#but he's family and i'm so lucky to have him

[annasellheim]

I had been so uncomfortable around him at first. The relationship of master and unpaid servant (ie slave) was so messed up.

But slowly, we got to know each other. He became a good friend.

I still refused to order him around tho. I ignored his daily reminders about his lifelong obligation to serve me.

I woke up one day in the ICU. I had a minor stroke apparently. My monster had found me unconscious on the floor in my apartment and rushed me to the hospital. He hadn't left my side either the entire 4 days I had been in a medical induced coma.

He had fondly told me that he initially had scared the doctors and nurses into allowing him to stay with me. He had threatened to curse them.

I laughed with him. It was a bluff, he didn't know any magic.

At one point I burst into tears and thanked him for staying, and explained how lonely it would have been to go through this alone. I told him he didn't have to do it, and asked him why he hadn't left me for dead. He'd finally be free of his self imposed servitude.

He was appalled. "You didn't order me to do this. I did this because I care about you!"

He then looked away. It was obvious that he regretted blurting that out.

I took held his claw in my hand. "I care about you too. So, so much."

He became overwhelmed. It was his turn to cry.

I looked at him. "I know you refuse to call me Anna, you insist on calling me 'Master', but we're family dammit! It's time you finally told me your name."

He was shaking at this point. He was so secretive, but he was tired and feeling vulnerable, his walls were finally crumbling.

"It's Oslo," he looked down and whispered.

I lifted his chin up, "Oslo, look at me."

He did, he looked so scared.

"My name is Anna, you are my family so you better start calling me by my name."

He let out a wet laugh. "Okay Anna."

______________________________________________________________

Thank you so much @ineffable---sounds for providing me the love and care that inspired this post

A horrible monster has been following you for a while now. It finally has you cornered. You hear it speak. "Master… I've finally found you…"

[adore-laur]

DAD HARRY BLURB

someone requested them finding out the gender of baby #3 :) please reblog & give feedback!

——

Harry pulls into the parking lot of the bakery he used to work at irregularly, the faded burgundy bricks a familiar sight. It hasn't been revamped much from when he was in his mid-twenties and struggling to earn a livable wage by juggling pastry-making, bartending, and training to be a chef. While he's not necessarily fond of those stressful workplace memories, the one that stands out the most is when he saw your pretty face again in the bakery. It was fate at its finest, and the rest is cherished history. He'll always be grateful for this place.

Over five years later, he is back with exhilaration thrumming in his chest. He's older now, his life wildly different than before he met you—now, he has a steadfast romance that keeps getting better, two precious daughters, and another baby on the way, all in a house where the ocean breeze kisses his skin every morning. He never envisioned being lucky enough to live out his dream so profoundly.

Harry steps out of the car, enjoying the subdued sunshine. He spins his key ring around his pointer finger, a smile already lifting his lips as he shoulders the front door open. The scent of baked bread and hints of vanilla greets him, along with the bakery's owner, Doreen, who gives him a cordial wave. She's a short woman in her sixties who has been running the place since before Harry was born. The long grey braid tapering down her back swings back and forth as she wipes the storefront windows with a rag. An apron is tied around her waist, the well-worn fabric dusted with flour and smears of blue frosting. She hasn't changed one bit.

"Hello, dear," Doreen says, briefly pausing her cleaning to kiss his cheek. Even on her tiptoes, Harry has to bend down to close the gap. "I know something you don't!"

He inhales deeply, that warm thrum returning. "You sure do."

She grins mischievously. "It's in the fridge, top left shelf. Help yourself."

Harry walks toward the two-section glass fridge behind the counter. A week ago, you did a blood test that could detect the baby's gender earlier than an ultrasound. At your request to keep it a secret for now, the obstetrician wrote the results down and sealed it in an envelope, which Harry then brought to the bakery and ordered a two-tier vanilla cake with either pink or blue frosting inside. Only the baker would know until it was sliced into by you and him. You both wanted a different type of reveal this time around. Last pregnancy, it was kept a surprise until birth. You're both too excited to wait this time.

"Thank you again for doing this," Harry says, taking the white bakery box with a yellow sticky note that has Styles Family scribbled on it. "If you ever need extra help around here, don't hesitate to give me a call."

"Oh, don't worry about me." Doreen places her hands on her hips, winking at him. "I'm sure you have your hands full at home."

He laughs softly. "I do, but they're wonderful little helpers. I could always bring them in, even if it's just to taste test."

"How old are they now?"

"Four and one. Our oldest is in her first year of preschool."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "Goodness, how time flies. Plus a bun in the oven?"

"She's eleven weeks," he replies, smiling proudly.

"How is she feeling?"

Harry thinks back to when he left this morning, leaving you lying in bed sandwiched by the kids still in their pajamas. "Pretty fatigued, but she knows what to expect by now. She's doing everything she can to stay motivated."

"Well, I was happy to hear the news and so honored to be one of the first ones to know such a special secret," Doreen says, pinching his earlobe affectionately. "I baked my best cake for you. Oh, that reminds me!" She scurries over to a nearby table to retrieve a wrapped plate with an assortment of desserts, no doubt baked by her. "These are for you and your girls."

Harry's heart swells, and he pecks her cheek with gratitude. "We appreciate it so much. And I'm serious: I'll put my old apron back on if you need me to. I still know how to make a mean batch of macarons."

She shoos him away with her cleaning rag. "Go on, you silly boy. Be with your family."

He beams on his way out of the bakery, wanting nothing more.

——

Harry arrives back home in the late morning, feeling grateful that it's the weekend. The house is quiet, and he'd bet money that his girls are in the same position he left them an hour ago. Arguably, that's what Sundays are for—cuddles under warm sheets and no obligation to be anywhere else.

The front door snicks shut, and he walks the short distance to the kitchen to set the cake box on the island. His fingers itch to open it and sink a knife into the layer of frosting, but he refrains. The time will come.

Instead, he heads to the bedroom, keeping his footsteps light. Sure enough, you're curled up with two little girls tucked into the outline of your body. Harry commits the view to memory before sitting on the edge of the mattress. You stir awake from a light sleep, your eyes opening and finding him. The first-trimester fatigue is obvious, and it's as endearing as it was the first time.

"Morning, lazybones," he says softly.

You yawn, stretching your arms, and the fierce urge to hold you close and never leave this bed rushes through him. "Hi. Did you get the cake?"

"I did." He strokes the bridge of your nose with his knuckle, sensing your lethargy. "Feeling okay?"

"So-so. I was a little queasy earlier."

"Did you eat yet?" he asks, and you shake your head in response. "Want me to make something?"

"I don't have much of an appetite, but I'm sure the girls would love a big breakfast," you say. Harry smiles, taking a moment to admire their innocent faces still deep in sleep. He hopes they're having pleasant dreams.

"Okay. I'll be in the kitchen."

"Wait for me, please." You carefully sit up with a dazed and adorable look in your eyes.

Harry sighs fondly and says, "You need to listen to your body. Don't resist rest."

Pouting, you shed the blanket and swing your legs over the bed, ignoring his sensible advice. "But my body's telling me that it misses you."

"Sweetheart..." He cuts himself off, realizing he has no way to refute that. He knows wholeheartedly because he feels it too. Working full-time and coming home to parent with you leaves little room for quality time together. Consequently, there was never time to squeeze a babymoon in the past four years. He'll have to ponder that idea more in-depth, especially now that your pregnancy is swiftly heading to the halfway mark. Probably smart to plan a trip during that sweet spot, when you're not too physically uncomfortable. He wants to have fun with you, away from the kids. Explore an exotic place and luxuriate in romance with no one around.

"Harry?" you say, pulling him out of his titillating trance. He was just beginning to envisage you naked on a canopy bed in Fiji, the evening sun casting over your dips and curves. Lying there all majestically, waiting for him to feast on you. Paradise personified.

"Sorry, just musing." He clears his throat and thinks of innocent things, like buttermilk pancakes and hash browns.

"Uh-oh," you reply playfully before standing up and leaving him with a tempting view of your bare legs. As you freshen up in the bathroom, Harry leans over his daughters and kisses their heads. They both stir minimally, their disheveled curls rustling against the pillows. He wonders if his genes will ever have mercy in that department when the next baby arrives.

Eventually, you follow Harry into the kitchen, and there's a familiar thrill in having a brief window of alone time before the kids require attention. He smoothly pulls you into his embrace and asks, "How's our baby?"

You look down at your stomach and lift the silk camisole covering it. "Finally making an appearance, I think."

Pulling back slightly, Harry assesses the tiny protrusion—it's much tinier than the last two were around the same eleven-week mark. "Oh, hello there," he murmurs with a winsome smile. The proof of you carrying a child is nearly unnoticeable, at least in a physical sense, but the smallness keeps it a secret from any outsiders. Inside this home, it's his to savor.

You laugh, silently marveling over it with him, then glance at the cake over his shoulder. "We could have cake for breakfast."

Harry pulls you close again and waddles your conjoined bodies forward until your back meets the island. "That depends on if you want to find out now or later. It's up to you."

Looping your arms around his neck, you contemplate for a few seconds before saying, "Let's wait until later tonight—at least until I'm feeling better."

"Absolutely. Maybe we can head down to the beach at sunset with the girls. Have a mini celebration."

You nod. "I'd like that."

"Done deal." The thin strap of your silk camisole slips down your shoulder, and Harry groans when the curve of your breast peeks out. He cups it in his palm, and your body reacts by pressing into him even further. "So, what's your final prediction?" he asks, kissing the tender flesh there and readjusting the strap. Focus, he tells himself. The girls need breakfast.

You make a show of thinking long and hard. "Unforeseen quadruplets? I'd be a medical mystery."

Harry narrows his eyes, suppressing a grin. "Hysterical." He widens his stance until he's the same height as you. "C'mon, give it to me."

"Final prediction is... girl," you say assuredly. That word tugs at his heartstrings, the ones belonging to the instinctive protectiveness he has toward his daughters.

"I'm sticking with boy," he says for the sake of a friendly husband-wife competition.

You quirk your brow and slowly back out of his embrace. "I can't believe you're not trusting my womanly intuition."

"I've guessed correctly the last two times," he reminds you. "Don't underestimate my mojo."

"All right. Best of luck, baby."

——

Harry shivers in an overdramatic fashion while holding his youngest daughter, and she giggles, thoroughly entertained. He always enjoys the walk down to the private beach, where the expansive view never ceases to amaze him. At sunset, it's even more phenomenal. The wind carries a coolness to it, and the sky transpires into heavenly hues of lavender, teal, and marigold. No matter the weather, he makes an effort to watch it fade into the night alongside his family.

Tonight is extra special, and as he glances back at you trailing behind with the cake box and two empty champagne glasses in one hand and your eldest's small hand in the other, his excitement intensifies. He was patient all afternoon, even crawling back in bed with you and the girls to bask in a catnap under the warm sheets. Afterward, the laziness continued as you all watched a movie together on the couch and ate takeout. Now it's time for dessert.

Near the shoreline, Harry sets down his youngest and removes the quilted blanket from around his shoulders. He shakes it out and watches her toddle on the sand. She just started walking on her own last month, and he can never be too cautious with her curious nature. There's nothing more bloodcurdling than a child wandering off without a sound.

The girls go off to play with their dolls near the sandcastle they built near the hammock. It's far enough from the waves for them to be semi-unsupervised.

Harry lays the blanket down and sits. You join him, passing over the glasses. He brought a bottle of grape juice as a substitute for wine.

After pouring juice into each glass, Harry hands one over to you and lifts his in the air. "Cheers to growing our beautiful family. Cheers to being happy, healthy, and perpetually sleep-deprived. We make an amazing team, and... I just love you. Inexplicably so." He clinks his glass with yours and takes a hearty sip, never taking his eyes off you.

"Cheers," you say, letting the tart liquid travel down your throat.

Harry rubs his palms together and says, "Ready?"

You give him a smile only he knows the meaning of. "Let's have some cake."

He slides the box over and fingers open the seal. When he lifts the top, you shuffle forward and melt into his side, staying there as he stares at the coating. It's only plain white buttercream frosting with swirly pink and blue dollops caressing the circular edge, but the part that makes him teary-eyed is the cursive icing that reads Baby Styles. Although it's his third and most likely last child, the feeling never gets old. Every newborn experience challenges him in an entirely new way. It's unexpected, enlightening, and emotionally rewarding. And to do it by your side is the greatest accomplishment he'll ever know.

Wiping the corners of his eyes, Harry picks up the knife. You place your hand over his grip on the handle and kiss his bicep. "No peeking," you say, closing your eyes.

Harry does the same and rests his forehead against yours. Slowly, he maneuvers the knife to blindly cut a triangular slice. His heart pounds in anticipation. The bet he made with you doesn't matter anymore. Either outcome, he'll be ecstatic.

"You look first," he whispers, his lips brushing yours with each syllable.

"No, you do it," you whisper back.

"You know, we never discussed what the prize is for whoever guessed correctly," he says, shifting the knife so the slice breaks free.

"I know what I want."

"Yeah?" he murmurs, nudging his nose with yours. "Tell me.”

"I want to go on vacation somewhere far away, just me and you."

"Remember what happened last vacation?" His eyes are still closed, and vivid memories play behind his lids.

"Yes, I do,” you say. “You got me pregnant, but that was only because there was something in the Italian air."

He laughs and captures your lips in a quick kiss. "Is that the only reason? I seem to recall you—"

"Daddy, what flavor is the pink stuff?"

Harry's eyes shoot open, and for a split second, he sees that yours are still shut as his head whips toward his eldest daughter skipping over with her favorite doll in tow. His youngest follows her, picking up handfuls of sand along the way.

Brows furrowed, he looks at you again to find you staring at the cake with a dumbstruck expression. He honestly forgot it was there, too caught up in the intimate moment he was sharing with you, where the darkness enhanced the warm sensations of his skin touching yours, the grape scent of your breath, and the way your sensual words sent shivers down his spine.

All that floats away when he sees creamy pink frosting in the middle of the sponge cake. It's a delicate shade of pink similar to the newborn hospital hat they put on his firstborn daughter. Similar to the sunrise the day his second daughter decided to come into the world.

Pink. Another baby girl.

Making a spontaneous choice, Harry pulls his sweater off and sprints full speed toward the ocean, shouting with glee. He hears your shocked guffaw as he tumbles forward into the shallow water. The coldness is a shock to his system, but it doesn't compare to the fact that you're having a girl. He hoped for it deep in his heart. He dreamt it.

You walk over to him, eyes glassy and holding a large forkful of cake. "I was right!"

Harry heaves big breaths, adrenaline rushing through his blood vessels. His sweatpants are soaked, but it's the last thing on his mind. He clumsily reaches you and places his palms on your stomach, kissing it repeatedly. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he says, overwhelmed with emotion. He looks up, his next words intended for you. "You made our dreams come true, baby. And I don't know how to repay you, but I’ll try. I swear it.”

"You've already repaid me, Harry, by being the most devoted and dependable father to our girls."

He smiles, his cheeks hurting. "Three girls now. Holy shit.”

You collapse in his arms, crying and laughing with happiness. He catches you and gently brings you down to the sand. The wind whips around both your bodies, not able to penetrate the heat of this unforgettable moment.

Amidst bites of cake and promises of a couple's vacation to wherever your heart desires, a shout of "It's strawberry-flavored!" carries over, nestling deep in Harry’s heart.

Life couldn't be sweeter.

——

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Thank you to all the authors who share their wonderful stories with us. I hope this list reminds you that I come back to these stories often and that your words are loved by many.

As always, these fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon compliant.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries.

A Hundred Visions and Revisions by @yallthemwitches

She loves him like this: sleepy, slap happy, sometimes a bit handsy but willing to meet her where she’s at in the moment. It’s the quiet moments like this that keep her going sometimes, knowing that whatever is happening out there will disappear by the end of the day when they can hold each other again.

To live for the hope of it all

Whispers in the Dark also by yallthemwitches

When Lily is awarded her prefect badge in fifth year, they warn her that James Potter has a talent for disappearing... but if that's true, why does he keep coming to her night after night, hoping to be caught?

Until the Light Takes Us also by yallthemwitches

A series of drabbles and fics following the prompt of Jilytober Fest 2024.

color theory by @clare-with-no-i

Lily Evans learns about love: its hues, its tints, its shades. Some disappoint. Some dazzle.

falling (for fools) by @jjameslily

She hated him. Hated his confidence, his messy charm, the way he managed to take up space even when he wasn’t saying a word.

Absolutely. Totally. Without question.

But, as much as she tried to focus, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought.

She’d never noticed just how distracting James Potter could be.

don’t let it make you cry also by jjameslily

Her eyes glistened, the love within her radiating from her. She let it ripple outward, weaving her spirit into the air around him, reaching beyond the veil, hoping he—Harry, their son—would feel it not as a ghost of a fleeting memory, but as a pulse. Alive. Real.

Quid Pro Quo by StarsAndDiamond (on ao3)

Lily Evans was not ready to go home for her sister's Christmas engagement, but she wasn't the only one up late at night in the common room.

Sharper Than Hope by @maraudersftw

“You’re…” A lick of lips; something sharper than hope on my tongue; another attempt. “You fancy me?”

every single time by @gigglesandfreckles-hp

Unrelated drabbles, fics, ficlets, and word dumps in response to jilytober 2024 prompts

2, 5, 10, 11, 12, 16, 19, 21, 27, 29 and 30 are my favourites

Lucky Number 7 by zipadeea (on ao3)

Lily Evans thought life at Hogwarts was busy enough for her, what with Prefect duties and N.E.W.T classes and meetings with the Slug Club. Then, Marlene convinces her to try out for the Gryffindor quidditch team.

Written because James was a Chaser, and I'm convinced Harry's athletic abilities come from both sides of the family tree.

crawl home by @annabtg

He doesn’t know if he’s alive or dead. All he knows is that he wants to go home.

