hey! This is my lunch!

(Pine and Ferb in the courtyard. There is a piano in the box).

Phineas: I think I'm really running out of ideas here.

Isabella: You play the piano.

Baljeet: Can I buy a flute pipe?

Buford: the secret to making room for a new printer!

Phineas: Is that so?

Buford: Ok! As you know, the Van Stom family has been the holder of the secret knowledge and the holder of the Secret Box for generations. The 13th century turned the Templars' wrath into a massacre. Our family kept it hidden from uneducated people all their lives. When we did, all we found was a key that could reveal the secrets of the box.

Baljeet: Is that true?

Buford: No, just kidding. On the other side I found a wall. When the coffin fell from the sky, I saw the lock drop.

Phineas - Worth a try.

(pear cut)

Main Monogram: Great job. Agent P. Karl scans a fingerprint from Doof's apartment.

Carl: If you have a variability analysis, there seems to be a lot of caffeine molecules. with rainwater.

Large Monogram: Our only meaning is coffee and rainy sky. It can happen anywhere!

(The stop is in a darkroom with Seattle, WA. Duvenschmilz Barrel Accessories)

Duvenschmilz: Uh, hi! Who is here? Mark! You must be in heaven! This should be a satisfying explanation when I'm done, or when I'm blogging!

(Cut down the pine and Ferb's garden. Ferb puts the key in the chest.)

Phineas: Yes, honey!

Baljeet: What is your secret? Maybe a dozen missing Schrödinger cats?

BUFORD: But I didn't have privacy.

(opens the capsule)

(all pants)

Baljeet: Why do you smoke like that?

BUFORD: And why are we all suffering?

Cornelius: Oops, sorry!

Crazy Old Man: What do you think you did?

Phineas: Who are you?

Crazy old man: It's me! from the future!

(all pants)

(Cut the spleen into a quilt. Remove the mask from the shadow mask)

Duvenschmilz: (panting) Peter Panda? Oh, that was my good chance. That's all. While. And it was terrible, everyone was staring with crooked noses and had to talk about it.

Suspect: Hello, Duvenschmilz!

Duvenschmilz: Hello, what do you get, the black figure walking in the dark?

Suspicious Character: Mystery Professor, it's me.

Duvenschmilz: I understand.

Professor's Secret: Did Panda Stone Take My Name?

Doofenshmirtz: No, but I don't really speak. Can you tell me why you kidnapped me? Hmm bye! I know you are still here. I can't see the apple of your eye. What is silence? It is very unconventional.

Professor Secret: secret.

Duvenschmilz: Oh. This is going to be a fun interview.

(The courtyard of Phineas and Ferb)

Phineas: Please stay a while. Do you want to know what's happening to my nose?

Crazy old man: Don't worry about our nose ... This. Hear it when a hamster runs, a black hole breaks control and something breaks. You have now opened my hamster area! It's just a moment before it slows down!

Baljit: Wait, is a hamster allergic to air?

Crazy old man: Trust me!

Baljeet: What?

Crazy Old Man: Because I'll be here in the future!

Baljit: Wait, won't I be Indian in the future?

Crazy old man: "Okay! See you in the future.

Isabella: Yes, it doesn't make sense.

Grandma: Stop telling people about you from the future!

Phineas: Who is it?

Crazy Old Man: I'm just Dennis. ignore. There is no future person.

Dennis: I heard it! Hi guys, sorry if I disturb you.

Crazy old man: there is no time to waste!

Dennis: Calm down, Bernie! Don't forget your blood!

Bernie: What did I do to you? So what slows down?

Dennis: Oh, go! I am a sick hamster who rules our lives!

(The box beeps.)

Phineas: What is there without batting an eye?

Baljeet: Not good.

Buford: Well, you've played a lot of pianos.

(Put the professor's husband in a moving box and bite into the scented sponge).

Duvenschmilz: Seriously, what was the kidnapping? And what good is a temple hanging over the petro panda?

The Professor's Mystery: Why I'm Peter Panda's Enemy.

Duvenschmilz: (pants)

The Secret Professor: Are you surprised?

Duvenschmilz: Sure. But if you know anything about the enemy company, please do so. I don't want to be another bad scientist. (See Professor Inator of Mysteries) Oh! Enjoying! Why does he do it?

The professor's secret is a secret I cannot reveal.

Duvenschmilz: ... your beauty. Yes, I know. Will you give me your advice before or after trying to catch Peter the panda? It's just ... Even in the research phase.

The mystery of the teacher: I don't say anything. The secret gun ... it's mine

Duvenschmilz: But he's your enemy! He knows what bothers you! So this is a generic title! What do you expect from her with your story? (The secret has been cleared.) Don't stay, oh no. Don't tell me, you've never told your inner story! ok i have a problem! This is your problem!

The Professor's Mystery: What?

Doofenshmirtz: Lack of communication. Give me a shot (a rhythm is established and a chorister appears out of nowhere).

(song: talk to him)

Duvenschmilz - you can do it in secret

You don't have to be so selective. ??

Chorus Girls: Too erratic! ??

Duvenschmilz: Make history your secret enemy;

For all the reasons why ...

Duvenschmilz and the girls' choir: rotten eggs. ??

Doofenshmirtz: (ooh while the choir girl is in the background) not enough to show her skill;

You have to tell him how you feel. ??

I guess you will be surprised that their attention is being held

I can only understand

Tell him about all the bad plans you have for ...

Duvenschmilz and the showgirl: you have to ...

Duvenschmilz: Talk to him

Choir Girl: Oh! ??