Exhale by @petalsthefish

"Shhh," James leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "I’m so sorry, but I have to set the bones again. It’s okay to cry, you're doing so well. So well, baby."

"Fuck," she whimpered through her tears. "I hate this."

"I know, I know," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I hate this too, sweetheart."

Masquerade also by petalsthefish

James was going to jinx Sarah Hitchkes.

It was Sarah Hitchkes who conceived the entire idea, driven by two main motives. First, it was a fun and creative way for everyone to showcase their Patronuses. Second, it gave her the perfect excuse to throw a massive party. Scheduled for July 31st at her sprawling estate, the event was open to all the sixth- and seventh-year students. She dubbed it the “Patronus Party,” and it was set to be the social highlight of the summer—provided you could produce a corporeal Patronus.

this trope will always be a favorite of mine

Coincidence also by petalsthefish

“You look miserable.” Mary commented, noting Lily’s bored expression.

"I need to make out with someone like I need to breathe." Lily Evans hissed as she swirled her butterbeer and peered around the bar.

"James Potter's free."

In Their Short Time by @hogwartslivy

It was one hell of a love story. One that had a most tragic, untimely ending. They could never have guessed as mere children sitting across from one another on the train, all excitement and nerves and emotions, that their stories, all hopes and fears and loves, were to be forever intertwined.

Something Old Something New by @chiechie97

Weddings are the most beautiful things in the world. Unless you accidentally end up at your ex... somethings house to play violin at a family wedding.

Lily Evans just wants to get payed and go home to her cat. Perhaps she should have asked more questinos about the location and clients of her string quartets latest gig.

It’s Always You by @joyseuphoria

5 times jily kissed before they started dating

I'll keep your brittle heart warm by Iphigenniaa (on ao3)

Lily Evans didn't have to wash the blood off her hands that night, but she did have to wash the burning odor from her clothes, which seemed to soak even her own insides.

A Life With You by @kay-elle-cee

A Jily Lives AU collection of small moments from Hogwarts onwards, using the 31 Jilytober tumblr prompts.

7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 15, 17, 18, 20, 22, 24, 29 and 30 are my favourites

don't forget me by blackcanarys (on ao3)

At the height of the First Wizarding War, Lily Evans finds herself contemplating life, death and her mortality after a routine Order mission in 1978.

It's All Politics by acciosalmon (on ao3)

The most constant emotional sentiment in Lily's Hogwarts career was her complete and utter loathing of one William Mulciber

I have yet to read this one, but it was recomended to me because it explores how jily's power dynamic is altered when James isn't potraied as white but Lily is

[winchesterwild78]

Thankful for You

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester X Reader (wife), Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Cass, Jack

Warnings: Just a little holiday fluff.

A/N: Just a short story about Thanksgiving Day in the bunker. The reader and Dean are newly married and she wants their first Thanksgiving as a married couple to be perfect. 

I picked Dean instead of Jensen or any of his other characters, because Dean was the one who wouldn’t know what a traditional Thanksgiving would look like.

Does not follow the Supernatural story line. Used characters from the show, but all work is my own. I do not own the rights to these characters. 

Please don’t take my work. Reblogs and likes are appreciated.

Written fast and not edited, please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

I woke up early, Dean’s arm laying loosely over my body. I slipped out of bed to our shared bathroom and took a quick shower. I needed to get the turkey on so it could be ready before everyone came over.

Dean and I had been married about 6 months and this was our first real Thanksgiving. Since he grew up in the hunting life, Thanksgiving wasn’t something he celebrated. I on the other hand always had the traditional Thanksgiving with all the food, football and family you could handle. 

I had bought a turkey, ham, rolls, yams, potatoes, green beans, stuffing, and of course pie. I knew I wouldn’t have time to bake all the pies, so I bought a few, but wanted to make Dean a cherry pie from scratch. 

I was thankful we had multiple ovens in the bunker, otherwise there was no way I could pull off roasting a turkey, making a ham and the pie in one day. 

After my shower I went into the kitchen and prepared the turkey. Once it was in the oven I started on the pie and ham. By the time Dean got up I was washing and peeling potatoes. 

He walked into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe. His arms were crossed over his firm chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. He smiled as he watched me flit around the kitchen.

“Need any help, sweetheart.” His voice startled me. I looked up at him and bit my lip. God I was so incredibly lucky to have him. “Good morning, Dean. No, I'm okay right now.”

He crossed the room, came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. I leaned into his chest and he kissed my temple. “Do I smell pie?” He grinned. 

“Yes you do, but it’s in the oven. You have to wait.” Dean’s bottom lip poked out in a pout. I turned and faced him, placing my hands on his chest. “Dean, it’s not ready yet. You have to wait.” “Is that the only pie?” He asked with a smirk. 

“Now what do you think?” I said as I walked towards the counter. I held up the pumpkin pie and a grin spread across his face. He took three steps towards me and took the pie out of my hand with a chuckle. 

“Dean Winchester, give that back to me. That’s for later.” He laughed as he held it over my head. “What’s wrong sweetheart? Can’t reach it? You’re welcome to have it back if you can reach it.” 

“Oh you’re so mean.” We both were laughing and I kept jumping, trying to reach the pie. Sam appeared at the door and saw us playing around. He loved seeing his brother so happy. 

“Alright you two, get a room.” He said as he walked in to grab a coffee. “Sam, please tell your brother to give me back the pie. It’s for later.” Sam chuckled, threw his hands up in defeat, “You’re on your own shortstack. I thought you’d know by now to never get in the way of Dean and his pie.” 

“Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side, Sammy.” I said as I kept trying to get the pie. “Thanks baby brother.” Dean laughed.

“Alright, both of you, out of my kitchen. I have dinner to finish and you’re distracting me, Dean.” Dean placed the pie down, pulled me flush to him and kissed my lips. 

“God I love you, Y/N. I can’t believe you’re mine.” “I love you too, Dean, and you better believe it. Until my last breath, I’m yours.” 

Dean walked out of the kitchen and turned back to look at me again. His heart leaped in his chest. 

I finished getting the rest of the food prepared and I set the dining room table. Sam invited Eileen, Jack and Cass were coming, and of course Dean and I would be there. I was excited to have all of our family there to help celebrate Thanksgiving. 

As I stepped into mine and Dean’s room I found him sitting at his desk writing. I hadn’t seen him write in a long time. He told me when we first started dating he would write sometimes to help with his anxiety. 

“Hey, baby. I’m just gonna jump in the shower before everyone gets here.” I said as I stepped into the room. Dean looked up, “Okay sweetheart. I’ll be done here in a minute.” I lightly touched his shoulder, “Okay Dean.”

“Hey sweetheart?” I turned to look at Dean from the bathroom doorway, “Yes?” “I love you.” I smiled, “I love you too, Dean.”

About twenty minutes later I was showered, dressed and ready for dinner. When I walked into the room, Dean was gone and his journal was tucked away in its spot on the desk. I nervously bit my lip. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness creep into my heart. Dean was upset about something, but he was keeping it from me. I had worked so hard to get most of his walls down, it broke my heart to think there was something bothering him that he felt he couldn’t share with me. 

I took a deep breath and walked towards the dining room. Sam, Eileen, Cas and Jack were all there chatting. I looked around for Dean but didn’t see him. 

They all greeted me, “Hey Y/N. Everything looks delicious, are you ready to eat?” I smiled, “Sure, y’all dig in. I’m going to find Dean.” Sam looked up at me, “He’s in the garage.” I nodded and walked towards the garage. 

I heard Dean before I even got in the room. I walked over to Baby and saw Dean sitting in the car. His eyes met mine, “Damn.” He whispered, causing me to blush.

“Dean, dinner is ready. Let’s go eat.” Dean climbed out of the car and pulled me flush to him. “Look at how beautiful you look, sweetheart. I am one lucky man.” “Don’t you forget it, Mr. Winchester.” “I could never, Mrs. Winchester.” 

“Before we go, Y/N I wanted to talk to you.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and bit my bottom lip, “Okay.” My voice barely a whisper. “I’ve done some pretty screwed up stuff in my life. I never thought I was worthy of anything, let alone love. Then I met you. I am thankful every single day I get to wake up next to you as your husband. You making this day special, this meal for us means so much to me. Nobody has ever loved me like you do. I know you saw me writing earlier, and I wanted to talk to you about that.” 

“Dean, you don’t have to. I know it’s how you deal with things in your head. Whatever you wrote, it’s okay if you keep it to yourself.” 

Dean stepped closer, “Baby I want to tell you. It’s about you, us.” “Okay, Dean. Whatever you have to say I can take it. No matter what it is.” My heart hammered in my chest. I was terrified and didn’t know why.

“Sweetheart, I’m ready.” I looked at him confused. “Ready to eat?” I asked. Dean chuckled, “No, well, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m ready to start a family with you. I want us to have those babies we talked about. I want to leave this world a little better than we found it.” 

My breath hitched, “What? You really want to start a family?” “Yes, Y/N. I want to start a family with you. I can’t wait to see our babies and raise them by your side.” 

I threw my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist. “Yes, Dean! A thousand times yes! Let’s have a baby.” Dean kissed me deeply, “Wanna go start now?” He winked. 

“As much as I would, we do have a table full of guests who are hungry.” Dean chuckled, “You’re right. Let’s go eat. I can’t wait to get some of that pie you made.” “I can’t wait to start a family with you, Dean.” He grabbed my hand, “Me either, darlin’.” 

Dean and I walked into the dining room and greeted everyone. As I sat down and looked around the table at my family I smiled. I loved every single person sitting here with me, and I couldn’t wait to bring a little one into this family. 

We love each other deeply, protect completely, and never give up on each other. I know our baby will grow up loved, strong and protected.

As dinner started to wrap up, Sam and Eileen announced they were going to be getting married, Cas and Jack were rebuilding heaven, and Dean announced he and I were going to work on starting a family. 

Everyone was excited for us. Jack stepped close to me and whispered in my ear. I looked at him and he nodded. 

My heart fluttered. Later that night, Dean and I laid in bed, after a few times of trying and he held me tight. 

“Y/N, thank you for a wonderful day. I am so thankful for you.” “Dean, I am thankful for you too, and our baby.” 

Dean’s brain took a second to catch what I said. His eyes shot open and he propped himself up on his elbow, “What baby?” I looked at my husband, deep in his green eyes, “Jack told me tonight I’m pregnant, Dean. We’re pregnant.” 

“Oh my god, sweetheart. I’m gonna be a dad?” “Yes, Dean. You’re going to be a dad.” Dean gently placed his strong, calloused hands on my belly and kissed my lips. “Now this is something to be thankful for.” “Yes it is, Dean. Happy Thanksgiving, my love.” Dean cupped my face, “Happy Thanksgiving to you too, sweetheart.” 

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[allbecauseoftheboys2]

Samuel sipped his beer and watched Angel and his mother yell at eachother in Cantonese. Samuel could never be entirely sure if they were actually fighting or just having an animated conversation, and he could only pick out some basic words. Whatever was happening, this was more interesting than the football game in the other room. Angel set a bowl of brussel sprouts on the counter with a thud. He gaped at something his mother said, and turned red. More shouting and gesturing. Angel's mother pointed at Samuel. Angel pulled a pie out of the oven. An oven mitt was thrown onto the counter. Angel's father's car pulled into the driveway; he had been out golfing with Samuel's brother. Angel's mother tsked, threw up her hands, and went outside to greet them. Angel harrumphed and drank a deep sip of wine. "My goodness, what was that all about?" Samuel asked after he had a sip. "My mother wanted to know why I'm not married yet," Angel grumbled. "To a woman?" "No, to you. She's fine with the gay thing, oddly. I think it's cause my sister's married with kids." Samuel raised an eyebrow. "What did she say earlier to offend you so much?" Angel folded his arms. "I told her that we were thinking of getting married, but like, we weren't sure yet. I can't quite explain to her, we're a different kind of couple." He gestured upward to the delicate gold chain around his neck. "And you know what she said to me?" "Mm?" Angel put a hand on his chest. "She had the AUDACITY to say that there used to be a parade of boys in my life, but since meeting you I have stopped sleeping with so many guys and moved in with you, so clearly I want to marry you. Sam, my mom called me a slut." Samuel laughed. "Oh sweetheart." "And sure, I did whore myself out at Folsom, but I thought I was being subtle with how many guys I mentioned having overnight..." Samuel gestured with an open palm. "Well, I mean, your mom has a point. If I domesticated a slut, it's my responsibility to house and feed them." "Domesticated?" Angel screeched. Samuel doubled over with laughter. Angel drank more of his wine. "I'm not a feral creature. Domesticated, my ass. Well. I am here making Thanksgiving dinner aren't I?" "You are. And you are doing a great job." Samuel set his glass down and embraced Angel from behind. "I'm teasing you, but I liked that you were slutty. You always knew what you wanted from other men, and got it. It impressed me." Angel leaned back against him. "Impressed huh. Are you're impressed a slut knows how to throw a Thanksgiving meal together?" "You always did like to be stuffed." Angel groaned. "Oh my god Samuel." But he couldn't suppress a giggle. "I'm sorry, I had to." "It was funny," Angel admitted. Samuel kissed his cheek. "I am pleased you are my slut now though, and that you want to live in my house and have Thanksgiving with me. I am grateful for you in my life." "Really?" "Yes. And I rather like the idea of marrying you." "You do?" "Yes." "Man, don't do that. You'd have my mom for a mother in a law," Angel said. Samuel shrugged. "I'll just have to learn how to yell in Cantonese then." "Did you understand any of that conversation we were having?" "No. I've realized that most of my knowledge of Cantonese comes from what you use in the bedroom." Angel blushed. Samuel whispered the words for "more", "harder", and "faster" in his ear, and he felt Angel's entire body go hot against his. "Oh Samuel, you stop that!" Angel hissed. "Don't tease me, especially since you know aren't letting me jerk off-" His family members came back in from putting the golf clubs away in the garage. Samuel gave him a pat on the ass. "Come on love, let's get dinner on the table. You can give me a language lesson later." "You are infuriating." Angel pointed a serving spoon at him. "You're lucky I like you." "Yeah so why aren't you married?" Angel's father asked. There was a beat of silence, and then another explosion of Cantonese. Samuel refilled Angel's glass of wine. _________________ Captions are fictional.

Roasted brussel sprouts with bacon

[aventurineswife]

Hello :) I'm not very used to sending requests so I hope this is okay 😅

Can I request Aventurine with a teen reader who has a similar backstory to him but got picked up by the astral express instead of joining the IPC? I'm sorry if that isn't enough info but that's the premise. Have a good day and ty in advance

Life’s little gambles

Summary: The Astral Express crew makes a stop at an IPC station where you, a member of their team with a dark and strategic past, encounter Aventurine, one of the Ten Stonehearts. Aventurine recognizes your shared experiences and offers wisdom about embracing your new path while acknowledging the allure of your past. Your conversation leaves you reflecting on your journey and the power of choice.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Teen!Reader, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Conversations, Mentorship, Self-Reflection.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma, Themes of loneliness and inner conflict.

A/N: I wrote something similar like this before too🤔, here's the one if you're curious about it!

(artist: srro_yo on Twitter/X)

The hum of the Astral Express served as a soothing constant against the ever-shifting backdrops of the universe. Aboard the train, the crew was abuzz with their usual activities: March 7th snapping photos, Dan Heng engrossed in research, Himeko brewing her signature coffee, and Welt poring over galactic maps. Among them was you, the newest addition to their family. A teenager with a past as jagged and raw as a broken mirror, you were still finding your footing among these kind strangers.

Your quiet demeanor and strategic mind had piqued their interest, but it was the fractured look in your eyes that truly bound you to their hearts. You’d shared snippets of your history—a harsh upbringing in a desert-like world, gambling with your survival, and the scars that came with being a pawn in someone else’s cruel game. Himeko had been the one to coax out these stories during quiet nights over tea, while March sought to draw out your smile through her infectious energy.

Today, however, the Express made an unexpected stop at an IPC station. The platform gleamed with opulence—gold-trimmed structures, bustling workers in sharp suits, and the distant sound of a roulette wheel spinning somewhere. It was there you met him: Aventurine.

He was hard to miss. Standing tall with his hair swept back, eyes scanning the station with a mix of boredom and sharp calculation, Aventurine looked every bit the enigma his reputation promised. He spotted the Express crew almost immediately, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer than the others.

“Astral Express,” he greeted smoothly, his voice like a velvet gamble. “It’s not every day you cross paths with one of the Ten Stonehearts.”

March tilted her head, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion evident in her expression. “Ten Stonehearts? That sounds… important.”

Himeko, always composed, stepped forward. “A pleasure, Mr. Aventurine. To what do we owe the honor?”

Aventurine’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “Just business as usual. But…” His eyes returned to you, sharp and knowing. “You… You have the look of someone who knows how to play the game.”

Caught off guard, you stiffened, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t often someone recognized the shadow of your past so quickly.

Dan Heng, ever protective, subtly stepped closer to you. “Do you know each other?”

“Not yet,” Aventurine said, his tone light but laced with intrigue. “But I see the marks of the same battlefield. Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it, kid?”

Your breath hitched. How could he see through you so easily? You glanced at Himeko, whose reassuring nod gave you the courage to respond. “No… it hasn’t. But I’ve found a better path now.”

Aventurine chuckled, a sound both amused and bitter. “Good for you. Most of us aren’t so lucky. Tell me, though—do you ever miss it? The thrill of the gamble, the rush of defying fate?”

For a moment, you hesitated. The truth was, you did—sometimes. The chaos of your past had been painful, but it had also been exhilarating in its own twisted way. Before you could answer, Aventurine stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

“Let me guess,” he murmured. “They saved you from the abyss. But there’s a part of you that wonders… what if you had learned to swim instead?”

The rest of the crew had stepped away, giving you space to talk. Aventurine leaned against a railing, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I’m not trying to pull you back,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “But I know what it’s like to live with those questions. To wonder if you could’ve played your cards better.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “And what about you? Are you happy with where you ended up?”

Aventurine tilted his head, his enigmatic smile returning. “Happiness is… a luxury. But power? Control? Those I’ve earned. The IPC is my table, and I always leave with the house’s winnings.”

You studied him, torn between admiration and pity. “That sounds… lonely.”

“It is,” he admitted, surprising you with his honesty. “But it’s better than being someone else’s pawn. And you—” He pointed a gloved finger at you, his eyes alight with intensity. “You’re not a pawn anymore. Don’t forget that, no matter how tempting the old game gets.”

His words lingered with you long after he bid the crew farewell. As the Express pulled away from the station, you sat in the lounge, staring out at the stars. Dan Heng approached, his presence steady and grounding.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You nodded, though your thoughts were far away. “Yeah… I think so.”

And for the first time in a long while, you felt a strange sense of peace. Aventurine’s words had stirred something in you—a reminder that while the past might always call, you had the power to decide your future.

From the station platform(?), Aventurine watched the Astral Express disappear into the cosmos. A rare, genuine smile crossed his face.

“Good luck, kid,” he murmured to the stars. “Play your cards right.”

[creamflix]

HIII (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

first of all I just wanna say that i LOVE UR WRITING!!! Especially the PERSEPHONE fic! it was so good and I'm glad you added me to the tag list in that💕💕💕💗💗💗💗

Anyways is it okay if I can request Ribbons with Sukuna (naughty 😈😈😈)

I hope you have a good thanksgiving, and early Merry Christmas! (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠）❤️❤️��️

How I feel after requesting Sukuna:

(Credits for art: kuroxcho tiktok)

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ want your own gift? ・:〃➜ click here! 

this was not how your afternoon was supposed to go.

a perfectly normal, totally innocent, family-friendly gift-wrapping session had somehow devolved into this… mess. 

bows everywhere — on the floor, stuck to the tape, in your hair — and you, tangled up in what could only be described as a bow massacre.

you had only wanted to make the presents look nice. was it your fault you got a little carried away? people love bows, right?

but then there was SUKUNA.

“you’re kidding me,” you muttered, twisting your arms to free yourself from the sparkling chaos.

“what’s the matter?” sukuna’s deep, amused voice rumbled behind you.

you didn’t even need to turn around to know he was smirking. of course, he was.

“nothing,” you snapped, tugging harder on the ribbon stuck to your wrist. “just... caught in the spirit of giving, i guess.”

“looks more like the spirit of trying too hard.” his footsteps were slow and deliberate as he circled you like a predator.

you glared up at him, heat rushing to your face. 

“are you going to help me, or just stand there making dumb comments?”

“oh, i’m helping,” he said, crouching down in front of you.

and for a split second — just a split second — you thought he was serious. 

until his hands grabbed the stray ribbon dangling from your waist and pulled, winding it tighter around you.

“sukuna!” you yelped, squirming.

“what?” he said, all fake innocence and sharp-edged grins. “thought you liked bows. i’m just helping you accessorize.”

“by tying me up?!”

“don’t act like you hate it,” he teased, yanking the ribbon snug against your arms.

your breath hitched at the shift in tension, his crimson eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned closer, his hands brushing over your wrists under the pretense of “adjusting” the bow.

“you’re impossible,” you said, your voice weak as heat crept up your neck.

“and you’re a brat,” he shot back, tugging the ribbon just enough to tilt you off balance. you stumbled — straight into his lap.

“oh, come on,” you groaned, your mortification now complete.

“what?” he said, settling you against him like this was exactly where you were meant to be. “perfectly good spot for you. comfortable, right?”

you tried to wriggle free, but his grip on your hips was firm, his smirk practically oozing satisfaction.

“this is not helping,” you huffed, though the heat pooling in your stomach betrayed your words.

“sure it is. you’re not tangled anymore,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“now you’re just tangled on me.”

his hands slid up your thighs, the teasing pressure making your breath hitch again.

“merry christmas,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear.

“this is not festive,” you tried to argue, though your voice wavered.

“sure it is,” he said, nipping at your neck just lightly enough to make you squirm. “you’re the best present here. all wrapped up for me.”

your heart hammered as his teeth grazed your skin, the tension so thick you could barely think straight.

“you’re lucky i don’t have scissors,” you muttered, your voice weaker than you’d hoped.

he chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “good thing, too. i like you just like this.”

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[vodika-vibes]

knight!Kix x princess!reader where the reader has had to run away from their palace after an attack on her kingdom and Kix has keep her safe and get her to a safe zone?? Hurt/comfort aswell??

Queens Aren't Born

Summary: Kix, like all his brothers, is a member of the Royal Guard. Though, as a medic of the Guard, he doesn’t have many dealings with the Royal Family. Then, one day, that all changes.

Pairing: Knight! Kix x Princess! Reader

Word Count: 2698

Warning: Some angst, reader survives a coup

A/N: So, I'm not sure this is exactly what you wanted, but I hope you like it!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

The Palace feels wrong.

Part of it, Kix knows, is because all of his brothers have been sent off to war. Well, all of his brothers except him. He had been nursing a broken leg when the King declared war, and so had been the only one of all of his brothers left behind.

He’s meant to join them in a couple of weeks, now that he’s healed.

All he has to do is withstand a few more weeks of this weirdness, and everything will be fine.

Still, the overall vibes in the palace are rancid.

The divide between the Nobility and the Working Class has never been more stark. The servants are barely toeing the line between obedience and insubordination, and Kix knows that if he ever dared to be so obvious about his insubordination his eldest brothers would have his ass.

He turns a corner, pauses, and then drops into a deep bow, “Good morning, Princess.”

The Princess, a slight woman clad in a long gown that looks to be made of satin, glances at him. “Good morning, Medic,” She greets, “It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Princess. It seems that the rain has finally moved on.” Kix replies politely. 

“I am glad for it,” The Princess directs her gaze out the window, “Perhaps I will spend my morning in the garden.” She pauses, and then turns to look at Kix again, “Have you met my newest handmaiden?”

The Princess gestures to the young woman standing to her left. 

The handmaiden is wearing a long, simple dress and she is wearing a headscarf and a face wrap. She is even slighter than the Princess, and Kix can’t help but think that the young woman looks unhealthily thin. 

“Her religion doesn’t allow her to be exposed to the sun,” The Princess explains, “You will be kind to her, won’t you?”

“Of course, Princess.” Kix is surprised at her request.

“Good,” The younger woman glances out the window again, and then she smiles, “Come along, handmaid. We’re going to the garden.”

“As you command, Princess.” 

Familiarity washes over Kix as the handmaid speaks. She sounds familiar, even though the cloth that hides her from his view. He might not know the royal family like some of his brothers, but he knows the Princess when he hears her voice.

Why is the Princess pretending to be her own handmaiden?

Satin swishes and Kix’s gaze drifts over to the fake Princess. There’s a look of warning on her face, “Is there a problem, Medic?” Several feet away, the real Princess gazes at him anxiously, and Kix suddenly realizes that something is very, very wrong in the palace.

“Not at all, Princess.” Kix replies smoothly with a deep bow, “I just found myself lost in thought.”

The fake Princess’ face clears, and she nods. “Perhaps you should get some rest. You only have a couple of weeks before you deploy.”

“Thank you for your concern, Princess. I shall do as you ask.” He remains bowed until he hears the nearly identical footsteps walking away, and then he lifts his head.

It’s none of his concern. 

Whatever reason Her Highness has to pretend to be her handmaiden, while her handmaiden pretends to be her is none of his business. He’ll keep his mouth shut, and in a few weeks he’ll be deployed, and it won’t matter anymore.

Kix releases a slow breath, then turns to head towards the Palace infirmary. He might as well get some work done. And maybe keeping his hands busy will help him forget what he just saw.

But Kix has never been that lucky.

The deception of the Princess and her Handmaiden plagued him through the day, and several hours later, he lies in his bunk in the empty barracks unable to sleep because of this mystery.

The worst part, of course, is the fact that he can’t ask them what this is about. 

Just as sleep is about to claim him, Kix is jolted out of his bed by the sounds of screaming in the hallways. He quickly pulls on his armor and is about to open the door when there’s a rapid knocking. 

Blade drawn, Kix opens the door, expecting the worst. But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

The fake Princess is standing at his door, clad in the delicate white sleep gown of the Princess, though the gown is stained with blood. None of it looks like hers. 

The real Princess stands just a little behind her, still completely covered in the dull brown of a handmaiden’s garb, though she’s clutching her shoulder and Kix can see blood dripping from her shoulder.

“You’re alive, good.” 

Kix stares at the fake Princess, “What’s happening?”

“The King and Queen are dead,” She says dispassionately, “As are both Princes. At this point, the baby princess has probably been killed as well, I wasn’t able to get to her.”

Kix’s eyes narrow, “A coup?”

“Yes. Headed by the Grand Duke, most likely.” She sighs, and leans her blade against her leg as she pulls a pair of contacts out of her eyes, “You need to take the Princess and run.”

“No! You can’t—” The Princess finally speaks, removing her facial covering so Kix can see her properly. She looks stricken, but then her entire family was just murdered by her uncle, so Kix thinks she has good reason.

The handmaiden ignores the Princess, instead focusing her severe gaze on Kix, “Listen to me. There’s an escape route for the royal family in the servant wing, that part of the palace has already been…cleared.”

“Wait, cleared?”

“The Grand Duke’s men are killing everyone.”

“Then I have to stay and help—”

“No!” Kix stares at her, stunned. “You must do your duty. You are the only Royal Guard left in the Capital. You must see the only living member of the Royal Family to safety. You must.”

“But you’ll die.” The Princess’ voice cracks, “My Uncle’s men will kill you.”

The Handmaiden turns to the Princess and she favors the other woman with a bright smile before she leans in and bumps her forehead against hers. Kix knows that this scene isn’t for him, but he can’t seem to avert his gaze.

They could pass for twins, the Princess and her Handmaid. 

“You can’t ask me to leave you behind, how am I supposed to live without you with me?” The Princess asks. 

The Handmaid reaches up and presses her hands against the Princess’ cheeks, “You will have to. I have to ensure your safety. With me dead, no one will be looking for you, and Kix will be able to get you somewhere safe.”

“But—”

“I am your body-double. We always knew that this could happen. Let me do my duty, Princess. Let me save you.”

The Princess’ lower lip trembles, but slowly she nods.

The Handmaiden favors her with a fond smile, and then she pulls the face covering back over the Princess’ face before she focuses her attention back on him, “You will protect her.” It’s not a request.

“With my very life,” Kix promises, he reaches out for the Princess and she willingly walks over to him, “I’ll wrap her shoulder, and then we’ll make a break for it.”

The Handmaiden nods, once, and then with one last look, she turns and runs down the hall, vanishing into the smoke from a fire that has been started somewhere.

As much as Kix wants to go and fight, to go and help, he knows that he can’t. His priority, his only priority is the woman trembling at his side. And so, he steels his nerves, grabs his med kit, and then turns to the Princess. “Let me see your shoulder.”

“Are you warm enough?”

You look up at Kix as he kneels in front of you, and you nod quietly. “I’m okay for now. Thank you, Kix.”

It’s been months since the night of the coup that killed your whole family. Over that time, the hot summer rolled into an unseasonably chilly autumn, and you know winter will be rolling around soon based on the fact that it’s already snowed.

Kix had been forced to take up some odd jobs to make enough money to buy both of you winter clothes, not to mention camping gear suited for the winter.

He’s not willing to risk your safety in any of the towns you’ve come across since the coup. However, you hardly recognize yourself in the mirror, so you doubt anyone else will recognize you either.

You jump when Kix adjusts the scarf around your neck, and pulls your wool hat a little lower over your ears, and you favor him with the tiniest of smiles, “I’m really okay, Kix.”

The look of concern on his face fades slightly, “You’re sure?”

“I am.”

His glove-covered hand drops to rest against your cheek, “Alright, if you’re sure.” Kix lightly tugs your scarf so it’s covering your mouth and nose, “Do you think you’re up to walking a little more today?”

“I can keep up.”

“Not what I asked, sweetheart.”

You press your gloved hands over his, “I can keep going, Kix. I promise.” You hesitate, and close your hand around his, “How much farther, do you think?”

“Until we stop for the night?” Kix asks.

You shake your head, “Until we find your brothers?”

There’s a flicker of apology on his face, “Several weeks, if not longer. It looks like it’s going to be a bad winter, so we’re going to be hindered by that.”

“Right…” You allow him to help you to your feet, “I suppose beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

“Exactly so.”

“And they know about the Coup?”

“Yeah, I sent word about it. Your Uncle can’t have been thrilled to learn that he lost the entire Royal Army.” Kix’s hands settle on your shoulder, and he smiles down at you, “Come on, let’s get a move on.”

You fall into step next to him, as he leads you through the forests that you have become very comfortable with over the last few months. You’ve also gotten pretty adept at grilling food over an open fire.

It’s not something you ever needed to learn at the Palace. But life is different now.

You’re grateful for Kix. He’s been your rock through all of this. You’re sure that without him here, you would have fallen apart several times over. You might not have been close with your parents, or siblings, but they were still your family. 

Honestly, you had a harder time dealing with the death of your best friend. You’re still reeling from her death, life is so much harder without her here to encourage you, but you’re trying. 

You lift your head when Kix releases an ugly curse, and then you cast your gaze skyward and you sigh. It’s starting to snow.

“I guess we’re stopping for the night?”

“I’m afraid so. Help me get the tent set up before the snow starts accumulating.”

“Alright.” You’re not the best at setting up tents, even with months of practice. But you are very good at helping him set up the tent, and you’re better at following instructions. 

You help Kix set up the tent and then help him use fallen tree branches to help funnel the snow away from the top of your tent, and then you slip inside the insulated tent and start setting up the blankets and heater. 

There’s only one tent, so you and Kix had to get really comfortable with each other a lot faster than either of you would prefer, but at this point, it’s normal now.

Once the tent is made up with the blankets and heater, Kix joins you inside, and the both of you pull your outer gear off to let them dry. Then Kix digs through his bag and offers you some food that was cooked the day before.

It’s not the most flavorful meal, but it’s good enough.

If you’re being honest with yourself, your favorite part of the day is after the sun goes down and after dinner. That’s when you’re allowed to lay your head on Kix’s chest, and he’ll dig a book out of his bag and he’ll read to you.

Sometimes the books he gets are medical books and other times they’re novels, but he’ll read them to you all the same. Most of the time, you’ll drift to sleep with his fingers combing through your hair, and his voice in your ears.

And tonight is no different.

His fingers comb through your hair as he reads a romance novel to you, and you absently curl your fingers in the thick material of his shirt.

But tonight, you’re having a hard time focusing on the story.

When Kix flips a page to start a new chapter, you lightly pat his chest to get his attention. He closes the book and glances at you, “Something wrong?”

You shift so you’re able to look up at his face, “No, there’s nothing wrong, really.” You hesitate, “I was just thinking…”

Kix sets the book to the side, and adjusts himself so he’s able to look at you properly, “About?”

“About what happens after.”

He gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “After?”

You turn your head so you’re face is pressed against his chest, “What happens when we find your brothers? Are you going to leave?” You hesitate, “Am I supposed to become Queen?” You’re voice grows smaller and smaller with each question.

You can feel Kix’s gaze on the top of your head, and then he heaves out a sigh and you cringe.

His warm hands settle on your hips and he tugs you so that you’re laying on top of him, rather than on the ground, and it surprises you so much that you lift your head to stare at him.

“When we find my brothers, we’re going to sleep in actual beds and have proper meals and proper showers.” One of his hands slides up your back to rest on the back of your neck, “As for me leaving, it’s never going to happen. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”

That’s a relief, you like Kix. You like him both as a person and as a man. Though you’re keeping that part to yourself. A Princess shouldn’t fall in love with a Knight, it’s not proper.

And it’s kind of ethically reprehensible. 

Kix rubs small circles on the back of your neck, “I have a question for you, sunshine.”

You tilt your head curiously.

“Do you want to be Queen?”

You hesitate, and your fingers curl around his shirt, “...I should say yes, right?”

Kix shakes his head, “I don’t want to hear about what you should do. I want to know what you want.”

“I want…I want to be a music teacher.” You admit, quietly, “Or maybe a stay-at-home mom.”

His gaze is serious, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, then that’s what will happen. No one is going to force you to rule. I won’t let them.”

“You won’t?”

“Of course not.” He smiles at you, “You’re going to be a great teacher.”

“Thanks.”

He lightly taps your chin with two fingers, “And you’re going to be an even better mom and wife.”

You feel your face heat, “Yeah, well. You can’t ensure that will happen.”

“You think so? If you’re abdicating your title, that means that I can do this,” For a moment, you’re confused about what he’s saying, but then his lips seal over yours.

The idea that Kix might like you the same way that you like him, never once occurred to you. But, as his arms tighten around you and he deepens the kiss, a kiss you eagerly reciprocate, you think this might be the first time you’ve been properly happy in months.

And, when Kix flips so you’re pinned under him and slides his tongue along the seam of your lips, you stop thinking about anything that isn’t him. Right now, there is nothing more important to you than Kix, and you have a feeling that he feels the same way.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

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[reveryfics]

Thanksgiving

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x male reader

Summary: Bucky can't remember the last time Thanksgiving was ever a thing for him. The reader having grown up in a big family invites him over.