Duvenschmilz: Tell him ...

Duvenschmilz and Chorus Girl - all my plans came to mind

Duvenschmilz: Talk to him

Choir Girl: Oh! ??

Duvenschmilz: Announcement ...

Duvenschmilz and Chorus Girl: Give her everything you fear. ??

Duvenschmilz: Talk to him. ??

Now...

Duvenschmilz and the Chorus Girls: Stay there like a rock. ??

Doofenshmirtz - he has two furry ears to wear

Dancing girls: wear it! ??

Duvenschmilz: I know you really want to hurt him

Choir girls: Dig! ??

Duvenschmilz: But I think I'll lose you if I don't speak

Dancing girls: I want to talk

Duvenschmilz: communication is essential

When you open you can understand

And maybe it bothers me.

Duvenschmilz and Chorus Girl: you're right! ??

(The number ends and the girl has disappeared).

Mystery Professor: How did you get this girl to dance?

Doofenshmirtz: These are the unions, they are leaving.

(Go back to the courtyard where the hamster slows down.)

Bernie: (while Finna holds on) there's only one way to beat him! and listen with your ears! (A red bird in the wind comes out of your beard.) Hey Velleius, I found your bird!

Velleio: Really? where he was

Bernie: How boring! However, there is only one way to improve it! (crying and screaming)

Isabella, Buford, Baljit: No!

Finius: Hurray, everyone! Get the tree!

(They do.)

Isabelle: What are you doing now? !!

Baljeet: This is definitely the only time the camera has disappeared again!

Buford: Yeah, bad model break!

Isabella: Well, she is not a model! Subsequently, the model will disappear.

(remote effect)

I mean, Candice!

(Candice enters the room where she is still listening to the music. Then Chaos looks through the window and walks straight into the box.

Candice: (pants) mama mama mama mama mama !!!

(she goes back to the mysterious cave).

Mysterious Professor: The last person I recommend, you are a hostile thief!

Duvenschmilz: You can't undo it with a musical instrument. Hmm! I'll say it's not my fault that you and Peter are in trouble. It's yours!

The Professor's Secret: (Active Inator) The Secret Inator is an active lens wrapped in a real lens, I know who it is! Under favorable circumstances you will be nervous and full of revenge!

Duwenschmilz: (sigh) Yawn! So I was more concerned if I knew what was going on. YY-Become a man (sighs again)!

Secret Professor: Hmm?

(Burned by a plague on the wall. Peter Panda has come to the other side).

Duvenschmilz: Peter Panda! Wow, I'm not very happy to see my rainbow enemy.

Mysterious Professor: Peter Panda is not your enemy!

Duvenschmilz: Yes. He is not the enemy. H-h-this is a slow project.

Mysterious Professor: Do you want it to fall like this? (Peter accuses him) Do you understand? I am touched! Here it is, Duvenschmilz! (sighing) Yes, it is! (another shot) Do you understand? feel good. What did you give that I couldn't give you?

Duvenschmilz: A bad part of the internal dialogue!

Mystery Professor: What?

Duvenschmilz: Communicate! Oh cry! In any case, tell me what makes you turn off!

Mystery Professor: What? Oh yeah! There is no author!

Duvenschmilz: What? !! ??? ?? !! Hey, I'm worried! Clock! Communication I can do it.

(Perry finally enters, flips the switch, shoots from the ceiling, bounces a space pin.)

(He goes back to the terrace.)

Buford: I can't take it anymore! one day my friend

("Tough Gum" Song (Instrumental))

Advertiser: Durable Shoelaces!

Buford: - Wash! He lifts the branch and flies away.

(Once in line, Inator throws a bolt of lightning at the box, and once in line, Candice's mother follows him into the yard.)

Candice: Hurry up, Mom! To move on! What? !!

Baljeet: I didn't get hurt like I expected.

BUFORD: Yes, thankfully.

(Modest case where Mysterio and Peter talk so that Douffensmritz and Perry can see each other from the window.)

Mystery Master: So my parents accidentally created a black hole, got hooked on it, and went into orbit so that there was no danger to the planet, but in the process. At first I'm furious about it, and in the end you make me a nonexistent emperor, whom you killed tonight! Wow, what fun to tell someone!

(A crazy old man comes out of the yard to see him.)

Bernie and Denise: Son!

Mystery Master: Mother? Father? !! They will be called back! (hugs her).

Velleio: Oh ...

Mysterious Professor: Meet my enemy Peter Panda.

Bernie: Do you have any archenemies?

Denise: All of our kids are adults!

Bernie: Why is it a panda?

Dennis: Bernie!

Bernie: What? I was just thinking.

(Doofenshritz and Perry drop them).

Doofenshmirtz: Come on, Platypus Perry. Let's go home, I talk to you a lot, right? Yes, maybe you are right.

(He goes back to the terrace.)

Linda: Kids, why don't you come for lunch? And if he meets your father, ask him to come with us.

Candice: But, but, but ... Okay.

Finius: Intense, color. Planets can also explode and break the space continuum. I hope you have not suffered any real damage. (The bears appear next to them.) Oh, father! If you want to join, mom is having a lot of fun!

Polar Bear (voice of Lawrence): Oh boy, very good. I'm a bit bored.

Finius: Maybe the cake is still there.

(Another sees Phineas' back hole as the boy goes through the hole, proving it is true that Phineas and Ferb are working on a machine that turns humans into flies.)

Vera Finnius: W Noteworthy! What was the fate! We did

True color: can't. Here Phineas has four white shirts and you only have three.

Phineas: Okay. It must be said: Our father is not a bear.