A/n: I realize this is late and I apologize, I've been sick so I'm pretty much been stuck in bed. The readers family is Hispanic which is because I too am Hispanic and am thankful to have grown up in a larger family.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Bucky stood in front of the worn red door, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it. His first Thanksgiving in decades, and his first time meeting his boyfriend's family. A wave of anxiety washed over him as he glanced at his boyfriend, who squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"Take a deep breath, Buck," his boyfriend said softly, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "It'll be okay."

Before Bucky could respond, the door swung open, revealing a short, plump Hispanic woman with a messy bun and a flour-dusted apron. "Oh, my baby boy!" she exclaimed, enveloping her son in a warm hug. Then, turning to Bucky, she flashed a wide smile. "You must be James." Without hesitation, she pulled him into a tight embrace and ushered them both inside.

The house was alive with activity. The air was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of home-cooked food, and children were running around, laughing and playing. "Tío! You're here!" a young boy shouted, latching onto his leg before dashing off to join the other kids.

Bucky felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of people and the curious glances he was receiving. His boyfriend, sensing his discomfort, suggested they retreat to his old room for a moment.

As they sat on the old pull-out sofa, Bucky took a shaky breath. "Give it some time," his boyfriend reassured him. "My family might seem a bit chaotic, but they're good people."

Bucky shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. "It's not that," he admitted. "I'm just not used to...having a family."

His boyfriend hummed softly, running his fingers through Bucky's hair. "Consider yourself lucky," he said. "Once this family chooses you, they never let go."

After a while, they returned downstairs, where Bucky was immediately pulled into the kitchen by his boyfriend's mother and abuela.

"Venga a saborear la comida!" Abuela urged, offering him a spoonful of one of her many delicious dishes.

"He's a good man," his mother whispered. "He'll always be welcome here, el cariño." She watched as Bucky was surrounded by relatives, all eager to meet him.

His boyfriend smiled, a sense of pride evident in his eyes. "He's something special," he agreed.

As the day progressed, Bucky found himself playing with the children, being used as a makeshift jungle gym. Despite the initial shock, he couldn't help but smile. He was finally part of something, and it felt incredible.

By the time dinner rolled around, Bucky had eaten more than his fair share. After helping with the cleanup, he and his boyfriend retired to the bedroom.

"Thank you for all of this," Bucky murmured, lying down on the pull-out sofa.

His boyfriend climbed on top of him, his warm breath fanning against Bucky's face. "Bienvenido a la familia, Bucky," he whispered.

As Bucky drifted off to sleep, he felt a sense of peace and belonging he hadn't experienced in years. He had found a home, and it was more than he could have ever imagined.

[thebestsetter]

This is exactly what you both needed after a tough week.

Just you and your boyfriend of two years, Oliver Aiku, spending an afternoon together with no prying eyes, nosy reporters or loud teammates to interfere. Just you and him and him and you, cuddling the day away and talking nonsense with eachother.

You were also talking about something serious tho. Something very serious: your future together.

"And then we can have a dog- no, a cat" you smiled, tracing his nose with one of your hands and booping it

"Why not both?" He grabbed your hand that just messed with his nose and held it firmly, kissing the inner part of your arm and then caressing the part where he laid his lips with his thumb. "I think we'll have space for both at our mansion"

"Sure" you laughed, burying your face in between his neck and shoulder "But I'll only move in with you after marriage"

"What? Why?" He fake-panicked, and then sighed in relief "Good thing I'm planning to put a ring on your finger very soon"

You hid your face deeper, trying (and failling) to hide the blushing mess you just became

"Good." You smiled, kissing his cheek

"Honestly, darling" he began, looking at you with only pure, raw love in his eyes "I can't wait to be able to call you Mrs. Oliver"

You felt like a silly lovesick girl, giggling and all that. You just loved your boyfriend too much, and you also couldn't wait to be called...

Wait.

Hold up.

Hold the fuck up.

"What" you raised your head in disbelief and stared at him dead in the eyes "What did you just say?"

"What's wrong?" He asked, confused "You don't want to get married to me?"

"No!" You shouted, making him pout "No... I mean, it's not that. It's just that... what's your first name?"

"Aiku"

"So your family name is..."

"Oliver??" He asked, confused

But you weren't confused. Oh no no.

You were having the time of your life. You were delighted. In fact, you were so awestruck at the information you just discovered that your instant reaction was laugh.

It started of as a giggle, and then it became a strong, loud roar.

"...I don't get it" Aiku said

"HAHAHAHAHH OLIVER"

You were literally crying. You couldn't explain why, but it was just too funny

After almost 5 minutes just laughing, you felt Aiku pushing you off of him

"Wow. Okay." He said, getting up from the couch "You wounded me."

"W-where are you going?" You said, wiping away some tears

"To the side hoes" he answered with an angry pout on his face "I bet they'd be delighted to be Mrs. Oliver"

"We both know damn well you don't have those after you started dating me..." he raised an eyebrow at that "...right?"

"Believe whatever you want. I'm going away since you hate me and don't want to marry me."

"Hey! Come back!" You also got up, quickly running to him and hugging his back "Babe, I'm kidding. I'd love to be Mrs. Oliver"

"...really?"

"Yes!" He turned around, now facing you with a serious expression "I'd love to be your wife, babe. Even if I have to be known as Mrs. Oliver. I don't mind, as long as I'm with you"

He seemed to ignore the last part, since he smiled hard after you said that.

"Well then, don't mind if I ask you to marry me right now!" he said, hugging you and spinning you around, earning a smile from you

"But our kids are definitely gonna get my surname" you added

"Hey!" He scowled playfully "Take that back right now!"

"Nope"

"Well then... you shall suffer the consequences of your words!"

"Aiku, babe, what are you talking about... don't."

"Watch me." He said, running after you and trying to tickle you

Your laughs echoed through the whole building. Maybe this is what love looked like. Maybe loving someone was making sacrifices for them.

Maybe that's why, 1 year later, you did get the Oliver family surname. And maybe that's why you wore it proudly, even if it was kinda silly: it meant you loved someone, and they loved you back. What's to be ashamed in that?

Your kids really got your family name though. Lucky them!

~ A/N: Random idea. WHY IS HIS NAME AIKU.

Masterlist

[soelstress]

Ambivalent Research

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x female!reader

Summary: Working with Ransom was never easy, so why did you think a joint research trip would be any different?

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI , nsfw , sex/smut, p in v sex , unprotected sex , oral sex (f receiving) , vaginal fingering , some language

A/N 1 - This is my first joint submission for @steviebbboi 200 Followers Celebration Writing Challenge and @yenzys-lucky-charm & @sweater-daddiesdumbdork Horny Hoes Hootenanny. Sorry it's last minute!

A/N 2 - Prompts - - Enemies to lovers - "Slower, baby, I'm not going anywhere" - "We're both adults, we can share a bed for one night" - "Are you fucking kidding me?" - Withholding - getting scared during a horror movie

As a bonus, I asked Yenzy for two spins on the trick-or-treat wheel of potential doom... and for this one I chose the pillow fight!

A/N 3 - Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work - GIF taken from google but page was listed for @writemarvelousthings

A/N 4 - Please let me know if I've missed a warning, knowing me it's more than likely. Hope you all enjoy ☺️

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The annoyed shout caused silence to fall as you stepped into the rustic lobby of the lodge. Optimistically, you had hoped that this trip would go smoothly… but of course nothing ever went to plan when he was involved, you thought with a disappointed sigh. “You’re fucking with me, right?” As you walked towards the check-in desk, you saw a staff member trying to apologize profusely to the person causing the ruckus. Any other person would probably see an exquisitely dressed, well groomed handsome man. All you saw was your boss Harlan Thrombey’s grandson, your fellow researcher and the biggest pain in your ass. 

Don’t-call-me-Hugh ‘Ransom’ Drysdale. When Harlan had said that Ransom would be working with you to research for Harlan’s next few mystery novels, you were filled with dread. From information you’d gleaned, Ransom was considered to be the black sheep of the family, a trust fund prick as they so lovingly called him. When asked, Harlan admitted that Ransom never had a job, only having worked as his research assistant for a summer. It was agreed between you and Harlan that you would have seniority, something you were grateful for as Ransom had been a reluctant participant to start, doing minimal work except for when he took every opportunity to cause trouble for you. He was an arrogant, self important conceited jerk who you wanted to kill… until things reached a peak one day. When Ransom had complained once again about working, you had lost all patience and your filter. “Fine! If you’re happy to keep sponging off your grandfather’s legacy and just remain a Drysdale in the self imposed so-called shadow of your parents rather than make something of yourself by your own efforts, then stop wasting my time and go!” From that day, Ransom had committed to contributing as much as possible. His work ethic might have improved… but he still annoyed you whenever the chance arose.

You subtly jabbed his side upon reaching the desk which caused his glare to focus on you. “Oops! Excuse me, Mr Drysdale. What seems to be the problem?” You offered your name to the staff member, the name you saw from his tag was Paul, who quickly found yours and Ransom’s booking were for the same company.

Another member of staff appeared behind Paul, radiating authority and a zero tolerance for nonsense attitude. Now this was someone who commanded respect, unlike the entitled idiot next to you whose gaze would have you murdered a million times over if looks could kill. “As my colleague Paul already explained to Mr Drysdale, unfortunately the pipes in his suite have burst, rendering the room unusable. Due to other bookings and events being reserved prior to yours, there are no other rooms available for tonight. We have called other hotels in the area, and found another suite at - “

”At a hotel 45 minutes away” Ransom interrupted. “Look, I need to be here for work. I don’t think you realize how important this could be for you, so why don’t you - “

”Share my suite” Three gazes focused on you though your attention was on the one that could potentially - and almost certainly would - make things more difficult. “We can share a room for a night”. Part of your brain screamed in horror and rebellion at the thought of sharing a room with him, but the other part scrambled to minimize the damage the arrogant asshole could cause with his big mouth and even bigger ego. Ransom opened his mouth to argue but when you jabbed him again and raised a brow, he knew to shut up. Or rather his version of shutting up which was to grumble and whine as he stomped over to the elevators. Rolling your eyes, you offered a small smile to the two staff members. “I’m so sorry about him, he shouldn't have spoken to you that way”.

Paul smiled at you gratefully, the weight of the world seemed to have dropped from his shoulders. “We have been trained to deal with such situations ma’am”.

You shook your head. “Just because a customer is paying for a service doesn’t give them the right to speak to you like that. Again, I’m very sorry and will be mentioning how professionally you handled this to my boss”.

”Thank you ma’am. Of course the suite will be refunded and due to the inconvenience, dinner is complimentary”. You thanked them profusely and headed to the elevator where Ransom fidgeted impatiently.

“So when should I get that refund?” Ransom huffed, pushing the call button.

You eyed him incredulously, somehow still amazed by his ego. ”You realise that Harlan will receive the refund, seeing as he paid?” Before you both stepped into the elevator, you pulled out your phone to call your boss. Upon hearing his greeting, a smile graced your lips. “Hello Harlan”

”Ah good afternoon dear girl”. You could hear the formality being replaced with fondness, a rare occurrence from what you had observed of Harlan. “I trust you and my grandson arrived safely at the lodge?” 

“Yes, though there is a slight change in plans”. Briefly, you informed him about the room being refunded and Ransom sharing a room with you instead of having to leave the area.

“Oh dear. I appreciate you being so accommodating, especially as I had wanted you both to specifically research the lodge and surrounding neighborhood for me. I must apologize in advance for my grandsons behaviour, as I know he seems to enjoy unnecessarily needling you”

”As long as I won’t be held accountable for any retaliation for the duration of this trip, short of bodily harm or murder”. You grinned as Harlan chuckled and Ransom gave you the side eye. You bid Harlan a good evening, ending the call.

”Retaliation huh? Now why would my dear Grandfather agree to that?” Ransom leaned back against the elevator wall. Your irritation flared at his casual arrogance. 

“Because he knows you ‘enjoy unnecessarily needling’ me Drysdale, and yes those were his exact words”. Inhaling deeply, you stood straight and held your ground. “Being a researcher is challenging enough, but to work for one as renowned as Harlan Thrombey is the chance of a lifetime and I’d be a fool to let anything ruin the opportunity. Which is what I told him when I applied for the role. After my interview and a few months of working for him, he said that he appreciated my honesty and work ethic, but also recognised I have no patience for drama or bullshit - a good deal of which is found within his own family, much to his disappointment”. Every word you spoke was true, Harlan had said all of this to you. Though you had overheard the specifics about his family while he was speaking to his caregiver Marta but you had met all of them in the few years you worked for Harlan. 

A dark brown arched. “Oh? And just what drama are you referring to?” With a ding, the elevator doors opened to your floor and Ransom hesitated before gesturing for you to move first. Finding your door a few strides down the corridor, you stopped and pulled the key card from your pocket. Opening the door, you waved for Ransom to precede you. 

”Take your pick, from your parents to your Uncle Walt or Aunt Joni. They all have their own drama. Though I wonder about how Harlan would react to hearing how much damage his eldest grandson could have caused by opening his big mouth without thinking. Newsflash Drysdale - any dramas linked to Harlan Thrombey or Blood Like Wine would be damaging. Those are the two names paying your income… and the only names worth mentioning. I’ve been doing this job for some time, so I’ll make it easy for you - despite what you, your mother or father may say no one has ever heard the name Drysdale with recognition outside of your social circle”.

Ransom's face darkened at the mention of his immediate family. “Hey, don’t compare me to those two. I asked Grandfather to show me the ropes for this business, so I could decide if it was something I wanted to do myself. But if by some small chance Grandfather leaves the company to me and not that idiot Walt, I’ve no intention to say that I’ve done my own work from the ground up. I’d say it’s Grandfathers and I’m just continuing his legacy”. A chuckle from you had him frowning. “What?”

”I think hell just froze over because I agree with you”. And you did. It irritated you that Linda, Ransom’s mother and Harlan’s eldest child, claimed to have built her business from the ground up by herself when in actuality she had used Harlan's money. And her husband wasn’t much better, you saw Richard’s eyes wander when you visited Harlan at his estate. All of the family repulsed you, trying to constantly outdo one another whilst trying to impress Harlan. But hearing Ransom say that he would honour and continue Harlan’s legacy rather than try to claim it for his own softened you slightly. 

Ransom had walked into the main area with a small seating area against the wall but a large king size bed dominated the space, facing beautiful views outside the windows. “You gotta be shitting me” he groaned, almost as if in pain.

When you saw the size of the couch, you knew that neither of you would be sleeping on it. It was soft and squashy looking, but more for sitting on than sleeping. Which really left you with one option. “For Gods’ sake. We’re both adults, we can share a bed for one night”. He glanced at you with an indecipherable look before sighing and stalking off to the bathroom and closing the door. Unsure whether to check on him after the look in his deep blue eyes, you hesitated. Oh yes, along with your annoyance of him came the reality that he really was a handsome bastard. Not that you’d ever tell him that. Dark hair swept off an angular face with soft pink lips and eyes to drown in, he really had won the genetic lottery. But his appearance aside, you had shared a few soft moments with him after the family gatherings he attended. Sometimes you would gently rub his back or pat his shoulder to ease the tension and resentment radiating off him. There were moments that you wanted to verbally comfort or reassure him, but after the brief physical contact he would pull away and annoy you before walking away. Part of you knew it was a defence mechanism, lashing out because it was all he knew. This time you decided to give him space.  

After eating dinner and making a plan to explore the area the next day, you changed into your pajamas - a matching set of cotton shorts and tank top -  and sat to watch a horror movie that you discovered had used the lodge you were currently staying at as a filming location. Harlan knew you were thorough in your research, so encouraged you to investigate any adaptations made to avoid plagiarism. You hated horror movies, much preferring a thriller or a mystery. But this was your job. As you sat watching, you hugged your pillow to your chest. Your heart began to pound watching the lead female edge into the dark room - 

and jumped as something grabbed you. Reacting on instinct, you swung out with your pillow and walloped whatever it was that had grabbed you. Surprised and amused blue eyes met yours. “Seriously? You hit me… with a pillow?”

Embarrassment was chased away by irritation. “Seriously” you mimicked his voice with a scowl. “You decided to scare me while watching a horror movie? Real mature, Drysdale”. 

“Pot, meet kettle” he huffed, grabbing his pillow and whacking you back.

It might have been immature, childish, just downright idiotic… but this man existed just to make your life a living hell. And you’d had reassurances from Harlan that any retribution this weekend would not be held accountable, So you decided the hell with it. And whacked him repeatedly with your pillow. Ransom was caught off guard for a moment before retaliating, making every effort to hit you with his pillow. At one point, you had stolen Ransom's pillow and struggled to keep hold of yours, Ransom in close proximity. Both your eyes locked as you panted, straining to win the pillow. 

The next moment the pillow was thrown aside and you were under Ransom, grabbing desperately at his hair, his sweater - anything to bring him closer. Your mouths clashed in a heated battle for dominance, filled with teeth and tongue. One arm propped his torso up to keep his weight off you while the other slid around your waist and pulled you against him. 

Once again your brain screamed at you - why the hell were you kissing Ransom Drysdale? More importantly, why the hell were you enjoying it so much? But your heart pounded loudly, drowning out your screaming thoughts and focusing on Ransom - how good his lips felt against yours, how smooth his hands felt gliding over your flesh, how he ground against you as desperately as you were to him. “Too many goddamn clothes” he hissed, yanking your top over your head and immediately latched his lips onto a nipple, fingers tweaking the other. Your back arched, pushing yourself closer to him. Desperate to feel his skin on yours you tugged at his sweater before he pulled back with a curse, almost ripping it off and tossing it aside before plunging his mouth to yours. His denim clad crotch ground against you, causing you to moan at the feel of his erection. Ransom pulled your shorts off, exposing you to him. His finger drifted up your thighs and across your folds before slowly sinking into your heat. He groaned against your lips, pushing in a few times before adding a second finger and curling them against your inner wall. 

His fingers worked a steady rhythm inside you as his palm rubbed against your clit. You moaned when a wave of pressure began to slowly build, rising to crest through you… and you whimpered when his hand stopped moving altogether. Desperate for friction you tried to grind your hips against his hand but he pulled it away, raising his head to look at his wet fingers. “Hmm.. I think you could be a little wetter, dear girl” he crooned, lightly mocking Harlan's usual endearment. When a snarl started to leave your throat, his fingers returned to the previous rhythm and any fight left you. His lips glided from one breast to the other, his tongue teasing and tasting your skin in time with his digits. The wave of pleasure built again, threatening to consume you and just as you tasted the first hint of release Ransom stopped again. You heard a soft chuckle which only fueled your frustration at being denied.

”Drysdale. So help me, if you don’t make me cum right now-” a soft brush over your clit briefly interrupted your threat. “I know a half a dozen ways to end you without weapons or toxins” your growl turned into a breathless whimper when he blew softly onto your pulsing heat. Looking down, you could see him watching you inches from where you needed him.

”Is one of those ways smothering me with this wet cunt?” Those blue eyes sparkled with wicked sensuality. “Then end me right now, baby”. Suddenly he licked firmly into your dripping folds, groaning deeply as the first drop hit his tongue which had you squirming from the vibrations. “Goddamn… you taste so fine, kitten”. He lapped away, humming as you began to grind against his face. The tension from your two prior denials built with a vengeance and in your desire, you gripped his hair and pulled him closer. His nose brushed against your clit and you cried out which he answered with a pleased hum as he firmly suckled on your clit.

”Fuck!” Pleasure coursed from head to toe, your mind solely focused on prolonging the feeling as long as possible. Once the tremors had stopped, you laid for a moment to gather your thoughts. Glancing to the side you saw Ransom facing you, laying on his back with his hands behind his head and that goddamn smug-sonofabitch-smirk etched on his face, lips glistening from your juices. 

Suddenly filled with an urge to wipe the smirk off his face you moved to pull his jeans and boxers down, watching as his cock was freed. God, no wonder he walked around with that attitude. He was big, and for a moment you wondered how the hell it was meant to fit in you but you didn’t want to say it aloud and give him yet another ego boost. Scrambling to straddle him, you squirmed as his flesh rubbed between your folds. “Woah… slower, baby, I’m not going anywhere” Ransom chuckled which turned into a gasp when you squeezed him with your hands. Guiding his tip, you both moaned when it rubbed over your clit. Biting your lip you began to sink onto him. “Shit” he hissed, hands moving to grip your hips and control your descent. Moaning from the stretch you wriggled on him, unable to sit comfortably on his thighs. Cursing, he gently pushed you to lean back and you slid flush against him, the movement causing his cock to rub deeply within you. At your whimper, his eyes flashed to you. “You ok?”

Grinding against him, a small keen echoed through the room. “Feels so good… fuck… you’re so big”. 

Hearing your voice crack on the last word, Ransom began to roll his hips watching as you lost yourself to pleasure. Head tipped back, chest heaving and hands grasping for something. Ransom bucked up into you and then groaned when your hands dug into his flesh. ”Oh… my kitten has claws” he whispered, relishing the sight of the red marks. Feeling you clench around him Ransom continued to buck into you, his hands gripping your hips. ”Fuck yes… you want my cum kitten? Gonna cream this sweet little pussy”. You moaned loudly at his words, his hands guiding you through deep strokes as your walls sucked at his throbbing cock insistently. Your body began to tremble with that oh-so-familiar heat and you clenched tightly around Ransom, suddenly terrified he was going to edge you again. “Not gonna stop, baby” he murmured, gasping as your body shook with pleasure. “That’s it kitten, squeeze me. I’m gonna cum so hard for you”. Suddenly he tugged you down to him for a deep kiss, groaning against your lips as he came deep within you.

Panting, you rested against Ransom’s chest and heard the gentle lub-dub of his heart. His fingers brushed cautiously against your cheek, cupping your face when you pushed further into his touch. He tensed and you worried that he was going to revert to his pattern of lashing out. You couldn’t handle that, not after this. You cared about him, somehow falling for him along the way despite the antagonism between you. “Please”. He looked down at you, worry lining his face. “Please don’t pull away, Ransom”. 

Shaking his head, Ransom held you close. “I’m sorry baby, for being an asshole and making things difficult for you. Honestly, I just wanted you to notice me. But I’ve wanted more since you basically told me to grow some balls and make something of myself. You’re the first person apart from Grandfather to see something in me”. Ransom sighed heavily. “I’m a mess, kitten. Fuck, you’re more than familiar with the shit show that is my so-called family”. Your heart ached at the bitterness lacing his voice and moved your hand to rest on his chest. “I don’t know how to do this” he gestured between you before capturing your hand with his and pressing his lips to your palm. “But I want to try. For you. With you. I’m probably going to upset you and definitely annoy you… but I want to try and make you happy”.

“Like our research”. He cocked his head at your answer. “Research means that you don’t know, but are willing to find out”. At your soft giggle, his blue eyes sparkled. “Together. We’ll do it together”.

[onekindredspirit]

Family Recipes - *Plum Upside Down Cake* I had a message from my older brother. "Hey Bro, How's it going? I'd enjoy a catch up soon." It was 6pm. I decided to call him the next day. I knew by now he would be drunk and I hate to see any Uber Sapien lower themselves that way, as if a sound mind had no value at all. When I was a child Plum Upside Down Cake was baked with peaches, and for children, that is the perfect topping. But we grow up. The transition from peaches to plums happened around the same time I stopped flinching whenever I heard my childhood name. Preheat your over to 180 Celsius (350 F). Take a 20 cm (8 inch) circular baking tin and in that melt 4 tablespoons of butter. Once melted blend in 1/2 to 3/4 cup of brown sugar. The aim is to incorporate all the butter resulting in a smooth, not stiff base. Spread evenly in the bottom of the pan. Lay canned plum halves over the entire butter and brown sugar mix. In a separate bowl cream together 1/4 cup butter, 1/2 cup white sugar and 1/4 teaspoon of vanilla essence. Add 1 unbeaten egg and beat until the mix is light and fluffy. Add 1 cup flour and 1 and 1/2 tsp baking powder (blended) alternating with 3/8 cup of milk. Beat lightly and pour over the plum halves. Bake. Once the top of your batter begins to brown, cover loosely with tinfoil for the remaining time. Bake until your knife comes out clean. Perhaps 30 to 45 minutes. I called my brother the next day but later than I had hoped for and by 3pm he was already slurring drunk. Me: How's it going? Older Brother: Well, I've decided. Me: What have you decided? Older Brother: I've decided to drink myself to death. Me: Why would you do that? Of course I knew the answer. I would have killed myself too, long ago, if I had been him but I'm not and he wouldn't. Older Brother: I've got nothing to live for ... I don't need a detailed list of all the people who have deserted him to save themselves. Or the employers who found ways to get rid of him. Nor the social clubs that banned him for life or his children who don't want to know him. My brother has an anti-social personality disorder. I spent the first 14 years of my life under the rule of this violent and remorseless narcissist. In my 14th year, and already 7 years into what would turn out to be a 25 year stretch of PTSD, my own sense of personal survival finally kicked in. Under threat of another violent encounter I drew my 20 cm hunting knife and I went for him. The kitchens here on Rikers Island are considered the best in the American penal system and I am proud to be speaking to you from the cake division. Okay, I'm not on Rikers Island but perhaps somewhere in a parallel universe I am. But in this timeline, my brother ran and locked himself in the bathroom and that was the last time he threatened me. Recipes evolve. So do people and I consider myself lucky to have a personal evolution. I no longer flinch when I hear my childhood name and I bake cakes with plums instead of peaches. But some people never evolve, like my brother, trapped for an eternity in the hell of a malignant self. I didn't speak to him for 20 years but as Tom Ripley said in the movie Ripley's Game "... we are constantly being born," So, I will call my brother again when I know he'll be sober. I'll suggest we have lunch together and I'll make sure that, for an hour or two at least, he believes he is human and that he is loved. Take your cake straight from the oven, lay a large platter over the top and invert. Carefully lift the baking tin off to reveal the glory of your Plum Upside Down Cake. Let it cool a bit but don't wait too long. Now is the time to decide. Do you want a piece of the cake? Well then, just draw your blade and take it. One Kindred Spirit

[captain-n-crunchies]

My #1

Teacher Izu x Black Chubby Girlfriend! Head canons

Deku, Izuku, Izu and all the works is no longer a hero but, doesn't mean he isn't a hero to others! As a teacher at UA and a support for his friends (Mei taught him a few things) he's still pretty much involved in the hero scene. And you a pretty known hero from the big ol' USA has graced his very eyes at a hero meet and greet, with your hair touched up and your hero suit shaping you nicely in all areas (that thang is thanging) you greet him with the prettiest smile he's ever seen.

" Hi!! I'm (hero name) also known as y/n l/n! You must be the Deku everyone buzzing about?" Izuku couldn't even respond but, the awed expression told a lot.

You and Izuku talk all night gossiping about the new ranks, talking about the new villains and how some have the most cringiest names, and random topics that intrigue the two heroes.

" I'm sorry I know that's your friend and all but, Is Bakugo really that loud normally"

" I've been with him since we were kids... yes, he can't stop it now"

" I heard he's number 24 in rankings, he gotta do better with that attitude"

" I told him, it goes through one ear and explodes mid translation"

Yeah, Izuku already stated his shit talking early on but, who can disagree? You two made it through thew night exchanging numbers professionally and personally. Izuku goes home with a bigger smile than normal when he gets a text from you ' Just checking in, you made it yet?'

Teacher Izuku who always calls you his break, eating your homemade Katsudon as he talks about the kids and his day "

" Today Kota got into fight with a kid from class C"

" Oh no! did he win?"

" Love, as a teacher I can't reveal such things!" .... "In your words, He whooped some ass"

Teacher Izuku who during his classes always includes a story from his fighting days about the heroes of today, the stories are never off topic though. A story about Bakugou is connected to the fact that if you don't kick the enemy in the ankle at a 45-degree angle you'll end up with a broken arm??

Teacher Izuku who records his students training from the beginning of the year to the end so they can see they're progress. He records with a camera set up and everything and makes sure to protect them. At the end of the year, he takes them out and shows them as final lesson about growth and how practice made him and everyone who they are today.

Teacher Izuku can never get enough of the student drama, because he's so chill and funny they think he's like a student too! yes, Izuku knows who wrote Susie from class 1-B is fighting Terry after school... and yes heard about Awaiza and Ms. Joke going out on Friday

Teacher Izuku who deals with bullying of other students very seriously, from snide comments about they're training, taking points off assignments for little things, even having a talk with the student to see why at the big age they are is bullying somebody?

Teacher Izuku who keeps snacks for his students in the mini drawer in his desk, having all types of snacks for sale too during tournaments and seasons

" I got snickers for $2 and pop tarts for $1.50"

" What about a dollar and 25 cents for the pop tart and I clean the classroom for the day?

" ... Deal, make sure to get the closet with the cobwebs for a bag of chips"

"NO WAY!"

Teacher Izuku who comes home to you tired and drained every day, but he brightens when sees you in your night shirt and slippers, watching tv and looking so relaxed he wonders how he got so lucky

Teacher Izuku who for date nights takes you to a nice restaurant and orders your favorite dishes, he needs to keep you nice and fed if he wants that big family his mom wants and himself begs for!

Teacher Izuku who does spa days with you either a luxury spa or at home as a nice treat for defeating a huge villain or him after just going thought it a week before exams. He takes you to Target for facial masks, serums for his skin, hair care items so his curls can at least curl more. You do his nails with clear polish, and he oils your scalps with big warm hands

Teacher Izuku who watches all your binge worthy shows with you, commenting on if the show is good or just have good actors

Teacher Izuku can never get enough of cooking dates, baking dates, anything with food he wants in! Making fresh pasta from scratch so y'all can make alfredo, making sugar cookies of each other as he wipes icing on your nose with a chuckle always resulting in him covered in icing.

Teacher Izuku who wakes up late at night with flashbacks of the war, he faces sweating and hands clammy feeling tiny sparks of black wipe as he tries to calm done, he always huddles closer to you holding you tight before he whispers tiny words of conformation in your ear. Always promising he'll protect with every last bit of strength he has, pushing himself at training days with Bakugo to be better for your sake, for your future children's sake

Teacher Izuku who on bad days at his job, stressed out in the quite classroom he just sits there waiting for the hours to end but when he sees you waving in the hallways for him to open the door with a bag of his favorite treats his smile finally shows, he bounces more, he remembers just why he keeps going

( I wrote this while listening to splatoon music. I love being childish)

[concussed-to-pieces]

Arbiter's Solstice; Part Two

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Pairing: Eventual Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: You had never seen a Soldat in the light before, or as much light as this. It was human-shaped but it did not look…correct. You knew you made a noise, some startled sound, and the thing turned.

A/N: A little Black Friday special. Enjoy!

Tag List: @stargazerofgoldenwords @cookiethewriter @crookedmoonsaultpunk @colesterstrudel @spoopyredacted @velvet-paradox @kotall-ohh @katreneebug @missjasmine98 @sunflowers-and-swear-words @savage-rhi @nova-ivy541 @xyaswrlldd @the-videodame @luvley-shadow @akashiiiiii @spook0 @leediavhs @wysterias-not-so-secret-diary @alldevilsmaycry @writtennotsaid @mulcivert @cedarsmokesrandoms @smallestsnarkestgirl @buttons-beads-lace @vodkafolie @theplagueworm @holydreamerpastadragon @story-chaotic-brain @ohlookapan @topgirl17

[If you were tagged in error, please let me know and I’ll remove you!] 

Part One: Chosen

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains gore, mentions of death, canon-typical violence and extreme depictions of mental and physical duress. Stay safe!]

Your head was throbbing, but you still forced your eyes open after several moments of waiting for the spinning to subside. White cloth met your eyes, dim, flickering light filtering through it. You tried to move, only to discover that your arms and legs appeared to be secured somehow. 

Panic thrummed beneath your ribs. The sound of a heavy metal door being firmly closed echoed distantly; you had no idea how far away it might have been. Soon enough, however, footsteps made their way towards you. Confident strides, though not slow or heavy enough to be the Lady's. 

Heisenberg?

You twitched when a firm hand caught your wrist, whoever it was silently taking your pulse. “I know you're awake.” He finally said. “Can you hear me?”

Karl. You nodded, gasping in pain when a headache sprang to life. 

“Easy, easy, don't move. I did what I could for you. Can you open your eyes under the wraps? Tried not to cover them but-” You felt him shrug. “-aesthetics are not ever going to be my concern when dealing with head wounds.”

“What happened?” You could barely hear your own voice, it was so feeble. 

“You got your head split open.” 

“Mmhm, remember that.” You paused, “where is the Lady Dimitrescu?”

“Dead.” 

Your eyes widened behind the wrappings, then filled with tears. “What…what will happen to me now?”

Fingers plucked at the bandages on the side of your head, catching an edge and slowly unwinding the fabric until you could see again. Your head ached anew at the unshielded light of several candles in the room, and the grave expression on Heisenberg's face (riddled with unfamiliar scars) did little to assuage your concerns. 

“What will happen to me?” You asked again, staring up at him helplessly. “I…I don't have anywhere to go, if not House Dimitrescu.”

“No family?” Karl's voice was strangely hoarse when he asked, his hands busily working to apply a fresh dressing to the wound on the side of your head. 

“No one.” 

The man closed his eyes, turning away. “Got it.”

“Lord Heisen-” Karl's head jerked up and he inhaled sharply, the motion startling you enough to make your already-weak voice peter out. His gaze was as intense as ever, but you found it familiar, almost comforting. 

Almost.

“I need you to rest.” The lord said stiffly. “You're still exhausted. You need time to heal.” His fingers grazed your wrist, loosening whatever had restrained you.

“I'm aware.” You retorted, getting him to crack a wan smile. Then, “thank you.” 

Karl's brow furrowed, the man obviously confused. “Rest.” He finally grunted. “We'll reevaluate how thankful you are once you see your stitches.”

“Is it bad?”

Heisenberg groaned, smoothing a palm down your forehead to usher your eyes closed. “Sleep, damn it.”

…

Your recovery was slower than you'd like. After the beating you had taken from both Lord Moreau and Lady Dimitrescu, you knew you were lucky to be alive. Even if you weren't overly mobile at the moment, you were still grateful. What you could gather from Heisenberg's sparse conversations about the incident led you to believe that you were in a very bad state when you had been…recovered.

“I did what I could.”

You couldn't complain, all things considered. It was odd having someone else take care of you, though. Your food was brought while you were asleep; aside from Karl you saw no living thing. But you could hear them in the halls around your room. Shuffling footsteps, metal banging and scraping, the occasional low groan. 

“Are there still Soldats?” You asked one day. From what you could gather, your ‘quarters’ were simply a corner of Karl's workshop that he had partitioned off, the man always laboring over some piece of machinery on an enormous workbench when he was present. 

Karl stiffened from his place at his bench, the muscles in his neck visibly cording when he did so. “Yes.” 

“Are they safe?”

The lord lolled his head back, leaning against the bench with a put-on, languid air. “Why, got a little cabin fever, sweetheart?”

“Definitely not!” You replied hastily, “I can still barely manage to sit up! I was just curious-”

“I know you can hear them. I'm sorry.” He actually looked apologetic for a moment. “Whatever Soldats and Haulers that are left are so fucking old and they were braindead from the start, so I can't exactly ask them to be quieter.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize.”

Karl waved you off. “You're allowed to ask questions, don't sweat it.” He turned back to his work, but then swiveled to face you once more. “Do you…want to try to walk soon?” He offered, his tone flat once more, almost formal. “May help speed the healing process if you can…uh, move.”

“What would you recommend?” Karl snorted in response to your question, the man stalking over to your pallet and shifting the blanket off your legs. You shivered without meaning to as the chill air of your surroundings hit your legs and Heisenberg flinched, eyes darting to your own. “Oh, it's just a little cold.” You explained, trying for a smile. “I'll be fine!” 

Karl stared down at his hands for a moment, then cupped them to heat them with his breath. “Let me know if they're still too cold.” He muttered, reaching for your left leg. 

You subtly braced for his touch and you were stunned when his fingers were hot, your calf resting in one broad palm while his other hand ran up and down your shin. 

“Let's bend your knee, alright?” Karl suggested after several seconds of silence. “Nice and slow.”

Your muscles ached when he began to move your leg, but you did your best to keep a straight face over it. It wouldn't do you any good to whine about this, you knew you were lucky to even have your severely-limited range of motion. Most of your bruises and lacerations had healed over, save for one long wound that had needed stitches on the outside of your left thigh.

“Alright?” Heisenberg asked, his voice rasping. You nodded, keeping your lips pressed together tightly. The lord exhaled, continuing to bend your knee slowly. “Good, good. Looks like your range of motion was maintained.” He then lowered your leg and unfortunately you couldn't stop the whimper when the action pulled at your stitches. Karl flinched again at the noise, glancing up at you. “Where?” 

“Just the stitches, I'm fine.” You managed to say through your teeth. “Other leg?”

“If you need to-”

“Other leg?” You interrupted him, the pain making you eager to get this over with. 

“You're not some fuckin’ machine, sweetheart.” Lord Heisenberg snapped, standing up. For a heart-stopping moment, you were unsure as to what he might do. It was an immense relief when he simply took a step over your pallet and crouched down on your right side. The man took a short eternity to warm your muscles up on that side, even making the effort to rotate your knee outward slightly to stretch your unmarred thigh. “Nice and slow,” he breathed, his touch impossibly gentle. 

You had seen his ‘siblings’ tear people limb from limb, you knew just how much strength had to lurk in his body.

He killed the Lady, and…and Mother Miranda.

He had effectively ended whatever life you'd had before last year's solstice. Admittedly it wasn't much of a life, scurrying around trying to avoid incurring the Lady's wrath. It hadn't even been safe, but it was what you knew. It was frightening to not have any sort of routine.

This or that.

“Is there…” You swallowed, finding your mouth oddly dry. “Is there anything I can do to repay you for your kindness, Lord Heisenberg?” Karl stared up at you, his hand stilling on your shin. His expression was remarkably unguarded, almost childlike in its lack of guile. He was…surprised. You raised your eyebrows. “What? I know my skills may not be overly…impressive to someone like you, but I can set a table, cook and clean-”

“I don't have a table.” Karl interrupted bluntly. “And no one cleans this shithole.”

“Cooking, then?” You knew you sounded desperate, but his flat affect was rapidly siphoning off your vague hope of being useful to him. 

Heisenberg raked a hand through his hair, looking more confused now. “What would you need to do that, exactly? I don't have…there's not a kitchen in here.” He said awkwardly. You abruptly recalled that none of the food brought for you had ever been warm, or even cooked. It had been apples, cheese, various nuts... “Might be able to wire you up some kind of hotplate?”

You paused, uncertain if you had just insulted him by reminding him of his lack of facilities. “What's a hotplate?”

“Really small stove. One pot, that sort of thing.” 

“How do you cook if you don't have a stove?”

“I didn't need to cook.”

“Are you…do you only eat vegetables?”

His roaring laughter echoed off the walls, Karl wheezing for breath in between his bouts of mirth. “No, sweetheart, I ain't a vegetarian.” He finally choked out, still chuckling. “I've got a parasite in my body, just like the rest of those idiots. I can eat damn near anything, cooked or otherwise, as you've seen.” He made a grand, sweeping gesture to take in the moldering structure around you. “And I was too busy to cook while building my army.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” You apologized automatically, your brain stuck on one word. Parasite. Parasite. Parasite. He had what inside of him?! “Would you prefer to eat cooked food?”

He looked uncertain. “I mean–I never really thought about it. Easier to digest, I guess.” Karl suddenly narrowed his eyes. “Wait, no. You're not doing anything for me. I owe you my fucking freedom.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You.” Heisenberg jabbed a finger at you. “You helped me. For no reason at all! You defied your master, defied that overgrown bitch, for me.” 

“W-Well, yes, but–”

“No buts.” Heisenberg snarled, seizing the bedding near your side. He stared at you intently. “You were terrified of her. She was a monster.” 

“To me, yes.” You admitted softly. “I never knew her as anything else.”

The man warned, “but I'm also a monster,” his tone bleak. “A worse one than her, all things considered.”

“You have not been cruel to me.” Karl scoffed at that, rolling his eyes. You wondered if he even recalled the first time you had said that to him, insisting, “you haven't! And you've had ample opportunity to do so, I've been helpless in bed for days.” 

“I'm not so much of a bastard that I would repay your kindness with violence.” Heisenberg seemed to be attempting some sort of levity, his head tilted to the side. “Besides, I worked pretty hard to stitch you back up. Be a shame for all that to go to waste.”

“I appreciate that.” You smiled up at him. “I should be able to cook for you in a few more days, once I'm steady on my feet.”

“You cook for you. If there's leftovers, fine,” Karl retorted. “But you don't work for me, got it? You can leave whenever you want.”

Distress sent a pang down your spine. “Do you wish for me to leave? I'm sorry, have I been imposi-”

“No,” Karl interjected sharply. “Christ, that's not what I'm saying. You're not in any position to move right now. I'm saying if you want to leave once you're ambulatory, I'm not keeping you here.”

You hesitated. This was all very confusing. “I'm sorry, I don't…I don't have anywhere else to go, Lord Heisenberg.”

“Then you can stay until you do.” He stomped back to the workbench, your conversation evidently over.

…

“Hotplate, hotplate…” Karl muttered to himself as he sifted through the loose scrap, thoroughly irritated. How hard could it be to make one, anyway? He recalled the enormous, wood-fed cooktop in House Dimitrescu's kitchen with more than a small amount of envy. That was a goddamn stove, with an oven. 

He paused, mentally going over the makeup of said stove. Probably cast iron…I'd need to find a spot for the chimney. Not exactly like the big bitch has any need for her fancy stove now, right?

The idea of pilfering the giant stove from the wreckage of Castle Dimitrescu grew on him immediately, and soon enough Karl was making his way across the muddy grounds of the village. 

The rest of the residents were still in disarray after the upheaval Heisenberg had inflicted, most of them seemingly expecting him to be the one to take the reins. Ha! No such luck, Heisenberg thought bitterly. Let Donna figure it out if they want a leader so damned bad. Her and her freaky doll.

As far as he was concerned, the village could rot with Alcina, Moreau and Miranda. 

The castle still managed to loom even while half-destroyed, one lone parapet stretching to the sky was all that remained wholly intact. The rest of the structure had been decimated by Dimitrescu's transformation and their subsequent battle, the faux siblings so intent on destroying one another that not a care had been given to whether the castle came down around their ears in the process. 

At least, not until after Karl had triumphed. Then he cared, the heavily-battered former lord retracing his steps through the rubble until he finally managed to locate your unconscious form. Through some miracle you had been sheltered from the majority of the destruction when a section of the chamber’s ceiling had broken loose and fallen onto the altar, shielding you from further harm. Moreau, unluckily (or perhaps luckily), was not graced with the same fate. If Alcina dropping him squarely on his head hadn't outright ended him, the simpering, sniveling little shit was crushed beneath the collapsed spiral staircase. And good riddance to him.

Heisenberg shook his head. There was no point in recalling that, he needed to find the damn stove. 

…

“Oh.” You said weakly.

The large, cursive D emblazoned on the front of the hulking stove recalled to you several instances of being thrown around in the kitchen by an extremely-irate Lady Dimitrescu. Oblivious to your plight, Karl asked, “Where do you want it?”, the man hefting the massive appliance to rest on one shoulder. It was an impressive display of his strength, but also a grim reminder that whatever he was, it certainly wasn't human. 

You swallowed hard. Heisenberg stood there for another moment. “My lord,” you began, your voice cracking. “Could I ask for a favor?”

“Anything. It's yours.”

Reeling from the speed and ease of his reply, you blurted out, “could you take the letter off the front of it?”

“Ah.” You watched as Karl's jaw suddenly went tight. “I saw that. On your back.” There was a sharp, metallic pang! and the front of the oven door was as smooth as glass. Perhaps it had been welded shoddily? “Better?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. He must have seen the marks from the stove's ornamentation while you were unconscious, you usually took great care to hide them. 

“I can run the stove pipe essentially anywhere in here, but my forge tends to be hot as Hades when it's actually functional.” Heisenberg said evenly. “I also don't know whether the cold will affect you in the winter. I don't feel it.” He patted his abdomen absently with his free hand. 

“Where would you recommend, then?”

Karl grunted, placing the stove down and then swearing under his breath when four of the six legs on it broke through the floor, leaving it to teeter unevenly. “Stupid goddamn--out of my floor.” He growled, gesturing with a hand. The range, much to your bewilderment, began to float a few inches off the beleaguered floor. “So it looks like I'll be reinforcing wherever I need to put this.” 

“What are you doing?” You questioned sharply, eyes wide in confusion.

Karl, his back to you while he rummaged through a crumbling bookshelf, paused and glanced your way. “Looking for my factory blueprints so you can decide where the hell I'm putting this?”

“Not that, I mean the--” You made a few panicky noises, pointing at the hovering oven. 

The man hesitated, tilting his head. “Are you…so you don't know.”

“Know what?”

“What the hell was in those fucking histories?” He grumbled, waving a hand at the huge hammer mounted on the wall over his workbench. “How do you think I killed Alcina?”

“I…” you hesitated. “I don't know. I thought maybe you knew of some kind of…weakness she had?” 

The hammer came flying off its mount and Karl caught it with ease. “No.” He replied grimly, palming the massive weapon. “I put every piece of metal in that stupid castle through her body, pinned her to the ground and beat her to death.” 

Oh. You stared up at him, the breath stolen out of your chest. 

Lord Heisenberg shook himself bodily, then tossed the hammer back to its mount. “Sorry. It's uh…I guess it's not your fault for not knowing what I do.” He apologized, his voice strained. “Doesn't sound like you've had a stellar education when it comes to me.” He offered you a feeble smirk. “You did lend me a hand though, giving her the poke you did with the dagger.” 

“I'm relatively certain she barely felt that.” You said, though as the hazy memory returned to you, you continued, “but she screamed when I did it.”

“That knife had so many toxins imbued into it, one wrong move during the solstice ritual and she might have offed herself instead.” Heisenberg's laugh was humorless. “Save me the damn trouble.” He tugged a small crate over next to your pallet, spreading the worm-eaten blueprint out on the surface. “Now, where do you want the stove?”

You got the feeling that he was trying to change the subject, but you obligingly shifted your weight forward to try and make sense of the warren you were presented with. “I'm also going to need cooking implements, like pots, pans…oh, and food of course!”

…

It wasn't such a bad life, you reasoned. Certainly better than how your life had been with the Lady Dimitrescu, though that bar wasn't exactly high. Lord Heisenberg was amicable enough, if a bit stiff and distant. You supposed that was to be expected. He was, after all, one of the lords of the village. Certain behaviors could not be adjusted so simply.

He only put his hands on you in a clinical manner, for which you were immensely grateful, and he had yet to shout at you, though he had the occasional frustrated outburst at his workbench. You would dare to say most days it was almost peaceful.

The afternoon you were shepherded from the bowels of his factory to emerge into the sunlight felt nearly surreal, like you had been sleepwalking, like your time serving House Dimitrescu had been nothing but a bad dream. 

Castle Dimitrescu no longer overshadowed the village with its dour mass, instead sporting nothing but a forlorn tower teetering high above the rubble it had collapsed into. Seeing the destruction, even at this distance, was enough to stun you. You had assumed that Lord Heisenberg exaggerated a bit for your benefit, but looking at it now you weren't so sure.

Karl cleared his throat from his spot alongside you. “The Duke will be annoyed if I'm late.” 

Between the strange and distinct personalities of the four lords (former or otherwise), one would assume that a simple merchant wouldn't stand out overmuch. An incorrect assumption, of course, but a common one. 

For one, the Duke was enormous, his bulky and ponderous frame often ensconced in a small horse-drawn wagon. However, for all his mass he didn't seem to have any trouble actually getting around. If anything, he would set up shop in the strangest places.

The merchant sold items from beyond the village, and was always permitted to come and go as he pleased. Indeed, you imagined anyone would be hard-pressed to impose any sort of restrictions on the man, as his eternal joviality and good nature couldn't help but to heavily imply a fair amount of sway in the local economy. It would be unwise to dissuade such a man from returning to the village, you were fairly sure.

“What are you looking for in his inventory?” You queried, adjusting the padding for the crutch Lord Heisenberg had graciously crafted for you. 

“Information about the outside, mainly.” The lord squared his shoulders, then set off in what seemed to be a random direction. You followed along behind, noticing that after a moment he slowed his pace, long strides shortening to accommodate your lacking speed. “May see what supplies he has, as well.” He mused. “It'll depend on his cooperation.”

“What do you ask him about…well, the outside world?” You had never devoted much thought to that world, bleakly certain in the knowledge that you would not be leaving the village in your lifetime. To be fair, you hardly had the time to think about anything outside of your duties for most of your life. 

“Anything and everything. Hopefully he'll have a current newspaper he's willing to part with for the right price.” The two of you had been angling for a stand of spindly rowan trees just above the valley's edge. As you came up level with the rise, you realized their branches were doing a poor job at concealing the familiar cart of the Duke. The dark horse responsible for hauling said cart had been picketed off beneath the shade of a few more trees, grazing peacefully while you and Lord Heisenberg approached.

“Ah, and here is the man of the hour.” The Duke greeted Karl magnanimously from the bench of his cart, his eyes flicking curiously to you and then back to the Lord. “I see you’ve brought an…assistant. Quite capable too, all things considered.” The large man gave you an appraising look. “Regrettably, my dear, you may need more than a poisoned dagger to put me into the ground, but I appreciated the display all the same. Such a thrill!”

“Enough.” Karl snapped, his brows furrowed. “You know damn well I don't care about your omnipresent bullshit.”

“Come now, is that any way to speak to your old friend?” The Duke feigned hurt, pressing a hand to his broad chest. “My dear Lord Heisenberg, it has been a short eternity since last we did business!”

“I can come back later.” Karl's lips twitched. “I'd have you strung up if you weren't so goddamn helpful.”

The Duke's laughter washed over you and Lord Heisenberg finally cracked a smile. Evidently this was just how they spoke to one another? It all seemed a bit…chilling. “It is good to see you out of your cell, my lord.” The Duke said warmly, clasping Karl's hand in his own and pressing a worn packet of cheroots into his palm. “Your favorite brand, as I'm sure you recall.”

“Gods, how did you–nevermind, I don't want to know.” Karl tore open the packaging, quickly accepting the proffered light from the large merchant. 

“And for you, my dear?” The Duke beckoned you closer while Karl worked to light his cigar. “Perhaps some food staples, or an exotic trinket from not-so-distant lands?”

“Oh, I don't have-”

“Give them whatever they want.” Heisenberg interrupted you, white smoke issuing from his mouth as he spoke. “Now's your chance, sweetheart, find something you wanna’ eat.” You gaped at him, stunned. For all his talk beforehand, clearly Karl wasn't as concerned about expedience as he had tried to imply beforehand. If anything, he looked a bit like a man about to settle in for a good jaw outside a general store. 

The Duke was quite thrilled at the prospect of showing off his wares and you had a multitude of meats, cheeses and other staples slowly paraded in front of you as he carried on a conversation with Lord Heisenberg. The choices seemed nearly endless and while you knew Heisenberg had told you to get what you wanted, you also wanted to be mindful of whatever expense you might incur. Mutton would be the most cost effective of course, maybe followed with some sausage? The Duke did have flour and sugar as well, but those seemed in shorter supply. Evidently you'd need to adjust to a different diet if you hoped to get any sort of length out of the common staples. 

“Any news on Donna?” Heisenberg queried nonchalantly as the Duke wrapped your chosen meats in waxed paper for transport.

“She's settled into her role with a fair amount of trepidation, but I am confident she will thrive. It remains to be seen whether the rest of the village will fall in line.” The Duke gave Karl a thoughtful look. “Are you certain you don't wish to…?”

“No. The place can burn for all I care.”

The Duke inclined his head, his contemplative gaze shifting to you once more. When next he spoke, however, he was still addressing Lord Heisenberg. “I don't suppose you'll be needing prophylactics, my lord?”

Heisenberg's overgrown canines abruptly crushed through the cigar, the stub of which he spat vaguely in the Duke's direction. This prompted the bulky merchant to roar with good-natured laughter, nearly toppling himself off the cart bench while Karl silently glowered at him. 

After several uncomfortable seconds had passed, Karl finally stated, “We're leaving,” the lord seizing you by the arm and hoisting you up onto his shoulder, crutch, groceries and all. The Duke tossed a rolled-up newspaper to him as if in farewell, which Heisenberg easily caught and stuffed into his bag. 

“May your chosen path bring you happiness.” The Duke called, blue eyes twinkling with some kind of secret joke. Heisenberg fished around in his satchel for a moment, finally withdrawing a messily-wrapped parcel. He proceeded to whip it at the Duke's head, which only made the large man laugh even harder.

Judging from Lord Heisenberg's reaction you weren't overly certain you wanted to know the punchline, even if you had no idea what a prophylactic was.

…

Karl spent the following few days slamming things around uselessly on his workbench or smelting at his forge, attempting to tire himself out before eventually coming back to rest and read his precious newspaper by the light of an electric lamp at his beleaguered bench. 

Usually you were asleep by the time he returned from the manufacturing area, but you would always leave him a carefully-covered plate of food to enjoy. As your strength returned, you took to foraging in the surrounding area for berries, evidently willing to battle the local wildlife for a few precious morsels of vibrant fruit. Karl mutely appreciated the scraps you could acquire, the man so used to surviving off of a gray amalgamation  that anything above it was a culinary delight. As much as he didn't want to give her any credit, clearly Alcina hadn't tolerated you being anything less than a decently-competent kitchen aide. 

Tonight's dinner was a few slices of pork with some kind of fruit…sauce, accompanied by a small loaf of bread. 

Karl absently chewed on a piece of the pork, his eyes roving to the partition that separated your (his originally, not that it mattered) sleeping area from the rest of the room. You must sleep like the dead, because nothing ever seemed to rouse you once you tucked yourself in for the night. It's either that or you were still weaker than he had anticipated, and just doing a little scavenging and cooking wore you out entirely.

Karl grimaced, tearing off a bit of the roll and popping it into his mouth. To be fair (and honest) he had never given human recovery time much thought. Your appendages were attached, extremities operational…you had higher brain function, for God's sake. 

It had never mattered. 

Karl shook his head, disgusted. It wasn't something he had ever concerned himself with before, he would be damned if he started now.

Damned regardless, really.

He shuffled his stool back a step from his bench, reaching into the scrap bucket for a large rag. Despite the area's somewhat-lacking agricultural endeavors, it seemed that there was still a budding market for wagon kingpins and singletrees. Karl had never fancied himself much of a wainwright, but pieces were easy to make and he trusted the Duke to put them into the right hands. To supplement the more specialized pieces, the lord would also make groups of five or so hammers, maybe screwdrivers or wrenches. The old witch's mold tore through most materials, but Karl always ensured that his tools were heated to a temperature so vicious that not even the Black God’s ingrained spores could survive.

After he had wrapped the quintet of screwdrivers and kingpins, he carefully set them aside and picked up a fresh rag.

Motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and the lord lashed out, iron fingers seizing hold of an arm. You gasped, losing your grip on his dirty plate. The item struck the side of the bench with a resounding crash!, sending shards of ceramic tumbling to the floor.

Karl hesitated, desperately trying to will his hand to release your arm before he bruised you (or snapped your arm off at the elbow). He was just so used to-

“I apologize for startling you, my lord.” Your voice wavered slightly, but other than that you seemed remarkably calm. Alcina. “I was unable to sleep, I…I wanted to make myself useful.”

Finally, Heisenberg managed to peel his fingers off your arm, the muscles in his hand spasming wildly. “Of course.” He murmured blithely, like his reaction had been the most normal thing in the world. “Thanks for that, sweetheart.”

The side of his mouth ticked up slightly when you sputtered something and began to look flustered. He really ought to get this…whatever it was under control. It wasn't practical for him to be constantly bemused by every little turn of your expression. Soon enough that would lead to him just–doing things to watch how you behaved, doing specific things that he knew would give the reaction he wanted. As intriguing as that sounded, the lord could feel his mood souring. 

“Get some rest.” He ordered you, his tone curt. “I'll clean that up.”

“I–yes, Lord Heisenberg.” You acquiesced even though you clearly didn't want to, your eyes glued to the floor. 

Heisenberg's brow furrowed. Christ, he did not like this feeling, whatever the hell it was. 

…

“My dear! I see you've been allowed to roam the countryside today. Could I tempt you with a crystal figurine?”

You shook your head, smiling up at the Duke. “No sir, I was wondering if you had any more lamp wicks, or perhaps some twine.” You rummaged around in the satchel Heisenberg had generously allowed you to borrow for your errands, searching for the list he had scrawled in a messy hand. “My lord has requested another current newspaper. And...” You paused, squinting at the letters. “Cam…camembert cheese?”

“Always work with that man!” The Duke complained good-naturedly, “I understand, business is business, but even so. He's moving nearly quick enough to outpace my sales! Clearly he cares nothing for artificial scarcity or supply and demand.” The look he gave you made it seem like you were supposed to agree, so you gamely nodded. Truthfully you had no idea what he was talking about, but that was a common occurrence in the life you had led. The Lady always spoke of grand plans, her machinations seeming leaps and bounds above your comprehension.

All that being said, you were a bit curious, attempting to slyly broach the subject moments later while the Duke tied a fresh layer of cheesecloth securely around a somewhat-battered wheel of cheese. “Lord Heisenberg has personal dealings with you, then? I imagine they must be much more important than what he sends me to do.” Had you been more familiar with the corpulent merchant, you might have picked up on the mischievous little snort he let out.

“Our dear lord is the only one keeping the village running, my child.” The man chuckled, giving the wheel one final pat and then passing it to you. “What on earth do you think he's been up to in that factory? He is manufacturing.” 

Midway through depositing the cheese into your satchel, his words caught up with you. You paused, furrowing your brow as you attempted to recall what you had seen Lord Heisenberg working on. “He's absent by the time I wake up, and most evenings I'm already asleep when he returns.” You realized aloud.

“Ah.” The Duke leaned back, folding his hands over his generous stomach. “So you don't know, then. The Lord Heisenberg is working, you see, always working. The Iron Horse, tireless and unfeeling, unaffected by his lengthy imprisonment.” He arched a conspiratorial brow. “Or so he would have us all believe.”

You suddenly felt as though you had overstepped, your fingers nervously gripping down on the threadbare strap of the satchel while you bid the Duke a hasty farewell. 

The merchant inclined his head graciously, offering you a slow smile.

…

“‘I went into town today, saw some people with familiar tools’.” You shook your head at yourself, staring down at the soup on the stovetop. “He wouldn't believe that! I should just be honest. The Lady said to be honest-”

“You don't work for that Amazonian bitch anymore.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, whirling to face Lord Heisenberg. “My lord! Forgive me, I didn't hear you approach.” 

Karl grunted, reaching for your shoulder. You barely resisted the urge to squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for whatever might come.

The strap of your large apron had slid down your shoulder, and Karl's fingers brushed your shirt when he tugged the fabric back up. “I don't care if you're honest to me or not.” His voice was low and harsh. “Honesty born of fear isn't something I'm interested in.” 

“O-Of course, my lord.” You quickly agreed, looking everywhere but his face as you attempted to change the subject. “Are you hungry? You've returned early tonight!”

There was a long pause. “...I think so.” Heisenberg sounded slightly baffled (if such a person could ever be baffled). “It smelled good, so I clocked out early.”

You replied brightly, “I'm glad you think so! It's not quite done yet, but the biscuits are r–” The pan of biscuits that had been cooling on the stovetop was suddenly in Karl's hand. The lord jammed an entire biscuit into his mouth and you blinked, stunned. 

“Did you get the cheese?” Karl asked once he'd swallowed, his eyes lighting up when you nodded. “Duke's good for something, I guess. Paper?”

“On your bench, as always.” 

For that, you received a clap on the shoulder and a devastating smile, the man happily taking himself (and the tray of biscuits) to the workbench.

You had never seen him in such good spirits. It was…entrancing, in a way. You stirred the soup absently, thoughts in a tangle. 

…

Truth be told, you ought to have been an expert at balancing a bowl. To your credit, however, the last time you'd had to do it your path had at least been illuminated and free of debris. Now you had the added excitement of toting an old railway lantern in one hand and cradling the bowl in the crook of your elbow. 

You had been so sure of yourself earlier in the day! If Lord Heisenberg doesn't come back for supper before I go to bed, I'll bring him his supper at the forge. It had seemed like an intelligent idea; clearly if he was working late he was busy, and he would need to keep up that pace, which a hearty dinner of leftover soup would help with! You had even made another small batch of biscuits.

The only problem with this plan was, well, you had no true knowledge of where the forge was. Oh certainly you had an idea, and there seemed to be an increase in heat along your chosen path, which was heartening. You carefully picked your way along, mainly keeping your gaze trained downward to prevent you from tripping or stepping on something a bit sharper than your boot’s old sole could manage. 

A warbling groan immediately tore your attention upwards and you desperately tried to steady the lantern without burning yourself on the hot globe. What is-?

You had never seen a Soldat in the light before, or as much light as this. It was human-shaped but it did not look…correct. You knew you made a noise, some startled sound, and the thing turned. 

Lord Heisenberg had never precisely explained the process of creating his Soldats and the stories you had heard never went into much detail, only mentioning how fragile they were and how easily House Dimitrescu had overwhelmed them.

A motor thrummed, sputtering to life, and as the Soldat faced you you realized why it hadn't looked correct. Its left arm had been replaced by the bulk of some monstrous machinery that was crowned with a sluggishly-spinning drill. Its right arm was just a stump, pale flesh hanging from the remainder of the joint. 

You hesitated, unsure of the thing's comprehension and whether it knew you as friend or foe. The lycans were unpredictable, you didn't see why this would be any different. “H-Hello,” You called nervously, struggling to be heard over the drill (which seemed to be gaining speed). “I'm here to bring the lord his dinner, if that's alright?” Of course, there was no reply. 

It took a heavy step towards you. Then another, and another. The drill began whining at a high pitch, and you took an instinctive step backwards.

The Soldat broke into a clumsy, loping run, drill reeling back for some sort of blow. You turned and bolted, fleeing the way you'd come. Desperately you tried to remember the path you'd taken in reverse, hoping against hope that you'd be able to outrun the thing. Twisting, turning, stumbling over things in your path-

Out of the nearly pitch-black darkness ahead, you heard Lord Heisenberg's voice calling, “Sweetheart? Where are you?” 

You screamed something as a section of rotted flooring gave way beneath your foot, swallowing your leg up to the shin and sending you tumbling to the ground. The lantern flew out of your hand, globe smashing and the last of the meager fuel going up in a rapid flare of light. That flare illuminated the hallway ahead, reflecting off of Karl's eyes like he was…

Well, you had known he wasn't exactly human. Not that now was the time to be dwelling on such thoughts! You rolled over, desperately fighting with the jagged wood that trapped your leg, and you tried not to think of the amount of times you'd butchered animals for dinner and the way their joints snapped under a little pressure–

A red glow heralded the Soldat's approach and you struggled harder. Karl barked, “hey! That's close enough, freak!”, but it was as if the Soldat didn't register he was speaking to it. Maybe this one didn't have ears? “I said-” A large boot hit the floor beside your ribs, Heisenberg's body overhead lit by that hellish red light. “-that's close enough!” The Soldat's drill began to grind and shriek as it came down, like it was being forced to spin in the wrong direction. You didn't even have the wherewithal to scream, your whole being dedicated to freeing your leg. 

There was a sharp grunt of exertion. A hand slapped against your elbow momentarily before fingers crushed down in a chokehold on your upper arm. Fasteners erupted from the floorboards around your leg and as they did, you finally managed to wrench yourself loose. When Karl heaved you backwards out of harm's way you caught only a momentary glimpse of his free hand bracing that terrible drill, the skin of his palm mangled by the still-spiraling machinery. 

Once the lord released you, you scrambled away on the floor until your back hit a wall. The Soldat issued a garbled yell and Heisenberg roared in reply, ripping the drill off its shoulder. Nuts and washers clattered to the floor, hydraulic fluid coming in arterial spurts while the Soldat clumsily flailed at its maker. 

Half-blind in the dark, all you could do was stare as Karl tore the Soldat limb from limb. When it inevitably toppled to the ground it could barely be considered a torso, that red light on its chest flickering weakly and starting to slowly fade. You shut your eyes tightly, aware that Heisenberg was speaking but your ears were ringing too badly to hear him. You felt nauseous and lightheaded, the floor seeming to buckle and spin beneath your trembling body. 

…

You would have been fine, if the damn floor had held. You would have outpaced that old junker in a flash. You wouldn't have even been in any danger!

Karl crouched beside you, barely resisting the urge to grab your chin and force you to look at him. “What the hell were you thinking?” He asked incredulously, but it was as if you couldn't hear him. The man huffed in irritation, getting back to his feet and walking to the hole in the floor to inspect the damage. His boot landed on a domed object, startling the lord somewhat as he'd assumed he knew every piece of junk on the floor between here and his forge. He bent to inspect the object and he realized it was a bowl, christened with the splattered remains of leftover soup. Beside it were several sad and dirty biscuits, their plate having overturned and skidded along the grime of the floor. 

Food.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry my Lady, I'm so sorry, please, please, I'm sorry-” Your voice was pitifully quiet. You'd put your hands over your ears and you were rocking, pleading, begging some specter of his faux sibling for mercy. Karl felt his heart sink and he realized in a sudden burst of uncharacteristic clarity that he hadn't been angry.

He had been afraid.

Afraid of what might happen to you. 

Gods.

“It's alright.” He breathed, settling to the floor in front of you. He nearly reached out to touch you, but hesitated when he caught sight of his bloodied fingers, forcing his mangled hand into a fist at his side instead. “It's alright. It's just me.” 

You sobbed hysterically and Heisenberg wasn't sure for a second whether you'd even heard him, then you flung your arms around his neck, clinging to him and crying into his shoulder. Karl froze, stunned. No one had ever…

Well. It didn't matter. 

“I've got you.” The man said gruffly, resting his intact hand gingerly on the top of your head. “You…you're safe.”

It felt like you just crumpled against his chest. Like every ounce of fight in your body had departed, leaving you limp and frail in his arms. All Karl could do was gather you up, the man rising to his feet after a moment of fumbling. It seemed as though you had lost consciousness, your arm dropping to hang and your head lolling back in the crook of his elbow. 

I've got you.

…

You started awake, unsure for a moment where you were, what time it was…what had happened to you?

From his place at his workbench, Karl cleared his throat. There was a snap as he folded his newspaper, then tucked it beneath his arm as he stood. The former lord approached your bedside and you couldn't help the way you shrank down into yourself, barely fighting the urge to hide beneath the covers. 

Heisenberg stopped further away than normal, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “How do you feel?” A mild enough question, given the circumstances.

Honesty. “My leg hurts a little,” was your truthful response. “But I suppose it serves me right. I shouldn't have-”

Karl cut you off by clearing his throat, the man fixing you with a stern look. “In the future, if you get any ideas about bringin’ me dinner, just yell for me. It'll save both of us a lot of trouble.” 

Shame sent a hot flush out across your cheeks and you nodded, hoping that was the end of your discussion. 

“You could have been seriously injured. I know you probably don't grasp that, but I sure as hell do. I've seen what my Soldats were designed for.” Lord Heisenberg's expression had gone grim. “It ain't your fault. I'll start decommissioning them.”

“Oh, but don't you need them?” You burst out, concerned for the inhabitants of the village that you had only recently found out relied on Karl's craftsmanship to thrive. 

The lord shrugged elegantly in reply, stating, “Before, I needed them to help because of the scale of the operation. Now though…I think I can afford to cut back on a few dozen units.” He sighed, momentarily looking exhausted. “A lot of them just wander anyway, it's not as though they're vital.”

A thought struck you and you exclaimed, “my Lord, your hand! I…” Karl tugged both of his hands out of his pockets to display them to you, raising an eyebrow. They seemed wholly intact, not so much as a crooked finger! How-?

“I heal quick.” He informed you with a flippant rotation of his wrist.  

“It was a drill, I saw it rip--h-how did-?” You were nonplussed by the whole thing. Were you so damaged by your previous trials that you had begun to imagine travesties occurring?!

Karl, however, raised an excellent point. “How many times did you wipe the blood from my back and you're worried about some fuckin’ drill yanking off my pinkie? Did you forget that I was Alcina's favorite vintage?”

“No, but-” You struggled with your words for a moment. “I just…I apologize. I did not fully comprehend the extent of your...talents.”

“Suppose that's for the best.” Karl muttered, seemingly half to himself. He abruptly clapped his hands together, giving you a stern look. “I expect you to stay put until you fully recover, understand?”

…

Karl yelled some random assortment of expletives, the latest collection of tools rocketing at the Duke. “-nearly killed! I nearly got them killed! What the fuck was I thinking?”

The Duke, having caught the bundle with ease, began sorting the tools out on his lap while Heisenberg continued to seethe and stomp around the cart. “You seem vexed, my lord. Has something occurred?” The merchant asked blandly. 

Karl shot a blistering glare up at the enormous man. “If you don't stop laughing at me-”

The Duke raised his hands in a peaceable manner. “I meant no offense, my lord! You are simply entertaining when you are so…undone.”

“Keep your commentary to yourself,” the lord growled, “this is all your fault anyway!”

The merchant had the audacity to look surprised. “My fault, my lord? I fail to see the connection.”

“It's all because you had to make your little jab, you piece of shit! If you hadn't said anything, I wouldn't have thought about it!” Even as the words left his mouth, Karl knew he was lying. 

Long before the Duke had cracked wise about prophylactics the incarcerated lord had harbored certain thoughts about you. Granted, at first they were nothing but insane fantasies. He wasn't getting free, what was the harm? He couldn't exactly gratify himself either, bound as he had been. There was little he could do aside from think, and Gods had he thought. 

And then you had released him. 

“Ah.” Heisenberg had no idea how one simple noise could sound so unbelievably smug, but he supposed if there was anyone who could manage it, it would have to be the Duke. He debated the benefits of ripping the man's head off for longer than he would care to admit, before he just slouched against one of the cart’s wheels in defeat. The Duke chuckled quietly, his girth shifting enough to make the axle creak. “I can see you are having some trouble, my lord.”

“I really ought to kill you.” Karl muttered without any real bite behind the words, dragging his hands down his face. He had spent the better part of a week tracking down every Soldat left and disassembling them, throwing the spare parts where he had amassed the bits from the Haulers. It had been an involved and tedious process, but he could always make more if the need arose again. He also made sure you watched him take apart multiple Soldats, doing his best to involve you in several related tasks so they weren't so…so much to you. You originally had shied away, but closer to the final one you displayed some tender curiosity, some minor touch of interest in his old servants. “I don't know what the hell to do.”

The Duke made a thoughtful noise, stroking his chin. “My honest opinion is that I believe you overcomplicate things.” Karl scoffed but the larger man persisted, “they have a good heart! I don't understand your resistance, I'm afraid.”

“Alcina once had me convinced that I was doing things for the right reason.” Heisenberg rested his forehead on the side of the cart. “I believed her. Trusted her.”

“Your…assistant doesn't strike me as the scheming type, my lord.” The Duke paused, then continued, “and in regards to your behavior, you are not the Lady Dimitrescu, nor are you her thrall any longer.”

“The debt I owe is extensive and I don't know how to repay them.” It was so simple to say, but it made Karl's skin crawl. All he had ever been good for was furthering someone else's ambitions. What could he do for you? You didn't exactly harbor any great expectations; you seemed wholly content to tend the fire and cook meals for the rest of your days.

Something brushed against his leg and a familiar, grating voice said, “well, don't you look like death warmed over!”

Karl punted Angie as hard as he could, unable to keep his laughter in check while the doll tumbled end over end through the air. She finally crashed to the dirt and Donna scurried by, the veiled woman gathering her beloved doll up into her arms. 

“What's the big idea?!” Angie shrieked at Karl, moving like she was going to free herself from Donna's grasp. “Is that any way to treat me, after all we've been through together?”

“You?” Karl's good humor swiftly turned foul, the man striding towards Donna with his fists clenched at his sides. “You, little rat, were the one who sold us out to Alcina! If it wasn't for you-!” Heisenberg paused, inhaling through his teeth. Donna seemed…smaller. Not that she had ever been particularly sturdy, but now she appeared like a strong gust of wind would knock her over. “You look like shit.” He said instead, grudgingly reining himself in.

Donna inclined her head. “I am. Not a leader.” She whispered, her words stilted. “It is difficult.”

“I could have told you that.” Heisenberg tugged free a cigar, the man lighting it after a moment. Meanwhile Donna just…stood there. As if she was waiting for something. “What the hell do you want, Beneviento?” Karl growled around the cigar, barely fighting the urge to rudely blow smoke in her face. “No mind games, either. Come out and say it or fuck off.”

“I can't–" Donna paused, and Angie continued in a whining tone, “it's hard, and we don't want to!”

The former lord gestured at the treeline, offering his faux sibling a joyless grin. “So leave. I'm sure there's a million other places that would happily accept a freak like you.”

“Or you!” Angie shot back tartly. 

Karl chuckled without humor around the cigar, nodding. “Yeah, ‘or me’.”

“You look better.” Donna whispered.

“I've been eatin’ right, getting in my exercise.” It wasn't technically a lie; your cooking was much more rounded than he'd ever eaten in his life. “Not exactly difficult to look better than I did while I was withering in the giant bitch's cellar.” 

“I'm sor-”

“Don't.” 

Donna inclined her head, dutifully falling silent while Angie snickered to herself. Heisenberg barely kept from biting his cigar in half, the man painstakingly removing the cheroot from his mouth before he did something he'd regret.

The Duke then spoke up, “I believe Lady Beneviento had a proposition for you.” Karl nearly jumped at the sound of the large man's voice; he'd practically forgotten he was even there, witnessing this little spat. 

Tucking his cigar back into his mouth, Heisenberg puffed a few times to ensure the thing was still lit and leaned back against the cart wheel, his arms crossed firmly over his chest. “Talk, Donna.” 

“I need equipment.”

Karl raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

The woman hesitated, obviously struggling to articulate herself. “I…the people need. Farming equipment. A-A tractor.”

Ah. “One?”

“Two would be b-better. One is…acceptable.” Donna paused again. “The cornfields-”

“-got real messed up when you fought with Alcie!” Angie finished, the doll's jaw clattering a bit. “Plus you ruined half the vineyards!”

“I'm not talkin’ to you, you little shit.” Karl grunted, making Angie sputter. “Unless you want to fly again, I suggest you stay out of this.”

“Leave Angie alone.” Lady Beneviento's tone was abruptly icy and firm. “We are having a discussion, Heisenberg.”

Karl dutifully obeyed, ignoring the doll to focus wholly on his faux sister. “Do you even have an old tractor? Scrap? Blueprints? Something, woman, I can't fabricate a tractor out of nothing.”

Beneviento produced a small, rolled piece of paper from her sleeve, handing it over to the glowering man. She then clasped her hands in front of her nervously. “We have two…two tractors. Very rusted.” She warned.

“Probably more like moldy.” Karl mumbled, only half-listening as he looked over the smudged manual page. “I'll need to see what you have for a carcass.” He finally said grudgingly.

“Ha! I knew it, I knew he would-!” Donna swiftly scooped Angie up, muffling the doll's mouth with an artfully-placed section of her black veil. The woman then offered Karl a deep bow, after which she beat a hasty retreat back down the hill while Angie continued to squall around her makeshift gag.

The Duke snorted, obviously attempting to stifle a laugh, which set off Karl’s own mirth. 

…

“Hold it–hold it steady, dammit.” 

Obligingly you adjusted your posture with the lantern, your hands too sweaty in their protective mitts to maintain the lamp's position for long. Late summer had truly set in to the valley and you were hard-pressed to find a moment where you weren't sweaty.

Heisenberg had begun repairs on an old tractor in earnest shortly after his unexpected conference with his ‘sister’, but the working conditions weren't exactly ideal. It was either labor in the shade of the moldering, poorly-lit barn, or work in the farm yard and be wholly at the mercy of the eager sun. 

The man grumbled something under his breath, the majority of his upper body currently beneath the engine as he wrestled with some unseen bolt. There was a loud thud and he began swearing in a continuous stream, shuffling out from under the machine while shaking his hand. “Rat bastard, son of a bitch,” Karl huffed, examining his quickly-reddening knuckles. “Jammed that good. Dammit.”

“Can I…?” You offered hesitantly, not really sure what he needed but willing to give it a try regardless. 

The man blew out a breath. “Yeah, damn it all. You've got smaller hands than me, maybe you can get them into where it needs to go.” He then held out one of the many rags he kept nearby, muttering, “cover your head though, you don't want to get greasy.”

Once you'd extinguished the lantern and removed your mitts, you obliged Heisenberg and carefully wound the rag around your head, making certain to pull it low on your forehead after noting the grease smeared on his own. Then, you laid down on your back and tugged yourself beneath the rickety machine alongside Karl. 

A small rubber tube was shoved into your hand, and the man gestured up at the arcane workings of the small engine. “This stupid little thing needs to go up there. In between–look, see that slot sweetheart? It needs to be fed through there so that it can be plugged in up above.”

“Why didn't you feed it down from the top instead?” It was an innocent question, you hadn't meant anything by it! But the silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the noise of Heisenberg's teeth grinding together.

Karl snatched the tube back and scuttled out from beneath the machine. You heard scraping for a moment, and then a triumphant “aha! Can you grab the other end of it now, sweetheart? Just hold it for me.”

You managed to slip your fingers into where he had indicated, just barely grasping the end of the tube and tugging it a bit further. “Got it!”

“Finally, alright.” Karl threw himself down once more, using the front axle to maneuver into position alongside you. “We need to take that and plug it-” His hand closed down on your own without warning, startling you to the point that you went stiff. Heisenberg clearly noticed; he stilled for a second but then immediately carried on, “-place it here, see?” He guided your hand to hold the hose to its appropriate inlet. “Then, we screw down the clamp to keep the hose attached.”

“Oh.” You murmured, watching him twitch his finger and the fastener on the clamp rushed to respond, twisting itself tight to secure the tube. “How would you do it if you didn't have…if you were like me?”

Karl looked at you sideways for a moment before it seemed to dawn on him, the man tapping a finger down on the screw. “Flathead screwdriver, see the groove? Pop the driver head in there and give it a twist.”

“Thank you.”

He scoffed, “‘course,” rolling out from beneath the machine and offering you a hand up. “Job isn't done yet, grab the lantern again.” He barked, “gloves!” when you almost touched the scorching handle of the lantern in your haste to obey his directive.

…

“Are you ready?”

Your head swam. Ready for what?

“I'm not moving otherwise.” 

Moving?

Somehow you were beneath the tractor again. Had you fallen? Karl's forehead bumped against your own, his body crowding yours in the small space. His eyes–

He was back in the cell, but he was no longer restrained. The lord lunged at you, groping, fondling, touching–

No, you were in his workshop, machinery crashing to the floor so Karl could press your back to the workbench, the large man burying his face in your neck and–

You started awake, intensely aware of the slick sensation between your upper thighs and the heated flush on your face. Blinking in the dim room, you struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

What was that?! You thought in a panic, frantically fanning your face to try and cool off. You had rarely ever dreamt, and you'd certainly never had a dream like that! 

You jerked your eyes up, darting a glance at the workbench, but it was mercifully vacant. Lord Heisenberg must be elsewhere.

Lord Heisenberg.

That's right. Lord Heisenberg. Not Karl, not someone you were close to, regardless of how kind he was to you. Your place was beneath him, and it always would be. 

No matter what pretty words he had said.

You helped me. 

You can leave whenever you want. 

You shook your head, frustrated and embarrassed. Maybe this…infatuation was to be expected, you had tended to the lord for quite a while. You understood his needs to an extent, you cared for him, but you may not necessarily care about him. It was to be expected that the waters might get muddied, the lines between servant and more blurred by the passage of time and the familiarity that came with it.

I hope.

[awriterinthenight]

"I Think I Love You More"-Five Hargreeves

requested: anonymous

words: 1769

warnings: swearing, Klaus being weird and just himself, that's it

summary: While planning a birthday party for the Hargreeves siblings with Lila, you don't know what to get Five, until you think of the perfect gift

In most families birthdays were usually celebrated with parties, balloons, cake, and presents. Unless you were one of the Hargreeves siblings, in that case birthdays were just another day.

You and Lila were both shocked to hear that none of the siblings ever had a true birthday. Luther was always busy with his dad or a mission, Diego was apparently "too manly" to celebrate, Allison did celebrate her birthday with Claire and Patrick, but it was never the same as a real birthday party, Klaus was...well Klaus, Five was stuck in the apocalypse for most of his life, Ben died young never experiencing one, and Viktor was always saddened when the day came around. This meant you and Lila had to take things into your own hands and give them the best birthday ever.

"Should we do it in the house, or rent a place?" you asked Lila, as you two sat on the couch a notebook in front of both of you to plan out details.

"If we rent somewhere it'll have the crappy birthday feel, but nothing beats a questionable house party with even worse decoration," she said, scribbling down your decision.

You two continued to talk and work out details, and in the midst of your planning you didn't see Diego and Five sneak up behind you two, "Their scheming something, this can't be good," Diego said, making the post of you close your notebooks and jump from being startled.

"When one is involved it's never good, but the both of them together might cause the end of the world," Five joked, standing behind you on the couch, "What are you doing anyway?" he asked, his tone was softer when he talked to you, and he was much less arrogant too.

You shrugged trying to act normal, "Nothing, me and Lila were just talking," you said, gaining a bit of courage to ask your next question, "You're guy's birthday is coming up right, is there anything you would want?"

Diego being who he was spoke up first, since you tried to phrase the question to both of them, but also more pointedly at Five, but Diego isn't the brightest crayon, "Personally I would like for you to stop eating all the damn cookies," he complained.

"I'll take it into consideration," you said, definitely not going to stop eating the cookies, "What about you?" you asked, turning towards Five, noticing how he was missing his signature watch he always wore.

"Nothing really, never really got anything ever, so it really doesn't matter," he said with a shrug. That was just so helpful, I'm being sarcastic can you tell, or is it that obvious?

"Oh," you said, a bit surprised at his answer, "Okay, then."

Once Five and Diego left, Lila went out to pick up some things for the surprise party, leaving you to ponder why you had to like the most annoying Hargreeves sibling. It was nothing truly against him, more that he was impossible to shop for, and him saying you didn't have to get him something made it even harder. But lucky for you, you ran into your favorite Hargreeves sibling.

"Hey Klaus, what do you think your brother would want for his birthday?" you asked, optimistic that he could help you.

Klaus' interest seemed to have been piqued by your question, "Hmm, with Five he could want anything from a lobotomy to old grandpa clothes," he said, being of no help.

You let out a long breath, "Unless you have any actual suggestion, thanks for wasting my time," you muttered, as you started to walk away from him.

"Wait," Klaus said, stopping you, "Just get him something practical that he'll like. Or, hear me out here, give him, yourself," he said, raising his eyebrows weirdly, putting his hands out in front of him.

"I'm sorry w-what," you stuttered, confused as to what he was saying.

"Oh, don't act all oblivious. It's so obvious you two are in love with each other. I mean it's agony to watch you two," he explained, laughing while he talked.

You tried to hide the look of shock on your face, was it really that obvious. "T-that's just...that isn't, we aren't," you stuttered out, frustrated with yourself for being so flustered by the mention of your small (massive) crush on Five.

Klaus let out a hearty laugh at your flustered state, "You are so in love with him it's crazy. Seriously you could give him anything and he would love it. By the way what are you getting me?" he asked, batting his lashes and acting dramatic.

"Something from a lobotomy to drugs," you said, annoyed at his antics.

He just giggled like the insane person he was, "Well, I bet it will be nowhere near as good as Five's gift," he said, now getting on your nerves.

You let out a sigh, walking away from Klaus, since you were not winning that conversation. You'd spent the next half hour trying to figure out what to get Five, but had come up with nothing so far. Fortunately you seemed to grow a brain cell and knew exactly what to get him. You immediately ran up to Klaus' room, since you were going to need a bit of help.

"Hey Klaus, how willing do you think Ben would be to help me with a little scheme?"

***

It was the day of the party, Lila had taken the siblings out to lunch to keep them away from the house while you and Pogo decorated the house. You had balloons, streamers, birthday hats, a pinata, and even a decent tasting birthday cake. It was, as Lila called it, all the essentials for a shit-tastic party. All the gifts were in a pile, except for your gift to Five since you wanted to give it to him personally.

You saw them enter the front door and into the living room, "Surprise," you said, smiling while using one of the party blowers (yes I had to look up what it was called, and yes that's what they're actually called apparently).

Everyone was surprised you and Lila had put together a whole party for them, but was excited to start celebrating. Everyone had put on party hats, especially Klaus who had 4 on his head, and had cracked open the champagne Lila bought.

The party went on for a few hours with music, cake, playing classic party games, and even everyone opening their gifts from you and Lila. However one person did notice a certain someone's gift to him wasn't in the pile.

"So what did you get me?" Five asked, now that the party was winding down and everyone was doing their own thing.

"What makes you think I got you something?" you said, crossing your arms, "You said not to get you anything."

He smiled at you, "I know you, darling, I know you got me something."

You let out a long breath, "Maybe I did," you said, uncrossing your arms, "But in my defense you're hard to shop for, so please don't hate it."

"I promise I won't," He said, excited to see what you got him.

You held the small box behind your back, "Close your eyes, and hold out your hands," you said, and he followed just as you directed. You placed the box in his hands and waited anxiously for him to open his eyes.

When he opened his eyes he looked at the box before opening it. Inside the box was a simple watch with a leather band.

"You got me a watch," he said, looking up at you through his lashes.

You couldn't tell if he was disappointed or surprised about the gift so you tried to play it off, "I-I just noticed your usual one was missing, and I remembered you said something about it being broken, so I just thought you could use a new one. I hope you like it," you rambled, not noticing how he was looking closer at the watch.

"F.H.," he said, running his finger over the initials, "And are those..."

You were nervous as to what he would think about this part of the watch, "My initials. I just thought it would be more personal if I added it. I can probably get it removed if you don't like it, but-" you once again rambled before getting cut off.

"Who said I didn't like it?" he said, once again looking at you like you were everything to him.

"Oh, I just, I didn't know how you would react so I didn't know if you would like it, sorry," you said anxiously.

He took a step closer to you, barely inches apart now, "This must've been expensive, how did you afford it?" he questioned, shocked that you would get him something so nice, and also trying to fight his urge to kiss you right then and there for it.

You swayed a bit, still nervous, "Actually I had it customized, then had Klaus have Ben steal it for me," you told him, explaining the heist you pulled earlier.

He let out a small laugh, something that was very uncommon for him, "So you customized a watch for me, then had a ghost steal it for me, and you threw an amazing party?"

"Yes, that's basically the whole story. I know it sounds crazy, but you know your family," you joked nervously.

Five smiled, looking at you once again, "I don't know what I love more, you or the watch," he confessed.

You were flustered by his confession, "I- y-you, love me?" you questioned, since you thought that he didn't love you back.

"Of course I do," he said, leaning in closer to you.

"Well, I love you too," you confessed, leaning in closer till your lips touched. Your first kiss was soft, but once you pulled away Five pulled you back in. This time the kiss was more passionate.

"I think I love you more," he said in-between kisses, making you laugh softly at his antics.

You two were so enthralled with each other, that you didn't notice Klaus celebrating in the back. Klaus had been so excited that his plan to get the two of you together worked. He had distracted Five and "accidentally" broke his watch. Since he knew you were very observant, he knew you would notice, get him a watch, but would personalize it, then Five would realise how in love you were with him, and would lead us to this point. Klaus was a real mastermind when it came to playing cupid.

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[yardsards]

also. amber gris as a character is really important to me as an appalachian.

not just her accent or the specific type of person justin based her off of but like

the feeling of losing someone to addiction/overdose while the government does nothing to help, just criminalizes and stigmatizes and makes things worse. which obviously happens in more places than just around here, but we have one of the highest rates of overdose death in the whole country and that whole set of scenes felt like they were really informed by growing up around that